Chapter 2 The Silver Chain

Aeryn stepped back, breath caught in his throat.

The figure-his brother?-stood at the threshold of the frozen gate, framed in spiraling black flame that cast no heat. His eyes were Asher's, violet and sharp. His smile was Asher's too. But it was wrong. Empty. Like a mask stretched too tightly over something else entirely.

"You're dead," Aeryn whispered.

The non-Asher tilted his head. "Am I?"

Two robed figures seized Aeryn from behind, yanking him into motion. The gate hissed shut with a rush of wind and frost, sealing off the world he knew. Before he could scream, before he could even breathe, the darkness swallowed him whole.

He stumbled, dragged by the wrists through a long corridor that twisted like a serpent. Every wall shimmered with runes in shifting colors-red, green, blue-pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The floor breathed beneath his feet. The air was colder than death. He tried to speak, but no sound escaped his throat. The temperature made his lungs ache.

They entered a great circular chamber, its walls carved from obsidian veined with silver and purple. Runes crackled across the floor, forming a pattern that seemed alive. The ceiling was lost in shadows far above, but starlight shimmered down as if from a sky that didn't belong to this world.

He was shoved into the center of a glowing ring. As he tried to regain his balance, he realized the glyphs under his boots were heating up. Whispers echoed around him, but the faces behind the hoods remained still. A dozen strangers circled the ring-judges, observers, executioners. All dressed in various robes marked with House symbols, he couldn't read.

A horned woman with black wings stepped into the circle. Her skin was grayish-blue, and her eyes burned like lanterns in the dark.

"Who bleeds for this name?" she intoned, her voice rippling like thunder.

No one answered.

The woman stared directly into Aeryn's eyes, then conjured a short, curved dagger. Before he could back away, she knelt and slashed his palm.

Aeryn hissed and tried to jerk back, but the circle kept him still.

His blood dripped onto the center glyph.

The effect was immediate. The blood sizzled against the obsidian. The surrounding runes ignited with violet fire. Sigils rose from the floor like steam, circling him, screaming.

Gasps came from the crowd.

"Impossible," someone muttered.

"Hybrid."

"Abomination."

The horned woman's expression twisted into something furious. "This child carries both the Moon and the Fang. He should not exist."

Aeryn gritted his teeth, still cradling his burning hand. "I didn't ask to be born."

"You were not born," someone else snarled. A tall, shadow-cloaked figure with silver embroidery on their hood stepped forward. "You were made."

"I don't understand what any of this means!" Aeryn snapped.

"Your ignorance is a luxury we cannot afford."

A male figure in crimson and black pushed through the circle. He held a tall staff capped with a dark gem that hummed as he approached. "He is under ancient law. He bears the blood of two royal lines. The trial protects him."

"The Trial protects heirs," the horned woman corrected. "Not mistakes."

"Challenge the law, then. Deny the Rite. Stand against the Academy." The staff bearer held up a shimmering sigil-black wax over bone-white parchment. "Obsidian Hollow claims him. He will compete."

The chamber burst into argument. Screaming voices. Spells flickering at your fingertips.

But the horned woman hissed and vanished in a gust of black wind, leaving the circle cold and dim.

The man lowered his staff and turned to Aeryn.

"You've been accepted. That's the last mercy you'll be offered."

Aeryn swayed, suddenly dizzy. "Who... who are you?"

But the man was already gone.

---

They put him in a carriage made of dark glass. It glided silently over snow-laced cobblestone, pulled by no horses, steered by no driver. Only glowing glyphs on the front and back wheels lit the night.

The city passed in a blur-spires made of bone and crystal, hanging gardens suspended in midair, alleyways of shadow and smoke. Aeryn saw other students moving between buildings: one floated on a cushion of mist, another rode a great-winged hound, and another had two extra arms covered in blue scales.

The carriage curved around the side of a massive mountain, and there it was:

Obsidian Hollow Academy.

It didn't look like a school. It looked like a ruin that refused to die. The towers twisted into the sky like claws. Black fire flickered in the braziers. The air reeked of magic and memory. Floating bridges connected the towers, some made of woven branches, others forged from dragon bones.

The gates creaked open as they approached. Aeryn stumbled out, boots crunching into obsidian gravel. A cold wind slapped his face.

A figure stepped from the shadows under the archway.

He was tall, with white-blond hair falling into ice-blue eyes. His uniform was immaculate: a black doublet with silver-threaded cuffs, and a House of Blood emblem stitched to his left breast. His expression was unreadable-boring, maybe. Or annoyed.

"You're late," the boy said.

Aeryn blinked. "Sorry, I was busy being kidnapped and nearly executed."

The boy cracked the faintest smile. Charming. I'm Lucien Damaris. House of Blood. "They've assigned me to 'guide' you, though I wasn't given a choice."

"Lucky me."

Lucien's gaze drifted to Aeryn's chest. His eyes narrowed. "The chain."

Aeryn instinctively touched it. The silver had stopped burning but felt heavier than ever.

"Where did you get that?" Lucien asked quietly.

"My twin brother gave it to me."

Lucien took a step closer. "Is he dead?"

Aeryn flinched. "I... thought so."

"Then keep it hidden. That chain wasn't meant for you."

Before Aeryn could ask what he meant, Lucien turned and walked toward the central tower.

"Try not to die before breakfast," Lucien added over his shoulder.

---

Aeryn's room was high in the Moonspire tower-reserved for those of "uncertain classification," which apparently meant outcasts. It had no windows, only mirrors. No bed, only a platform carved from granite and a silk blanket folded neatly atop it. Runes hummed on the walls.

He sat on the stone bed, every muscle aching. His mind ran in circles.

Asher's death. The hooded judges. The blood reacts to the glyphs. The not-Asher behind the gate.

Wrong twin. What did that even mean?

He must've drifted into sleep because the next thing he knew, the fire in the hearth had burned low and his neck was slick with sweat. Something was wrong. The air had shifted again.

There was someone else in the room.

Aeryn opened his eyes slowly.

A figure stood at the foot of his bed. Tall. Thin. Cloaked in ragged gray. Their face was hidden behind a cracked silver mask.

The blade pressed into his throat was so cold it burned.

"You're not supposed to be alive," the figure whispered.

Aeryn froze.

The intruder leaned in, breath sour and sharp. "You were meant to die. He was the chosen one."

"Who?" Aeryn asked hoarsely.

The figure didn't answer. Instead, they slid the blade along his collarbone-not cutting, just tracing the silver chain there. The metal hissed as it made contact.

The figures jerked back like they'd been burned.

A low growl emerged from their throat.

They dropped something onto the blanket-a folded note-and vanished onto the wall. Literally. The stones rippled, and they were gone.

Aeryn sat up, gasping.

He reached for the note with trembling hands and opened it.

Four words, written in dark red ink:

Wrong twin. He lives.

His breath caught.

The fire flared without fuel.

And the chain around his neck blazed with heat, branding his skin.

He didn't scream.

He didn't move.

He just stared at the door.

Waiting for it to open.

Because if Asher was alive...

Then someone else wanted him dead.

And that someone had just been in his room.