Page 94 of The First Scar
He considered me. The only sound was the scrape of someone clearing plates at the far end of the hall. He didn't look offended; he looked like someone re-evaluating the weight of a coin.
"The game," he said finally, "is the King's board. His hierarchy of Marks, if you heal the veil you take away his hierarchy, because you take away Marks. Remember. Fae only started being born with Marks after the veil tore." His voice stayedlevel. "The game exists for one reason—for the King to win it. Of course I want to annihilate it."
My shoulders dropped. Just a fraction.
ThatI could understand. Not his grand chess match. Not his surgical little metaphors. But burning down a system that caged Shadowmarked children and called it natural order? I'd light that match myself.
"Toppling the King's caste-rigged game?" I met his stare. "I'm all in."
Maxx slapped both hands on the table, breaking the stare-down. "I take it that's a yes, then?"
I didn't answer him. I looked to Serenya instead—her dark eyes steady, holding mine in that silent conversation we'd been having since we were children. She squeezed my hand once more under the table.I'm with you. Whatever you decide.
"Well," I said, pushing back from the bench to meet Dreadscale. "If I'm going to save the world, I should probably learn how to stop breaking it first."
Maxx raised my abandoned bread in a mock toast. "That's the spirit. Low expectations, high drama. You're learning."
Serenya gave my hand one last squeeze and I turned toward the deeper shadows of the cavern. The noise of the mess hall thinned behind me with every step—laughter, tin scraping tin, all of it fading until there was just my boots on wet stone and the air biting against my skin.
Chapter 21
AMARIA
The chamber announced itself before I reached it—a pocket of cold that bit through my clothes, air so still it felt like holding your breath. A single torch crackled near the far wall, throwing shadows that seemed to move on their own.
Dreadscale didn't look up when I entered.
He stood at the chamber's center, arm extended, fingers releasing a throwing star in a single, fluid motion. Show-off.Though I suppose when you're that lethal, it stops being a performance. The blade spun through the dark—
A tendril of shadow followed.
Ink-black and alive, the darkness coiled around the star like a second skin. It guided the weapon, an extension of will made visible. The star struck the far wall with a soft thunk, and the shadow dissolved, leaving only a faint, shivering scorch mark.
I watched the mark fade. Watched the dragon tattoo on his spine flare ember-orange, scales shifting with a life of their own before settling back to a slow, rhythmic tide.
He wields his mark like a limb. I wield mine like a grenade with the pin half out.
Dreadscale drew another star in a single, fluid motion. Still no acknowledgment. Either he was testing me, or I was already being studied.
"Pain is the ink your shadow writes in, Scar-Bearer." His voice scraped like gravel over stone. He didn't turn. "Are you ready to bleed?"
I stepped into the firelight. Let him see my face.
"I'm ready," I said. I moved further into the light.
He turned then. Those dark, primal eyes found mine.
"You're ready to look upon what you refused before?"
The memory of my last attempt surged up unbidden—the flood of grief and shame, the way I'd run like a coward before he could crack me all the way open.
I held his gaze.
"I am." The words came out a vow. "I did five heartbeats during the first trial. I'll do eight by the end of today."
His eyes sharpened with assessment.
"You need thirty heartbeats to retrieve the Codex," he said. "And fifty to attempt the Veil ritual at least." He let that land. "You will do eight by the end of this session. Ten by tomorrow."
