Marcus' POV
The bells rang like death coming.
"We need to move. Now." Isadora pulled me toward the hidden passage. "Those bells mean the Covenant's calling every guard in the city."
"How many guards?" My legs felt like rubber. The magic had drained me more than I thought.
"Five hundred. Maybe more." She pushed aside the bookshelf. "Come on!"
Dante blocked our path. "Wait. If you run now, they'll say you're guilty. That you really are possessed."
"I don't care what they say!"
"But Lowtown does." He pointed at the rooftops. People still stood there, watching. Waiting. "They just risked everything for you. If you run, you prove the Covenant right. That you're a monster worth hunting."
My chest tightened. He was right. In Chicago, running made you look guilty. Made you prey.
"So what do I do? Stand here and let them execute me?"
"No." Isadora's eyes gleamed. "We give them something they can't ignore. Proof the Covenant is corrupt."
"What proof? They control everything—"
"Not everything." She smiled dangerously. "Marcus, when you found Aurelius's journal, did you read all of it?"
"Most of it. Why?"
"The last entry mentioned proof. Meeting notes from the Covenant. He hid them somewhere before they killed him." She grabbed my shoulders. "Where? Think! Use his memories!"
I closed my eyes, reaching for Aurelius's fragmented thoughts.
Nothing. Just exhaustion and fear and—
Wait.
A flash. Aurelius running through dark hallways, papers clutched to his chest. Turning left. Right. Down stairs. Into—
"The chapel," I breathed. "The old one. Underground."
"You're sure?"
"No. But it's the only thing I got."
The bells grew louder. Closer.
Dante peered out the window. "Fifty guards heading this way. Two minutes, maybe less."
"Go," Isadora told him. "Get back to your post. If they know you helped us—"
"I'm not leaving you."
"That's an order, Captain." Her voice went hard. "Someone needs to protect Lowtown when we're gone. That's you."
He hesitated. Then nodded. "Don't die, my lady."
"Wasn't planning on it."
He disappeared through the passage.
Isadora turned to me. "Can you run?"
"Can I crawl? Because that's more realistic right now."
"Good enough." She hauled me to my feet. "The underground chapel is three blocks from here. Through Lowtown's worst streets. At night. With execution bells ringing."
"You really know how to sell a plan."
We ran.
Well, she ran. I stumbled along behind her, every step sending pain through my legs.
The dragon mark on my palm pulsed with each heartbeat. Glowing faintly. A beacon screaming "Here! Dragon tamer! Come kill me!"
We burst into Lowtown's narrow streets. People scattered. Some recognized me, started to kneel.
"Don't!" I gasped. "Just... just go inside. Lock your doors."
An old man grabbed my arm. "They're saying you're cursed, my prince. That you use dark magic."
"I know what they're saying."
"Is it true?"
I looked at my glowing palm. At the dragon mark that damned me.
"Yeah. It's true."
Instead of running, he smiled. Toothless. Genuine. "Good. About time someone with power fought back."
He let go and hobbled away.
Isadora pulled me onward. "The chapel's close. Two more blocks."
Behind us, boots thundered. Guards flooding into Lowtown.
"Stop! In the King's name!"
We turned a corner. Hit a dead end.
"No, no, no—" Isadora spun. "This street had an exit—"
"They blocked it." I pointed at fresh boards nailed across where an alley used to be. "They knew we'd come this way."
Footsteps echoed from the street we just left. Getting closer.
Trapped. Again.
I pressed against the wall, mind racing. In Chicago, I'd had escape routes planned weeks in advance. Here, I was making it up as I went.
The dragon mark pulsed harder. Brighter.
"The dragon sees no walls. Only obstacles to remove."
That voice. Still offering power.
"How much of me do I lose this time?" I whispered.
"A memory. Small. Insignificant. The name of your first dog. Your mother's favorite song. Pieces you won't miss."
Won't miss? Those were pieces of my life. Of Marcus DeLuca. The person I used to be.
But what choice did I have?
"Marcus, don't." Isadora saw my hands starting to glow. "We'll fight our way out. Together."
"Against fifty guards?"
"Better than losing yourself!"
The guards rounded the corner. Swords drawn. Crossbows aimed.
I raised my glowing hands—
A trapdoor opened beneath our feet.
We fell. Landed hard on stone. The trapdoor slammed shut above us.
Darkness. Complete. Suffocating.
"What—" I started.
"Quiet." A woman's voice. Older. Commanding. "They'll search for the entrance. Stay silent or we all die."
Above us, boots stomped. Guards searching.
"They were here!"
"Find them!"
"Check every building!"
I held my breath. Beside me, Isadora did the same.
The glowing mark on my hand cast a faint light. I could just make out our rescuer—an old woman, bent with age, wearing ragged clothes.
She caught me staring at my hand. Her eyes widened.
"The mark," she breathed. "By the old gods... you're really one of them."
"One of what?"
"Dragon tamers. I thought the bloodline died with—" She stopped. Shook her head. "No time. Follow me."
"Who are you?"
"Someone who owes a debt to Aurelius Valmont." She shuffled into the darkness. "He saved my grandson from execution two years ago. Time to repay it."
We followed through twisting tunnels. Old. Ancient. Older than the city above.
"Where are we?" Isadora asked.
"The old catacombs. Built before the Covenant. Before the kingdom. When dragon tamers ruled and magic flowed free." The woman touched the wall. "These tunnels connect everything. The palace. The chapel. Lowtown. Everywhere."
My heart jumped. "You can get us to the underground chapel?"
"I can get you anywhere." She stopped at a fork. Turned left. "But first, you need to understand what you are, boy. What that mark means."
"I'm a dragon tamer. I got that part."
"No. You're THE dragon tamer. The last one. The Covenant's been hunting your bloodline for two hundred years. They've killed thousands trying to erase every trace."
"Why? What's so dangerous about dragon tamers?"
She laughed. Bitter. Sad. "Because you can do what no one else can—control dragons. Command them. Bond with them. And with dragons, you don't need armies. Don't need gold. Don't need the Covenant's permission to rule."
"There aren't any dragons left."
"Aren't there?" She looked at me strangely. "Where do you think the voice in your head comes from? The power in your blood?"
My stomach dropped. "You're saying there's a dragon... inside me?"
"Not inside. Bound to you. Sleeping. Waiting for you to fully awaken." She grabbed my marked hand. "This glow? That's the dragon recognizing its tamer. Offering its power. But power corrupts, boy. Use too much, and the dragon takes over. You become the beast."
Everything the voice said made horrible sense.
"How do I stop it?"
"You can't. Not fully. But you can control it. Learn to use the power without losing yourself." She released my hand. "Your ancestor—the first tamer in your line—she wrote a book. Instructions. Warnings. Everything a tamer needs to know."
"Where is it?"
"Hidden. In the place only a tamer can reach." She smiled. "The Dragon's Heart. Deep beneath the old chapel."
Isadora stiffened. "That's a myth. A legend to scare children."
"All legends start somewhere, girl." The old woman turned back to the path. "Come. We're close."
We walked in silence. My mind spun with questions, but exhaustion made thinking hard.
Finally, we stopped at a stone door. Ancient symbols carved into it. They glowed when I got close.
"The chapel's through here," the woman said. "Find Aurelius's proof. Find your ancestor's book. Then decide what kind of dragon tamer you'll be."
"What do you mean?"
"Some tamers used dragons to protect. Others to conquer. The power doesn't care. Only your choice matters." She pushed the door open. "Choose wisely."
Beyond the door, stairs led down. Down. Down.
Into darkness that felt alive.
Isadora lit a candle from her pack. The flame flickered, weak against the pressing shadows.
We descended. The temperature dropped with each step. My breath came out in clouds.
At the bottom, a vast chamber opened before us. Rows of old pews. An altar covered in dust. And behind the altar—
A statue. Massive. A woman riding a dragon. Both carved from black stone. Both looking ready to attack.
"The first tamer," Isadora whispered. "Your ancestor."
Something about the statue called to me. The woman's face. Her eyes.
I'd seen those eyes before. In a mirror. In Aurelius's memories.
"She looked like him," I said. "Like Aurelius."
"That's impossible. The Valmont line has no magic—"
The dragon mark on my palm blazed. Blinding light filled the chamber.
And the statue's eyes opened.
Not stone anymore. Gold. Alive. Burning with ancient fury.
A voice—not the dragon's voice, but the woman's—echoed through the chamber:
"Intruder. You dare wear my descendant's face? You dare carry his blood?"
The statue moved. Stone became flesh. The dragon spread its wings.
Isadora grabbed my arm. "Marcus, RUN!"
But I couldn't move. Frozen. Not by fear. By recognition.
Because I knew that voice.
I'd heard it three days ago. In Chicago. Right before I died.
The woman who killed me—who ordered Vinnie to shoot—looked exactly like this statue.
The same face. The same cold eyes.
"You," I breathed. "You killed Marcus DeLuca."
The statue smiled. "Yes. And now I'll kill you again, imposter. No one steals my family's power."
The dragon roared.
And the whole chamber exploded in flames.