Chapter 5 Dayn
DAYN
Mornings in Draethys carry their own strange rhythm.
The dawn casts no warmth across my skin as I navigate the underground pathways with Anees at my side.
My brother walks closer than necessary, his eyes finding mine every few steps with poorly concealed wonder, as though confirming I'm not some apparition that might dissolve into the shadows between one heartbeat and the next.
“A lot has changed since you left,” he says.
Before us, one of the main streets stretches out, its cobbled pavement lined with obsidian statues of our beloved ancestors. Above, the domed ceiling glows orange in the light of countless torches, warding off the surrounding darkness.
“That much I could see for myself,” I reply dryly.
“All recent dragons that were born down here… they’re different.”
I raise an eyebrow. “How?”
“Not drastically, but enough to notice. We simply don’t have the space, brother,” Anees explains.
“Even those of us who remember the surface feel the effects of this underground life. In dragon form, we’re excellent at short bursts and weaving through tight tunnels, but our muscles have atrophied.
Without proper conditioning, long flights are out of the question. ”
“It makes sense.”
“Which is exactly why many resist the growing talk of returning above,” he continues. “How can we hope to conquer the land if we can’t survey it from on high without nearly fainting? How can we intimidate the magicals, clearbloods, and darkbloods if every long flight leaves us gasping?”
I whip my head around so fast my neck cracks. “Do any believe we’d stand a chance?”
“Mostly among the elders and some younger dragons. But dissenting voices grow daily. Draethys is bursting at the seams, and the surface lies in ruins. They say there’s no better time for dragons to reclaim it.”
“Have I not made clear what’s waiting up there?” I mutter.
I should have known reason wouldn’t sway these hardened minds. When I left, they vowed to spend eternity below. Time has passed, the inevitable stirs—and they still lack any nuance.
“You have,” Anees admits. “But they don’t care.
Our numbers have swelled, and the clearbloods and darkbloods are at war.
They think now is the perfect moment to strike.
” He exhales a heavy sigh. “Brother, I’ve been their voice of peace.
Holding your council seat gave me authority, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved you’re back. ”
“I’m a relief?”
“You understand the surface. I’m counting on you to bring them back to reason.”
I shake my head and turn right, slipping into one of the alleys that ring the military institute—a vast complex of more than a dozen flight halls and training grounds, a museum, and an entire floor devoted to molding the intellect of our future dragon army.
I never tire of the intricate reliefs carved into its walls, each panel capturing moments from our history even before the descent into Draethys.
One could spend a day studying these murals, learning how we once stood as gods. Once. Not anymore.
“The world above has changed,” I say to Anees. “They’ve become vicious, inventive, relentless. You know how they tapped into my essence—imagine what the magicals could do with wounded dragons. If they shoot one of us down, I’ve already shown how that can spark an entire military program.”
Anees nods, grave. “I know. We can’t just march upstairs and claim what was ours.”
I steer us deeper into shadow, aware of the curious glances we draw. To many, I’m a stranger; to others, the prodigal son returned, as my brothers joke. But I catch every hushed whisper and the flicker of doubt in their eyes.
“What does Father think about the emergence?” I ask.
“He’s on the fence.”
“On the fence? I expected him to be all in,” I mutter, bitter. “From the moment we arrived and Mother unfurled her plans to build this city, Father insisted it wouldn’t last.”
Anees sighs. “Time passed, new dragons were born, hope returned—until Mother died—”
“I know. I was there,” I interrupt sharply.
“And you left less than a week later, Dayn. Arrynth, Byzu, and I were left to pick up the pieces. Father never healed. He sulked, raged, burned down anyone who crossed him, then finally reflected. Mother’s belief in balance rubbed off on him.”
“She valued balance, as I do,” I say. “I left hoping to find a way to achieve it.”
“In the meantime, Father stayed and ruled. His mind softened. Still, the intelligence you brought back about humans worries him. Neither he nor I believe that sheer numbers and size alone will restore our supremacy.”
“It might win it for us, but not keep it. Yet we’re speculating.”
If the darkbloods share Esme’s resolve, they will pose a brutal challenge. I’ve seen the clearbloods at war—and despite their rivalries, they might unite against dragons, viewing us as the common enemy.
Bond or no bond, I know exactly where Esme’s loyalty lies. I don’t want to battle her, though part of me aches to probe her limits—push her until she unravels, lashes out, and reveals the ruthless survivor beneath her calm facade.
“Who else on the council supports the emergence?” I ask Anees.
“House Braynor and House Rogon are almost unanimous,” he replies.
“Figures. They eat, sleep, and breathe war. I’ll wager Colonel Rogon is bored stiff teaching drills at the institute,” I say, nodding toward the building as we round another corner and reach its southern wall. “That old hawk would sooner burn the city to ashes than die of old age.”
“Byzu’s in favor, too,” Anees adds. “Arrynth? I’m not certain. He drifts whichever way the wind blows.”
“Byzu’s itching for combat; it’s been centuries since his last clash, and I’ll grant he’s fierce. But bloodshed won’t solve our problem.”
“Maybe our brethren can be swayed.”
“They have to be, Anees. What good is reclaiming our land if half our people perish on the journey?”
“Fair enough…”
The institute’s southern face lies mostly in darkness.
Only a few lamps illuminate the alley here—this is the rear exit, the emergency route in case of an attack.
It spills into side streets that fan across the city and feed three separate evacuation tunnels.
Over generations, our ancestors carved these corridors, ever fearful we might one day flee Draethys.
Fortunately, that day never came. But if humans learn of us, everything could change.
“We can’t let our brothers become liabilities,” Anees says, meeting my eyes. “They admire you, Dayn. You’ll need to bring them around.”
“I agree,” I shrug. “Tonight I’ll call a closed family meeting.”
“And you must deal with the darkblood,” he insists.
“What deal? She’s mine. We’re bound. End of story.”
“You know it isn’t that simple.”
“I could make it that simple,” I fire back, stopping to face my brother directly. “She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered. She’s reacting to my essence in ways I never imagined. And right now, Esme is in pure survival mode. She needs time to acclimate.”
My brother inclines his head. “Esme Salem. Of all the darkbloods you could’ve brought back—”
“It had to be a Salem,” I cut in. “Their lineage carries a unique magic. We all remember that, and it likely explains her current condition. Besides, fate practically dropped her at my feet. I’d have been a fool to turn her away. We need her.”
“My concern is Father’s,” he replies. “He fears she could wreak unspeakable havoc if she lives. Several councilors agree.”
I feel heat rise in my veins, but I keep my posture straight and voice steady. “No harm will come to Esme. An attack on her is an attack on me, crown prince and all. I trust even our critics grasp the consequences.”
He nods. “I’ve warned them. As much as he despises this, Father will back your decree.”
I know he hates it. Our history with the Salem witches is a tangled web of alliances and betrayals. But Esme… she’s in a league of her own. Whether it’s our blood bond or my respect for her lethal prowess, she haunts my every thought. Staying away from her? Impossible.
We round a corner and freeze at the sight of long shadows before us. We pivot to see Sema of House Braynor, flanked by younger dragons who could pass as his cousins. I’ve never liked him.
“I thought that was you, Daynthazar,” Sema drawls, a sneer twisting his face. “I smelled that darkblood stench from streets away.”
“Sema,” I reply coolly, “I assumed avoiding you at last night’s feast made my feelings clear.”
“Gentlemen, what brings you to the institute?” Anees interjects with a diplomatic smile, ever the peacemaker.
Sema towers over most dragons of Draethys—formidable in open flight, though his wings are weaker these days. In tight quarters, I’d stand the better chance in dragon form.
Esme would already be summoning a shadow wisp to settle this, I can’t help but think.
“I’m the guest lecturer for today’s combat seminar,” Sema announces with false pride, glancing at me. “Seems Lord Daynthazar, the half-blood, wasn’t even considered.”
“Half-blood?” I echo.
“Tainted,” he snarls. “Many question how draconic you truly are after your time in the world above.”
“Half-blood, perhaps,” I retort, “but still more dragon than you.”
He laughs, low and mocking. “Was she worth it, though? Defiling your own bloodline? At least make it a good story—tell me the lay was worth the scandal.”
Before I realize what’s happening, every shred of civility is gone. Sema barely has time to register me at his side before I drive my fist into his chest. The impact robs him of air; he wheezes and skids backward, feet clawing at the pavement but somehow keeping him upright.
I level him with a cold warning. “You’d do well to remember who I am.” Then I strike again. He twists away just in time from my first blow, boots scraping the asphalt, but he never sees the second punch coming. My knuckles flare orange—dragon fire ready to ignite a crippling hit.
“I’ll take you on anytime!” Sema snarls. “You’ve made fools of us all!” His words hang in the air a split second before my fist connects. I hear the sickening snap of ribs.
His cousins surge forward, hands balled, but a shadow streaks around them and cuts them off. Anees’s familiar scent hits me as he whips by—lightning fast, just like when we used to spar. It’s been too long since we trained together.
Before Sema can rise, I twist to land a final blow. His insult still burns in my blood, feeding the fire in my veins. Letting him live feels impossible. But Anees’s hand grips my arm. “ENOUGH!” he roars.
One of Sema’s cousins rushes to his side. “Sema!” Another shouts, “You’ll pay for this!”
Sema grunts, pressing a hand to his side where the cracked rib rebels against any movement. “The bastard… he got me.”
Anees straightens, voice cold. “I look forward to seeing you in court, gentlemen. Explain how you accosted the crown prince and his brother in broad daylight, and insulted us. Draethys has laws. Remember them.”
“Talk to your precious crown prince about the laws. He just tried to kill me,” Sema spits, pain shadowing his features.
I can’t resist a smile. “But I didn’t kill you. And for that insult, no one would have blamed me. Thank my brother for sparing you, and consider yourself warned, Sema.”
“Likewise, Lord Daynthazar. House Braynor does not forget.”
Anees’s lips curl. “You’ve certainly forgotten your manners. Leave now—and stay away, or Lord Bemmar will hear of your insolence.”
At the mention of our father, the Braynor dragons’ mouths tighten. Their eyes flick between us with more caution. Lord Bemmar’s iron rule still looms over this kingdom, despite growing dissent.
But the caution in Sema’s gaze isn’t for our father. It’s for my still-glowing fist. He knows I could finish him if I chose.
“Come, brother,” Anees urges.
“I’ll see you around, Sema,” I call over my shoulder, and follow Anees around the corner, leaving the Braynor vipers behind.
My years at Heathborne clearly led them to believe I'd gone soft.
The heat still radiating from my knuckles should correct that misconception.
Still, this complicates things. With Esme's darkblood essence now flowing through me and whispers already circulating, I can't afford questions about my authority. Not just as I’m about to delve deeper into Draethys’s increasingly concerning politics.