Chapter 27
brYNN
The ventilation shaft is a masterpiece of draconic claustrophobia.
It’s a horizontal stone throat, barely four feet wide, smelling of ancient dust and the metallic tang of recirculated heat.
I’m on my hands and knees, my satchel banging rhythmically against my hip, crawling through the dark with the grace of a frantic beetle.
Unfortunately, Byzu and Rogon are too weak to portal.
Directly behind me, I can hear the heavy, rhythmic rasp of Byzu’s breathing. He’s a big man—well, big dragon in a man’s skin—and he fits into this space like a cork in a bottle.
He’s also been offering unsolicited, on-and-off commentary since we entered the ventilation system.
“You know,” Byzu murmurs behind me, “I’ve been in a lot of dark, cramped places lately. But this one’s got the best view so far.”
I grit my teeth, my palms stinging as they scrape against the rough stone. “Keep your eyes on the mission, Byzu. Or better yet, close them. It’ll help you focus on not being the reason we get caught.”
I hear his slow exhale.
“Hard to close them, honestly… Such a tight fit.”
I stop and twist slightly to glare back at him. Cast in the dim light bleeding through a vent grate, he’s bruised and half-covered in dried blood, but male draconic arrogance is apparently indestructible.
He shrugs as much as the cramped space allows.
“Adrenaline does things to a man. And this shaft… really highlights assets.”
“My biggest asset right now is my patience,” I hiss, “and it’s a rapidly depleting resource. If you spend one more second analyzing the geometry of my backside—”
“I’m a dragon,” Byzu says. “We appreciate symmetry.”
There’s a low, irritated growl from behind Byzu—Colonel Rogon, bringing up the rear. Unlike his companion, he hasn't found the humor in being stuffed into a stone pipe.
“Quiet, both of you.” Rogon’s voice is a sandpaper rasp. “Every word you waste is a vibration Anees’s guards can track. Anees… that coward. To think he’d use those cells on his own blood. On soldiers who bled for his father. I’ll peel the crown from his head with my bare hands.”
My stomach clenches. Rogon’s anger is palpable, fueled by a sense of betrayed honor and a soldier’s pride. He’s thinking about revenge, about reclaiming his place, about a future that includes his family.
He doesn't know.
He doesn't know that his daughter, Raelle, is dead.
He doesn't know that his niece is also gone. He has no idea that Nyssa—the woman currently leading us through the dark—was a participant in that bloodshed. I can already picture it in my head: the moment the truth hits him. Something tells me it’ll be the kind of grief that levels mountains.
We can’t tell him. Not here. Not while we’re five inches away from being caught.
“Now’s not the time for a coup, Rogon,” I murmur back, my voice tight.
We continue in silence for several minutes, the only sound the faint scuff of our knees and the thud of our hearts. The air is getting hotter, suggesting we’re passing over a forge or a kitchen. Sweat trickles down my neck, making my glasses slide.
“Everything alright up there?” Byzu asks, his voice dropping to a genuine whisper, though the flirtatious edge remains. “You’re tensing up.”
I hold back a response as we reach a junction in the ventilation system. The shaft branches in three directions—left, right, and straight ahead. I pause, trying to orient myself.
“Which way?” I ask Nyssa in a hushed tone.
“Right,” she whispers. “That should lead toward the eastern exit.”
I start to follow her when Byzu's hand unexpectedly grips my ankle.
“Wait,” he says, suddenly serious. “Listen.”
We all freeze. In the silence, I hear it—the faint echo of voices and footsteps, coming from the right passage.
“Left,” Nyssa whispers, quickly changing direction.
As I follow her, the shaft narrows further, forcing me to navigate through a particularly tight section. Here, the stone seems older, more weathered.
Crack.
“Shit,” I hear Nyssa say, just as a chunk of stone crumbles beneath her, and a section of the floor gives way.
She scrambles for purchase, managing to catch herself on the edges, but chunks of rock tumble down, clattering loudly in the level below.
Silence follows for exactly one second. Then, the shouting begins.
“The vents in sector four!”
“Shit,” Byzu grunts. “So much for subtle.”
“Move!” Nyssa commands, swinging herself onto the other side of the gap. “The shaft ends twenty yards ahead! There’s a maintenance hatch!”
I stare at the gap between us, calculating. It's about three feet across—normally an easy jump, but the cramped space means I can't get a running start. I'll have to push off from a crouched position.
“Hurry,” Nyssa hisses, reaching out her hand.
I prepare to leap when Byzu's large hands suddenly grip my waist from behind.
“Allow me,” he murmurs, and before I can protest, he's lifting me bodily toward Nyssa until she grabs me and pulls me across.
There, I scramble forward, following her, fueled by pure, unadulterated adrenaline. My lungs are burning, the dust from the collapse clogging my throat. We’re moving as fast as we can, but I can hear the sounds of guards below, their boots rhythmic and fast. They’re tracking our movement.
I can feel the Ide in my head.
It’s been quiet since I last put it in the restricted section, but now, with my heart racing at two hundred beats per minute and my magic flaring in response to the threat, that door is shaking.
“Let me out,” it whispers. “You are weak. You are slow. I am the mountain. I am the dark.”
“No, you freak,” I wheeze, my vision blurring. “Stay... down.”
“Keep moving, Brynn,” Byzu grunts.
We reach the hatch. Nyssa kicks it open, and we tumble out into a small, dimly lit storage room. I hit the floor hard. I’m gasping for air, my hands shaking so violently I can’t even push myself up.
The exertion. The stress. The sheer, overwhelming terror of being hunted. It’s too much. My mental barriers are cracking.
I can feel the cold. It’s spreading from the center of my skull, out through my nerves, turning my blood to ice.
“Brynn, get up!” Rogon hisses, grabbing my arm to haul me to my feet.
The door to the storage room bursts open.
Standing there, framed by the light of the corridor, is Arrynth. He looks younger than Anees, his face more refined, but his expression is still lethal.
“Enough,” Arrynth says, his voice cold. “You’ve all caused enough trouble for one night. Step away from the darkblood.”
I’m on my knees, my head lolling back. I can feel the shadow rising… like it’s not just a passenger anymore. Like it’s a pilot.
A scream starts in the pit of my stomach, and it doesn't feel like my voice. It’s too loud, too high, a curdling, inhuman sound that vibrates the very air in the room. It’s like the sound of a void being torn open.
“Brynn?” Nyssa’s voice is stunned, fearful.
The shadows in the room begin to move, like they aren't just lack of light anymore. My skin feels like it’s being peeled back, replaced by something colder, something older.
I look up at Arrynth and I can feel his fear. It tastes like copper. It tastes delicious.
The Ide is hungry.
Everything goes black, except for the feeling of power. It’s a dark, oily tide, rising up to drown the girl who liked books and quiet corners. I’m gone. There is only the scream.