Chapter 35 - Arvoren

"No!"

The word tears from my throat like dragonfire as I watch Calliope plummet from the castle's edge, her form growing smaller against the inferno below. My wings strain as I try to dive after her, but three of House Draven's dragons block my path, their scales flashing silver in the firelight. Behind them, Ulric circles, his massive form casting shadows over the burning city.

Time seems to slow, crystallizing into a single, terrible moment: Calliope falling, chains glinting as they drag her down, her dark hair streaming upward like smoke. Then, she vanishes into the chaos below, swallowed by flame and darkness.

Something breaks inside me. Something fundamental and irreparable.

The rage that fills me is older than thought, deeper than draconic magic, deeper than even my bloodline, my life force. It burns through my veins like fire, consuming everything but the need to destroy.

My roar shakes the very foundations of the castle, and when I launch myself at the nearest dragon, my claws find purchase in softer scales, tearing through flesh and bone.

I barely register the creature's death scream as I throw its body aside. The other two try to flank me, but I'm beyond caring about strategy or survival. Fire builds in my chest, and I let it loose in a torrent that turns one dragon's wings to ash. It falls, spiraling into the darkness, its companion breaking formation to avoid the same fate.

"Brother!"

Ulric's voice carries even over the chaos of battle, taunting and familiar. He wheels above me, backlit by flames that paint his silver scales in shades of blood.

"Face me," he calls, voice distorted with his transformation. "Or are you still the coward who cried and cowered while our family bled to death in this very castle?"

Fury clouds my vision. I surge upward, all thought of defense forgotten as I slam into him with the force of a battering ram. We tumble through the air, claws raking, teeth snapping at throats. His tail whips around, trying to crack my spine, but I twist away, raking my claws down his flank.

We separate, circling in the air. Below us, Millrath burns, the lake reflecting our battle like a mirror of black glass. Dragons clash all around us, green fire mixing with red, lighting the clouds from beneath. The sound of combat rises from the streets—steel on steel, screams and orders, the thunder of feet on stone.

"You left me," Ulric snarls, diving in for another attack. "After they died, you abandoned me to your war, your vengeance, your precious throne—"

I meet his charge head-on, our bodies colliding with enough force to shake snow from the peaks.

"I protected you!" The words come out in a roar. "Everything I did was to keep you safe!"

"Liar!"

His jaws snap shut inches from my throat. I twist away, but his claws catch my wing, tearing through the membrane. Pain lances through me as we spiral together, locked in combat, falling toward the castle's highest tower.

The impact sends us both crashing onto the roof in a tangle of wings and scales. Stone cracks beneath us, and I feel the transformation take me as we roll apart—scales melting to skin, claws to fingers. Ulric changes too, and we scatter across the stone, scrambling to our feet to face each other as men once more, breath steaming in the cold air.

Blood runs down my arm where his claws caught me, but I barely feel it. All I can see is Calliope falling, falling, falling …

"You look troubled, brother." Ulric's voice drips with false concern as he circles me, drawing a long knife from his belt. The blade gleams in the firelight above. "Missing something?”

I launch myself at him with a snarl, but he sidesteps, years of resentment making him quick. It’s like we’re children again, fighting in the halls. Absurdly, I recall pulling his hair in the library when he stole the book I was reading. His knife flashes, opening a line of fire across my ribs. I catch his wrist before he can strike again, using my superior strength to force him back toward the roof's edge.

"What have you been planning, Ulric?" I demand through gritted teeth. "All these years in the shadows, what game have you been playing? You want my throne—you know you can’t take it. You know I’ll kill you. You know I’ll win.”

He laughs, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "Game? Oh no, brother. This is justice."

His foot hooks behind my knee. I stumble, and suddenly we're grappling at the roof's edge, the knife between us catching the reflected dragonfire from below. Ulric is smaller than me, but fury makes him strong. The blade inches closer to my throat.

"Justice?" I spit the word like poison. "You’re no revolutionary, don’t make me laugh. You ally with our enemies, betray your own blood—”

"My own blood?" The knife presses against my skin, drawing a thin line of heat. "Where was my blood when I needed it? When you left me to rot in the outer cities while you played at being king?"

"I was protecting our legacy!"

"You were protecting yourself!" His eyes blaze with a hatred that steals my breath. "Everything was always about you. The throne, the power, the glory—while I had nothing. Scraps from my brother's table."

Memory floods back unbidden: Ulric as a boy, watching me train with our father. The look in his eyes—not hatred then, but hunger. A desire to belong.

I must have hesitated, because suddenly his knife is gone from my throat and buried in my shoulder instead. Pain explodes through me as he twists the blade.

"I've waited years for this," he hisses, his face inches from mine. "The lords are coming, brother. By morning, they'll dance on your grave."

The pain centers me, focuses my rage. I grab his throat with my good hand, feeling scales ripple beneath my fingers as the change takes me again. "Then let them come."

We transform together, the roof crumbling beneath our expanding forms. His silver scales flash as he launches skyward, and I follow, my injured wing screaming in protest. We clash again in the smoke-filled air, our combat more vicious now, more personal.

His teeth find my neck, but I throw him off, raking my claws down his chest. Blood rains from our wounds, steam rising where it hits the snow-covered peaks. We're evenly matched —too evenly. Each blow landed is returned, each advantage temporary.

Finally, I see my opening. As he rears back for another strike, I slam into him from below, using my greater weight to drive him down. We crash through one of the castle's towers, stone exploding around us as we fall. At the last moment, I pin him against the rubble, my jaws at his throat.

One bite. That's all it would take.

But I hesitate.

Ulric’s scales glint beneath me, blood streaking from fresh wounds where my claws have torn through him. He struggles, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps, his silver eyes blazing with hatred and something that looks dangerously close to satisfaction. My teeth hover over his throat, a heartbeat from tearing his life away and silencing his treachery forever.

And I can’t do it.

A lifetime of blood ties, memories of our youth, our family, stay my hand. The force of my own fury almost overtakes me, hot and relentless, but somewhere deeper, a faint, flickering shadow of restraint holds me back.

He is my kin. The only family I have left. Now that Calliope is …

With a snarl of disgust, I release him, pushing off to stagger to my feet as I transform back to human form, my scales melting into skin, the cold air biting at my wounds. I stumble forward, barely glancing back to see him sprawled in the rubble of the East Tower, his chest heaving with pain and exhaustion. He isn’t dead—but for now, he won’t be a threat. I turn away, my vision swimming as blood from my shoulder wound trickles down my arm, every pulse a reminder of the brutal clash that’s just taken place.

“Calliope …”

The name is a prayer on my lips, a whisper that drives me forward. She fell from this very height. My mind races with visions of her body lost among the flames below, the chains dragging her down into shadow, but my heart refuses to accept it. She must have survived.

The shadows of the castle's halls close around me like an endless night, broken only by the flickering glow of fires raging beyond the stone walls, the broken windows. My own blood trails behind me, each step unsteady as I press forward, my ears ringing, mind clouded. It’s like moving through thick, stifling fog. Outside, the roar of dragons splits the air, accompanied by the clash of steel and the screams of soldiers locked in deadly combat. The sounds bleed into a hollow cacophony.

My vision wavers, blurring the portraits lining the cracked walls. The painted eyes of my ancestors and fallen kin watch me from within their frames, the ancient, regal faces seeming almost to move, as if they lean forward in judgment, their gazes cold, piercing. Arvoren , they seem to whisper, filling my mind with distant memories. I feel their disapproval, their accusations—for every decision, every life taken and spared, all of it leading to this ruin.

My pulse races, the bitterness of failure settling like iron in my stomach. What was all of this for? I wonder, barely aware of the muttered question escaping my lips.

Another image flickers into my mind, a face. Calliope. Her laughter ringing like music in these very halls, her eyes sharp and fearless as she challenged me on matters of life and loyalty, her passion burning through her every word.

I remember the warmth of her hand in mine, the quiet strength she never spoke of but always showed. And then I see her falling, the chains dragging her down, her dark hair a trail of smoke against the inferno below.

A breath tears from my lungs, sharp and pained, as the floor beneath me wobbles slightly and rights itself. My hands shake, coated in my own blood. My body feels distant, each heartbeat like an echo, dulled and slow. I don’t realize that I’m staggering until my shoulder slams into the wall beside me. The impact jars me, and I push off, pushing myself forward, deeper into the castle. The sounds of battle outside rage on, and yet it feels as if I am moving away from the chaos, into a silence that grows more eerie, more unnatural with every step.

The deeper I go, the darker it becomes. Shadows press close, and the fires from outside fade, swallowed by the castle’s oppressive darkness. A whisper reaches my ears, low and hollow, slipping through the silence like a cold wind.

I stop, my pulse hammering as I scan the corridor, searching for the source, but there is nothing except the empty hall.

Yet that feeling—that dreadful certainty that something is watching—crawls over my skin, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

I push onward, forcing myself to ignore the feeling. The shadows seem to shift, stretching like fingers across the floor, twisting as if alive. My steps slow despite myself as a chill fills the air, prickling my skin, sending a shiver deep into my bones. The silence becomes heavy, smothering.

And then, out of the darkness, shapes begin to emerge.

At first, I think they’re shadows cast by the firelight outside, figures of smoke and shadow weaving through the hallway. But as I draw closer, I realize that they are no mere illusions. Cloaked figures stand half-hidden in the darkness, their faces obscured beneath heavy hoods. The flickering light catches their eyes, glinting cold and unfeeling as they stare at me.

My mind jolts to awareness, grasping desperately for understanding as dread coils in my stomach. They are not warriors, nor creatures of flesh and blood. They move without sound, their robes stirring in an invisible breeze as they begin to close in, circling me, their presence heavy with malice.

Mages.

“What—who are you?” I snarl, stumbling back a step, my voice rough and strained. But the words sound small, muffled.

They do not answer, only raise their hands, and I catch a glint of steel in their grasp—chains, shimmering with an unnatural light, their links forged with runes that pulse with dark energy.

Power thrums in the air, filling the space between us. Before I can react, the cloaked figures chant, their voices a dark melody that wraps around me like a shroud.

The chains leap to life, surging forward like serpents. They strike my wrists and ankles, tightening with brutal force, their chill sinking through my skin, deeper, into my bones. I thrash, struggling against the iron-cold grip, but the chains dig in, searing my flesh with a foreign magic, burning with a force that drains my strength, filling me with a sickening weakness.

I feel my legs buckle as the chanting grows louder, their words blending into a harsh, droning hum that fills my mind. The chains wrap tighter, binding my limbs, pulling me to the ground. I try to rise, to fight, but my body betrays me, sinking beneath the weight of their curse, until I am kneeling, forced to bow before them, surrounded by this circle of enemies.

A slow, mocking clap echoes through the hall, slicing through the silence with a calculated cruelty that makes my blood run cold. The cloaked figures part, stepping back into the shadows, and footsteps approach, deliberate, heavy, and sickeningly familiar.

Ulric steps forward from the shadows behind me, his face smeared with blood, silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His lips curl into a smile as he studies my helpless form.

He draws close, his expression a twisted mask of victory.

“Brother.” His voice is a venomous whisper, thick with satisfaction, each word dripping with contempt. He crouches, leaning down until his face is level with mine, watching me with a gleam of unrestrained malice. “Did you really think I would allow you to escape so easily? Did you think, for one moment, that you could win this?”

His tone cuts through the air, filling it with a cold hatred honed over years—perhaps decades.

I glare up at him, fury sparking to life again, flaring hot enough to sear through the shock and weakness.

“I thought you would have the courage to face me alone,” I snarl, straining against the chains, ignoring the pain as they bite deeper. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected honor from you.”

Ulric’s twisted smile widens as he straightens, his gaze darkening. He paces a few steps away, his hands clasped behind his back, watching me with a glint of satisfaction.

“Oh, I faced you, Arvoren,” he says, his voice carrying a sinister calm. “And I knew what it would take to win.” He gestures to the mages, who watch in silence, their expressions hidden, but their power radiating in cold waves. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done alone, Arvoren. Everything. Every plan, every alliance, every sacrifice. I didn’t need shadows—I used them. All this time, every move you made, I was one step ahead, watching as you played your little game of king, biding my time. Cementing my influence among those closest to you.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Something hardens in my chest, a sickening something dawning within me, though I cannot yet identify it.

“How close?” I manage, my voice barely more than a rasp, but the question sharpens as I lock eyes with him, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “How close could any of them truly be? You know me better than that, brother. I love no one.”

Ulric’s smile widens, his silver eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. He leans close, his voice a low, mocking whisper that burns with cold venom.

“Close enough to sit at your table,” he breathes, his gaze gleaming. “Close enough to convince you to open your castle, your catacombs, to us. Close enough to feed us the information we needed to kill you for good.”

My head spins. Even now, some part of my brain refuses to comprehend what he is saying to me, though I know on some level that I should understand it. But I cannot. Grief has taken me whole. My brain is unwilling to allow me to believe what he is telling me.

My wretched brother turns to the mages, nodding once. “Strengthen the chains. Let’s show the king how he treated his pretty little broodmare before her untimely death, shall we?”

The chanting resumes, dark and implacable, filling the air with a hum of malevolent power as the chains around me tighten further, binding me to the ground, sapping the last of the strength from me.