The library meeting had left us all drained but resolute. For the first time, we had the beginnings of a plan, fragile as it was. By the time I climbed into bed that night, exhaustion pulled at my body like a lead blanket. As I drifted into sleep, a rare sliver of peace washed over me, a faint hope taking root in the chaos of Drakonscreach Academy.
That peace didn’t last.
The sharp crack of gunfire split the night, jerking me awake with a start. For a moment, I lay frozen, unsure if I was still dreaming. Then came more shots, the rapid, staccato rhythm piercing the silence. My chest tightened with alarm as distant screams reached my ears, faint but unmistakable.
My open window let in the cool night air—and the sounds of chaos. Though my dorm was on the second floor, the commotion below was loud and clear. The roar of voices, panicked cries, and the sickening crack of gunfire formed an ominous symphony of terror.
Pushing the blanket aside, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and crept toward the window. Peeking out cautiously, I strained to make sense of the scene below.
The courtyard was awash in shadows, but I could make out a group of masked figures moving with cold efficiency. They carried rifles that gleamed faintly in the moonlight, their posture predatory. A small cluster of civilians—students and staff—were backed against a wall. Some tried to run, but the attackers showed no mercy.
Gunfire erupted again, and my breath caught as bodies fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. Blood pooled on the cobblestones, glinting black in the dim light.
My stomach churned, and I pressed a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. This wasn’t just another night of Drakonscreach’s endless brutality. This was a massacre.
For a moment, I stood paralyzed by the horror unfolding below. Then, a surge of determination propelled me into action. I needed to warn the others—Mira, Yuki, Dana, Kenzo, Kian, and Lyra. If this was the purge, it was far worse than any of us had imagined.
I grabbed a small blade from my nightstand and slipped into my boots and jacket. Phones were useless here; the institute’s signal dampeners ensured that. If I wanted to reach the others, I’d have to do it the hard way.
Adrenaline coursed through me as I dashed into the hallway, my boots muffled against the worn wooden floor. The dormitory was eerily quiet, the usual late-night murmurs replaced by a heavy, foreboding silence.
I started with Mira’s door, banging hard enough to rattle the frame. “Mira! Wake up!”
No answer.
I moved to the next door, pounding again. “It’s Anne! Open up—something’s happening!”
Finally, Mira’s door creaked open, her bleary face peeking out. “Anne? What—?”
“No time to explain,” I cut her off, grabbing her arm. “We need to move. Now.”
The urgency in my voice snapped her into focus. “What’s going on?”
“Gunfire. Civilians are being killed,” I whispered harshly. “We need to get to the others.”
Together, we moved through the dormitory, knocking on doors and dragging our group into the hallway one by one. Yuki appeared first, clutching a metal pipe, her eyes wide with alarm. Dana followed, her face pale but resolute. Kenzo took longer to rouse, grumbling as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, but his expression hardened when I explained the situation.
When we reached Kian’s door, Mira hesitated. “What if he doesn’t—”
“We don’t have a choice,” I said, pounding on the door. “Kian! Wake up!”
A few tense moments passed before the door swung open. Kian stood there, his face as calm and unreadable as ever. “I heard the commotion,” he said simply, already pulling on his jacket.
Lastly, we reached Lyra’s room. The newest member of our group opened the door almost immediately, her face etched with fear. “What’s happening?”
“We’ll explain on the way,” I said, scanning the group. “Everyone’s here. We’re heading to the west wing.”
“The tunnels,” Kenzo added grimly. “It’s the safest way to regroup and figure out what’s going on.”
As we moved, the sounds of gunfire and screams grew louder, echoing through the dormitory walls. Every corner we turned felt like a potential ambush, every shadow a threat.
When we finally reached the emergency staircase, I pushed open the heavy door, wincing as it groaned loudly. “Keep quiet,” I whispered. “We don’t know who else is out there.”
Descending the narrow, dimly lit stairs, I couldn’t shake the image of the courtyard from my mind—the masked figures, the blood, the lifeless bodies. Whatever faint hope I’d clung to earlier had been replaced by a grim realization.
This wasn’t just about survival anymore.
This was war.
The dark alley welcomed us with an oppressive stillness, the kind that seemed to suck the air from your lungs. Dust hung thick in the stagnant air, and as it floated into my nose, I sneezed violently, the sound echoing off the narrow walls. I coughed, waving the haze away, but it felt like the grime was embedding itself into my skin. The path was suffocating, the darkness pressing in on all sides like a living thing.
“I can’t go in,” I said, stopping abruptly in my tracks.
The others halted, their footsteps crunching softly against the gravel. Mira turned back, her silhouette barely visible in the dim light. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their gazes even in the shadows. “I… I’m claustrophobic,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.
A silence fell over the group, heavy and expectant. My cheeks burned with shame, and I forced myself to look down, avoiding their eyes. “You all can go on without me,” I said quickly, trying to sound braver than I felt. “I’ll catch up later.”
But no one moved.
Kenzo was the first to step forward. He didn’t say anything, just pulled out a worn handkerchief from his pocket. Before I could protest, he tied it gently over my eyes, knotting it at the back of my head with surprising care.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Trust me,” he said simply.
For a moment, I panicked, the darkness now absolute. But then Mira’s hand found mine, her grip firm and grounding. “Hey,” she said softly. “We’re here. We won’t leave you—or anyone—behind.”
Her words settled something inside me, a reassurance I didn’t know I needed.
“Take a deep breath,” Kenzo added from beside me. “Focus on our voices. Just one step at a time.”
I nodded, though the movement felt stiff. My heart pounded in my chest, loud enough that I was sure they could all hear it. I forced myself to move, feeling Mira’s gentle tug on my hand as she led the way.
The world felt strange and alien without sight. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of shoes on gravel, the faint creak of wooden beams above, the rhythmic drip of water echoing from some unseen pipe. My other senses sharpened, making me acutely aware of the closeness of the walls and the damp chill that clung to my skin.
I focused on their voices. Mira occasionally murmured words of encouragement, her tone calm and steady. Yuki hummed softly under her breath, a quiet tune that somehow made the oppressive silence less overwhelming. Even Dana, who rarely spoke, muttered a quiet, “You’re doing great,” that made me smile faintly.
“Are we almost there?” I asked, my voice shaky.
“Almost,” Kenzo said, though he sounded as exhausted as I felt.
The path seemed to stretch on forever, a suffocating tunnel with no end in sight. My legs ached, and my breathing grew heavier with each step. The air felt thinner here, every breath a struggle.
“Can we stop for a second?” Lira uttered, my hand tightened on Mira’s.
“Of course,” Mira said immediately, halting the group.
Someone pressed something into my hands. “Drink,” Kian said. His voice, calm and distant, was oddly reassuring. I took a few sips of the water, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” he added, a hint of dry humor in his tone.
“Thanks, I think,” I said, managing a weak smile.
“We’re not far now,” Kenzo said, his voice firm with conviction. “Once we get through this section, the path might widen. It won’t feel so… tight.”
I nodded, even though they couldn’t see me. Taking another deep breath, I forced myself to my feet. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s keep going.”
The group moved as one, their presence a lifeline in the suffocating dark. I could hear the rustle of Lyra’s bag as she adjusted it, the soft crunch of Dana’s boots against the ground, the faint clinking of something metal in Kenzo’s pocket. Their presence was my anchor, pulling me forward step by step.
As promised, the path eventually began to widen. The air felt less oppressive, and the echoes of our footsteps grew softer. Kenzo stopped walking and untied the makeshift blindfold, pulling it gently away from my face.
“You’re okay now,” he said.
I was about to answer Kenzo when the faint echo of footsteps reached my ears. They weren’t ours—too heavy, too deliberate. My body tensed instinctively.
“What was that?” I whispered, my voice cracking as a cold, ominous presence settled over us.
Kenzo cursed under his breath. “Bandits,” he muttered, his tone sharp and grim.
My first instinct was to yank off the blindfold Kenzo had tied around my head. I needed to see, to assess the situation. But as my fingers moved to untie the knot, a cold voice, smooth as ice and just as cutting, froze me in place.
“Remove that blindfold, and you’re dead,” the voice warned, the chilling threat accompanied by the press of something cold and metallic against my temple.
I stopped breathing, my heart pounding in my ears.
“We’re here, Anne,” Mira’s voice came from somewhere close. Her tone was steady, but I could hear the strain in it. “Don’t take it off. Trust us.”
There was a sharp grunt, and I knew Mira had been struck. My instincts screamed at me to tear off the blindfold and fight, to do something, but every fiber of logic told me this wasn’t the time.
Before I could say anything, a rough hand grabbed me from behind. A cloth, damp and musty, was pressed over my mouth, muffling my protest. My muffled scream faded into silence as my captor yanked me forward, forcing me to stumble as they dragged us along.
The others were silent, and I could feel their presence, close but out of reach. Every now and then, I’d hear a pained grunt or the shuffle of restrained movement. Someone—Dana, maybe?—was breathing heavily, as though trying to suppress a cry of pain.
I wished I could fight, but the risk was too great. If it were just me, I might have taken the chance, thrown caution to the wind, and tried to escape. But it wasn’t just me. They were here, and I couldn’t gamble with their lives. My mind raced, weighing every possible option, but none felt right.
The journey was disorienting. My legs ached as we stumbled forward, my body jarred by sudden turns and sharp nudges from our captors. My blindfolded world was a blur of muted sounds and sensations—the scuff of boots on dirt, the distant murmur of voices, the faint smell of damp wood and rust.
And then, I felt it. A change.
The air shifted, becoming cooler, fresher. There was the faint rustle of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, and the unmistakable feel of a breeze against my skin. We were outside.
My breath hitched in my throat. Wherever we were being taken, it wasn’t a cramped cell or another underground lair. But the open air wasn’t comforting; it was disconcerting.
“Keep walking,” a gruff voice barked, shoving me forward again.
I stumbled but regained my footing, my mind racing. Why take us outside? What did they want?
Every step felt heavier, the weight of uncertainty bearing down on me. I couldn’t see my friends, couldn’t hear them clearly, but I clung to the hope that they were still there, still close.
Wherever this was leading, I knew one thing: I couldn’t let my fear paralyze me. My moment to act would come—I just had to be ready when it did.