Chapter 39 Esme
ESME
In the hours following Anees’s shocking announcement, the kingdom of Draethys seems to have transformed—from the secluded haven of dragons to a nest of aspiring conquerors. The dome above the city echoes with their roars, emboldened by his empowering speech.
Brynn and I crouch behind a chimney stack on the Bellatorium's roof. The northern turret casts just enough shadow to keep us hidden.
“What was that?” Brynn finally whispers, breaking our stunned silence.
I peer over the edge. Dragon lieutenants parade through cobblestone streets, recruiting fighters with promises of glory. “Reclaim what was stolen!” one shouts, his voice carrying up to our perch. “The skies will burn with our vengeance!”
My chest tightens. “Dayn failed,” I murmur. “He never claimed the throne.”
“Is he dead?” Brynn's eyes widen.
I shake my head slowly, clinging to the hope that my instinct is accurate. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I’d have somehow sensed him dying, given our blood bond.”
“Pretty sure?”
“As certain as I can be.” My voice catches. I study my sister's dirt-streaked face, her singed hair. “You okay?”
Brynn laughs bitterly. “Should’ve stuck to my scrolls. At least they don’t try to set me on fire and deliver a monologue about vengeance.”
I smile. Classic Brynn. Always retreating to her tomes when the world gets messy. I used to mock her for it, but now I understand. Reality keeps hitting us like waves, no chance to breathe before the next one crashes down.
And now that reality is war.
“But you had no choice but to step out of the library, right?” I ask, studying my sister's face. “Corvin, Director Reinhardt, they summoned you.”
Brynn's jaw tightens. “For the trials. Corvin wants every Salem he can get his hands on.”
My stomach knots at the word. Nothing comfortable ever follows when Darkbirch speaks of trials. “You started to explain before everything went to hell—”
“They're planning to summon Dominic Merlin's Ide.”
I swallow hard. The Ides… Merlin’s Ide. I’d heard rumors that we may someday need that kind of raw spiritual power to defend ourselves. But it was only a theory. A madness in practice, for so many reasons.
“Are you sure?” I murmur.
“You heard me. Darkbirch wants to summon the Ide of Dominic Merlin. The only Ide whose identity we’re aware of that we can reach out to,” Brynn says. “The trials are meant to—”
“Yes, I know the story of Dominic Merlin and the trials.” I wet my lower lip.
But that is the grueling stuff of nightmares.
And the risks? It could get all of us killed or worse.
There’s no telling how the Ides might react.
We don’t even know if Merlin’s Ide is conscious enough to listen, let alone cooperate.
I exhale slowly, the pros coming to weigh against the cons in my head.
“It's suicide,” Brynn says, “but I’m not sure what alternative we have at this point. If dragons attack in force, our grid couldn't withstand it. Not even if it was at full capacity.”
Silence falls between us.
“We might trade one apocalypse for another,” Brynn murmurs. Then her body goes rigid. “Wait—” She sits up suddenly, trembling. “Do you feel that?”
I do.
Death’s familiar chill working its way through my body. A familiar tremor of spiritual presence. Of family. Between us, faint as a wisp but still recognizable, is Helena. Our great, great, great grandmother. She sits cross-legged, her attention fixed on the dragons parading below.
My breath catches. “The darkblood warding, it's gone. He did it.” A half-laugh escapes my throat as I reach toward Helena's spectral form. “Our blood magic, our spirits, they're back.”
Brynn leans forward. “Helena? Do you... hear us now?”
Helena's gaze shifts to us, her eyes ancient pools. “Yes,” she whispers. She gestures toward the streets with a ghostly hand. “While they prepare for bloodshed, they fail to notice...”
“Notice what?” I press.
Her expression hardens. “The coming annihilation.”
“She's speaking clearly,” Brynn observes, eyebrows raised.
I lean closer. “Is Esther with you? Has she recovered?” The thought of my grandmother's guidance makes my heart race. Despite my mixed feelings toward her, her power could be an easy escape route.
Helena's spectral lips press into a thin line, her eyes narrowing at my question.
And a flicker of recent memory surfaces in me.
When Dayn and I shared blood in the depths of Heathborne, I swear one of his memory flashes, inadvertently shared with me, showed a woman who looked very much like her.
The long, perhaps once-copper hair, the sharply cut cheekbones…
“Are you listening?” Her voice sharpens. “Destruction approaches.”
“I hear the words,” I admit, “but not their meaning.”
Her form flickers. “Find Dayn.” Her eyes bore into mine. “I was blind before, but now I see. Betrayal surrounds you. Chaos. Lies.” She leans forward, her form brightening. “The dragon king is your only hope.”
My pulse hammers. I've been fighting these exact thoughts since I first met Dayn—thoughts that contradict everything Darkbirch drilled into me about dragons, about the Blood Wars, about who I'm supposed to be. Yet hearing Helena say it makes the impossible sound inevitable.
“I need to find Dayn?” I whisper.
Helena's form brightens. “Only you two together can prevent what comes. Only you and Dayn.”
“But why us? It makes no sense.”
“You must complete your union. Then, it will.” Her smile flickers with her fading form until she vanishes completely.
And I’m left staring after her. Union… what?
“Come on,” Brynn says suddenly. “We need to go.”
Yes, we need to go. But my feet feel rooted to the spot, like I’m standing at a crossroads.
Two paths now stretch before me. The familiar shadows of my past or… Dayn’s fire—wild, consuming, and utterly beyond control.