The vision came without warning, as they always did. A violent tearing of reality that pulled Leizar into the shadow realm between waking and nightmare. One moment he was walking the corridors of the Academy, and the next he stood invisible in a chamber that reeked of old stone and fresh terror.
Ten children huddled against the far wall, their small bodies pressed together like frightened animals. The youngest couldn't have been more than six, the oldest perhaps twelve. Their eyes were wide with the kind of fear that children should never know. The recognition that monsters were real, and they were trapped with one.
The hooded figure moved with deliberate slowness, savoring their terror. Each step echoed in the stone chamber like a death knell. Leizar tried to move, to scream, to do anything, but he was trapped in this vision, forced to witness what was about to unfold.
"Please," whispered Kyrith, a girl with tangled auburn hair and freckles scattered across tear-stained cheeks. "We haven't done anything wrong."
The hooded figure paused, and Leizar caught a glimpse of pale hands beneath the dark fabric. "Wrong?" The voice was cultured, almost gentle. "My dear child, you've done nothing wrong. That's precisely what makes this so… pure."
Leizar's shadow-form shuddered. He knew that voice, had heard it in nightmares that felt more like memories. But the knowledge remained just out of reach, like trying to grasp smoke.
The first two children chosen were Vesperian, a boy with dark curls who couldn't stop shaking, and Thessaly, a girl who clutched a small wooden doll to her chest. They were pulled forward not by physical force, but by magic that made their limbs move against their will.
"The beauty of fear," the hooded figure continued conversationally, "is how it purifies the soul. Strips away all pretense, all learned behavior. What remains is the most essential part of human nature. The desperate will to survive."
Vesperian's eyes darted frantically around the chamber, searching for escape that didn't exist. "My father... he'll pay whatever you want. Gold, land, anything."
"Your father." The hooded figure's tone carried amusement. "Sweet child, your father sold you to me three days ago. The gambling debts, you see. Quite substantial."
The boy's face crumpled, not just from fear now but from a betrayal that cut deeper than any blade. Leizar felt the child's heartbreak as if it were his own, a crushing weight that made him want to tear himself from this vision entirely.
But he couldn't look away as the ritual began.
The hooded figure raised both hands, and tendrils of shadow erupted from the stone floor like living things. They wrapped around Vesperian and Thessaly, not binding their bodies but something deeper. Their very essence.
"The extraction must be gradual," the figure explained to the remaining eight children, as if this were a lesson in natural philosophy. "Too fast, and the soul shatters. Too slow, and it becomes tainted with despair. The art is in finding that perfect moment when fear transforms into acceptance."
Vesperian screamed as the shadows found their mark. Not a scream of physical pain, but something worse. The sound of a soul being slowly unraveled. Leizar watched in horror as wisps of silver light began to emerge from the boy's chest, threading through the darkness like luminous silk.
Thessaly's wooden doll fell from nerveless fingers as her own essence began to seep away. She didn't scream like Vesperian. Instead, she began to hum. A lullaby her mother must have sung to her, now distorted and hollow as her soul was drawn inexorably toward the waiting darkness.
The remaining children pressed harder against the wall, some weeping openly, others too terrified even for tears. Leizar tried to close his eyes, but in this shadow-state, he had no control over what he witnessed.
"You feel it too, don't you?" The hooded figure's voice suddenly addressed him directly, though the man's attention remained on his victims. "The weight of their terror. The exquisite agony of being unable to help."
Leizar's form flickered with shock. The figure could see him?
"Did you think you were merely an observer?" The hood turned slightly, and for one terrible moment, Leizar glimpsed eyes like burning coals. "You are as much a part of this as I am. Perhaps more so."
The silver threads of Vesperian's and Thessaly's souls grew brighter as they were drawn into the hooded figure's hands. The children's bodies remained upright, but their eyes had gone vacant, staring at nothing with the empty gaze of the newly hollowed.
"Please stop." The words tore from Leizar's throat, though he knew they would change nothing.
"Stop?" The figure laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "But we're only just beginning. Eight more remain, and each extraction teaches us something new about the nature of human essence."
The next two chosen were Mordaine, a boy with a birthmark across half his face, and Ysara, a girl who had been trying to comfort the younger children. As the shadows reached for them, Mordaine tried to run. A futile gesture that only prolonged his terror.
"Courage is fascinating," the hooded figure mused as Mordaine thrashed against the dark tendrils. "See how it manifests differently in each child? This one fights because he doesn't understand the futility. That one," he gestured to Ysara, "fights because she knows she cannot win, but refuses to surrender her dignity."
Ysara stood straight despite the shadows coiling around her ankles. "If you're going to kill us," she said, her voice steady despite her youth, "at least tell us why."
"Kill you?" The figure sounded genuinely puzzled. "My dear child, death would be a mercy. What I'm taking from you is far more precious than your life. I'm taking your capacity to ever truly live again."
Leizar watched Mordaine's soul begin its slow journey from flesh to shadow, each silver thread a small eternity of anguish. The boy's birthmark seemed to fade as his essence drained away, as if even that small uniqueness was being stripped from him.
Ysara's extraction was different. Her soul fought the pull, creating a kind of spiritual resistance that made the silver threads spark and writhe. The hooded figure made an appreciative sound.
"Remarkable. She's actually trying to anchor herself to her body through sheer will. I've seen grown warriors with less spiritual fortitude."
But will alone wasn't enough. Gradually, inevitably, Ysara's silver essence joined Mordaine's in the figure's outstretched palms. Her body swayed but remained standing, another empty vessel in a growing collection.
Six children remained, huddled together in a mass of shared terror. The youngest, a boy named Caelum with hair so blond it was almost white, had begun to rock back and forth, humming tunelessly to himself. Beside him, a girl called Neveah whispered prayers to gods who seemed to have abandoned this place.
"The younger ones are always the most interesting," the hooded figure observed. "Their souls haven't yet learned to hide behind the masks that adults wear. Every emotion burns pure and bright."
He selected Caelum and a slightly older girl named Zephyra. As the shadows reached for them, Caelum's humming became a thin, reedy wail. Not quite words, but the sound of a mind beginning to fracture under impossible pressure.
"Hush now," the figure said gently, almost paternally. "The pain will pass. Everything passes, given time."
But Leizar knew this was a lie. He could feel the extracted souls gathering like a storm around the hooded figure. Vesperian's terror, Thessaly's broken innocence, Mordaine's desperate courage, Ysara's fierce defiance. They hadn't passed. They had become part of something larger and more terrible than their individual agonies.
Caelum's soul came away in fits and starts, as if the child's spirit was too young to understand what was happening to it. The silver threads pulsed with confused distress, a psychic cry that made Leizar's shadow-form convulse with sympathetic anguish.
Zephyra fought differently than the others. Not with physical resistance or spiritual defiance, but with a kind of sad acceptance that was somehow worse than either. She had already given up hope, and her soul slipped away with the resignation of someone far older than her ten years.
Four children left now, pressed against the wall like cornered prey. Leizar tried again to move, to intervene, to do anything but watch this systematic destruction of innocence. The futility of it was its own kind of torture. Being forced to witness horror while remaining utterly powerless to prevent it.
"You're learning," the hooded figure said approvingly. "The true meaning of helplessness. Soon you'll understand that sometimes the greatest evil is simply being unable to stop lesser evils from occurring."
The next pair: Tavish, a red-haired boy with gaps in his teeth, and Ember, a girl whose dark skin was now ashen with terror. They barely struggled when the shadows claimed them. Perhaps they had watched the others and understood that resistance only prolonged the inevitable.
Tavish's soul emerged wrapped in memories of summer afternoons and his grandmother's stories, each silver thread heavy with lost futures. Ember's essence carried the weight of unfinished drawings, of pictures she would never complete and stories she would never tell.
"Art," the hooded figure mused as Ember's creativity-laden soul joined the others, "is merely the soul's attempt to touch immortality. How fitting that in taking these souls, I make their art truly eternal."
Only two children remained now. A brother and sister who couldn't have been more than seven and nine. The boy, Aldric, kept trying to shield his sister Vanya, though both knew it would make no difference.
"Together," Aldric whispered to Vanya. "Whatever happens, we stay together."
"Yes," she whispered back. "Just like Mama said. We always stay together."
The hooded figure paused, tilting his head as if listening to something only he could hear. "Family bonds. The strongest of all magical connections. Let's see what happens when we sever them slowly."
Instead of taking both children at once, he reached for Aldric alone. The boy's soul began its familiar journey from flesh to shadow, but the silver threads sparked and flared as they tried to maintain their connection to his sister.
Vanya screamed. Not from her own pain, but from feeling her brother's essence being torn away. Her small hand reached for his, and where their fingers touched, the spiritual connection blazed like a star.
"Fascinating," the hooded figure breathed. "The bond is actually reinforcing itself. Love as a form of magical resistance."
But even love had limits. Leizar watched in growing horror as the figure began to use Aldric's partially extracted soul as a lure, drawing Vanya's essence out through her connection to her brother. The silver threads of their souls intertwined, creating a double helix of sibling devotion that was both beautiful and terrible to behold.
"Please," Vanya gasped. "Don't take him. Take me instead."
"Take you instead?" The figure's laughter was like acid on stone. "My precious child, I'm taking you both. But slowly, so you can feel every moment of separation."
The extraction took twice as long as the others, not because the children resisted, but because the hooded figure savored their bond even as he destroyed it. Thread by thread, the connection between Aldric and Vanya was severed, until two more hollow shells stood empty-eyed in the chamber.
Ten children. Ten souls now swirling in the darkness around the hooded figure like captive stars. Leizar could feel their combined terror and despair pressing against his consciousness.A psychic weight that threatened to crush what remained of his sanity.
"Now comes the true purpose of this gathering," the figure said, raising his hands toward the ceiling. The souls began to spiral faster, their silver light casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. "Ten pure essences, untainted by the compromises of adulthood. The perfect fuel for what must be accomplished."
Leizar watched in numb horror as the souls began to merge, their individual identities dissolving into something larger and more terrible. Vesperian's fear merged with Thessaly's innocence, Mordaine's courage twisted together with Ysara's defiance, while the younger children's essence formed the binding core of whatever was being created.
The resulting amalgamation was neither light nor shadow, but something that existed in the spaces between. A swirling mass of concentrated human experience that pulsed with unnatural life.
"Behold," the hooded figure whispered, "the birth of true power. Not the crude strength that comes from muscle or magic, but the refined essence of human suffering. This is what your transformation will require, Leizar. This is the price of becoming what you were born to be."
"No," Leizar tried to scream, but his voice was lost in the psychic storm emanating from the soul-amalgamation. "I won't let you use them. I won't become part of this."
"Won't you?" The hooded figure's laugh echoed strangely, as if coming from very far away or very deep inside Leizar's own mind. "But you already are part of it. You've been part of it since the moment you were born. Every breath you take, every choice you make, brings you closer to this inevitable moment."
The chamber began to fade around the edges, reality bleeding away like watercolors in rain. But the souls remained vivid. Ten bright points of anguish spinning faster and faster until they became a single star of compressed horror.
"Remember this," the hooded figure commanded as the vision dissolved. "Remember their faces, their names, their final moments. Because when the time comes, you will call upon this memory. You will use their sacrifice to forge yourself into something capable of saving millions more."
"I won't," Leizar whispered into the growing darkness. "I'll find another way."
"Will you?" The voice was fading now, but its mockery remained sharp. "We shall see, my dear boy. We shall see."
The vision shattered like glass, leaving Leizar gasping on his narrow dormitory bed, sheets soaked with sweat. The room was quiet around him. His friends either in classes or the common areas. He was alone with the horror that still pulsed behind his eyes.
But Leizar knew this hadn't been stress or exhaustion. This had been prophecy, or memory, or both twisted together into something that would haunt him forever.
Ten children. Ten souls. Ten names he would never forget:
Kyrith. Vesperian. Thessaly. Mordaine. Ysara. Caelum. Zephyra. Tavish. Ember. Aldric. Vanya.
Their essence lived now in the space behind his eyes, a constant reminder of the price that power demanded. And somewhere in the deepest part of his soul, Leizar feared he already knew he would pay it.
Because in the end, wasn't the salvation of millions worth the sacrifice of ten? Wasn't the prevention of greater horror worth becoming a monster himself?
The questions pressed against him like physical weight, and somewhere in the silence of his dormitory room, he became certain: something was hunting him. Hunting all of them. The Academy's walls felt thinner now, less protective. Every shadow seemed deeper, more alive with possibility.
He stumbled from his bed on legs that still shook, and made his way toward the common room where he knew his friends would be. The corridors felt wrong as he walked. Too quiet, like the building itself was holding its breath and waiting for something terrible to happen.
He found them clustered around a table near the dying fireplace. WindRaven sitting close to Ulric, the massive dragon coiled defensively nearby, Sylas reading with tense shoulders, Severan working equations with frantic intensity, Raelith's blade gleaming too sharp in the dim light, and Tethys perched on the windowsill like she was ready to flee. They all looked up as he approached, alarm immediately replacing concern on their faces.
"Leizar?" WindRaven's voice was barely a whisper. "You look... what happened to you?"
Leizar's hands were still trembling. The vision clung to him like smoke. "We need to leave. Now."
"Leave?" Severan's calculations faltered. "But the Academy..."
"The Academy isn't safe." Leizar's voice cracked. "Nothing here is safe anymore."
Silence fell like a weight. Even the fire seemed to dim.
"I need to go home." The words came out small, broken. "I need my dad."
The admission hung in the air. This wasn't the confident classmate they'd known, but a scared boy who needed his father.
"Okay," WindRaven said quietly, his hand on Ulric's neck. "Okay. We can do that. We can skip classes, sneak out."
"With a dragon?" Severan interrupted, gesturing at Ulric. "Statistical probability of successful concealment approaches zero. Dragons are not traditionally known for stealth capabilities."
"We could wait until dark?" Sylas's voice was barely audible.
"No." Leizar's eyes darted to the windows, as if something might be watching. "We need to go now. Before they find us."
"We can't hide a dragon," Raelith's hand stayed on his sword hilt. "Not in daylight."
"Maybe if we..." WindRaven began.
A knock at the door cut him off. They all froze, hearts hammering.
"Boys!!" The voice was too bright, too cheerful for the dread that filled the room. "Let me in! I have a solution!!"
Tethys. Her brightness felt wrong against the darkness pressing in around them.
"She can hear us," Sylas whispered.
"Boys, I know you're planning something dramatic and probably dangerous!" Tethys called through the door, her tone sing-song with amusement. "And I also know you have absolutely no idea how to smuggle a dragon out of here without getting caught!"
Another pause, then her voice dropped to a more serious tone. "Trust me. I can help."
The friends exchanged glances. They were stuck. None of them had a clue how to get Ulric past the Academy's security.
Raelith moved to the door and opened it cautiously. Tethys practically bounced inside, wings fluttering with excitement.
"Oh good! You do need help!" She looked around the room, taking in their worried faces and Ulric coiled protectively near WindRaven. "Teleportation, boys. Simple, efficient, and completely undetectable by Academy wards."
"You can teleport all of us?" Severan asked, his analytical mind already calculating possibilities.
"To the stables first," Tethys said, her magic beginning to shimmer around her. "From there, we can get horses and ride properly to wherever you're going. Much less suspicious than six students and a dragon simply vanishing from campus."
Leizar looked up hopefully. "You can really get us out of here?"
"Sweetheart, I can get you anywhere you need to go." Tethys's expression softened as she saw the genuine fear in his eyes. "Where's home?"
"Isaac's farmstead," Leizar said quietly. "About half an hour's ride north."
"Perfect." Tethys clapped her hands together. "Everyone hold hands. This might feel a bit strange, but it's perfectly safe."
They formed their circle, Ulric whimpering softly as he sensed the magic building. Thalawen pressed against Leizar's neck, purring reassuringly.
"Ready?" Tethys asked.
The room dissolved around them.
For a moment they fell through spaces that existed between heartbeats, between thoughts. Then suddenly they were standing in the Academy stables, hay dust floating in shafts of morning sunlight.
"There!" Tethys said brightly. "Now we can get horses like proper students on a field expedition. Much more believable than mysterious disappearances."
Leizar was already moving toward the stalls where the Academy horses waited. "We can take some of these," he explained, his voice steadier now that they were actually escaping. "The Academy won't miss them for hours."
For the first time since the vision, he managed a small smile. "Let's go home."
They moved through the stables like shadows, gathering horses and tack with urgent whispers. The Academy horses nickered softly, but even they seemed to sense the group's fear. All the animals shifted restlessly in their stalls. Something in the air made them nervous.
"Everyone ready?" Tethys's voice was quieter now, her earlier cheer fading.
Severan struggled with his mount, hands shaking. The normalcy of saddling horses felt obscene after what Leizar had witnessed.
As they prepared to leave, Thalawen pressed against Leizar's neck, purring softly. The small black cat seemed to sense the urgency, her amber eyes wide with alertness.
"What about Thalawen?" WindRaven asked, watching the cat perch on Leizar's shoulder.
"She comes with me," Leizar said simply, settling the cat more securely. "She always does."
"Right now, I'm more concerned about staying alive than anything else," Leizar replied, settling into his borrowed saddle with Thalawen perched on his shoulder. "Let's ride."
They fled from the stables like the hunted, six riders and their guardians racing across Academy grounds that felt hostile now. The morning air was too cold, carrying whispers of something following. Thalawen clung to Leizar's shoulder, her small form tense with the same fear they all felt.
The ride felt endless, half an hour of hard gallop across countryside that no longer seemed safe. Nothing was familiar anymore. Thalawen pressed close to Leizar's neck, her small body trembling with each jarring movement of the horse, while Ulric ran alongside them, his massive six-foot form moving with predatory grace that should have been comforting but wasn't.
As they thundered past the village outskirts, Leizar caught a glimpse of a familiar figure standing in a doorway. Haldor, the scarf vendor, raised his hand in greeting before his expression shifted to one of startled confusion at the sight of six riders fleeing with what appeared to be a dragon running alongside them. But they were past him too quickly for questions, leaving only dust and the echo of hoofbeats.
When they crested the final hill, the farmhouse looked too small, too vulnerable against the gray sky.
Isaac appeared in the doorway before they'd reached the yard. But his face showed more than bewilderment. It showed fear. As if he'd been expecting something terrible to follow them home.
Leizar dismounted and ran straight into his father's arms.
"My boy," Isaac whispered, holding him tight. Then he pulled back, staring at the chaos in his yard. "What in the... friends? You brought friends? And is that a..." He pointed at Ulric. "Is that a dragon? And why does she have wings?!"
"Dad, I can explain..."
"He was in trouble!" WindRaven interrupted, sliding off his horse as Ulric prowled closer, massive and protective.
"The Academy isn't safe!" Tethys added, her wings fluttering with excitement.
"Statistical probability of danger approached critical levels," Severan began urgently.
"We had to leave immediately!" Raelith cut in, his hand instinctively moving to his sword hilt.
"Something's very wrong there," Sylas said quietly, but even his normally calm voice carried an edge of fear that joined the growing cacophony of explanations.
"The visions were getting worse."
"There was a dragon transformation."
"Well, Ulric's the dragon now."
"And even Thalawen's been acting strange."
"STOP!" Isaac roared, his voice cutting through their chatter like a blade. "Just... everyone STOP talking!"
The yard fell silent except for the sound of horses breathing hard and Thalawen's soft mew as she shifted on Leizar's shoulder.
Isaac looked around at all of them. Five terrified teenagers, one massive dragon, a winged girl, and a cat who he was pretty sure had been something else entirely moments ago.
"One at a time," he said slowly. "Starting with you." He pointed at Leizar. "What. Happened."
Isaac stared at them for another long moment, taking in the scope of what had arrived at his doorstep. A winged girl who looked like she'd stepped out of legend. A massive dragon that somehow looked both ancient and childlike. Boys whose eyes held shadows of things no child should have seen. And his son, pale and shaking in a way that spoke of more than just fear.
"Inside," he said finally, his voice gentler now. "All of you. We'll sort this out properly."
The procession into the house was almost comical despite the circumstances. Ulric had to duck his massive head to fit through the doorway, his scales scraping against the frame with sounds like fingernails on stone. Tethys folded her wings carefully, but even so, her wingspan made navigating the narrow hallway a challenge. The boys clustered together, unconsciously seeking safety in numbers.
Isaac's farmhouse had always been modest, built for a single man and the occasional visitor. Now it strained to accommodate six teenagers, a dragon, and whatever other creatures had apparently attached themselves to his son. But the house seemed to respond to need, rooms expanding slightly, doorways widening just enough, as if the very walls understood the urgency of shelter.
The farmhouse kitchen felt smaller than Leizar remembered, yet somehow more significant. Shadows gathered in corners despite the afternoon light streaming through windows that now seemed too large, too exposed. Isaac moved quietly, setting water to boil with hands that weren't quite steady, while the friends settled around his table like refugees from a war zone no one else could see.
Above them, the familiar dragon crest of Aldorian seemed to watch from its place on the wall. Ancient silver eyes that had observed countless generations of this family. The heraldic dragon's wings were spread in eternal vigilance, its claws gripping a scroll that bore words worn too smooth to read. Today, those painted eyes felt less like protection and more like warning.
Ulric stayed close to WindRaven, the dragon unusually quiet. Thalawen perched alertly on the back of Leizar's chair, her amber eyes watching the windows as if something might come through them.
"Start from the beginning," Isaac said, setting cups of tea in front of each of them. His voice was gentle, but his eyes kept drifting to Ulric, to Tethys's wings, to the way they all sat hunched and watchful.
These weren't children who'd skipped classes for fun. These were children who'd fled something terrible.
Leizar looked around the table at his friends, then back at Isaac. "I had a vision. Something terrible. Children being..." He swallowed hard. "I can't stay there. Something's wrong with that place."
He told Isaac about the vision. The hooded figure, the ten children, the soul extraction. He kept his voice steady, clinical, but Isaac's face grew grimmer with each detail.
The others filled in their own pieces. Tethys explained about the dimensional disturbances she'd been sensing. Raelith mentioned the strange instructors in yellow robes. Severan provided analysis of anomalous events.
Through it all, Isaac listened without interruption, his weathered hands wrapped around his tea cup as if it could anchor him to something normal. Above them, the Aldorian dragon crest seemed to lean forward from its place on the wall, as if even the ancient heraldic symbol was listening to their tale of impossible things.
"You did the right thing coming here," he said finally, though his voice carried a note of uncertainty that made them all tense. "This house has protections. Old ones, built into the very foundations. We'll see if they hold against whatever's following you."
"For how long?" Sylas asked, the question they were all thinking.
Isaac didn't answer directly, his eyes drifting to the windows that suddenly seemed far too exposed. "Long enough, I hope. Long enough."
The afternoon stretched endlessly after that, hours crawling by like wounded animals. Isaac showed them to rooms that materialized as needed, the house stretching itself to accommodate them all. But the spaces felt hollow, temporary, as if the walls themselves knew this was borrowed time.
Ulric refused to be separated from WindRaven, so Isaac cleared out what had once been a small storage room, widening it until the six-foot dragon could curl up comfortably. Tethys perched by a window that Isaac enlarged without comment, her wings twitching nervously as she watched the sky. The boys claimed bedrooms that hadn't existed that morning, each space feeling both familiar and wrong, like memories of rooms from dreams.
As afternoon faded toward evening, they found themselves drawn back to the kitchen. Isaac had been cooking, as he always did when he was processing something difficult. The familiar rhythm of chopping, stirring, seasoning seemed to ground him even as his world tilted sideways.
The meal he prepared was simple but made with care. Fresh bread that steamed when he broke it open, revealing soft flesh that should have been comforting. Soup that smelled of herbs from his garden, but the scent seemed too strong, too desperate, as if the very plants had been trying to mask something rotten beneath. Meat that he'd seasoned with hands that still shook slightly, the herbs clinging to his fingers like accusations.
They sat around Isaac's table in awkward silence, the weight of everything they'd fled pressing down on them. The food was there, laid out with the care of a man who had spent years cooking for one but now faced six additional mouths to feed. Isaac watched nervously as they picked at their plates, clearly overwhelmed by having a houseful of teenagers.
"So," Isaac said, clearing his throat. "Anyone want to explain why there's a dragon at my dinner table?"
Ulric lifted his massive head and made a sound that was almost like a snort of amusement. WindRaven patted his neck gently. "He says you make good soup."
"He... says?" Isaac blinked.
"Well, not in words exactly," WindRaven admitted, blushing slightly. "It's more like... impressions?"
"Statistical probability suggests dragon-human communication operates on telepathic wavelengths," Severan offered helpfully, then paused mid-bite. "This bread is excellent, by the way."
"Thank you," Isaac said automatically, still staring at Ulric. "Does he... does he need a bigger bowl?"
As if understanding, Ulric delicately picked up Isaac's largest serving spoon in his teeth and dropped it into his soup bowl with a gentle splash, then looked up hopefully.
Tethys giggled, the sound bright and surprisingly normal. "I think he's saying yes."
"Right," Isaac muttered, getting up to find a larger bowl. "Dragon table manners. Why not."
It was Leizar who broke the remaining tension, though not intentionally. Reaching for the salt shaker, he gestured absently and a shadow beneath the table responded, stretching up to nudge the shaker toward him.
Everyone froze.
"Did..." Raelith stared. "Did you just..."
"What?" Leizar looked around at their faces, then down at the shadow that was now innocently pooling back beneath the table. "Oh. That."
"THAT?" Tethys's wings fluttered with excitement. "That was amazing! Do it again!"
"I don't really control it," Leizar said sheepishly. "They just... help sometimes."
"They?" Isaac's voice was carefully neutral.
"The shadows. They're very polite. Usually."
As if to demonstrate, another shadow crept up from the floor and gently nudged Sylas's napkin, which had fallen, back onto his lap. Sylas jumped, then looked down at the shadow with fascination.
"Remarkable," he whispered. "Are they sentient?"
"I don't know," Leizar admitted. "They don't talk. They just... want to be useful, I think."
WindRaven was grinning now. "Can you make them bring me the butter?"
"That's not really how it..." Leizar began, but a shadow was already sliding across the table, carefully pushing the butter dish toward WindRaven. "Oh. I guess it is."
"This is the coolest thing ever," Tethys declared, clapping her hands together. A shadow near her chair seemed to perk up at the sound, rising slightly as if curious about the applause.
Isaac watched his son. This boy he'd raised, who was apparently on speaking terms with living darkness. And found himself laughing. Actually laughing, for the first time since they'd arrived.
"Well," he said, shaking his head. "I suppose having magical children means magical dinner service. Can they do dishes?"
Half a dozen shadows immediately perked up from various corners of the kitchen, seeming almost eager.
"Oh no," Leizar said quickly. "Last time they tried to help with cleaning, they organized everything alphabetically. Including the silverware drawer."
"What's wrong with alphabetical?" Severan asked.
"They filed the forks under 'F' and the spoons under 'S,' but they put all the knives under 'D' for 'dangerous,'" Leizar explained. "It took Dad three days to find anything."
The table erupted in laughter, even Isaac chuckling despite himself. The shadows seemed to sense the lighter mood, becoming more playful. One nudged Raelith's elbow when he reached for bread, another carefully arranged fallen crumbs into tiny patterns on the tablecloth.
"They're like helpful pets," Tethys observed, watching a shadow gently straighten her napkin.
"Don't let them hear you say that," Leizar warned, but he was smiling. "They get offended if you call them pets. They prefer 'assistants.'"
For a few precious minutes, the kitchen filled with the kind of warmth that comes from shared laughter and the simple pleasure of a meal among friends. The food began to disappear from plates as they relaxed, Isaac telling embarrassing stories about Leizar's childhood while the shadows performed tiny, harmless tricks that kept everyone entertained.
Even Ulric seemed to be enjoying himself, making soft rumbling sounds that might have been dragon laughter when a particularly ambitious shadow tried to refold his napkin for him.
But the moment of lightness couldn't last. Gradually, as the laughter died down, they became aware of Thalawen by the dying fire. Her usual feline grace had been replaced by tense watchfulness, ears pricked toward sounds only she could hear, amber eyes reflecting light that seemed to come from nowhere. Even she, who had caught mice and birds without hesitation, pointedly avoided the saucer of milk Isaac had set out for her.
The kitchen itself began to feel wrong again as the humor faded. Too quiet despite their conversation. Too bright when the gathering shadows should have provided evening comfort. Too determinedly normal when everything else in their world had gone completely insane.
"Tell us about your family," Tethys asked Isaac as they picked at their food. "Leizar's mentioned you raised him, but..."
"Found him when he was eight," Isaac said simply. "Been my son ever since. Sometimes the most important family is the one you choose."
The words should have brought comfort, but they felt distant now, like echoes from before everything changed.
As true darkness fell outside the windows, the weight of everything they'd fled began to settle on them all like a heavy blanket. The vision of ten murdered children, their desperate escape from the Academy, the growing certainty that something was hunting them through the night. It all pressed down like a storm cloud waiting to break.
"Time for bed," Isaac said quietly, though they could all see that none of them looked like they'd actually sleep. "Tomorrow we'll figure out what comes next. Tonight, we just need to..."
He didn't finish the sentence, because they all knew what he'd been about to say. Tonight they needed to survive.
One by one, they made their way upstairs to rooms that felt too exposed, too vulnerable. Leizar lingered in the kitchen with Isaac, afraid to break what little safety remained.
"Dad?" he said quietly. "Thank you. For taking them in. For not asking more questions."
Isaac's hand was gentle, but his eyes kept drifting to the windows. "They're your friends. That makes them family too." His voice dropped. "Now get some sleep, my boy. Try to rest."
The words "you're safe here" went unspoken. They both knew better now.
Leizar climbed the stairs to his childhood room, each step feeling heavier than the last. The familiar creak of the third step, the way the banister wobbled slightly under his hand, the scent of old wood and memories. Still exactly as he'd left it, but it felt like a museum now. Someone else's life preserved under glass.
The room was small, barely large enough for the narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and a small desk where he'd once done schoolwork that now seemed laughably simple. Childish drawings still hung on the walls, faded with age. A wooden horse he'd carved badly when he was twelve sat on the windowsill, its paint chipped and worn. Everything exactly where it had always been, yet feeling impossibly distant.
He lay down in his narrow bed, the mattress giving way beneath him in patterns it had learned from years of his sleeping body. Thalawen curled up on his chest, her weight familiar and comforting, but her body remained tense. Even she could feel it. The wrongness that had followed them here.
Peace remained elusive. Every shadow in the corners seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. The familiar sounds of the house settling took on new meaning, each creak and groan making him wonder if something else had found its way inside. Something had followed them here. Something was coming.
The ancient oak outside his window swayed in the wind, its branches heavy with years and secrets. He'd climbed that tree as a child, finding refuge in its broad limbs when the world felt too large or too complicated. Now it loomed against the glass like a guardian that might not be entirely friendly.
One branch in particular, gnarled and persistent, had grown close enough over the years to scrape against the glass. Tap. Tap. Tap. A steady rhythm that should have been soothing, the sound of nature's persistence, of life continuing despite everything. But it wasn't soothing. Not tonight. It sounded too deliberate, too purposeful. Like fingers drumming against the pane. Like something trying to get in.
The branch was thick as a man's arm, twisted with age, covered in bark that looked almost like scales in the dim light filtering through the clouds. It had been growing toward the house for years, Isaac always meaning to trim it back but never quite getting around to it. Now it pressed against the window with each gust of wind, creating that maddening rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Thalawen's ears twitched with each tap, her amber eyes reflecting what little moonlight managed to penetrate the heavy clouds that had gathered without him noticing. She was listening to something beyond the wind, beyond the branch. Her pupils were dilated, her body coiled as if ready to spring, but there was nowhere to go.
The sound of the wind changed as the night deepened, from a gentle rustle to something more urgent, more demanding. The oak's branches moved in patterns that didn't quite match the direction of the breeze, as if they were reaching, grasping, searching for something specific.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
In the distance, barely audible above the wind, came the sound of something else moving through the darkness. Not footsteps exactly, but something large disturbing the night air. Circling the house. Testing its boundaries. Waiting.
The sound followed him into uneasy sleep, a reminder that even here, in his childhood room, surrounded by the remnants of innocence and safety, nothing was safe anymore. The tapping continued through his dreams, mixing with the memory of children's voices and the certainty that whatever had started at the Academy wasn't finished with him yet.