Derian's expression hardened.
Without another word, he summoned the Komodo construct, its misty form coiling into existence beside him.
"Protect him," Derian ordered quietly. "No matter the cost."
The construct didn't hesitate. It surged back toward the Dragon's Block, vanishing into the storm and noise of battle.
The fight showed no sign of slowing.
When Damien reappeared, Xyldrak had transformed the space around himself—jagged ice spikes layered across his body like armor, a clear warning to anything that dared draw close.
Below, the Kitsune moved swiftly, weaving through the chaos. They anchored the struggling fae, lending stability and focus, and together they cast layered illusions—mirrors, false movements, fractured images—meant to pull the dragon's attention in every direction at once.
The Elementals pressed forward as well. Fire burned against frost, and though Xyldrak held his ground, the clash forced him to divide his focus.
This battle would not end in a clean victory.
But it would not be his to claim either.
Demons and Werebeasts surged in coordinated assaults, only to be pulled back at the last second by Vampires moving faster than sight—dragging allies out of danger before the dragon's counterstrike could reach them.
The Dragon's Block had become a shifting storm of motion, light, and power.
Too many had fallen already—students and professors alike—exhausted, injured, or unable to rise again.
And through it all, Damien searched.
Faces blurred past him. Voices called out. Spells flared and faded.
But Reinna was nowhere to be seen.
A cold knot tightened in Damien's chest.
"Damien."
A hand settled on his shoulder. He turned to find Overseer Donald standing behind him—his robes torn, posture unsteady, arms hanging heavy with exhaustion, but his eyes still sharp.
"We can't hold much longer," the Overseer said. "Get out of here. Warn the professors and students in the Demon Block—we need their help."
The words dragged Damien back to an earlier moment.
Derian's voice. Find the professors. Warn them.
Damien had hesitated then, warned Derian to be careful, and vanished without looking back.
He had gone straight to Overseer Donald and told him the truth—the source of the wind, the mist, the storm swallowing the academy. They couldn't keep the students scattered, but gathering everyone in one place was just as dangerous.
So they split them.
One group to the Dragon's Block.
The other to the Demon Block.
And Derian… Derian was meant to buy them time which he did.
Now that time was running out.
Damien's gaze flicked instinctively back to the battlefield, to the chaos. Every part of him screamed to ignore the Overseer, to search until he found Reinna.
But the academy was breaking.
If reinforcements didn't come, there wouldn't be anyone left to save.
Damien clenched his fists, forcing the fear down.
"I'll be back," he said.
Then, in a flash of displaced air, Damien vanished—racing toward the Demon Block, carrying the weight of the academy with him.
At the Demon block —
Ace, Victor, and Alpha were already there.
No one in the Demon Block was calm.
The battle in the Dragon's Block was impossible to ignore. Some heard it—distant impacts carried through stone and wind. Others saw it.
Alpha saw it directly.
Ace watched through a shimmering spy bubble hovering beside him, images flickering with distortion. Victor stood still, eyes closed, reconstructing the chaos from sound alone—every roar, every rupture forming pictures in his mind.
Alpha bit down on his lower lip, hands clenched tight at his sides.
Help without him knowing.
Victor hadn't meant harm when he'd said it. None of them had. But that single choice—quiet, well-intentioned—had pushed Alpha to keep breaking the chains around the dragon.
He had been warned.
Damien had warned him.
Alpha's chest tightened as the realization finally hit, heavy and unforgiving.
If anything happens to my brother, it will be all your fault.
Damien's voice echoed in his mind, sharper now than it had been then. The stakes had grown far beyond guilt or secrecy. If the academy fell—if lives were lost—it would trace back to him.
Alpha's power fed on emotion.
And now his conscience clawed at him from the depths, relentless. He couldn't bear the thought of what he'd become if everything went wrong because of his choices.
Then the air shimmered.
A figure appeared.
Damien.
"Everyone," he said urgently, breath tight, eyes burning. "We need your help. The Dragon's Block won't last much longer."
The words struck Alpha like a blow to the chest. His hand flew to his heart as if to steady it, breath hitching.
There was no hesitation after that.
Those who could teleport vanished instantly. Those who could fly fought the wind and took to the air. Others ran—feet pounding stone, fear and resolve driving them forward.
Alpha followed.
And as he moved, a silent vow settled in his chest.
If it comes to it, he promised himself, I'll pay for my mistake.
Even if it costs me my life.
Reinna had already transformed.
Her form cut through the storm as a silver-white dragon, radiant even beneath the choking mist. Her scales reflected light with an almost sacred brilliance—undeniable, unmistakable.
The Golden Bloodline.
The purest bloodline recorded in history.
This moment mirrored the old records almost perfectly—the kind students studied with detached awe, never believing they would live to see it themselves.
The bearer of the Golden Bloodline
against
the bearer of the Ashen Bloodline.
Reinna fought with everything she had.
Her movements were precise, honed by years of brutal discipline. She knew how to recognize an Ashen dragon. She knew their weaknesses, their patterns, their instincts. She had been trained not just to fight one—but to survive one.
And now she was here, not by choice, but by necessity.
Among all the combatants, she alone pressed Xyldrak back. Not through raw power alone, but through control, timing, and knowledge passed down through generations.
Yet something was wrong.
Unbeknownst to everyone else—professors, students, even Derian—Xyldrak never struck her in return.
He endured her assaults head-on. Blows landed. Scales cracked. Frost scattered.
But he never turned to face her.
Never retaliated.
It was as though she wasn't his enemy at all.
Only Ramien understood.
Deep within the Soul Sea, the battle unfolded before him through their bond—every clash, every hesitation bleeding into his awareness. The truth settled heavily in his chest.
Xyldrak wasn't ignoring Reinna out of weakness.
He was choosing not to fight her.
The dragon's earlier words echoed faintly in Ramien's mind—something about a presence within him, something not yet discovered.
Back then, Ramien had dismissed it as provocation.
Now, watching the Golden Bloodline clash against a dragon that refused to answer her strikes, he wasn't so sure anymore.
The battle had crossed a point of no return.
Reinforcements flooded into the ravaged Dragon's Block—professors, students, creatures of every race and lineage—each arriving with fear in their hearts and resolve etched into their movements.
No one came unburdened. Every fighter carried their own doubts, their own regrets, their own reasons for standing their ground.
Some fought for the academy.
Some fought for their friends.
Some fought simply because there was nowhere left to run.
The air was thick with overlapping powers—mist, flame, illusion, wind—colliding and clashing without rhythm. Orders were shouted and lost. Trust was placed in instinct rather than strategy.
Survival became the only unifying goal.