Darkness.
Then—light.
Drake woke kneeling in dust, his fingers sinking into ashen soil. The air smelled of rust and long-dead fires.
Barren earth stretched endlessly, cracked and lifeless, dust swirling in slow, mournful drifts. Above, twin suns hung low, casting the ruins in an eerie, perpetual twilight. The sky was a bruised violet, heavy with the weight of forgotten time.
Before him loomed a castle—or what remained of one. Its spires, though broken, still clawed at the sky with jagged defiance. Once, it must have been magnificent—a monument of inhuman beauty, now reduced to skeletal remains. Something in Drake's chest pulled him forward, an instinct he couldn't name.
The path to the castle was littered with corpses.
Skeletons clad in rusted armor lay where they had fallen, their skulls adorned with twisted horns. Almost human. Almost. Drake's breath hitched as he stepped over them, the silence pressing against his ears like a physical force.
The castle doors yawned open, darkness swallowing the dying light.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of age and decay. No sunlight pierced the sealed windows—only torches, their flames unnaturally still, lined the walls like a trail of ghostly beacons. Drake followed, his footsteps echoing too loudly in the hollow expanse.
Then—a skittering sound, rats running in the darkness.
His hand flew to where his sword usually rested —empty. He cursed under his breath before snatching a hand axe from a nearby corpse, its grip cold and unwelcoming. The torches led deeper, their flickering light guiding him toward a towering set of doors.
The throne room.
Drake hesitated, then pushed inside.
Ruined banners hung in tatters. More skeletons, these ones sprawled as if cut down mid-battle. His torchlight wavered as he swept it across the room—then froze.
A figure sat upon the throne.
A horned figure, motionless, its crimson eyes burning through the shadows.
Drake recoiled, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as he stumbled back. The torch slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground—darkness swallowed the room.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
He scrambled to his feet, hands thrashing about, only to trip over a corpse and crash back down. Before panic could fully take hold, the dead torches along the walls roared to life—crimson flames erupting in unison, bathing the room in a hellish glow.
The figure still watched him.
"COME."
The command wasn't spoken—it was imposed, slamming into Drake's mind like a physical force. His body moved against his will, dragging him forward until he knelt at the foot of the throne, trembling.
Please don't kill me. Don't. Don't—
Cold fingers gripped his jaw, tilting his face up.
"I FEEL MINE OWN BLOOD COURSING THROUGH THY VEINS."
The voice was a landslide—crushing, inevitable. Drake forced his eyes open.
The figure loomed over him, clad in crimson armor, silver hair spilling like molten metal over broad shoulders. His face remained shrouded, but the horns curling from his skull gleamed under the firelight. And there, resting against the arm of the throne—
His sword.
"AND YET- THOU ART WEAK."
The words were a condemnation.
"HOW CAN THOU BEAR MY BLOOD, YET BE SO FRAIL?"
Drake's mouth opened, but no sound came out. The air itself thickened, pressing down on him until his bones groaned. He was an insect beneath a boot. A speck of dust before a storm.
"DESPICABLE."
The figure's disgust was a physical blow. Then—
"SURRENDER THY VESSEL, SO I MIGHT RETURN FROM THE VEIL OF DEATH."
Agony exploded in Drake's skull.
Rage. Sorrow. Hate. Centuries of malice poured into him, flooding his mind, his veins, his soul. He thrashed, a scream trapped in his throat as his vision splintered—
---
{Real World}
Drake's body convulsed on the infirmary bed, muscles locking and spasming as if fighting an invisible force.
Winston was at his side in an instant, Vanessa right behind him. Leo hovered nearby, his usual smirk gone, replaced by something grim.
Then the pressure hit.
A wave of bloodlust erupted from Drake, thick enough to choke on. The walls trembled. The floor quaked. Glass shattered somewhere in the distance as the entire academy shuddered under the weight of it.
Winston's own aura flared, a tempest clashing against the storm, holding it at bay. His jaw clenched, veins standing out along his neck.
Do something! Vanessa barked, bracing herself against the bed.
Leo's hands were raised, his teeth gritted. There's nothing we can do!
The pressure crested—then snapped back like a severed cord.
Drake went still.
Silence.
Winston exhaled, his shoulders dropping a fraction. Only Vanessa, standing close, saw the single drop of sweat trailing down his temple.
---
Duron watched from the shadows, golden eyes unblinking.
When the tremor passed, he pulled out a bloodstained notebook—the one the Watcher had given him. Flipping it open, he scanned the list of names already written there.
Connor.
His pen hovered, then scratched a new entry beneath it.
Drake.