33. Flint

33

FLINT

Lectures are better than stewing in my room or listening to Violet talk about Nathaniel and his stupid assumptions, but right now, even that's debatable. Professor Webb's Advanced Magickal Theory classroom feels like a prison, all dark wood panels and ancient desks carved with generations of bored students' initials. The winter sky outside is pitch black, making the magickal torches cast weird shadows that seem to dance when I'm not looking directly at them.

Staying awake in this class is usually challenging enough. Webb's monotone could put an insomniac into a coma. Tonight, it's fucking impossible. My Dragon magick hums beneath my skin like a living thing, making my teeth itch and my shoulders twitch. It's responding to something. Maybe it's the forest's energy, or the way magick is shifting around the academy like oil on water. Everything feels wrong and unstable.

Or maybe it's just that Violet is listening to her fucking sire instead of preparing to sever that bond and then stake him. The thought makes heat rise under my skin, threatening to manifest as scales.

Not that I blame her, exactly. Finding out you're some mystical Catalyst destined to unite ancient powers is probably enough to shake anyone's confidence in what they thought they knew. But shoving this revelation about fire power onto me and all this talk of the last Dragon in my lineage is ridiculous. I have three younger siblings, two brothers and a sister. I have an uncle who's younger than my dad and cousins who can't keep their magick contained during a simple game of cricket. There's plenty of my line living and breathing and will one day reproduce.

"Flint," Professor Webb's voice cuts through my thoughts like an icy blade. She stands at the front of the class, her silver-streaked hair pulled back so severely it must give her a headache. "Perhaps you'd care to explain the difference between elemental resonance and magickal harmonics?"

"Er..." I straighten in my seat, the ancient wood creaking in protest. My Dragon magick flares with my embarrassment, making the nearest torch flame jump. "One's about natural frequencies of magick, and the other's about how different types of magick interact?"

She raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow, her expression suggesting she'd rather be teaching a class of mountain trolls. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Telling?" Heat rises under my skin again, and I feel my scales threatening to emerge. Fuck, she is making me squirm, and she knows it. Several students snicker, which doesn't help my control.

"Indeed." She turns back to the blackboard, chalk scratching out complicated diagrams, but not before I catch her disappointed frown. "As I was saying, when multiple magickal frequencies align..."

My attention drifts again, despite my best efforts. Through the classroom's tall windows, I can see the forest stretching toward the black winter sky like grasping fingers. Something about the trees' arrangement seems different, more deliberate. Like they're soldiers getting into formation.

By the time class mercifully ends, my Dragon magick is practically singing beneath my skin, making my bones vibrate. The forest wants something, that much is clear. But what? Why? How? The questions circle my mind like hungry predators.

I'm halfway to the dining hall, suddenly starving - Dragon magick always burns through energy like a furnace - when I notice the temperature dropping. Not Caine's usual cool presence, which I've grown used to. This is different and unnatural, like the air is dying.

"You feel that?" I ask as Caine and Thorne join me, their faces wearing matching frowns. I know they're probably pissed off with me leaving Violet's room earlier, but I needed the space. Dragon magick doesn't do well with confinement, physical or emotional.

Caine nods, frost spreading across his cane like delicate spider webs. "Something's wrong."

The magickal torches flicker and dim, as if something's sucking the power from them. Shadows deepen around Thorne, responding to his tension, coiling around him like living darkness.

Through the nearest window, I see the forest through the gathering mist. The trees are definitely closer than they were during class, their branches reaching towards the academy like desperate, pleading hands.

A surge of foreign magick hits us all at once, feeling ancient and wild and hungry. My Dragon magick roars to life instinctively, scales rippling beneath my skin as flames try to burst from my hands. Caine's ice crystals form a protective barrier, while Thorne's shadows writhe and dance with agitation.

Thorne's eyes widen as he stares out the window, his usual composure cracking. "The forest is moving."

I follow his gaze and feel my stomach drop to somewhere around my feet. The trees are definitely closer, their branches stretching unnaturally towards the academy buildings. The air shimmers with magickal energy, making my scales itch beneath my skin like thousands of tiny needles.

"We need to find Violet," Caine says, his voice tight with tension.

As if summoned by her name, Violet appears at the end of the hallway. Her eyes are wild and unfocused, glowing with an inner light that shouldn't be possible. She looks half-asleep. "Do you hear it?" she whispers, her voice carrying echoes of something ancient. "The forest is calling." She takes a step towards the nearest exit, moving in a trance.

"Violet, wait!" I call out, but she doesn't seem to hear me. Or maybe she can't.

Thorne moves first, shadows coiling around him as he reaches for her. But the moment his fingers brush her arm, a pulse of energy knocks him back like he's been hit by lightning.

Caine tries next, ice crystals forming a barrier between Violet and the door. She walks through it like it isn't even there, the ice melting at her touch and reforming as something else, something older.

"Fuck a duck," I mutter, feeling the familiar coolness building beneath my skin. My Dragon wants out, wants to protect her, but I'm not sure that's the right move. The last thing we need is more wild magick right now.

Violet reaches for the door handle, her fingers trembling. "What's happening?" she gasps, suddenly coming back to herself.

"The forest," I grit out, running to her. "It's?—"

But before I can finish, everything goes dark. Not just the torches, but everything, like someone's dropped a blanket over the world, smothering and impenetrable.

The last thing I see is a familiar figure at the end of the corridor, watching us with gleaming gold and green eyes that shouldn't be visible in this darkness.

Nathaniel.

And that smile, that knowing, triumphant smile, chills my soul more than any winter ever could.