The night air screamed past them as Vyrinth ascended, her ember-scaled wings carving through the sky with a rhythmic whoosh that vibrated in Astris's bones. The dragon's body radiated heat like a forge, a stark contrast to the frigid wind whipping at her face. She clung to Zaiden's back, her fingers gripping the ridges of his armored coat, while the cat—now nestled in a hollow between Vyrinth's spines—glared at the prince with one amber eye, the other milky and unreadable.
Thornbrook Forest sprawled below, a sea of razorleaf canopies shimmering silver under the moon, their serrated edges slicing the sky into jagged fragments. The Spire's growl thrummed through the air, deeper here, as if the tower's roots coiled beneath the forest itself. Then Astris saw it: a pulsating glow, faint but unmistakable, emanating from a dense thicket. It pulsed in time with the Spire's vibrations—a sickly green radiance that seeped through the trees like poison.
"What in Cybele's name is that?" she shouted over the wind.
Zaiden followed her gaze, his smirk fading. "Trouble."
"You don't say."
Vyrinth banked sharply, circling lower. The glow intensified, revealing a clearing where the earth had split, a jagged fissure vomiting tendrils of dungeon essence into the air. The substance—a viscous, iridescent mist—coalesced into shapes: half-formed specters, writhing roots, the skeletal outlines of creatures not yet born.
"Convergence leakage," Zaiden muttered. "The Spire's fractures are spreading."
Astris's stomach lurched. "Can your dragon do anything about it?"
"Not without igniting the whole forest." He urged Vyrinth higher, putting distance between them and the fissure. "Your grimoire's full of forbidden rituals. Any ideas, drafter?"
"My grimoire?" She stiffened. "How do you—?"
"Please. That cat's been clawing your secrets loose for weeks."
The feline hissed in agreement.
Astris scowled. "Even if I did, you'd just mock it as 'amateur theatrics.'"
"Try me."
The dragon lurched as a gust of corrupted air surged from below. Astris's grip tightened, her nails digging into Zaiden's shoulder. "Easy," he chided, though his own knuckles whitened on Vyrinth's reins.
"Why do you even care?" Astris snapped. "Shouldn't you be hosting banquets or whatever princes do?"
"Shouldn't you be drafting contracts instead of summoning goblin nursemaids?"
"They were specters—"
"—and you were losing."
The cat yowled, its tail lashing as the Spire's growl crescendoed. The fissure's glow pulsed violently, and for a heartbeat, Astris glimpsed something within it—a massive, lidless eye staring back.
Zaiden cursed. "Hold on!"
Vyrinth surged upward, her wings beating furiously as the fissure erupted, spewing a geyser of essence that grazed the dragon's tail. The scales hissed where the mist touched, smoking faintly.
"You're welcome," Zaiden said drily.
"For what? Nearly getting us killed?"
"For the thrilling diversion. Admit it—you'd rather this than paperwork."
Astris rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a grudging smirk. The fracture's corrupted essence burst forth as tendrils of iridescent mist, solidifying into sinewy vines that lashed around Vyrinth's wings with terrifying sentience. The dragon roared, her ember scales darkening where the vines touched, their grip leaching her fiery vitality. Zaiden cursed, yanking the reins as Vyrinth bucked, her wings straining against the pull.
"Hold on!" he barked, but the command was futile. The vines dragged them downward, Vyrinth's talons carving furrows into the earth as they crash-landed in a clearing choked with bioluminescent fungi. The fissure's glow pulsed mockingly, its core now exposed—a sunken altar of blackened stone, its surface etched with runes that writhed like living things.
Astris stumbled from Vyrinth's back, the grimoire in her satchel humming in dissonant harmony with the altar. The cat leapt down, hissing at the vines that now coiled toward them, their thorns dripping with a viscous, mana-hungry resin.
"Zaiden—the runes!" Astris shouted, dodging a vine's lash. "They're Draconic, but twisted… like the Spire's language!"
He joined her, Eclipse's Kiss severing a vine that lunged for her throat. "Then read them, drafter!"
She pressed a hand to the altar. The grimoire's glyphs flared, and the runes ignited with spectral light, projecting a vision into the air:
An ancient Lismore, the Spire not yet built. A council of robed figures—Celestial Architects—channeling raw dungeon essence into a crystalline lattice, a prison for a primordial entity they called "The Devourer." But the lattice fractured, the entity's hunger seeping into the stone, birthing the Spire as a living, growing monument to containment… and corruption.
Astris recoiled. The vision shifted: herself, years younger, hunched over a dungeon core in the university's black archives, its energy flaring as she scribbled notes. The core's pulse synced with the Spire's growl—a resonance she'd dismissed as coincidence.
"You," Zaiden breathed, watching her past self in the vision. "Your experiments—they didn't just study dungeon energy. You fed it."
"I didn't know—"
"Ignorance doesn't unmake consequences," he snapped, cleaving another vine.
The altar's light intensified, the vines tightening around Vyrinth. The dragon's fiery breath sputtered, her scales dulling to ash-gray.
"The runes!" Astris hissed, frantic. "They're a lock… and a key. We need to reverse the flow—drain the altar's essence back into the fissure!"
Zaiden shoved her aside as a vine speared toward her. "Then do it!"
She flipped the grimoire open, her fingers trembling over a page titled Essence Reversal: A Gambit of Fools. Chanting, she pressed Miles's dagger into the altar's central rune. The blade glowed white-hot, the runes shrieking as the dungeon essence recoiled.
Zaiden slammed Eclipse's Kiss into the stone beside her, its starlight merging with the dagger's glow. "Together!"
The altar exploded in a burst of light. The vines withered, their hold on Vyrinth snapping as the essence retreated into the fissure with a deafening wail. The dragon roared, her scales reigniting, and launched skyward, leaving the clearing in ruins.
Astris collapsed against the altar, the vision's weight crushing her. The Spire's growl had changed—no longer a warning, but a recognition.
Zaiden hauled her to her feet, his grip unyielding. "You owe that dragon your life. And me."
She jerked free. "You think I don't know that?"
Above, the stars seemed to pulse in time with the Spire's heartbeat. The Devourer had tasted her. And it remembered.
The cavern's fractured crystals cast jagged shadows over them, their hum harmonizing with the Spire's growl—now a low, insistent snarl that vibrated in Astris's teeth. Zaiden loomed over her, his silhouette framed by Vyrinth's smoldering bulk, the dragon's molten eyes narrowed to slits as if savoring the confrontation.
"Why?" Zaiden demanded, his voice a blade honed by fury and something darker. "Mana Siphoning is forbidden for a reason. What could possibly be worth risking this?" He gestured to the ruined altar, its runes still smoking.
Astris crossed her arms, her spine rigid. "Academic curiosity. A passing whim. Take your pick."
"Liar." He stepped closer, the heat of his anger rivaling Vyrinth's. "That grimoire reeks of the Voidwell's stench. You're not scribbling notes—you're digging a grave. For who?"
She held his gaze, her pulse a frantic drumbeat. "Not everything revolves around your paranoia, princeling."
Zaiden's hand shot out, snatching her wrist. The wyvern bracelet—Cassis's cursed "gift"—glinted in the cavern's eerie light, its ruby eyes glowing faintly. "And this?" he hissed. "Still wearing her leash? Does it whisper sweet nothings from Celestaviel?"
Astris yanked her arm, but his grip was iron. "It won't come off. Believe me, I've tried everything short of amputation. Why do you care?"
"Because Cassis is a viper," he snarled, "and you're fool enough to wear her fangs."
"Says the man betrothed to her," Astris shot back, her voice dripping venom. "Shouldn't you be rehearsing vows? Polishing your crown? Or does haunting me count as royal duty now?"
Zaiden's jaw tightened. The Spire's growl surged, the walls trembling as another vision flickered in the crystals—Astris, younger and trembling, standing over a shattered dungeon core in the university's vaults. The Spire's first audible growl echoing through the chamber.
He stilled. "You woke it," he breathed. "Your experiments… you triggered the Spire's hunger."
Astris froze, the truth a barbed knot in her throat. "I didn't know—"
"Ignorance doesn't cleanse the blood," he cut in, his voice cold. "You owe Lismore answers. I owe it nothing less."
"You owe it a king," she spat. "Yet here you are, playing hero over a drafts-person's scribble. Does your bride know you're this invested in another woman's work?"
The barb struck true. Zaiden's grip slackened, his gaze flicking to the bracelet. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, drafter."
"Jealousy?" She laughed, sharp and brittle. "I'm not the one burning down forests over a grimoire."
Vyrinth growled, the sound reverberating through the stone. The Spire's snarl crescendoed, the crystals projecting another vision—The Devourer's lidless eye, its gaze locked on Astris, tendrils of essence reaching for her like skeletal fingers.
Zaiden released her, stepping back as if scalded. "Whatever you're planning… stop. Before it devours us all."
Astris rubbed her wrist, the bracelet's rubies pulsing in time with the Spire's heartbeat. "Or what? You'll chain me to your dragon?"
He turned away, his voice hollow. "If I must."
The cat, forgotten until now, leapt onto the altar and hissed, its mismatched eyes blazing. Astris scooped it up, her defiance a fragile shield. "Chain me, princeling. See how long it holds."
As she strode into the shadows, the Spire's growl shifted—a guttural chuckle.
The first peal of thunder cracked the sky like a whip, its reverberations shaking loose pebbles from the cavern's ceiling. Lightning followed, a jagged scar of white light that illuminated the clearing—now a mire of churned earth and withered vines. Vyrinth snarled, her ember scales flickering in the storm's erratic glare as she pawed at the ground, wings half-furled in defiance of the tempest.
"We can't outfly this," Zaiden shouted over the wind, his voice taut. "The downdrafts will snap her wings like twigs."
Astris squinted through the lashing rain. "And the militia?"
Another horn blast answered, closer now—a deep, brassy note that clashed with the Spire's growl. Torchlight flickered through the razorleaf trees, shadows of armored figures advancing. Dame Corinne Briarwood's voice carried on the gale, sharp as a whetstone: "Fan out! Secure the perimeter!"
Zaiden cursed. "If she finds us here, there will be no explaining this away."
Astris gripped the grimoire tighter. "The cavern. We'll wait it out."
He hesitated, then nodded, barking a command to Vyrinth. The dragon huffed, her molten eyes narrowing, but slunk into the cavern's mouth, her bulk scraping stone. Astris and Zaiden scrambled after her, the cat darting between their legs as lightning lashed the clearing behind them.
Inside, the air hung heavy with the tang of damp moss and the acrid residue of dungeon essence. Pulsing fungi clung to the walls, their faint blue glow pooling in the crevices of ancient runes. The Spire's growl reverberated through the stone, deeper here, as if the mountain itself were its throat.
Zaiden leaned against a slick wall, rainwater dripping from his hair. "Cozy."
Astris ignored him, shedding her soaked cloak. The wyvern bracelet on her wrist glinted dully, its ruby eyes dimmed. She knelt, rifling through her satchel for a mana-crystal shard to light, but Zaiden caught her wrist.
"No flames. Unless you want Briarwood's scouts to spot us."
She jerked free. "Then we sit in the dark?"
"We stay hidden in the dark," he corrected, his tone edged.
The cat, unperturbed, prowled the cavern's edge, its mismatched eyes reflecting the fungi's glow. Astris slumped against a boulder, the grimoire a cold weight on her lap. Thunder boomed again, the sound muffled by stone, but the militia's horns grew louder—closer.
As the storm raged, the cavern's runes began to pulse. Astris stiffened, her breath catching as a vision clawed into her mind:
The Spire's birth—a maelstrom of Celestial Architects chanting in a tongue now forbidden, their hands raised to a vortex of dungeon essence. The Devourer's eye, lidless and ravenous, glaring from the void as the lattice of containment sealed around it. But a fracture formed—a hairline crack, overlooked in their hubris… or perhaps allowed.
Zaiden's voice shattered the trance. "Drafter. Breathe."
She gasped, clutching her chest. The vision lingered, the Architects' faces morphing into her own, younger and fevered, scribbling equations by dungeon-light.
"What did you see?" Zaiden demanded, crouching beside her.
"What you already know," she whispered. "That I helped awaken it."
Before he could reply, the cat yowled. Near the cavern's entrance, a militia scout's boot crunched gravel.
Zaiden pressed a finger to his lips, drawing Eclipse's Kiss. Astris gripped Miles's dagger, her pulse roaring. The scout's torchlight wavered, casting grotesque shadows on the walls.
"Clear this sector!" Briarwood barked outside. "Check the fissure!"
The scout lingered, his blade scraping stone as he peered into the gloom. Vyrinth's growl vibrated low in her throat, a sound felt more than heard. The man froze, then retreated, muttering prayers to Cybele.
Zaiden exhaled. "Close."
Astris nodded, her shoulder brushing his. The contact was brief, electric. She pulled away.
Hours passed. The militia's horns faded, swallowed by the storm's fury. Vyrinth slept fitfully, her scales dimmed to coals. The cat curled atop Astris's satchel, purring as if mocking their plight.
Zaiden broke the silence. "That vision… the fracture was deliberate, wasn't it? The Architects wanted the Spire to hunger."
Astris stared at the grimoire. "They thought they could control it. Use its power."
"And you?"
She met his gaze. "I thought I could fix it."
Lightning flashed, illuminating the cavern's deepest recess—a half-buried mural of the Devourer, its tendrils strangling a constellation. The Spire's growl crescendoed, harmonizing with the storm.
Zaiden's voice softened. "You still might."
The admission hung between them, fragile as the fungi's glow.
Outside, the rain slowed. Dawn approached, its light feeble but persistent.
The Devourer, however, did not sleep.
Rainwater dripped from the shattered altar, pooling around relics long buried beneath centuries of moss and secrecy. Lightning split the sky again, its jagged arc striking the blackened stone with a deafening crack. The altar shuddered, its surface splitting to reveal a hidden staircase descending into the earth. The air hummed with the ozone tang of storm magic and the Spire's low, grinding growl.
Zaiden shot Astris a sidelong glance, rainwater glinting in his dark hair. "After you, drafter."
She scoffed, unsheathing her rapier with one hand and gripping Miles's dagger with the other. "Age before beauty, Your Highness."
He smirked but followed her down, their boots slipping on algae-slick steps. The chamber below was a crypt of Celestial Architect relics—tarnished astrolabes, crumbling scrolls, and a massive star chart etched into the floor, its constellations mirrored exactly in the stolen chart tucked in Astris's satchel. At the room's center stood a portrait, its colors preserved by enchantment: a Leclair ancestor, stern and silver-haired, clutching the same wyvern-bound grimoire Astris had stolen.
Zaiden froze. "That's… my great-great-great-grandsire. Arthain Leclair."
Astris stepped closer, her dagger's edge catching the lightning's afterglow. "The founder of the Spire's lattice. Your family's been hoarding secrets longer than I thought."
"Says the woman with a grimoire full of them." He gestured to the star chart. "Explain that."
She knelt, tracing the chart's etched lines with her blade. "It's a map of the Convergence. Arthain knew the Spire's prison wouldn't hold forever. He planned for this."
"Planned for what? A cosmic tantrum?"
"For this." She tapped a cluster of stars labeled The Devourer's Maw. "The Architects didn't just imprison it—they tied its binds to the Spire's heartbeat. And someone's been tugging the strings."
Zaiden crouched beside her, their shoulders brushing. "You think Arthain left a way to reseal it?"
"I think he left a mess," she muttered, but her tone softened. "But yes. If we can recalibrate the lattice before the Convergence…"
He studied her—the determined set of her jaw, the ink smudged like war paint across her cheek. "You've got a bit of… dungeon gunk. There." He gestured vaguely.
She wiped her face with a scowl. "Better?"
"Now you look like a charcoal sketch of yourself."
"And you look like a drowned palace rug."
The cat, having followed them, batted a moth-shaped mote of dungeon essence, its purr vibrating in the charged air.
Zaiden stood, offering a hand. "We'll need the palace archives. And wine. Mostly wine."
Astris ignored his hand but rose, her smirk reluctant. "I'll take the archives. You take the wine."
As they climbed back into the storm, dawn's first light gilded the horizon. The Spire's silhouette loomed, its growl now threaded with something new—anticipation, or recognition.
Zaiden glanced at her, his earlier mockery tempered. "You're… tolerable. For a librarian with a death wish."
She flicked rainwater off her rapier. "And you're tolerable. For a princely pest."
Vyrinth awaited them, her scales steaming in the rain. As they mounted, Astris's fingers brushed the grimoire, its pages whispering of Arthain's guilt and her own complicity. Zaiden's grip tightened on the reins, his voice barely audible over the wind. The dragon surged skyward, their laughter lost to the thunder, but the fragile thread between them held—thin, bright, and stubborn as starlight.