Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Iwoke to Riven shaking my shoulder, her red hair damp with morning dew and her eyes sharp with alarm.
“Something’s happened,” she said, voice low but urgent. “Get up.”
My mind snapped into clarity before my body did.
Zander and I— We’d returned late last night, slipping back into the Ascension Grounds under the cover of dying moonlight.
The combat trials had ended, the adrenaline spent.
We ate in silence with the others, exhaustion clinging to our bones. No questions. No suspicion.
Just wariness.
We’d barely spoken a word when we reached the barracks. Everyone had collapsed into bed like corpses.
But now...
I dressed fast, heart already thudding. Riven didn’t explain further, she just waited until my boots hit the ground and then led me out the door at a clipped pace.
The morning mist hadn’t yet burned off, and the training rings were thick with unease. Squad members formed a half-circle around the main clearing, where a figure lay sprawled on the stone like a discarded shadow.
Dead.
My breath caught.
Black leather. No insignia. No armor. Just a glint of silver threading the seams—a pattern only visible to someone who knew what to look for.
I stepped closer, ice filling my veins.
I knew that uniform.
One of the Order’s assassins. Low-tier, if I had to guess or he wouldn’t be lying here. His throat was slit with no defensive wounds. It wasn’t a fight.
It was an offering.
Major Ledor stood over the body, face as cold as granite, his voice slicing through the morning air.
“The assassin responsible for Lady Belana’s death has been found,” he declared. “Let this be a warning. The Order will pay for their trespasses.”
It was a witch hunt. Rage flared in my chest.
I reached out through the bond. Zander…?
I know, he responded, his voice barely a whisper in my mind, but I felt the fury beneath it, a pressure like boiling water sealed in steel. I didn’t bring him here. I don’t know who did.
Across the circle, Major Ledor turned slightly, nodding toward Zander with a too-perfect smile. “We thank Prince Zander Rayne for aiding in the capture. His loyalty to the crown is, as always, admirable.”
Zander didn’t reply.
He didn’t need to.
I felt his anger bleed through the bond—quiet, restrained, dangerous.
The major stepped back and motioned distinctly. “Take the body. Burn it. The rest of you are dismissed. You’ll report to the dining hall immediately.”
Thrall Squad turned as one, silent and grim, our boots crunching over morning frost as we walked.
But the fire I saw in Zander’s eyes as we passed each other?
It wasn’t cooling.
Whoever planted that corpse had made a fatal mistake.
They thought they’d delivered justice.
But they’d just declared war.
On the Order.
The line for food crawled forward with all the enthusiasm of a funeral march. The dining hall buzzed with low conversation, most of it about the dead assassin and the major’s speech. Everyone was pretending to be fine. No one was.
I reached for a barely warm biscuit when a tap on my shoulder made me freeze.
I turned, half-expecting Riven or Naia with some half-baked joke, but—
“Quinn?” My brow rose. He looked paler than usual, like he hadn’t slept in days. “Hey.”
He shifted nervously and glanced over his shoulder. “Can I speak with you? Privately.”
That was never a good sign.
I grabbed two more biscuits on instinct, biting into one as I turned. “Let’s go.”
We slipped out the side entrance, the hum of conversation fading behind us as the air cooled and quieted. Quinn moved fast for someone with the posture of a scholar, his long legs carrying us toward the northern end of the compound.
Toward the tower.
The one where the warders lived and trained.
“What’s going on?” I asked, matching his pace.
“Another warder collapsed this morning,” he said quietly, eyes on the ground. “Same symptoms. Weak pulse. Cold skin. They’re not waking up as fast anymore.”
My stomach turned. “Poisoned?”
“In a way,” Quinn said, voice tightening. “It could be the pool. We’ve tried to stabilize it, but it’s not recovering like it should. Our defenses are weakening at an alarming rate.”
He hesitated, slowing near the stone steps leading into the tower’s base. “You need to warn the dragons. The elders won’t listen to me.”
I grabbed his arm, stopping him before he pushed open the heavy door. “Wait. Just tell me. What is the pool?”
He froze.
For a moment, all I could hear was the wind whistling past the towers.
Quinn looked me dead in the eyes.
“It’s what keeps the wards active.”
“Quinn,” I said carefully, keeping my voice low. “You said the pool keeps the wards in place. What does that mean? Explain.”
He glanced around before opening the door to the tower and pulling me inside. We moved into the dim corridor lit only by flickering crystal sconces along the stone walls. He didn’t stop until we were well past the entryway.
“The pool is... ancient,” he began. “It lies beneath the Warder Tower—far below the roots of the city. It’s not just a source of magic.
It feeds the wardstones, the barriers, even the bindings we cast over the mountains.
The symbiosis between warders and the pool is what keeps the protections alive.
But it’s dying, Ashe. And no one will listen. ”
I stared at him. “You’re saying the entire realm is protected by this thing, and it’s failing.”
He nodded grimly. “And if it collapses... everything collapses with it. The wards, the bindings, the protections around the Dragon Isle, the castle itself. We don’t just lose a wall. We lose everything.”
I didn’t hesitate. “I need Zander to see this too.”
Quinn hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. “Then meet me in my tower at midnight. Alone. The fewer who know, the safer it is… for now.”
“I’ll be there.” I turned to leave, grabbing one of the biscuits from my pocket as I walked. “Thanks, Quinn.”
By the time I reached the dining hall, most of the squad had already finished eating. I slid into a seat beside Naia, chewing slowly as I messaged Zander.
Zander. There’s a pool under the Warder Tower. A source of magic and it’s weakening. Quinn says if it fails, Warriath falls. We need to see it.
There was a pause before his response came, clipped and sharp. I’ve never heard of it. Why would my father keep this from me? There was a pause when I didn’t answer. We’ll go tonight.
The rest of the day was a blur of training. Sword drills, strength circuits, magic calibration. I tried to stay focused, but my mind kept drifting to the quiet warning in Quinn’s voice, the way his hands trembled when he spoke.
By dusk, I was exhausted. We ate. We cleaned up. And when the squad finally settled into bed, I faked sleep until the soft breathing around me said it was safe to move.
The moon was high—silver and watchful—as I slipped out of the barracks.
Zander was waiting at the base of the tower, his cloak drawn tight around him, arms crossed.
We didn’t speak. Just nodded once in sync.
A moment later, Quinn emerged from the shadows, his steps quiet, expression grave.
“This way,” he said.
And together, we descended into the dark beneath Warriath, where the truth pulsed, dying, beneath our feet.
The tunnel beneath the Warder Tower was narrow, barely wide enough for the three of us to walk without brushing against the moss-covered walls.
It twisted like a serpent; the path sloping gently downward with every step.
Cool, damp air clung to my skin, thick with the scent of stone and something older, something laced with magic.
The only light came from the blue-glowing crystal Zander summoned, the gentle pulse of it throwing shadows across the passage and catching the glint of ancient runes carved into the arching ceiling. They flickered faintly, as if sensing his presence.
“Quinn,” Zander murmured, voice quiet but commanding. “How far does this go?”
“We’re close,” Quinn said. But he didn’t meet Zander’s eyes.
After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel opened into a small cavern, round, naturally formed, with high stone walls slick with condensation.
At the center of the chamber, a pool stretched wide and still, glowing with an eerie, opalescent light.
Its surface shimmered like liquid moonstone, silver and sapphire and violet all swirling together.
But it wasn’t perfect.
Dark veins ran through the water like cracks in glass, thick, black threads that pulsed slowly beneath the surface, corrupting the beauty like ink dropped into wine.
Zander stepped closer, his voice almost reverent. “Is this it?”
Quinn nodded, but there was tension in his shoulders now, like regret had started to seep in. “Yes. This is the pool.”
Zander turned toward him. “Then tell us. Where did it come from? Why did your elders keep this secret?”
Quinn hesitated.
His eyes flicked to the pool, then to the runes above, and I saw it—the smallest tremble in his hands.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he whispered.
Zander’s brow furrowed. “Quinn—”
“It wasn’t meant to be seen,” Quinn said. “Not by anyone outside the bloodline of the warders. Not even the crown.”
I stepped forward, heart thudding. “Why? What are you afraid of?”
Quinn finally looked at me, and I saw the truth in his eyes.
Because something down here is unraveling. And no one knows how to stop it.
“Quinn,” I said, stepping between him and the pool, “we’re not here to expose your secrets. We’re here to save the realm.”
He looked at me as if he wanted to believe that, but fear was still thick in his gaze, coiled like a knot in his chest.
“If this pool fails,” I continued, “if your people keep hiding it while it corrodes beneath our feet, then we lose the war. And not just the battle at Warriath. Everything. Dragons. Riders. Wards. The entire realm.”
Quinn’s lips parted, his words caught behind the pressure of too many oaths. But after a moment, he exhaled, long and slow, as if he’d been holding his breath for weeks.