The academy’s vastness felt suffocating at night, its shadows stretching and shifting like they had minds of their own. Eryon moved through the empty corridors, his footsteps muffled by the thick stone floors. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him from his bed—a restless energy that gnawed at his chest, or perhaps the need to escape the constant games of manipulation and suspicion.
He kept his head down during the day, as Amelia had instructed, but at night, when the world quieted, his wolf’s instincts took over. His senses sharpened, catching faint sounds and scents that would have been imperceptible to others. Tonight, something felt different. The air was charged, carrying a faint, metallic tang that set his nerves on edge.
Eryon turned a corner and stopped abruptly. A faint glow seeped from a crack in the wall ahead, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. The scent of old magic—damp, earthy, and tinged with decay—wafted toward him. His wolf stirred uneasily, warning him to retreat, but curiosity overpowered caution.
He approached the wall, running his hands over the uneven stones until his fingers caught on a loose panel. With a firm tug, the panel slid aside, revealing a narrow, spiraling staircase descending into darkness.
Eryon hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. The corridor behind him was silent, empty. His fingers twitched at his sides, his instincts screaming danger, but he forced himself to take the first step. The air grew colder as he descended, the faint glow guiding him deeper into the academy’s hidden depths.
At the bottom of the staircase, he emerged into a small chamber. It was dimly lit, the glow emanating from crystals embedded in the walls. The room was filled with shelves lined with ancient tomes, their spines cracked and faded with age. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and the scent of dust and parchment was thick in the air.
Eryon’s breath caught as he took it all in. This place felt untouched, forgotten—a relic of a time long past. He stepped forward cautiously, his fingers trailing over the spines of the books. Most of the titles were written in languages he didn’t recognize, their meanings lost to him.
One book caught his attention. It was bound in black leather, its cover adorned with a crescent moon surrounded by claw marks. The symbol felt familiar, stirring something deep within him. He pulled the book from the shelf, its weight solid and cold in his hands.
The pages were brittle, yellowed with age, but the words were legible. As Eryon began to read, his pulse quickened. The book detailed the long-standing rivalry between vampires and werewolves, describing the brutal hunts and massacres that had eradicated wolves from the vampire realm centuries ago.
The words were clinical, detached, but the violence they described made Eryon’s stomach churn. He flipped through the pages, each passage painting a darker picture.
“Werewolves are a blight upon the purity of the bloodlines. Their presence brings chaos, their survival a threat to the balance of power. They must be eradicated.”
His hands trembled as he turned another page. Then he found it—a prophecy, written in bold, jagged script that seemed to leap off the page:
“When the wolves return, the bloodlines will fracture, and darkness will reign.”
Eryon stared at the words, his heart pounding. His wolf stirred uneasily, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The prophecy felt like a warning, its weight settling heavily on his chest.
His mind raced. Werewolves weren’t supposed to exist here. Amelia had drilled that into him and Lyra since they were children. Their kind had been hunted to extinction in the vampire realm, their very existence erased from history. And yet, here they were, living among the predators who would destroy them if they knew the truth.
The faint sound of footsteps above jolted Eryon out of his thoughts. He froze, his ears straining. The steps were deliberate, growing louder as they approached. Panic surged through him as he realized he wasn’t alone.
Quickly, he closed the book and slid it back onto the shelf. He extinguished the faint glow of the crystals by running his hand over them, plunging the chamber into darkness.
The footsteps stopped just outside the hidden passage. Eryon pressed himself against the wall, his breathing shallow as he listened. A faint voice reached him, muffled but audible.
“Someone was here,” the voice said, sharp and accusing.
“Impossible,” another replied. “No one knows about this place.”
Eryon’s heart hammered in his chest. He couldn’t afford to be discovered, not here, not now. He waited, his body tense, until the voices faded and the footsteps receded.
When he was sure the coast was clear, he slipped out of the chamber and back into the corridor above. The prophecy lingered in his mind, its ominous words echoing with every step he took.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was about him and Lyra.