The air in the rebel hideout was thick with the stink of unwashed bodies and despair. Davina's hands were white-knuckled as she channeled her magic, the image in the scrying crystal sharpening into a horrifying clarity. Through the eyes of the crow, they saw the Livian Grand Hall in all its gilded, fucking glory.
Then Edward Sayar's voice, booming and smug, echoed through the crystal and into their grim reality.
"...spiking the public water reserves... wolfsbane and vervain..."
The people exploded.
"Those fucking bastards!" Rikke roared, his massive werewolf frame shaking with rage as he backhanded a wooden crate, splintering it. "They're not just starving us out, they're poisoning the goddamn wells!"
"I'll rip out their fucking throats and drink them dry!" Anya shrieked, her fangs bared, eyes burning with a vampiric fury.
"And walk right into their crossbows, you idiot?" Michael snarled, stepping into the center of the chaos, his face pale. "That's the whole fucking point! It's a provocation! They want us to charge out there so they can cut us down!"
The room devolved into a shouting match of curses and panic. But Hope, who had been staring silently, went utterly still.
"Shut up!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the noise like a whip. Everyone froze. She pointed at the crystal, at the ornate fountains spraying water in the Livian courtyard. "You think this is just about the wells? You blind fools look at the recently failed hunts its no coincidence . They poisoned the source. The Silverthread and every fucking stream that feeds from it."
The new, deeper horror settled over them like a shroud.
"The animals…" a young witch whispered, her face crumbling.
"Yes, the animals!" Hope yelled, her composure breaking. "The deer, the rabbits, the goddamn fish in the river! Their blood is poison. Their flesh is poison. The wolves can't hunt shit, and we can't drink from anything with a pulse! They haven't just blockaded us. They've turned our entire territory into a fucking poisoned plate. There is no food. There is no water. There is nothing."
A crushing, hopeless silence followed. It was the silence of a death sentence.
Into that void, Davina spoke, her voice raw but clear. "Then we're not fighting for our homes. We're fighting for our last, fucking breath." She looked at Michael, her eyes hard. "We take the fight to them. Now."
Michael looked at the starved, desperate faces around him and gave a grim, resigned nod. "She's right. We have absolutely nothing left to fucking lose—"
The air next to Hope crackled with violent energy. A jagged tear in reality, stitched with threads of gold and absolute black, ripped open behind her.
"What the hell—?" Hope gasped, turning.
A shimmering, chaotic tendril shot out, wrapped around her waist, and yanked her backward into the void with a sound like shattering glass.
The rift snapped shut.
The district was left in stunned silence, the crystal ball showing only empty space where their leader had stood.
—
The air in the Ancestry had grown thin and cold, the very light seeming to bleed out of the false sky. On the ground, Dove and Keith writhed, their bodies locked in a violent, silent transformation. Dove's fingers clawed at the dirt, his joints cracking audibly as they twisted, a pained whimper escaping his throat. Keith was worse; his back arched at an impossible angle, a low, guttural growl rumbling from his chest as his canines elongated past his lips, sharp and deadly.
Macy knelt between them, her hands hovering uselessly, tears cutting clean paths through the grime on her face. "Please!" she begged, turning her head to the two remaining grandmother ancestors, their forms flickering with weak light. "You have to help them! You have to stop this!"
The ancestors exchanged a look of profound weariness. "The magic he used is ancient... a perversion of creation itself," one said, her voice like the rustling of dead leaves. "To reverse such a spell, to anchor their souls back to their original forms... the cost is immense. Our power is not what it was."
"Then take what you need from me!" Macy cried, pressing her bloody palms together in supplication.
"It is not a matter of source, child, but of focus," the other grandmother intoned. "We can muster the strength to save one. Not both. The chaotic energy fighting to claim them is too strong. You must choose."
Macy's breath hitched, her eyes darting between her two friends. Dove, who had always been all sharp edges and sharper wit, now looked terrifyingly fragile. Keith, the steadfast soldier, was being unmade into a beast. "I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I won't. Choose one to live and the other to... to become that? I can't make that decision."
"Then the magic will decide for us," the first ancestor said, her tone final. "But know this: this aid is not given freely. The one who is pulled back from the abyss will owe us a favor. A debt to be called upon when we require it."
Macy stared, a fresh wave of horror washing over her. "I can't agree to that on their behalf! I can't sell one of their futures to save them!"
"Then you condemn them both," the grandmother replied, her gaze pitiless.
A ragged, torn sound escaped Macy's lips. She looked at Dove's contorted face, then at Keith's pain-wracked body. She gave a tiny, defeated shake of her head. "Just... just help them. Please. Whatever the cost, we'll face it later. Just don't let them be lost."
The ancestors nodded in unison. They floated over the two transforming boys, their shimmering hands extending. "The magic will choose the soul with the strongest will to cling to its original form."
They began to chant, a low, harmonic drone that made the air vibrate. Tendrils of silver light, weak but determined, shot from their fingertips, encircling first Dove and then Keith, probing like a surgeon's needle seeking a foothold.
Macy watched, her heart hammering, as the silvery light encircled the two of them.
The air atop the Onyx Mountains was sharp enough to draw blood, not that Silas would notice or care. He landed with a flourish, his golden-feathered mantle settling around him like a monarch's cape. The cave entrance before him was a jagged scar in the mountainside, promising perfect, beautiful isolation.
"Feels a bit familiar, doesn't it?" the Shadow purred, a welcome itch in the back of his mind. "All that magnificent power, and you're still just a boy looking for a dark hole to stash his new toys in."
"Toy store," Silas corrected, a wicked grin playing on his lips. "I'm building an empire, not a nursery. There's a distinct difference in scale and splendor." He strode into the cavern, his void-black eyes instantly piercing the gloom. And there they were. Three orbs, pulsating with a soft, rhythmic light, nestled in a cradle of ancient ash and bone.
"You know," the Shadow drawled, "it occurs to me you've been dreadfully lonely since you so dramatically exited stage left. You should summon an audience. A herald. Someone to bear witness to your glorious return. It's so terribly dull performing for an empty house."
Silas paused, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across his face. "A herald... what a perfectly delicious idea."
But as he approached the nest, the theatrics fell away. He knelt, the hard stone yielding to his presence. For a single, unguarded moment, he was just a boy in a place that felt unnervingly like home. His fingers, which had so recently unraveled a soul, traced the smooth, warm surface of the nearest egg with a terrifying gentleness.
"Hello, my darlings," he whispered, the words a secret for them alone.
He uncurled his fingers. El's last sacred flame, which had burned in his palm like a captive star, drifted down. It touched the heart of the nest and erupted—not in destruction, but in a silent, breathtaking bloom of creation. The cave walls vanished in a blaze of liquid gold and silver. The eggs glowed, becoming translucent, revealing the small, perfect creatures curled within. Then, a symphony of soft cracks filled the air as the shells surrendered.
Three tiny dragon hatchlings, scales the color of twilight, obsidian, and molten dawn, tumbled into the world. They were no bigger than his hands, blinking great, intelligent eyes. They stumbled over each other, chirping and mewling, their gazes locking onto him with instant, primal recognition. They scurried forward, nuzzling his boots, climbing his robes with tiny, needle-sharp claws, butting their heads against his hands demanding affection.
"Well, well," the Shadow chuckled. "It seems you've inherited El's maternal instincts along with her brood. How... unexpectedly nurturing."
Silas didn't turn. He didn't break his gaze from the three little lives now irrevocably claiming him as their own. He simply raised his other hand, fingers snapping with the force of a thunderclap.
The air screamed. A vortex of gold and black energy spiraled open beside him, and Hope was unceremoniously dumped onto the cavern floor. She landed in a crouch, gasping, her hand flying to the dagger at her hip, her eyes wild with shock and disorientation.
"What the hell—? Silas?!"
She was on her feet in an instant, rushing forward to throw her arms around him in a fierce, desperate hug. He stood rigid, one hand still absently stroking the dawn-colored hatchling now perched on his wrist. After a beat, he gave her a single, patronizing pat on the back.
"Hope, darling. So dramatic. Did you miss me?"
She pulled back, her hands gripping his arms, her eyes searching his changed face, his opulent clothes, the absolute, chilling void in his gaze. "How are you alive? They said Corbin killed you! We all believed it!"
"Belief is such a fickle little thing," he dismissed with a theatrical wave. "Now, do catch me up. Tell me my beloved rebellion hasn't done anything utterly, suicidally stupid in my absence."
The relief on Hope's face hardened into her trademark defiant scowl. "It's the water, Silas. They poisoned everything. The streams, the animals... there's no clean blood, no safe meat. It's a death sentence."
Silas raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused. "And?"
"And—we decided to take the fight to them. Today. My father agreed. We have nothing left to lose."
Silas threw his head back and laughed, a rich, cruel sound that echoed off the cave walls. "Oh, that's priceless! A starving, weakened mob charging the fortified seat of the Witch Government! It's not a battle plan, it's a poetry of stupidity! I'd expect that sort of brutish thinking from a vampire. Tell me your dear, dull father is the mastermind behind this glorious farce."
Hope's jaw tightened, her eyes flashing with rebel fire. "No. It was Davina's idea."
The laughter died in his throat. The playful light in his eyes snuffed out, replaced by a cold, sharp dread. "Davina," he repeated, the name a curse.
He looked down at the hatchlings now nibbling on his sleeves, then back at Hope, a new, terrifying calculation in his expression. In one swift, decisive motion, he gently gathered the three little dragons and deposited them into her arms.
"What are you doing?"
"Your Babysitting," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned to the cave entrance and raised a hand. "Praesidium Ignis Aeternum!"
A wall of shimmering, golden energy, woven through with threads of chaotic black, erupted across the mouth of the cave, sealing them inside a formidable, protective dome.
Hope stared at the barrier, then down at the dragons now curiously getting a plan.
"Since I'm in an uncharacteristically generous mood today, it seems not a single one of my former playthings is going to die." Silas said, already floating back towards the center of the cave. He gave her a final, chilling smile over his shoulder. "Do try to keep my children alive, Hope. I've grown rather fond of them."
And with that, he shot upward, passing through the barrier as if it were mere mist, and vanished into the sky—a streak of gold and darkness heading straight for the coming slaughter.