Chapter 7: Lava Cavern’s Whispers
The afternoon sun dipped low over the ash ridges, bleeding into streaks of rust, smoke and bruised violet across the sky. Ash gusts bit at exposed skin, carrying the sharp, rotten stench of sulphur and smoldering rock. Malachi emerged from the swirling haze not long after Kaelen melted back into the wilderness, his boots crunching over cinder and loose basalt shards. His Tempest hatchling darted anxiously in tight circles around his boots, its gray feathers dusted black, a thin trail of static crackling along the edges of its wings.
A shallow, oozing cut sliced across Malachi’s forearm, dark ash crusted into the wound. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, and exhaustion weighed heavy in his eyes.
“I ran into a pack of shadow beasts further east,” he panted, halting beside me, chest heaving. “They hunt in coordinated packs, don’t charge blindly — they herd you toward fissures where the ground gives way. I lost the rune relic I’d recovered. When I heard the rockslide and saw that boulder plummet off the ridge, I feared the worst.”
Nyra rumbled a low, cautious greeting, but her silver slitted eyes never relaxed, sweeping every shadow, every crevice in the ridgeline. Through our Soul-Weave, I could feel her awareness unfurling across the land, tasting the stale, ancient magic seeped deep into the stone. Her unease thickened the longer we lingered near the gorge mouth. This place remembered old things. Dangerous things.
“One of the senior trainees set death traps specifically for me,” I told Malachi, brushing clumps of ash from my cheeks and eyelashes. “Kaelen intercepted him before the boulder struck. But this wilderness has more than one enemy. Not every hunter will reveal themselves openly.” I nodded toward the jagged black ridgeline marked on our trial parchment. “The final rune relic lies deep within the lava cavern network. That is our last objective to pass the trial.”
Malachi’s face paled. “The lava caverns? The pre-trial briefing warned that those tunnels are saturated with First Brood containment runes. Most trainees avoid them entirely unless there is no other path. Strange things happen down there.”
“We have no alternative route. If we abandon the relic, the entire trial is a failure.” A rough cough rattled my ribs, leftover pain from the earlier clash still throbbing in my lungs. Nyra’s thin wisp of shadow curled gently around my wrist, a quiet, soothing pull through our bond to dull the burning ache. “Nyra can feel the relic’s resonance. It’s calling her. Down below.”
Malachi exhaled heavily and gave a sharp nod. “Alright. We stick side-by-side at all times. My hatchling can summon lightning to light the tunnels and drive beasts back. We watch every corner. No splitting up, no wandering off alone.”
We picked our way carefully down the cavern’s sloped entrance. The temperature climbed steadily the further we descended, the air turning thick and oppressive, heavy with trapped heat. Beneath our boots, the volcanic stone hummed, thrumming from rivers of molten magma churning hundreds of feet below. Glowing orange veins of lava snaked across the tunnel walls, casting flickering, warped shadows that seemed to shift and move when we weren’t looking directly at them. The cave branched endlessly into smaller, shadowed side passages, a labyrinth of black rock — but Nyra moved forward without hesitation, guided by the relic’s faint pull.
It was when we stepped into the wide central chamber that everything fractured.
Nyra froze mid-step. The faint silver luminescence of her scales dimmed, snuffed almost entirely. The wispy shadow that constantly drifted off her hide thinned to nothing, as though a heavy lid had slammed shut over her power. She tilted her head and let out a strained, confused whimper, small body tensing.
Something binds me. Her voice echoed weakly in my mind, muffled, distant, as if spoken through layers of heavy stone. Wards carved into every stone of this chamber. They cage void magic. I cannot reach my power. I cannot weave shadow.
Cold panic coiled tight in my throat. I reached out through the Soul-Weave, trying to rouse her power, to call even a small veil of shadow for protection. The bond was still there, intact, but blocked — a thick barrier of ancient runic magic stood between our minds and her void strength. Her greatest weapon, her natural defense, was stripped away.
“What’s wrong?” Malachi whispered, his hand instinctively closing around the neck of his hatchling. The little Tempest dragon flattened itself against his leg, hackles raised, static sparking nervously along its feathers.
“These runes were carved to suppress First Brood dragons,” I murmured, pulse hammering. “Nyra can’t access her void magic here. She’s reduced to nothing more than a hatchling.”
A low, guttural snarl rolled out of the deepest dark at the chamber’s far end.
One by one, shadow beasts oozed out from the narrow side tunnels. They were hunched, faceless abominations woven from condensed smoke and crushed obsidian, their jaws lined with jagged rock shards that glinted in the magma light. They spread into a loose circle around us, cutting off every exit, pacing slowly, testing our weaknesses. Malachi’s Tempest hatchling screeched, arcs of blue lightning crackling down its wings.
“Stay tight together!” Malachi shouted. He raised his arm, and the hatchling unleashed a crackling bolt of lightning. It slammed into the lead beast, tearing its smoky form apart into drifting ash — but more poured from the tunnels to replace it. There were too many, endless, swarming forward.
One beast lunged straight for my chest.
Nyra threw herself forward instantly, positioning herself between me and the attacker. She snapped her jaws, small teeth sinking into the beast’s smoky limb, but without her void power, she had no strength to dissolve it. The beast’s obsidian claw raked hard across her flank, tearing open a deep gash. Dark, viscous dragon blood welled and dripped onto the hot stone.
A sharp cry exploded in my mind, and the exact same burning pain erupted in my own side. The Soul-Weave did not differentiate our flesh. Her wound became mine. I stumbled, doubling over, a violent cough wracking my frame, metallic blood welling at the corner of my mouth and dripping onto the rock.
“Seraphina!” Malachi roared. He unleashed another lightning blast, holding back two beasts at once, but more kept closing the circle.
I sank down to one knee, clutching my throbbing side, forcing my blurred vision to focus on the cavern walls. That was when I saw them.
Beneath the flickering glow of magma, faded, weathered murals covered the rock face. Giant depictions of First Brood riders standing beside shadow dragons, scenes long erased from Drakemoor’s official archives. My breath caught when my gaze landed on one carved figure. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, the exact silver wrist mark I bore etched into the stone.
Elara Vael. My mother.
The mural showed her standing in this very cavern, shoulder to shoulder with Kaelen’s father. They were not fighting, not hostile. They leaned in together, tracing runes carved on the rock, heads bowed in shared study. At the far edge of the carving, half-hidden in shadow, stood a hooded human figure. A silent witness, watching them, unseen by the pair in the mural.
This place was not the site of betrayal and poison. It was where they came together to dig up forbidden ancient knowledge.
The lies run deeper than we imagined. Nyra’s faint voice brushed my thoughts. The council erased this history, sealed this cavern, hid the murals from every generation of riders after them.
Another shadow beast surged forward, jaws open, inches from my throat.
Then, a wave of bone-chilling cold rolled through the cavern.
The shadow beasts all flinched, hissing and retreating half a step. Kaelen stepped out from a shadowed side passage, his indigo cloak rippling in the hot cavern air. Behind him loomed his massive Shade dragon, its scales like solid midnight, glowing red eyes sweeping the chamber, assessing the beasts, assessing our wounds. He had tracked us, drawn by the clash of magic and the scent of spilled dragon blood.
His gaze flicked rapidly: first to the blood at my lips, then to the bleeding gash across Nyra’s flank, before locking on the massive mural covering the wall. For a heartbeat, he froze. His expression shifted, the familiar cold composure cracking, surprise seeping through. He had studied every council archive, every official record of his father’s final years, and he had never once seen this carving, never known this cavern existed.
“Hold them off,” Kaelen said to Malachi, his voice steady and sharp. He crossed the chamber in long strides toward the mural, his eyes fixed on the carved figures. “These wards only nullify the void magic of First Brood dragons. Ordinary shadow magic is untouched by the runes.”
He lifted one hand. Thick, inky shadow flooded outward from his Shade dragon, rolling across the cavern floor like black water. It wrapped around each shadow beast one by one, seeping into their smoky forms. The creatures screeched, dissolving into wispy smoke until the chamber fell quiet, the threat dispersed.
Kaelen turned slowly back toward the mural, his tone quieter now, heavy with unspoken turmoil.
“Every account I ever read claimed your mother and my father were bitter enemies. That she betrayed him alone in this wilderness.” He lifted a finger, brushing lightly over the carved stone of his father’s face. “This mural tells a completely different story.”
“Someone fabricated the treason narrative,” I replied, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet, Nyra limping over to press against my leg. “They sealed this cavern, wiped its records. If they were partners, working side by side… what secret were they chasing that was worth killing to hide?”
“I do not know.” Kaelen’s gaze swept the mural again, lingering on the hooded hidden watcher carved at the edge. “This cavern does not appear on any council map I’ve accessed. Whoever buried this secret took great pains to ensure no one would ever discover it.” He glanced back toward the deeper tunnels. “The relic sits further inside. We retrieve it quickly. Do not linger. The containment wards here are unstable, and more shadow beasts may be drawn back by the scent of blood.”
Malachi nodded, still shaken from the fight, his Tempest hatchling huddled close at his feet. We moved cautiously deeper into the cave, Nyra limping beside me, her magic still trapped under the runic suppression. At the back of the cavern chamber, the rune relic rested atop a rough stone pedestal, glowing soft silver. I stretched out my hand and closed my fingers around it. The relic hummed against my palm, our final trial objective complete.
But the moment my skin touched the stone, I felt it. A pair of human eyes, fixed on us, watching from the deepest, blackest tunnel mouth far to our left. Not a beast. A person.
Before I could shout, before I could point it out, the figure pulled back and vanished, slipping into the dark.
They had been there the whole time. Watched us battle the beasts. Watched us discover the mural. They did not want these carvings, this truth, to ever leave the lava cavern.
Kaelen’s head snapped toward the tunnel, sensing the faint disturbance in the air.
“Someone was here,” I whispered.
His jaw tightened. “Then we leave, now.”
— End of Chapter Seven —
A shallow, oozing cut sliced across Malachi’s forearm, dark ash crusted into the wound. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, and exhaustion weighed heavy in his eyes.
“I ran into a pack of shadow beasts further east,” he panted, halting beside me, chest heaving. “They hunt in coordinated packs, don’t charge blindly — they herd you toward fissures where the ground gives way. I lost the rune relic I’d recovered. When I heard the rockslide and saw that boulder plummet off the ridge, I feared the worst.”
Nyra rumbled a low, cautious greeting, but her silver slitted eyes never relaxed, sweeping every shadow, every crevice in the ridgeline. Through our Soul-Weave, I could feel her awareness unfurling across the land, tasting the stale, ancient magic seeped deep into the stone. Her unease thickened the longer we lingered near the gorge mouth. This place remembered old things. Dangerous things.
“One of the senior trainees set death traps specifically for me,” I told Malachi, brushing clumps of ash from my cheeks and eyelashes. “Kaelen intercepted him before the boulder struck. But this wilderness has more than one enemy. Not every hunter will reveal themselves openly.” I nodded toward the jagged black ridgeline marked on our trial parchment. “The final rune relic lies deep within the lava cavern network. That is our last objective to pass the trial.”
Malachi’s face paled. “The lava caverns? The pre-trial briefing warned that those tunnels are saturated with First Brood containment runes. Most trainees avoid them entirely unless there is no other path. Strange things happen down there.”
“We have no alternative route. If we abandon the relic, the entire trial is a failure.” A rough cough rattled my ribs, leftover pain from the earlier clash still throbbing in my lungs. Nyra’s thin wisp of shadow curled gently around my wrist, a quiet, soothing pull through our bond to dull the burning ache. “Nyra can feel the relic’s resonance. It’s calling her. Down below.”
Malachi exhaled heavily and gave a sharp nod. “Alright. We stick side-by-side at all times. My hatchling can summon lightning to light the tunnels and drive beasts back. We watch every corner. No splitting up, no wandering off alone.”
We picked our way carefully down the cavern’s sloped entrance. The temperature climbed steadily the further we descended, the air turning thick and oppressive, heavy with trapped heat. Beneath our boots, the volcanic stone hummed, thrumming from rivers of molten magma churning hundreds of feet below. Glowing orange veins of lava snaked across the tunnel walls, casting flickering, warped shadows that seemed to shift and move when we weren’t looking directly at them. The cave branched endlessly into smaller, shadowed side passages, a labyrinth of black rock — but Nyra moved forward without hesitation, guided by the relic’s faint pull.
It was when we stepped into the wide central chamber that everything fractured.
Nyra froze mid-step. The faint silver luminescence of her scales dimmed, snuffed almost entirely. The wispy shadow that constantly drifted off her hide thinned to nothing, as though a heavy lid had slammed shut over her power. She tilted her head and let out a strained, confused whimper, small body tensing.
Something binds me. Her voice echoed weakly in my mind, muffled, distant, as if spoken through layers of heavy stone. Wards carved into every stone of this chamber. They cage void magic. I cannot reach my power. I cannot weave shadow.
Cold panic coiled tight in my throat. I reached out through the Soul-Weave, trying to rouse her power, to call even a small veil of shadow for protection. The bond was still there, intact, but blocked — a thick barrier of ancient runic magic stood between our minds and her void strength. Her greatest weapon, her natural defense, was stripped away.
“What’s wrong?” Malachi whispered, his hand instinctively closing around the neck of his hatchling. The little Tempest dragon flattened itself against his leg, hackles raised, static sparking nervously along its feathers.
“These runes were carved to suppress First Brood dragons,” I murmured, pulse hammering. “Nyra can’t access her void magic here. She’s reduced to nothing more than a hatchling.”
A low, guttural snarl rolled out of the deepest dark at the chamber’s far end.
One by one, shadow beasts oozed out from the narrow side tunnels. They were hunched, faceless abominations woven from condensed smoke and crushed obsidian, their jaws lined with jagged rock shards that glinted in the magma light. They spread into a loose circle around us, cutting off every exit, pacing slowly, testing our weaknesses. Malachi’s Tempest hatchling screeched, arcs of blue lightning crackling down its wings.
“Stay tight together!” Malachi shouted. He raised his arm, and the hatchling unleashed a crackling bolt of lightning. It slammed into the lead beast, tearing its smoky form apart into drifting ash — but more poured from the tunnels to replace it. There were too many, endless, swarming forward.
One beast lunged straight for my chest.
Nyra threw herself forward instantly, positioning herself between me and the attacker. She snapped her jaws, small teeth sinking into the beast’s smoky limb, but without her void power, she had no strength to dissolve it. The beast’s obsidian claw raked hard across her flank, tearing open a deep gash. Dark, viscous dragon blood welled and dripped onto the hot stone.
A sharp cry exploded in my mind, and the exact same burning pain erupted in my own side. The Soul-Weave did not differentiate our flesh. Her wound became mine. I stumbled, doubling over, a violent cough wracking my frame, metallic blood welling at the corner of my mouth and dripping onto the rock.
“Seraphina!” Malachi roared. He unleashed another lightning blast, holding back two beasts at once, but more kept closing the circle.
I sank down to one knee, clutching my throbbing side, forcing my blurred vision to focus on the cavern walls. That was when I saw them.
Beneath the flickering glow of magma, faded, weathered murals covered the rock face. Giant depictions of First Brood riders standing beside shadow dragons, scenes long erased from Drakemoor’s official archives. My breath caught when my gaze landed on one carved figure. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, the exact silver wrist mark I bore etched into the stone.
Elara Vael. My mother.
The mural showed her standing in this very cavern, shoulder to shoulder with Kaelen’s father. They were not fighting, not hostile. They leaned in together, tracing runes carved on the rock, heads bowed in shared study. At the far edge of the carving, half-hidden in shadow, stood a hooded human figure. A silent witness, watching them, unseen by the pair in the mural.
This place was not the site of betrayal and poison. It was where they came together to dig up forbidden ancient knowledge.
The lies run deeper than we imagined. Nyra’s faint voice brushed my thoughts. The council erased this history, sealed this cavern, hid the murals from every generation of riders after them.
Another shadow beast surged forward, jaws open, inches from my throat.
Then, a wave of bone-chilling cold rolled through the cavern.
The shadow beasts all flinched, hissing and retreating half a step. Kaelen stepped out from a shadowed side passage, his indigo cloak rippling in the hot cavern air. Behind him loomed his massive Shade dragon, its scales like solid midnight, glowing red eyes sweeping the chamber, assessing the beasts, assessing our wounds. He had tracked us, drawn by the clash of magic and the scent of spilled dragon blood.
His gaze flicked rapidly: first to the blood at my lips, then to the bleeding gash across Nyra’s flank, before locking on the massive mural covering the wall. For a heartbeat, he froze. His expression shifted, the familiar cold composure cracking, surprise seeping through. He had studied every council archive, every official record of his father’s final years, and he had never once seen this carving, never known this cavern existed.
“Hold them off,” Kaelen said to Malachi, his voice steady and sharp. He crossed the chamber in long strides toward the mural, his eyes fixed on the carved figures. “These wards only nullify the void magic of First Brood dragons. Ordinary shadow magic is untouched by the runes.”
He lifted one hand. Thick, inky shadow flooded outward from his Shade dragon, rolling across the cavern floor like black water. It wrapped around each shadow beast one by one, seeping into their smoky forms. The creatures screeched, dissolving into wispy smoke until the chamber fell quiet, the threat dispersed.
Kaelen turned slowly back toward the mural, his tone quieter now, heavy with unspoken turmoil.
“Every account I ever read claimed your mother and my father were bitter enemies. That she betrayed him alone in this wilderness.” He lifted a finger, brushing lightly over the carved stone of his father’s face. “This mural tells a completely different story.”
“Someone fabricated the treason narrative,” I replied, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet, Nyra limping over to press against my leg. “They sealed this cavern, wiped its records. If they were partners, working side by side… what secret were they chasing that was worth killing to hide?”
“I do not know.” Kaelen’s gaze swept the mural again, lingering on the hooded hidden watcher carved at the edge. “This cavern does not appear on any council map I’ve accessed. Whoever buried this secret took great pains to ensure no one would ever discover it.” He glanced back toward the deeper tunnels. “The relic sits further inside. We retrieve it quickly. Do not linger. The containment wards here are unstable, and more shadow beasts may be drawn back by the scent of blood.”
Malachi nodded, still shaken from the fight, his Tempest hatchling huddled close at his feet. We moved cautiously deeper into the cave, Nyra limping beside me, her magic still trapped under the runic suppression. At the back of the cavern chamber, the rune relic rested atop a rough stone pedestal, glowing soft silver. I stretched out my hand and closed my fingers around it. The relic hummed against my palm, our final trial objective complete.
But the moment my skin touched the stone, I felt it. A pair of human eyes, fixed on us, watching from the deepest, blackest tunnel mouth far to our left. Not a beast. A person.
Before I could shout, before I could point it out, the figure pulled back and vanished, slipping into the dark.
They had been there the whole time. Watched us battle the beasts. Watched us discover the mural. They did not want these carvings, this truth, to ever leave the lava cavern.
Kaelen’s head snapped toward the tunnel, sensing the faint disturbance in the air.
“Someone was here,” I whispered.
His jaw tightened. “Then we leave, now.”
— End of Chapter Seven —
