Chapter 6 Zyphon
SIX
ZYPHON
Midnight.
The western perimeter explodes into chaos.
Rurik’s fire lights up the night—not the full inferno he’s capable of, but enough to look like a serious assault. Dragon roars split the air as he and Drayke engage the first wave of defenders, their flames painting the darkness in shades of red and gold.
I move in the opposite direction, flowing through shadows that welcome me like an old friend. The guards near Nasyra’s cell are already running toward the commotion, their attention fixed on the fire and fury erupting across the camp.
Two sentries remain at her door. I take them silently—a tendril of darkness around the first one’s throat, pressure on the nerves until he crumples without a sound. The second turns at the soft thud of his companion’s body and meets my fist. His eyes roll back, and he drops.
The cell door yields to picks and shadow magic. The lock clicks open, and I slip inside.
Nasyra is already awake, pressed against the far wall with shadow-flame flickering in her palms. The chaos outside has her alert, ready to fight.
“You.” Her voice is hoarse but sharp. “How did you—“
“No time.” I keep my hands visible, my posture non-threatening. “I’m getting you out. Now.”
“Out?” She laughs, bitter and broken. “To where? Your Brotherhood? So you can use me the way Lakhu wants to?”
“To somewhere you’re free to leave whenever you want. Somewhere no one locks you in cells or hunts you when you try to walk away.”
Her flame wavers. I see the doubt warring with manufactured hatred, instinct battling against memory.
“I don’t trust you.”
“I know. But do you trust Lakhu?”
She flinches. Outside, another explosion rocks the camp—Rurik, by the sound of it, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“You don’t have to trust me,” I press. “You just have to decide which prison you’d rather occupy. This cell, or the chance to find answers on your own terms.”
Her jaw tightens. The shadow-flame builds, then—slowly, reluctantly—dies.
“If this is a trick—“
“Then you can kill me later. Right now, we need to move.”
The camp is pure chaos.
Dragons in human form pour toward the western perimeter, weapons drawn, responding to the assault. I grab Nasyra’s wrist and pull her in the opposite direction, toward the eastern edge where the shadows run deepest.
“Stay close. My shadows can hide us if—“
A guard materializes from behind a tent, sword already swinging. I shove Nasyra aside and bring up a wall of darkness to block the strike—
And her shadow-flame lashes out before I can finish.
The dark fire catches the guard in the chest, sending him flying backward into canvas. She didn’t think about it—the magic just responded, protecting us on instinct.
“I didn’t—“ She stares at her hands, surprised. “That wasn’t—“
“Later. Keep moving.”
We run. More guards appear—she drops two before I can reach them, her shadow-flame responding to threats with deadly precision. It’s like her magic knows what we need before she does, clearing our path, covering our escape.
A ward flares ahead of us, blocking the eastern exit. I reach for it with my shadows, preparing to tear it apart—
Nasyra’s hand touches my arm. “Wait.”
She closes her eyes. I feel something shift in her magic—not the destructive force she’s been wielding, but something subtler. Her shadow-flame reaches into the ward, finds its threads, and begins to unravel them with surgical precision.
The ward collapses. Silently. Completely.
“How did you—“
“I don’t know.” Her voice is shaky. “I could see it. The structure. The weak points. I just... pulled.”
Her unique ability—sensing and unraveling magic. It survived death. Survived resurrection. Lakhu wanted to use it against us; instead, it’s helping us escape.
“That’s useful,” I manage.
“Apparently.” She almost sounds amused.
We’re almost to the perimeter when Lakhu finds us.
He emerges from the shadows like a nightmare given form, flanked by guards, his beautiful face twisted with rage. Shadow magic builds in his palm—not fire, but something darker. Something that makes my own darkness recoil in recognition.
“Did you think I wouldn’t feel you?” His smile is poison. “Your shadows stink of my father’s work.”
I push Nasyra behind me. “Run. Find the dragons fighting on the western side. They’re with me.”
“I’m not leaving you to—“
“Touching.” Lakhu’s magic lashes toward us. “The weapon defending the monster. Do you even understand what he is, Fire-Bringer?”
I throw up a wall of shadows to block the attack—feel it shudder through my bones as his power meets mine. He’s strong. Knows every weakness, every vulnerability in the darkness I carry.
Then Nasyra’s shadow-flame joins my defense.
Not attacking—supporting. Her fire wraps around my shadows, stabilizing them, giving them an edge they’ve never had. The two magics move in unexpected synchronization, as if they remember something their wielders have forgotten.
Lakhu’s assault falters. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“Apparently it is,” Nasyra says, and there’s something fierce in her voice now. Something that sounds almost like the woman I remember.
A roar splits the air above us.
Rurik descends like a comet of red-gold fire, his dragon form blazing against the darkness. His flames rake across Lakhu’s guards, scattering them, forcing the prince to divide his attention.
Miss me? His voice crashes into my mind, bright with manic joy. Because I was getting bored on the other side. Not nearly enough things to set on fire.
Drayke follows, bronze scales gleaming, his fire cutting a path through the chaos. Between them, they’ve drawn the entire camp’s attention—leaving our escape route clear.
Go! Drayke commands. We’ll hold them!
I don’t argue. Grabbing Nasyra’s hand, I drag her toward the perimeter, tearing through the outer wards with brute force. Behind us, Rurik laughs—actually laughs—as he dives at a cluster of Shadow Clan dragons who scatter like startled birds.
Is he always like this? Nasyra’s voice in my head startles me. I didn’t know she could access the link.
Always. I pull her into the forest’s edge. Can you hold on if I shift?
She shakes her head. “I’m shaking too hard and I feel like I might pass out. It’s probably best to go on foot.”
“Our magic,” she says. “When we fought Lakhu together. It shouldn’t have worked like that.”
“No. It shouldn’t have.”
“Why did it?”
I hold her gaze—those mismatched eyes that have haunted me for centuries. “They share an origin. Both twisted by the same night. The same dark magic.”
“What night?”
The question hangs between us. I could tell her everything—the altar, her brother, the truth that’s been buried beneath Lakhu’s lies.
But she has to remember on her own. If I tell her, she’ll think it’s another manipulation.
“The night you died,” I say finally. “The night everything changed.”
She stares at me. I see the questions building—the fragments she can’t piece together, the truths hovering just beyond reach.
“You’ll remember,” I tell her. “When you’re ready. You’ll remember everything.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll still protect you. Still give you the choice Lakhu never did.”
Something flickers in her expression. Not trust—not yet—but something adjacent to it. The first crack in her certainty that hasn’t been filled with new hatred.
“I still don’t trust you,” she says.
“I know.”
“I might still kill you.”
“I know that too.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then, grudgingly: “Your brother—the loud one. Is he always that...”
“Annoying? Reckless? Determined to set things on fire?”
“I was going to say enthusiastic.”
“That’s a polite word for it.” I almost smile. “Yes. He’s always like that. You’ll get used to it.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll be around long enough to get used to anything.”
“Bold is all I have left.”
She snorts—an actual snort, surprised out of her despite everything. The sound catches us both off guard. For a moment, neither of us knows what to do with it.
“We should keep moving,” she says finally. “Before Lakhu regroups.”
“Agreed.”
We set out through the forest together—not allies, not enemies. Something in between. Something that might become either, depending on what she remembers.
But for the first time since she tried to kill me, I feel something that might be hope.