The catacombs stank of wet stone and old blood.
Darian moved like a shadow behind Seraphine, his corrupted hand pulsing with every step. The whispers had grown louder, slithering through his mind in a language that made his teeth ache.
Let him go, the darkness urged. You will both be free.
He gritted his teeth and pushed forward.
Torchlight flickered ahead, casting long, twisted shadows against the walls. The passage opened into a cavernous chamber, its ceiling lost in gloom. At its center stood a raised dais, ringed by hooded figures in rust-red robes—the Order of the Serpent. Their chanting filled the air, a dissonant hymn that set Darian's nerves on fire.
And there, chained atop the dais with veins of silver light cutting into his scales, was Sumner.
The dragon thrashed, his roars choked as if something were clawing at him from the inside. Above him hovered a jagged shard of crystal—the Dawnbreaker—pulsing like a diseased heart. With every pulse, the silver veins glowed brighter, and Sumner's movements grew weaker.
Darian's vision went red. He lunged forward—
Seraphine yanked him back behind a pillar. "Wait," she hissed. "That relic is already active. If you rush in, the backlash could kill you both."
"Then what?" Darian snarled. "We let them flay his soul?"
A new voice cut through the chanting—a man in a serpentine mask, his robes edged in gold. The High Ascendant. He raised a dagger over Sumner's skull. "By blood and blade, we return you to the void!"
Darian didn't think. He moved.
His sword was gone, but his fists were weapon enough. He barreled into the nearest cultist, snapping their neck with a twist. Chaos erupted. Seraphine's silver blade flashed as she cut down two more, her movements precise, lethal.
The High Ascendant turned, his mask gleaming. "Dragon King," he mused. "How kind of you to witness your beast's end."
Sumner's golden eyes met Darian's. The bond between them screamed—not in pain, but in warning.
Behind you.
Darian spun. A cultist drove a dagger toward his ribs—
A blast of frost incinerated the man's arm.
Sumner had broken free.
The dragon's wings unfurled, scattering the cultists like leaves. But the Dawnbreaker still pulsed, its light drilling into Sumner's skull. Blood trickled from his nostrils. He was fighting it, but not for long.
Darian sprinted for the dais. The High Ascendant laughed. "You can't stop it! The severing has already—"
Darian drove his corrupted fist into the relic.
The world shattered.
White fire exploded outward. The cavern trembled. The Dawnbreaker's crystal cracked—then burst into a thousand glittering shards.
Silence.
Darian collapsed, his hand smoking. The cultists lay motionless. Even Seraphine was on her knees, blood dripping from her nose.
Only Sumner stood, his chest heaving. The silver veins had vanished.
But something was wrong.
The bond—
It was gone.
Darian reached for it, desperate. "Sumner?"
The dragon stared at him, golden eyes blank. Unrecognizing.
Then he roared—a sound of pure, unfettered rage—and took flight, smashing through the cavern ceiling into the night sky.
Seraphine grabbed Darian's shoulder. "The relic didn't sever the bond," she said grimly. "It inverted it."
Darian didn't understand. Not until he looked at his corrupted hand.
The shadows there were laughing.
And in the distance, Sumner's wings blotted out the stars as he flew north—toward the one place no dragon should ever go.
The Black Maw.
Where the First Dragon slept.
And now, Sumner was going to wake it.