The forest fell unnervingly silent. Even the ever-present hum of the Spire seemed to hold its breath. Astris knelt in the clearing, shoving the grimoire into her satchel with more force than necessary, her fingers trembling—not from fear, but from the searing frustration of failure. The cat, perched atop the mossy altar, suddenly froze, its ears flattening. A low, guttural growl rumbled in its throat, its mismatched eyes locked on the shadows beyond the stone circle.
Astris paused. She knew that sound. Knew it from nights hunched over legal texts in the Lower Ward, listening to the distant shrieks of goblin raids. Slowly, she rose, her hand drifting to the hilt of her rapier. The blade slid free with a whisper of steel, its edge catching the moon's pallid glow.
The rustle came again—a skittering, wet sound, like claws dragging through rot. The cat hissed, its fur bristling into a silver halo. Astris stepped back, her boots crunching dried leaves as she pivoted toward the noise.
Eyes. Dozens of them. Glowing a sickly phosphorescent green, they blinked into existence among the razorleaf trees, their light refracting off serrated leaves. A chorus of guttural clicks echoed through the clearing, the language of venom-tongue goblins: a hunting pack.
The first emerged, hunched and gangly, its sinewy body slick with oily secretions that dripped from its clawed fingers. Its mouth yawned unnaturally wide, revealing a black tongue studded with needle-like barbs. Venom glistened on its tips, corrosive enough to eat through steel. Others followed, their gangly forms slinking from the undergrowth, crude bone knives strapped to their limbs and saliva sizzling where it struck the forest floor.
"Cybele's grace," Astris breathed.
The lead goblin lunged, its tongue lashing out like a whip. She sidestepped, blade flashing upward to sever the appendage. The severed tip writhed on the ground, hissing as it dissolved the moss into acrid smoke. The goblin screeched, clutching its mangled mouth, but two more surged forward.
Astris danced back, her rapier a silver blur. She parried a bone dagger, the impact jarring her arm, then pivoted to drive her blade through a goblin's throat. Black blood sprayed, sizzling against her cloak. The cat yowled, leaping onto a goblin's back, its claws raking at bulbous eyes. The creature flailed, swiping blindly, but the cat was already gone—a streak of silver chaos.
They circled her, clicking and drooling. A dagger grazed her thigh, its venom searing through fabric to lick her skin. She hissed, channeling the pain into a furious thrust that pinned a goblin to a razorleaf trunk. Its death rattle gurgled, drowned by the Spire's distant growl—louder now, as if savoring the fray.
A massive goblin, its spine crowned with jagged spikes, lumbered forward. It swung a rusted chain strung with dungeon-forged iron, the links crackling with residual magic. Astris ducked, the chain whistling overhead to shatter a stone in the altar. Shards of rock sprayed, slicing her cheek.
The cat darted between the brute's legs, tripping it. As the goblin stumbled, Astris lunged, driving the rapier through its neck. The blade lodged in bone. She yanked, but it stuck fast—
A smaller goblin leapt at her back, tongue aimed for her spine.
The cat pounced, intercepting midair. They crashed into the dirt, a tangle of claws and venom. Astris abandoned the rapier, snatching Miles's dagger from her boot. She spun, burying the blade in the goblin's skull. It collapsed, twitching, as she wrenched her rapier free.
Panting, she backed toward the altar. The remaining goblins hesitated, their glowing eyes flickering with primal calculation. The cat joined her, its fur matted with grime but unscathed, a goblin's ear dangling from its jaws like a macabre trophy.
"Ready for round two?" she muttered, though her arms trembled.
*****
The Leclair dining hall shimmered with opulence, its vaulted ceilings strung with celestial tapestries depicting Cybele's lionesses devouring the stars—a reminder of divine dominion. King Einar sat at the head of the obsidian table, his silver goatee catching the sapphire glow of mana-lit chandeliers as he dissected a slab of duskwolf venison. Queen Nayeli, draped in a gown of liquid shadow stitched with constellations, sipped wine from a goblet shaped like a dragon's skull, her eyes sharp as she observed her children. Prince Jace sketched absently on a parchment, his charcoal smudging storm clouds into existence, while Princess Inaya nibbled candied dungeon moss, her raven hair cascading over opulent silk.
Zaiden leaned back in his gilded chair, swirling aetherium wine in his cup, when the vision struck.
Astris, knee-deep in Thornbrook's razorleaf underbrush, her ink-smudged face illuminated by the sickly green glow of a venom-tongue specter. The creature burped smoke, and she cursed, swatting at it with Miles's dagger. The silver cat—his cat—pounced on the specter's translucent head, batting it like a toy. Zaiden snorted, the sound slicing through the hall's decorous hum.
"Share the jest, Zirana," Nayeli purred, her Vesselbond magic threading the shadows around her voice into a command.
Zaiden waved a dismissive hand. "Merely imagining Jace's latest masterpiece—a storm cloud swallowing the palace, perhaps?"
Jace flicked charcoal dust at him. "At least my storms stay on parchment."
The retort died on Zaiden's tongue as the vision twisted.
Glowing eyes in the dark. Astris's rapier glinting, her breath ragged as venom-tongue goblins swarmed. Black blood sizzling on her cloak. The cat's yowl, the Spire's growl—
Zaiden's chair screeched against the floor as he stood, his goblet clattering. The family froze.
"Zaiden?" Einar's voice was steel wrapped in velvet.
He didn't answer. The hall blurred as he strode toward the arched doors, his pulse a war drum.
"Zirana!" Nayeli's shadow stretched unnaturally, snagging his wrist. He wrenched free, the contact ice-cold.
"Let him go," Einar said, low and warning. "His theatrics bore me."
Zaiden's sword, Eclipse's Kiss, hung in the hallway—a blade forged from a fallen star's core, its hilt inlaid with dragon bone. He snatched it, the weapon humming with latent fury.
Zander Valin, his personal guard, materialized from the shadows, shaggy hair tousled and leathers askew. "Your Highness, what—?"
Zaiden shouldered past him, boots echoing on moonstone stairs. The rooftop terrace awaited, open to the sky, its balustrades carved with leaping wyverns. The night air bit his lungs, the horizon trembling with the Spire's dissonant hum.
He raised Eclipse's Kiss, its tip catching the moonlight—a signal.
The roar shook the heavens.
Vyrinth descended, her scales the color of smoldering embers, wings spanning wide enough to blot out stars. A Pyreclaw dragon, last of her brood, her bond to the Leclairs sealed in blood and fire when Zaiden was a boy. She landed with a tremor that cracked the terrace stones, her molten eyes narrowing.
"Vyt kyn," Zaiden hissed—fly fast in the Draconic tongue.
Vyrinth's growl rattled his bones as he vaulted onto her back, her spines slicing his palms. Below, Zander skidded onto the terrace, shouting. Zaiden ignored him.
The dragon surged upward, her wings carving the sky. The palace shrank, its spires like needles, as Zaiden leaned into the wind, Thornbrook's silhouette a jagged scar on the horizon.
Behind him, the Spire's growl crescendo—a sound not of anger, but hunger.
*****
The razorleaf forest closed in like a cage of blades, moonlight fracturing through serrated leaves that cast jagged shadows over Astris's battered form. Her breath burned in her lungs, each gasp laced with the acidic tang of goblin venom and the metallic bite of her own blood. The cat—now more shadow than silver—paced at her heels, its mismatched eyes darting between the advancing horde and the looming rockface at her back.
"Run," she hissed, though the command was as much for herself as the feline.
She bolted, boots skidding over moss-slick roots, the goblins' guttural clicks erupting into frenzied shrieks. They surged after her, claws scrabbling against bark, their phosphorescent eyes smearing the dark like drunken fireflies. Astris wove between razorleaf trunks, the forest's razor-edged foliage snagging her cloak, slicing thin red lines across her arms. The cat darted ahead, its tail a beacon as it leapt over a fallen log veiled in bioluminescent fungi.
There—a gap in the rockface, a narrow crevice hidden beneath a curtain of thornvine. She lunged for it, rapier slashing through the vines. The goblins faltered, hissing as the thrones recoiled, dripping milky sap that sizzled where it struck their oily hides. Astris plunged into the crevice, the walls pressing close, the air thick with the damp stench of lichen and decay.
The passage opened into a cavern, its vaulted ceiling studded with glowing crystal shards—raw dungeon essence, humming with unstable energy. For a heartbeat, she dared hope. Then the eyes appeared.
Dozens of them, amber and slit-pupiled, glowing from the cavern's depths. A low, rumbling growl shook the ground, and the creature emerged: a duskstalker, its sinewy body twice the size of a duskwolf, fur the color of charred bone, and jaws lined with serrated fangs that dripped venom. A native apex predator, Thornbrook's logging songs warned, born of dungeon corruption and hungry for mortal flesh.
The goblins spilled into the cavern behind her, their venom-tongues lashing. Astris pivoted, rapier in one hand, Miles's dagger in the other, the cat a snarling blur at her side.
"Trapped between a horde and a horror," she muttered. "How original."
The duskstalker lunged first, a black bolt of muscle and malice. Astris rolled, the dagger scoring a shallow gash along its flank. The cat leapt onto its back, claws sinking into matted fur, but the beast shook it off with a roar. The goblins seized the chaos, surging forward. Her rapier danced, severing tongues and limbs, but their numbers were endless.
Above, the sky split with a thunderous roar.
*****
Vyrinth's wings carved through the night, the dragon's ember scales glowing like molten lava as she hurtled over Thornbrook's jagged canopy. Zaiden clung to her spines, Eclipse's Kiss strapped to his back, his mind aflame with fractured visions: Astris cornered, bloodied, the duskstalker's jaws snapping—
"Vyt kyn, Vyrinth!" he snarled. The dragon's answering roar shook the stars.
The Spire's growl reverberated beneath them, its sentient unrest syncing with Zaiden's pulse. Below, the forest blurred—a tapestry of shadow and blade. He glimpsed the cavern's glow through the trees, felt the dissonant hum of dungeon crystals.
Too slow. Always too slow.
*****
The duskstalker swiped, its claws shearing through Astris's cloak. She stumbled, pain lancing her shoulder, and the cat pounced, raking the beast's nose. It recoiled, giving her a heartbeat to drive her rapier into its foreleg. Black blood sprayed, acrid and burning.
The goblins pressed closer, their tongues lashing like whips. Astris parried, her arms screaming, but a barbed tongue grazed her thigh. Venom seared through her veins, and she faltered—
An infernal screech tore through the cavern.
The cavern trembled as Vyrinth descended, her talons—each as long as a man's arm and forged in the volcanic crucibles of the Pyreclaw Peaks—slammed into the rockface with tectonic force. Stone shattered like glass, fracturing into a storm of debris that rained down in jagged shards. The dragon's scales, molten ember edged with obsidian, pulsed with inner fire, casting hellish light across the cavern and igniting the dungeon crystals embedded in the walls. Their unstable energy flared in response, bathing the chamber in a kaleidoscope of violent violets and searing blues.
Astris threw herself sideways as the entrance collapsed, the cat scrambling beneath a ledge. Vyrinth's wings, vast enough to eclipse the moon, folded with a thunderous snap as she landed, her serpentine tail lashing and obliterating a cluster of venom-tongue goblins into smears of sizzling ichor. The dragon's roar was a physical force—a sound that seemed to tear reality itself, reverberating through the Spire's roots deep below and shaking loose cascades of gravel from the cavern ceiling.
Zaiden leapt from her back before the dust settled, Eclipse's Kiss ablaze with starlight. The blade, forged from the heart of a meteorite and quenched in dragon's blood, hummed with celestial fury. Its edge, etched with Draconic runes that glowed like trapped supernovae, cut through the goblin horde as though they were parchment. Limbs and tongues flew, black blood hissing where it struck the crystals, their corrosive venom eaten away by the sword's purifying light. The stench of charred flesh and ozone filled the air, a nauseating testament to the blade's lethal elegance.
The duskstalker, a grotesque amalgam of dungeon corruption and primal hunger, whirled toward the dragon. Its amber eyes, slit-pupiled and fever-bright, narrowed in recognition of an older, deadlier predator. Vyrinth's molten gaze met the beast's, her jaws parting in a snarl that exposed fangs dripping with smoldering saliva. The duskstalker lunged, a blur of matted fur and serrated claws, but Vyrinth struck faster. Her jaws snapped shut around the creature's spine with a crack that echoed like a mountain splitting. The sound rolled through the cavern, followed by the wet rip of sinew and the dull thud of the duskstalker's corpse hitting the stone.
Vyrinth shook her massive head, flinging gore across the walls, then turned her attention to the remaining goblins. A low, rumbling growl built in her throat—a sound that promised annihilation. The creatures froze, their primal instincts overriding bloodlust, before scattering into the shadows like roaches.
Zaiden stood amidst the carnage, Eclipse's Kiss still glowing faintly, his chest heaving. The dragon's fiery breath cast his silhouette in stark relief: a prince carved from shadow and starlight, his expression unreadable save for the faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Above, the Spire's growl swelled—not in anger, but in grim approval.
The cavern's fractured crystals cast prismatic light over the carnage, their hum syncing with the Spire's distant growl—a dissonant hymn to Lismore's unraveling balance. Astris sagged against the damp stone wall, her breath ragged, the cat weaving around her legs like a silver shadow. Zaiden stood before her, Eclipse's Kiss now sheathed, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as shards of obsidian.
"Your Highness," she rasped, the title laced with equal parts gratitude and venom.
He smirked, flicking goblin blood from his blade with a practiced twist. "You're welcome."
Astris pushed off the wall, wincing as her wounded thigh protested. The cat leapt onto her shoulder, its tail flicking Zaiden's cheek in passing. She limped toward the collapsed entrance, where moonlight spilled through the rubble, but paused as Vyrinth's massive head lowered into her path. The dragon's nostrils flared, hot breath stirring Astris's hair, her molten eyes narrowing to slits.
For a heartbeat, the cavern stilled.
Then, cautiously, Astris raised a hand. "Thank you," she murmured, her fingers brushing the scales between Vyrinth's brows. The dragon's hide was furnace-warm, vibrating with a deep, resonant purr that shook pebbles loose from the ceiling. "Magnificent creature."
Vyrinth snorted, a plume of smoke curling from her nostrils, and nudged Astris's palm with a scaled muzzle—approval, or perhaps amusement.
Zaiden crossed his arms, one eyebrow arched. "She's never let a stranger touch her. Not even Jace, and he brings her sweets."
Astris shrugged, stepping around the dragon. "Maybe she recognizes a kindred spirit."
"Or a fool," Zaiden muttered, falling into step beside her as she picked her way through the debris. "Where are you going?"
"Away."
He caught her arm, his grip firm but not ungentle. "What were you doing out here, drafter? Summoning specters? Practicing amateur theatrics?"
She wrenched free, her glare as sharp as her blade. "None of your business, prince."
"It is when my dragon has to save you from your own recklessness."
"Your dragon?" Astris scoffed, gesturing to Vyrinth, who watched them with the detached interest of a goddess observing mortals. "She's no one's pet. And I didn't ask for your help."
Zaiden leaned in, his voice a low growl. "Yet here I am. Curious, isn't it?"
Before she could retort, a horn blared in the distance—deep, resonant, and unmistakably Thornbrook. Dame Corinne Briarwood's militia, responding to the dragon's roar.
Zaiden groaned. "Cybele's teeth. If she finds me here—"
"—you'll have to explain why the Crown Prince is skulking around razorleaf forests instead of sipping aetherium wine," Astris finished, a smirk tugging her lips. "You should go."
He didn't move. "You're coming with me."
"I'll find my own way."
"Through goblin-infested woods? With that leg?" His gaze dropped to her bloodied thigh. "You'll be carrion by dawn."
She bristled. "I've survived worse."
"Not tonight." In one fluid motion, he scooped her into his arms, ignoring her indignant yelp. The cat hissed, leaping onto Vyrinth's back as if claiming a throne.
"Put me down!"
"You can either ride with dignity," Zaiden said, hauling her toward the dragon, "or I'll tie you to Vyrinth's tail. Your choice."
Astris glared but ceased struggling, her pride warring with pragmatism. "This doesn't make us allies."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, vaulting onto Vyrinth's back and pulling her up behind him.
As the dragon surged into the sky, Astris's fingers clenched the scales beneath her, the wind whipping her braid into a frenzy. Below, Thornbrook's torches flickered like earthbound stars, Dame Corinne's shouts lost to the roar of wings.
Zaiden glanced back, his smirk triumphant. "Hold tight, drafter."
"Don't flatter yourself," she shot back, but her grip tightened.
Above them, the Spire's growl deepened—a promise, or a warning.