The streets of Lismore's Lower Ward were never truly silent, but tonight the Spire's growl had dulled to a low, uneasy rumble, as if even the ancient structure slumbered. Mana-lamps flickered weakly along the cobblestones, their cerulean light diluted by a creeping mist that smelled of damp moss and distant lightning—a remnant of the afternoon's mana storm. Astris trudged past shuttered storefronts, her stomach gnawing itself hollow. The tavern she sought, The Gilded Goose, lay just beyond the iron-smith's quarter, its promised lamb stew and spiced cider the only thoughts cutting through her exhaustion.
She tightened her grip on her satchel, the grimoire inside thumping faintly against her hip. Like a second heartbeat, she thought bitterly. The truth gem around her neck had thrummed nonstop since her meeting with Millie, its rhythm syncing with the Spire's growl in a way that made her teeth ache.
Ahead, the mist thickened. Shadows pooled unnaturally in the alley mouth to her left, and Astris paused, her breath frosting in the chill. A sound—there—like the scrape of a boot on wet stone. She turned, squinting into the gloom. Nothing but the jagged silhouette of a crumbling tenement and the glint of a stray cat's eyes before it vanished.
"Jumping at phantoms," she muttered, forcing a laugh that died in her throat.
She quickened her pace, boots echoing too loudly. The tavern's sign—a chipped Goose clutching a tarnished coin—swayed into view, its mana-lit wings casting fractured gold across the mist. Salvation.
Then—another scrape. Closer.
Astris spun, her pendant flaring crimson against her chest. Lies. Danger. The spire's shard seared her skin, its pulse frenetic. Before she could react, figures materialized from the mist—tall, hooded, their cloaks stitched with threads that drank the light. Six of them, maybe more, encircling her with the precision of wolves.
"Lost, little drafter?" hissed one, his voice warped by a mask of polished onyx. The Celestaviel sigil—a wyvern holding a dagger—glinted on a pendant at his throat.
Astris backed toward the tavern, but a seventh figure blocked her retreat, his gloved hand flicking a vial of murky liquid. The air soured with the scent of voidbloom, a dungeon flower that drugged the mind. Her vision blurred.
Astris lunged sideways, but a cloth soaked in that same cloying stench clamped over her mouth and nose. She thrashed, clawing at the arm that pinned her, her pendant's chain snapping as it tangled in her fingers. The world tilted. Shadows yawned.
Celestaviel's sigil, she registered dimly, the pendant clattering to the cobblestones. Zaiden's betrothed. Cassis's people.
The spire's shard flared one final time, searing her palm with a warning—or a plea—before the voidbloom's sweetness dragged her under.
*****
The Midnight Trench was a scar on the ocean's face—a miles-deep chasm where bioluminescent eels writhed like cursed constellations and the air reeked of sickly brine. Zaiden crouched behind a jagged outcrop of black coral, his scarred hands glowing faintly from the Echohold magic simmering beneath his skin. Beside him, Collan Doran leaned against a barnacle-crusted boulder, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee that defied the damp chill. The Commander's Glowmarks pulsed softly on his armor, stardust symbols mapping out ambush points only he could see.
Vyrinth, last of the Pyreclaw dragons, circled overhead, her ember-scaled body rippling with heat that warped the air. Her overcast shadow, moving like a wraith in the moonlight across the gagged coral of the reef. Echohold magic, the bond between her and Ziden a taut, fiery thread in his mind
Collan Doran leaned against a barnacle-crusted boulder, steam curling from his ever-present coffee mug. "Still think this'll work?" he muttered, hazel eyes flicking upward as Vyrinth's wings stirred the mist into spirals. "Or did you drag us here just to show off your lizard?"
Zaiden's jaw tightened. "She's not a lizard."
"Could've fooled me," Collan grinned, nodding to Vyrinth's talons, which gleamed like molten iron as she gipped the edge of a cliff. "Bet Astris prefers cats. Less… flammable."
Zaiden stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Collan snorted, his laugh echoing too loudly in the trench's hollow silence. "Sure. That's why your cat follows her like a lovesick pup." As if summoned, Zaiden's silver-furred familiar slunk from the shadows, tail flicking dismissively before vanishing again. Collan grinned. "Face it, princeling. You've got a type: sharp tongues and sharper minds."
Before Zaiden could retort, Zander materialized beside them, his dagger humming in its sheath. "Save the flirting for the ballrooms," he growled, nodding toward the horizon.
A ship emerged from the mist—a hulking silhouette with sails stitched from leviathan hide, their iridescent scales glinting under the fractured moonlight. But it wasn't the vessel that stole Zaiden's breath. Escorting it were three leviathans, their serpentine bodies coiling through the waves, bioluminescent spines casting an eerie green glow that turned the water translucent. Kaufmann's mark—a kraken inked in voidbloom dye—rippled on the ship's hull.
Zaiden's Echohold magic flared, and Vyrinth banked sharply, her roar shaking coral loose from the trench walls. The leviathans turned, sensing the greater predator.
"Plan's the same," Collan barked, his Glowmarks flaring as he signaled Rainer and Cora's teams hidden along the cliffs. "Disable the leviathans, board the ship, and—"
A deafening roar split the air. One leviathan lunged, not at the ship, but into the trench wall. Coral shattered, and the cliff beneath Rainer's perch crumbled. The Captain vanished in a cloud of debris, his pristine uniform swallowed by the frothing waves.
"Rainer!" Cora's voice cut through the chaos, her clairvoyant gaze wide with panic. She lunged forward, but Sloan yanked her back as another leviathan's tail whipped overhead, smashing a boulder into shrapnel.
Collan's Glowmarks flickered—a crack in his confidence. "They're not escorts," he snarled. "They're hunters."
Zaiden's scars burned as he unleashed his Echohold magic, a thunderous roar announcing the incoming devastation. "Vyrinth! The ship—!"
The dragon dove, ember scales igniting into a comet's trail. Her jaws snapped around the nearest leviathan's spine, boiling the water to steam. The beast thrashed, its death scream echoing through the trench, but Vyrinth hurled it aside, her talons carving molten gashes into the next.
"Show-off," Collan muttered, though relief edged his voice.
The spy-cat reappeared, yowling as it darted toward the vessel. Zander followed, blade singing, but the third leviathan surged from the depths, its maw unhinging to reveal rows of serrated teeth.
"Move!" Collan tackled Zaiden aside as the beast crashed down, their armor scraping against coral. The Commander's coffee mug shattered, the scent of bitter grounds mixing with blood.
"You're welcome," Collan rasped, Glowmarks flaring anew as he marked the leviathan's weak spots. "Now quit gawking and help me gut this overgrown eel!"
But Zaiden's gaze snagged on the ship. Through the fray, he glimpsed figures on deck—not Kaufmann's thugs, but soldiers in Celestaviel silver, their wyvern pendants glowing. Cassis's people.
The Midnight Trench had become a maelstrom of chaos. Bioluminescent plankton swirled in the churning water like drowned stars, their glow illuminating the Celestaviel soldiers' silver armor as they rained hell from the ship's deck. Zaiden ducked behind a jagged spire of coral, and an oversized shadow came into view. Vyrinth descended and deflected a volley of arrows fletched with gryphon feathers. But it wasn't the arrows that froze his blood—it was the cracks that split the air, sharp and alien, followed by bursts of searing blue light that scorched the rocks where his head had been.
"What the hell are those things?!" Zaiden roared, his Echohold scars blazing as another bolt grazed his shoulder, leaving a smoldering welt. Vyrinth was already moving. She swept low, wings beating back the mist, and bathed the deck in fire. Soldiers scattered, their screams lost in the inferno.
Collan crouched beside him, Glowmarks flickering erratically as he marked the soldiers' positions. "No gods-damn clue!" he shouted, lobbing a dagger with lethal precision. It buried itself in a rifleman's throat, but three more took his place. "Never seen weapons like that outside a dungeon's nightmares!"
The rifles were grotesque masterpieces—sleek barrels of blackened steel etched with Celestaviel's wyverns and crescent moons, their stocks inlaid with pulsating mana-crystals. Each shot unleashed a projectile wreathed in cerulean flame, hotter than dragon's breath. Cora's clairvoyant scream pierced the din as a bolt seared past her ear, singing her mullet. "They're aiming for the Glowmarks!" she warned, hurling a pouch of hex salt. It exploded in a soldier's face, his screams swallowed by the leviathans' roar.
Zander, meanwhile, had become a shadow among shadows. He scaled the ship's hull, daggers silent in his grip, as the leviathans' thrashing masked his ascent. On deck, he slipped into the captain's quarters, where ledgers bound in wyvern hide lay scattered. A rifle rested against the wall, still humming with residual heat. He slung it over his shoulder, grimacing at its unnatural weight.
Back on the cliffs, the battle turned dire. A leviathan's tail slammed into the water, sending a tidal surge that knocked Collan into Zaiden. The prince faltered, and a rifle's bullet punched through his thigh. He crumpled, cursing, as Collan dragged him behind cover. "Stay down, you idiot!" the Commander barked, but Zaiden's glare was feral.
"They're still out there!"
As if summoned, the water beneath the ship erupted. Rainer Vain surged from the depths, drenched and snarling, his immaculate uniform torn but his dagger gleaming. He plunged it into the nearest leviathan's eye, the beast's shriek vibrating through the trench. "Move!" he ordered, his voice raw but cutting through the chaos. "The hull's compromised—the ship's sinking!"
The vessel groaned, timbers splintering as seawater flooded the hold and flames consumed the deck, the sails ablaze. Celestaviel soldiers scrambled for lifeboats, their discipline shattered. Zaiden limped forward, Vyrinth circling to herd and snare a fleeing officer. "Capture them alive!" he ordered, though his gaze lingered on the rifle in Zander's grip—a weapon that shouldn't exist.
Collan's Glowmarks flared gold as he corralled prisoners, his humor gone. "Where's the fun in alive?" he muttered, but his hands trembled as he bound a soldier's wrists. The man's pendant—Cassis's wyvern—glinted mockingly.
Zander tossed the rifle to Cora. "New toy for your collection."
She caught it, grimacing at the mana-crystal's hum. "This isn't Celestaviel's work," she said, rubbing her scar. "This is dungeon craft. Hybrid tech."
Rainer wrung seawater from his gloves. "Kaufmann's Leviathans. Celestaviel's rifles. And us in the middle." He spat. "Filthy."
As the last of the ship vanished beneath the waves, Zaiden stared at the captured soldiers—their silver armor dulled, their defiance brittle. The rifle's secrets weighed heavy in Cora's hands, and Rainer's survival felt less like victory and more like a warning.
Somewhere in the trench's depths, a leviathan's mournful cry echoed. The Spire's growl answered, hungry and hollow.
*****
The Hall of Celestial Whispers was a jeweled cage. Moonlight streamed through stained-glass windows depicting Celestaviel's wyvern queens, their jeweled eyes glinting as if judging the nobles below. Princess Cassis Voclain stood amidst the glittering throng, her emerald gown itching like a burlap bag. Across the room, her brother Corin laughed too loudly, his copper curls bouncing as he regaled parliament lords with exaggerated tales of his failed wyvern bond. The air reeked of roasted peacock and hypocrisy.
"—and the contract's third clause simply must address dungeon tariffs," droned Lord Drystan, his breath sour with spiced wine. Cassis nodded absently, her fingers brushing the silver-and-bone wyvern bracelet on her wrist—a twin to the one she'd given Astris.
It burned.
A searing pain lanced up her arm, the bracelet's wyvern skull glowing crimson. Astris. The binding she forged in secret—a lifeline, a promise—now screamed danger.
Cassis dropped her champagne flute. Crystal shattered, the sound slicing through the orchestra's waltz.
"Your Highness?" Drystan frowned, his wyvern-scale brooch catching the light like a predator's eye.
"Excuse me," she breathed, already moving.
Vadim materialized at her elbow, his chestnut braid swinging as he matched her stride. "Cousin," he drawled, though his wolfish grin faltered at her pallor. "Stealing a dance with someone livelier?"
"Not now."
Queen Isolde intercepted them at the arched doorway, her moonstone ring glinting. "Cassis, the Galli Oracle wishes to—"
"Wedding jitters!" Vadim announced, slinging an arm around Cassis's shoulders. The nobles tittered. "You know how brides are—all doom and lace."
Isolde's smile tightened, but she stepped aside.
Cassis's chambers were a storm of discarded silk and flying leather. Vadim leaned against the doorframe, tossing a dagger lazily. "Astris?"
"The bracelet only burns if she's—" Cassis choked on the word, yanking on her wyvern-stitched boots. "Move."
He caught her arm, his calloused palm warm. "Guards on the south stair. Take the servant's passage."
They slipped through hidden corridors lined with ancient tapestries of wyvern battles, the air thick with dust and dread. Below, the stables loomed—a cavernous vault where Celestaviel's winged mounts nested in bioluminescent moss. Valor, Cassis's silver wyvern, snapped his jaws at their approach, his psychic bond flooding her mind with urgency.
Danger. Blood. Hurry.
"My lady!" A guard stumbled forward, spear raised. "The king forbids night flights—"
Vadim disarmed him with a sweep of his boot, pinning the man with a grin. "Tell Uncle Drystan we're eloping."
Valor lowered his massive head, and Cassis vaulted onto his back. Vadim swung onto his own wyvern, Nyx, her obsidian scales blending with the shadows.
"Where?" he shouted as they surged skyward, the castle shrinking below.
Cassis clutched the bracelet, now ice-cold. "Lismore."
The stars blurred as Valor dove into the cloudbank, Cassis's braid unraveling in the wind. Somewhere ahead, Astris waited—and with her, a truth that could shatter kingdoms.
As they vanished into the storm, the Galli Oracle's prophecy echoed unheard in the hall: "The Whisperer's heart will chain both beast and crown—and the chains will break."