Chapter ten : When the Lanterns Fell
The fire in the hearth snapped softly as Lyren leaned closer over the table, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her cup. Outside, the drifting lanterns grew smaller in the distance, swallowed by the night's quiet hum.
Kairo watched her—really watched her—bathed in the warm flicker of light. He'd never admit it aloud, but something about seeing Lyren relaxed, smiling without her usual sharp armor of words, made him think maybe life wasn't just about the next job or the next escape.
The door shuddered.
A faint gust blew in, extinguishing a candle near the bar.
No one seemed to notice at first. Just wind. Just a night breeze.
But then a second tremor came—heavier.
Footsteps that weren't quite… human.
The tavern's laughter dimmed as shadows slid across the doorway like oil poured over wood.
The door burst inward.
Hooded figures flooded the room, black robes patterned with jagged crimson sigils that seemed to crawl like molten veins. Their faces were hidden behind bone-white masks carved into snarls of draconic jaws.
The cultists didn't speak—didn't need to. Their intent was a blade in the air.
One of them pointed directly at Lyren.
"Kairo…" she whispered, frozen in place.
Everything moved at once.
Kairo kicked the table aside, dragging her back as the first cultist lunged. Wooden chairs crashed to the floor, drunken patrons screamed, and the air filled with the sharp tang of burning incense as the intruders sprayed powder from carved gourds.
It was disorienting—mists of gold swirled through the tavern, making Kairo's vision warp and tilt. His ears rang with a low, thrumming chant that stirred something primal, something wrong deep in his chest
The chanting grew louder, not in volume, but in presence — as if it wasn't coming from the cultists at all, but from inside Kairo's chest, resonating against his ribs.
His grip tightened on Lyren's wrist, pulling her toward the back door.
"Move!" he urged, but Lyren's steps faltered.
Her golden eyes were locked on the lead cultist.
No — not his face, but something clutched in his hands. A curved shard of crystal, pulsing faintly with the same light as the Tear in Kairo's pouch.
The shard's glow matched hers.
Tables splintered as more cultists surged forward, their movements almost animal, some crawling low across the floor like predators, others leaping onto rafters to drop down from above. The tavern keeper tried to swing a heavy oak club — a masked figure caught it and snapped it clean in half without breaking stride.
Kairo kicked a chair into an attacker's path, twisting to intercept another's blade with the edge of his short dagger. Sparks leapt as steel kissed steel
Sparks leapt as steel kissed steel.
Kairo shoved the attacker back with a boot to the chest, twisting in time to see Lyren still frozen — her gaze locked on that glowing shard.
"Lyren!" he barked, cutting down the space between them. "We need to get out now!"
She didn't move. Her fingers had unconsciously lifted toward the shard, trembling ever so slightly, as though it was pulling at her very soul.
The lead cultist noticed.
A slow, knowing smile spread under his mask. "So it's true," he murmured, voice like gravel. "Dragonblood walks among us."
And with that, the lanterns hanging above burst.
No — they didn't break from impact; they exploded outward in rings of light, as if something inside them rejected the flame. Fragments of glass fell like rain, shimmering in brief flashes before hitting the floor.
The room dimmed, but the shard in the cultist's hand — and Lyren herself — glowed brighter in the dark.
Kairo swore under his breath. This wasn't just an ambush; it was an awakening.
Two cultists lunged at him from opposite sides. He barely ducked one blade, deflecting the other with his dagger, twisting his body to keep both enemies in sight. But they weren't fighting to kill — they were fighting to keep him away from Lyren.
The lead cultist raised the shard above his head. Its glow bled into the air, thin tendrils of light reaching toward Lyren's chest. She gasped — not from fear — but from the strange, warm ache blooming inside her.
"Kairo…" her voice was soft, almost dazed. "It's calling me."
Before he could answer, the roar came again.
That same otherworldly dragon's cry