The drums came from the east.Deep. Relentless. Close enough now that Jayden could feel them in his ribcage.
Aerin was already on her feet, scanning the dark horizon beyond the palace walls. "That's the outer ward."
From where they stood on the terrace, the city spread out like a silver map under the moon—winding streets, tall watchtowers, the faint glow of nightlamps. And there, at the eastern edge, a line of shadows moved through the fog.
At first Jayden thought it was smoke. Then the fog shifted, and he saw them.
Figures. Dozens—no, hundreds—pouring down the hills toward the ward gates. Not running. Not charging. Just… gliding. Like the ground didn't matter.
"Shadowborn," Aerin said under her breath.
Jayden's chest tightened. "But they're not supposed to be able to breach the wards without—"
"Without a royal blood key," Aerin finished grimly. She turned to him. "Guess who's the only one unaccounted for right now?"
Jayden stared at her. "You think I let them in?"
"I think someone used your blood," she said, already pulling her moonstone torch from her satchel. "Question is: who has it?"
A horn blast split the air, sharp enough to make the terrace stones vibrate. All along the palace walls, ward-lights flared to life—thin lines of gold tracing protective runes in the air.
And then, impossibly, those runes began to crack.
The first one shattered like glass.
Below, the Shadowborn army didn't cheer. They didn't shout. They just kept moving forward in perfect, silent formation.
Aerin swore. "We need to get inside the royal keep before the wards fall. If they breach the inner sanctum—"
Her words cut off as a flash of movement caught Jayden's eye. On a rooftop across the courtyard, a single figure stood, cloaked in shadow. Watching him.
It wasn't Thalen.
This figure was taller, their cloak threaded with faint silver. And where their face should have been, there was only darkness.
But he felt their gaze.
His silver flame surged in answer, hot enough to make him stumble.
The figure tilted their head—almost curious—then raised one hand.
Every Shadowborn on the hill stopped.
For one breathless moment, the whole city was silent.
Then the figure lowered their hand, and the army began to run.
They sprinted for the keep. The moonstone paths under their feet glowed faintly, reacting to the wards' collapse. Guards thundered past them toward the walls—dragonkin in scaled armor, human battlemages, a pair of griffin riders with their spears drawn. None of them spared the two of them more than a glance; everyone was focused on the coming storm.
But Jayden's mind wasn't on the walls anymore. It was on the figure.
That was the same presence he'd felt in his dreams. The one whispering in the voice he could never quite remember when he woke.
And as they reached the grand stair leading to the keep, he realized something: they weren't just here for the city. They were here for him.
Inside, the keep was chaos. Runners dashed through the marble halls shouting orders. Scribes carried armfuls of scrolls toward the war council chamber. Somewhere deep in the castle, the vault gongs were ringing—three strikes in quick succession.
Vault breach.
Aerin heard it too. Her eyes went wide. "The Mirror Vault," she said.
Jayden's breath caught. "You think—?"
"I know," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward a side passage. "Whoever's leading them… they're after the same thing you are."
They tore through narrow servants' corridors, past startled kitchen staff and half-awake guards. The deeper they went, the colder the air became, the stone underfoot slick with condensation.
By the time they reached the vault antechamber, the cold was biting. Frost laced the walls, and the great moonsteel doors were covered in a fine sheen of ice.
Two royal sentries stood before it, spears crossed.
"Nobody enters—" one began.
The ice shattered.
A black spear burst through the guard's chest from behind, flinging him aside like a rag doll. The second guard barely had time to shout before the darkness took shape behind him—an armored Shadowborn warrior, eyes burning white.
Jayden didn't think. He threw up a wall of silver flame. The Shadowborn reeled back, snarling, but the ice on the doors began to spread faster.
From somewhere inside the vault came a voice—low, smooth, and terrible.
"Bring me the Second Heart."
The voice was like ice sliding into Jayden's ears, deep enough to rattle his bones.
Aerin shoved him backward. "Run."
But Jayden couldn't. His feet were rooted, his flame roaring in answer to that voice. It wasn't just calling him—it was recognizing him.
The Shadowborn warrior stepped aside, bowing his head as a second figure emerged from the frost.
It was the one from the rooftop.
Up close, the figure was worse. Their cloak was woven from strands of shadow and moonlight, constantly shifting. The hood was deep, but not empty—beneath it, a faintly glowing mask of polished obsidian stared out, carved with twisting runes that seemed to move if you looked at them too long.
They stopped a few paces from Jayden, tilting their head. "You are smaller than I expected."
Jayden's voice caught. "Who are you?"
The figure ignored the question, gliding closer until the frost on the floor was inches from his boots. "The Second Heart is mine by right. You carry it, yet you do not understand it. Do you even know what it is?"
Jayden swallowed. "Something to stop the Shadowborn."
A laugh—quiet, sharp, and utterly humorless. "Stop us? Oh, little moon-child… the Second Heart is Shadowborn."
The words hit him like a physical blow. "That's—"
"Impossible?" The figure leaned forward. "Do you think your silver flame is pure light? Every spark you wield was birthed from shadow. A gift… from me."
Something inside Jayden shifted at the words. Like the flame inside him listened.
Aerin yanked her moonstone torch from her belt. "Back away from him."
The figure didn't move. "You think your little relic will burn me? The torch was forged in my time. I have breathed on hotter stars."
The frost on the vault doors began to crack—not from warmth, but from pulling. The figure's hand was outstretched, drawing power from the wards themselves. The moonsteel groaned.
Jayden's heart was hammering, but in the pulse between beats, something clicked.The Ledger's page.The "Confidential" parentage.Thalen's warning.
"You're my—" he started.
The figure straightened, and the temperature dropped like a stone. "Finish that sentence," they said, "and I will tear the truth from your mouth."
A deep boom shook the air. Not drums this time. Impact. The outer gates had fallen. Screams began to echo down the corridors.
Aerin planted herself between them. "Not happening," she said, voice like a blade.
The figure's mask turned toward her slowly. "You have no idea the storm you are shielding him from."
"Good," Aerin said. "I like surprises."
In one liquid motion, the figure lifted their hand—and every candle in the antechamber went out.
Jayden barely had time to see the vault doors explode inward before darkness swallowed everything.
When Jayden's sight returned, he was inside the vault. He didn't remember moving. The room was enormous, circular, its walls lined with mirrors in silver frames. Each mirror reflected a different scene—forests, oceans, battlefields—but none of them showed the vault itself.
The figure was there too, standing in the center, one hand resting on the largest mirror. Its surface rippled like water.
"This," they said softly, "is the truth you've been chasing."
Jayden's flame pulsed painfully. "Show me."
The mask tilted, almost… approving. "Very well."
The mirror brightened, swallowing the room in white.