Chapter 4 The Whisper of the Dark

The iron-bound shovel bit into the ash-heavy gravel with a grating screech that echoed off the damp stone walls. I wiped a heavy eye-stinging bead of sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve, my teeth clenched in silent agony.

The heat in the lower pens was oppressive, radiating from the slumbering bodies of the first-year training drakes. But it wasn't just the drakes. The heavy leather helmet I had been forced to wear to hide my long, dark brown hair was rapidly becoming a torture device. Wrapped tightly under the hot chainmail coif, my heavy locks were soaked in sweat, itching fiercely and pulling painfully against my scalp with every movement. Combined with the suffocating pressure of the linen bandages around my chest, I felt as if I were being buried alive inside my own armor.

I couldn't endure it another second. If I fainted from heatstroke during my first shift, my secret would be out before morning.

I glanced down the long pavilion. Leaning casually against a stone pillar, one of Aidan’s flight team seniors was deeply absorbed in a tactical parchment. He was supposed to be watching me, but the sheer monotony of the evening had dulled his focus.

Slipping into the absolute darkness of an empty stone alcove near the water troughs, I ripped the heavy leather helmet off my head. I tore away the suffocating chainmail coif, letting my long, dark brown hair spill down over my shoulders in damp, heavy waves. I gasped, the cool, stale air of the cavern hitting my wet scalp like ice water.

I looked at the heavy dark locks, then down at the sharp ceremonial dagger sheathed at my waist. 'No more hiding behind a helmet,' I thought fiercely. 'No more suffocating.'

I drew Desi’s silver-hilted blade. The polished steel caught the faint, amber glow of a distant lantern. Without giving myself a single moment to hesitate, I grabbed the thick mass of my dark brown hair in one fist, lifted the dagger, and sawed through it close to the nape of my neck.

Snip. Snip.

Strand by strand, the heavy dark waves fell away, pooling onto the grimy stone floor like dead leaves. I trimmed the sides quickly, haphazardly, running my fingers through the jagged, short layers until my hair was no longer than a boy's—short, messy, and framing my sharp jawline. I kicked the fallen hair deep into an empty ash bin, hiding the evidence. I ran a hand through my newly light, jagged hair, feeling a cold, intoxicating sense of liberation. Elysia Sterling was dead. There was only Desi now.

I left the helmet off, hanging it from my utility belt, and dragged my iron bucket toward the very last enclosure at the darkest, furthest end of the subterranean corridor. This area was rarely used, tucked away where the mountain air grew stale and freezing drafts whistled through deep rock fissures.

Then, the rhythm broke.

It wasn't a roar, nor was it the aggressive hiss of a wild hatchling. It was a low, fractured vibration. A wet, agonizing wheeze that rattled through the floorboards.

I froze, my unusual, icy blue eyes narrowing as I stared into the absolute darkness of the dead-end tunnel. Hidden behind a heavy, rusted iron grate that didn't appear on any of the standard cadet maps, a creature lay collapsed in the filth.

I gasped, pressing a hand over my mouth.

It was a juvenile dragon—a rare Shadow Traucker, judging by its sleek, midnight-blue scales—but its magnificent form had been completely butchered. Heavy, jagged iron collars tore into its neck, leaking a strange, shimmering black fluid instead of healthy red blood. Its wings were bound tightly against its torso by barbed chains that cut deeper with every breath it took. The beast's eyes, usually a vibrant violet, were clouded over with a dull, milky film of sheer agony.

A market drake, the thought flashed through my mind, a cold dread washing over me. This dragon had been captured illegally, stripped of its dignity, and mutilated by heavy suppressive collars used only by high-end poachers and the black market.

As if sensing my presence, the small dragon let out a pathetic, trembling whine, its snout twitching weakly toward me.

My heart broke. The innate, volatile empathy that I had hidden from my father and brothers my entire life surged violently to the surface. It wasn't a choice; it was an absolute pull. I reached my gloved hand through the iron grate, gently pressing my palm against the dragon's burning, scaled snout.

The moment my skin made contact, a violent jolt of foreign emotion crashed into my mind. I felt the cold, metallic terror of a dark cage, the sting of iron whips, and a profound, agonizing loneliness. But as my magic flowed through my fingertips, the dragon's chaotic, pained thoughts suddenly stilled. The midnight beast let out a long, shuddering sigh, its clouded violet eyes opening slightly to look at me through the gloom.

"Shh... I've got you," I whispered, my voice a soft, melodic thread in the dark.

Under my touch, the black fluid oozing from the dragon's neck began to slow, the raw inflammation around the iron collar soothing under my natural healing frequency.

"Sterling!"

The sharp, echoing shout from the main pavilion shattered the connection.

I ripped my hand back, my heart leaping into my throat. I spun around, stepping away from the hidden cage just as the shadow of Aidan's flight lieutenant rounded the corner, his lantern swinging wildly.

"What the hell are you doing back there?" the senior student barked, his eyes scanning the dark corridor with immediate suspicion. He stopped, his gaze locking onto my face. He blinked, staring at my freshly hacked, messy dark hair, then down at the helmet hanging from my belt. "And where the hell is your gear? Your hair looks like it went through a thresher."

I forced my expression back into Desi's cold, unbothered mask, stepping out of the shadows with my iron bucket in hand. "The helmet was restricting my peripheral vision in the dark, Senior. I trimmed the hair so it wouldn't get caught in the tack. I'm done."

The lieutenant snorted, shaking his head. "Gideon is waiting at the main desk to inspect your work. Move your ass, cadet."

As I walked back toward the lantern light, I could still feel the phantom warmth of the mutilated dragon against my palm. I had survived my first evening, but I had left a part of myself behind in those dark tunnels.