When Jane woke, the first thing she felt was the weight of chains. Heavy, cold, biting against her skin. Her entire body throbbed with bruises and welts, each one a memory of fists, boots, and deliberate cruelty. A thin scar cut across her cheek, shallow but permanent—a mark of Shax's precision, the reminder that every wound had been intentional.
She tried to summon her healing, to knit the broken flesh together, but the runes etched into her restraints burned in answer. Witchcraft suppression. Even the smallest cut lingered, raw and angry.
She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to cry. Refusing to give them that satisfaction. On the outside, she was defiant. Inside, she was crumbling. I'm failing her, the thought whispered, jagged as glass. I'm failing Levi.
Every time footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, her chest tightened. Sometimes it was guards. Sometimes it was him. Shax's voice still clung to her ears like smoke, his touch seared into her memory. Even when he wasn't there, the echo of his presence hollowed her chest.
The dungeon was a hybrid nightmare: ancient stone walls carved with demonic history, fused with steel restraints, glowing runes, and monitors that blinked with cold precision. Old and new, magic and machine, all united for one purpose—containment.
The door groaned open. Two guards stepped inside, a shifter and a witch. Their smirks made her stomach twist.
"Well, well," the shifter drawled. "The witch who thought she could take a queen."
The witch's boot drove into her ribs. She gasped, chains rattling. Another strike followed, then a cruel laugh. Every blow was measured—not to kill, but to break.
She endured, biting back screams, her jaw clenched until her teeth ached.
Then it happened.
Her breath hitched, shallow. Something stirred inside her veins—heat, pressure, a thrum that didn't belong. The faintest shimmer of purple pulsed beneath her skin, glowing through the bruises. Her vision blurred, and when her eyes refocused, the guards froze.
Her reflection in their terror was unmistakable: her eyes glowed faintly, not with witch's red, but the sharp, alien hue of dragon's flame.
They staggered back, whispering in panic before bolting. The door slammed, leaving her trembling in chains, her body burning with power she didn't understand.
Minutes later, another presence filled the corridor—stronger, heavier, like the air itself bent around him. Shax.
He stepped into the chamber, wings folded, eyes glinting with cruel recognition. The smirk on his lips cut deeper than any blade.
"So," he purred, circling her like a predator. "That's why Levi clings to you. She thinks your cursed blood makes you worth saving."
Jane's chains rattled as she pulled against them, her teeth bared, her glowing eyes refusing to look away. But Shax only chuckled, leaning close enough for her to feel his breath.
"Pathetic. Half a witch, half a dragon… yet less than either. No wonder you're hers. Broken things cling together."
His laughter followed him as he left, and Jane was once again alone, the echo of his words burning hotter than her wounds.
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