The next morning felt strangely fragile.
The tournament had paused for one day to allow healing and bracket reorganization—officially to "ensure fair competition and proper recovery." Unofficially, everyone knew it was because the first round had shaken something loose. Too many eyes had seen the corrupted lightning. Too many whispers had started.
Elara woke early, before the sun had fully cleared the eastern cloud banks.
Drakon was already awake, coiled loosely on the wide stone ledge outside the healer's wing balcony. His wounds had closed overnight, leaving only pale, faintly luminescent scars that would fade completely in another day or two. He lifted his head as she stepped out into the cool air.
You didn't sleep long, he observed.
"Enough," she lied.
She leaned against the balustrade beside him, arms folded on the smooth marble. Below them the academy sprawled in soft morning mist—bridges of light still dimmed, training fields empty, only a few early-rising pets and their partners moving like ghosts across the grounds.
The black feather she had kept was now tucked inside a small leather pouch at her belt. She could feel its wrongness even through the material, like a splinter of ice against her skin.
Footsteps behind her.
She didn't turn.
Kairos stepped up beside her, left arm still in a light sling, right hand resting lightly on Glacia's feathered head. The phoenix looked better—most of the char had flaked away, revealing fresh silver-blue feathers underneath—but she still held her injured wing slightly away from her body.
They stood in silence for a long minute.
Then Kairos spoke, voice low.
"I spent the night thinking."
Elara glanced sideways at him. "Dangerous habit."
A faint almost-smile touched his mouth.
"I think we have two problems," he continued. "One is immediate. Someone wants your dragon dead—or at least wants to prove they can kill him. Publicly. Spectacularly."
"The lightning yesterday," she said.
"Yes. But it wasn't just an attack. It was a message. They wanted everyone to see what they could do to a Verdant Dragon bond."
Elara's fingers tightened on the stone railing.
"And the second problem?"
"The second problem is longer-term." Kairos's gaze drifted across the academy spires. "They're not just after you. They're after the entire system of bonds. Every pet. Every human. The academy is the heart of it all—where the strongest bonds are forged, where the next generation of Pet Masters is trained. If they can break the trust here… they break everything."
Elara exhaled slowly.
"So we're not just defending ourselves," she said. "We're defending… everyone."
"Exactly."
She turned to face him fully.
"Then we need to stop playing defense."
Kairos met her eyes.
"I agree."
A quiet beat passed.
Then he added, almost reluctantly:
"I don't trust many people, Voss."
"I've noticed."
"But I trust you." He said it plainly, without flourish. "And I think you trust me—at least enough."
Elara studied his face. The cold prince mask he usually wore had cracked in several places since yesterday. Not gone. But cracked.
"I do," she said. "Enough."
He nodded once.
"Then tonight, after curfew, we go to the restricted archive wing. The one beneath the central spire. There are sealed records there—pre-academy, pre-empire. If anyone has written about a curse that severs or corrupts bonds, it will be in those vaults."
Elara's pulse quickened.
"That's forbidden. Even for royalty."
"I know."
"They'll expel us if we're caught."
"Probably."
She looked out over the academy again.
Then back at him.
"I'm in."
A real smile—small, fleeting, but real—crossed his face.
"Good."
Glacia trilled softly, almost approvingly.
Drakon rumbled in answer.
We will need more than the two of us, the dragon said privately to Elara.
"I know," she replied silently. "But we start here."
The day passed in a strange, suspended tension.
Morning classes were canceled. Afternoon training was optional. Most students spent the hours in the great hall or the dorm common rooms, dissecting yesterday's fights, updating betting pools, spreading increasingly wild rumors.
Elara avoided most of it.
She did make one stop.
Jax found her first.
He was waiting outside the healer's wing when she finally left to return to her dormitory.
Luna sat beside him, ears pricked forward, tail still.
Jax pushed off the wall when he saw her.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
They looked at each other for a long moment.
Then Jax rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm not going to pretend I'm happy about yesterday," he said bluntly. "Watching you fight beside him—watching him take that hit for you…" He trailed off, jaw tight. "It sucked."
Elara didn't flinch from the honesty.
"I know."
"But I also saw what happened," he continued. "That lightning wasn't normal. And the way he stepped in front of it…" Jax exhaled hard. "He didn't hesitate. Not even a second."
"No," Elara said quietly. "He didn't."
Jax studied her face.
"You're going after them, aren't you? Whoever sent that feather. Whoever rigged that fight."
She didn't lie.
"Yes."
He nodded slowly.
"Then I want in."
"Jax—"
"I'm not asking permission," he cut in. "I'm telling you. Luna and I are in. Whatever you and Ice Prince are planning—count us."
Elara searched his expression.
"You sure?"
"Very."
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Okay."
Jax gave a crooked grin—half relief, half nerves.
"Good. Because I already told Luna we're not sitting this one out. She would've bitten me if I tried."
Luna huffed in agreement.
Elara smiled despite everything.
"Then meet us tonight. After midnight. Shadow side of the central spire. Bring something dark to wear."
Jax raised an eyebrow.
"Stealth mission?"
"Something like that."
He nodded.
"See you at midnight, Voss."
He started to turn, then paused.
"And Elara?"
"Yeah?"
"Be careful with him."
She knew who he meant.
"I will."
Jax left.
Elara watched him go, feeling the weight of another thread pulling tight around her heart.
Midnight came cold and clear.
The academy bridges were dimmed to faint silver threads. Most windows were dark. Only the night patrols moved—senior students and their nocturnal pets gliding silently between spires.
Elara wore a dark hooded cloak over her uniform. Drakon had shrunk himself as much as his young dragon body allowed—now roughly the size of a large riding horse, wings folded tight against his back. He moved like a shadow made of emerald and night.
Kairos waited at the agreed meeting point, dressed in plain black, Glacia perched on his shoulder with her wings tucked small.
Jax arrived thirty seconds later, Luna flowing beside him like liquid darkness.
No one spoke.
They simply nodded to each other.
Then Kairos led the way.
Down a service stairwell, through a forgotten maintenance passage behind the library stacks, past wards so old they barely shimmered anymore. He knew exactly where to place his hand, which runes to press, which stones to avoid.
Finally they reached a narrow iron door carved with spiraling dragon and phoenix motifs.
Kairos placed his palm on the center seal.
It glowed faintly—royal blood recognition.
The door sighed open.
Beyond it, darkness.
And the faint, dusty smell of secrets too old to speak aloud.
Elara felt Drakon's awareness sharpen to a razor edge.
Something is waiting down there, he warned.
Kairos glanced back at them.
"Last chance to turn around."
No one moved.
He stepped through.
They followed.
The door closed behind them with a soft, final click.
(to be continued…)