Chapter 6
The Shadow Dragons' headquarters was quiet, the faint scent of damp stone and burning torches lingering in the air. Xari descended the spiral staircase, her heart pounding in her chest. The tabard in her hand was worn and burned, but the emblem of the coiled dragon and serpent stood out, etched into its fabric like a cruel reminder of her unanswered past.
She found Maevaris and Tarin together in the main hall, standing near the map table deep in conversation. Tarin's face was grim, while Maevaris's sharp gaze flicked toward Xari as soon as she entered.
"Xari," Maevaris said, her voice calm but weighted. "I assume you retrieved what you needed undetected?"
"Yes," Xari replied firmly, stepping closer. She unfolded the tabard and held it up, her grip tight. "This. You promised me answers, and now I want them. My mother told me I was found wrapped in this as a baby, on a battlefield. You both know what it means, don't you?"
Maevaris's eyes shifted to the emblem on the fabric, her expression carefully neutral. Tarin glanced at Maevaris, then back at Xari, his lips pressed into a thin line.
After a beat of silence, Maevaris gestured toward a side room. "Come. This isn't a discussion for the main hall."
Xari followed them into a smaller chamber lined with shelves of scrolls and ancient tomes. The room was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners. Maevaris moved to the large wooden table at the center and began flipping through a thick, worn book. Tarin leaned against a nearby shelf, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Maevaris stopped on a page and turned the book toward Xari. The emblem stared back at her, a drawing identical to the one on the tabard.
"This symbol," Maevaris began, her tone steady, "belongs to the Venatori."
Xari blinked, the word unfamiliar, but the weight of it hung in the air. "The Venatori?"
Maevaris nodded. "They're a cult of Tevinter zealots who believe in restoring the Imperium to a so-called golden age of power—an age built on blood magic and domination. They've been one of our most persistent enemies." She gestured to the tabard in Xari's hands. "That emblem marks their legacy. It's not a coincidence you were found with it."
Tarin stepped forward, his voice quieter but no less serious. "A while back, one of our infiltration teams raided a Venatori outpost in Vyrantium. Among the documents they retrieved were letters exchanged between Venatori members. Some of those letters mentioned a child—a blood mage's child—lost during a skirmish."
Xari frowned, her throat tightening. "What does that have to do with me?"
Tarin exchanged a glance with Maevaris before continuing. "The skirmish they referred to happened in 9:27. There were records of a ritual being interrupted—fought over by Venatori and Imperium forces. It was the same year you were born, Xari. The same year Erynd and Livia found you."
Xari's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the tabard. 9:27. The year everything began.
Maevaris's gaze softened slightly, though her voice remained measured. "The Venatori were searching for a child lost in that battle. A child tied to one of their blood mages. The tabard you carry wasn't just a scrap of cloth—it was meant to mark you as one of their own."
Xari's mind reeled, her pulse thundering in her ears. "You're saying I'm the child they were looking for?"
"Yes," Maevaris said gently.
Xari stepped back, shaking her head as the enormity of their words sank in. "No. That doesn't make sense. My parents—Erynd and Livia—they're loyal to the Imperium. They raised me."
"Your adoptive parents," Maevaris corrected. "They found you wrapped in that tabard on the battlefield. Whoever left you there didn't expect you to be taken in by the Imperium. You were born to the Venatori."
Tarin's voice cut in, quieter now. "Xari, we didn't know it was you at first. When we intercepted those letters, it was just a rumor. But over time, the pieces started to fit. And when I saw your mother…"
Xari's head snapped up. "My mother?"
Tarin hesitated, his expression strained. "I saw her… burn a painting. It had the same emblem—the serpent and dragon. That's when I knew the connection was real."
Xari's chest tightened as anger flared inside her. "You were spying on my mother?"
Tarin opened his mouth to reply, but Maevaris stepped in, her tone firm. "We didn't spy on your family, Xari. We gathered intelligence. The Venatori have been searching for you for years, and we needed to know why. Tarin was doing his duty to the Shadow Dragons, nothing more."
"Duty?" Xari's voice rose, edged with frustration. "And what about me? Did it ever occur to you that I had a right to know?"
Maevaris's gaze didn't waver. "We kept it from you to protect you, Xari. You weren't ready for this, not until you proved yourself. Now, you have a choice. What you do with this knowledge is up to you. But understand this: the Venatori won't stop looking for you. That's a reality you'll need to face."
Xari's fists clenched, her mind a storm of emotions—fear, anger, confusion. The tabard in her hand felt heavier than ever, a symbol of everything she didn't want to be.
"And if I'm not strong enough to fight them?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.
Maevaris stepped closer, her expression softening. "You are strong enough. You've already proven that. Strength isn't about never faltering—it's about standing up, no matter how many times you fall. You're not defined by the past, Xari. You choose what comes next."
Tarin nodded. "You're not alone in this. Whatever path you choose, the Shadow Dragons will stand with you."
Xari looked between them, her chest tightening with the weight of their words. Since her mother presented her with the tabard, she wanted nothing more than to dig uncover the truth. But now that she was here, she only felt more lost. Yet somewhere in the chaos, a faint spark flickered—a reminder that she still had the power to choose.
She took a shaky breath, her grip loosening on the tabard. "What now?"
"Now," Maevaris said, her voice steady, "you take the time you need. When you're ready, we'll be here. But don't forget why you joined us."
Xari nodded slowly, the sting in her chest easing, if only slightly. She wasn't sure where the path ahead would lead, but for the first time, she wasn't walking it entirely alone.
—
Xari sat alone in her quarters, the tabard folded neatly on the table in front of her. The emblem still felt like a weight pressing against her, but her thoughts were clearer now. Maevaris's words lingered in her mind: You're not defined by the past. You choose what comes next.
Her gaze drifted to her twin daggers resting on the table beside the tabard. They had been her tools, her weapons, but now they felt like something more—a symbol of who she had become. The Shadow Dragons had given her a place, a purpose. But the truth of her heritage loomed over her, refusing to be ignored.
She stood, gripping one of the daggers tightly. In the flickering torchlight, its blade gleamed like a promise—sharp, unyielding, ready.
"I don't know who I'll become," she murmured to herself, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest. "But I'll decide that. No one else."
With that, she slipped the tabard back into the leather box, hiding it from view. It wasn't a decision to ignore her past, but rather to face it on her own terms, in her own time. For now, there was work to be done, battles to fight, and a future to shape.
—
The training halls of the Shadow Dragons were no place for hesitation. Every misstep earned a bruise, every mistake a sharp reminder that failure in their world meant death. Over the years, Xari had learned this lesson well.
Her daggers flashed in the dim torchlight, a blur of silver against the dark leather armor of her sparring partner. She ducked low, pivoting on her heel to avoid the sweeping strike of a wooden staff. Maevaris's voice echoed through the chamber, sharp and commanding. "Faster, Xari. Your enemies won't wait for you to think—they'll exploit every hesitation."
Xari gritted her teeth, her muscles burning as she surged forward, her blades finding the gaps in her opponent's defenses. The thud of his staff hitting the floor signaled her victory, but the sparring session wasn't over. Maevaris motioned for another operative to step forward, and the cycle began again.
Outside the training halls, her lessons were no less intense. Tarin—now Ashur—oversaw her lessons in infiltration and subterfuge. The Shadow Dragons prided themselves on being ghosts, unseen and unstoppable, and Xari quickly learned that brute strength was nothing without cunning.
"Your eyes see more than you think," Ashur had said one night, crouched beside her as they watched the shifting patrols of an Imperium outpost. "Patterns, blind spots, weaknesses—they're everywhere. You just need to train yourself to notice."
Under his guidance, Xari learned to pick locks in complete darkness, scale walls with nothing but a rope and her instincts, and vanish into shadows as though she had never been there. Her body moved with a grace born of discipline, every step silent, every movement purposeful.
But it wasn't just her physical skills that sharpened. The Shadow Dragons pushed her mind to its limits, teaching her to read people as easily as maps. In the flick of an eyebrow, the clench of a fist, Xari could sense fear, anger, or hesitation. She became a weapon honed to perfection, but one wielded by her own hand.
Despite the grueling pace of her training, Xari found a strange sense of belonging. For the first time, she wasn't an outsider. Every cut and bruise, every night spent memorizing enemy strongholds, reminded her that she was forging her own path—one where she could make a difference.
Vyrantium outskirts, Tevinter Imperium; 9:27 Dragon
The chamber hummed with dark energy as Zara stood over the altar, her hands trembling with excitement. The ritual was nearing completion. Kaelira, only a newborn, lay at her feet, her tiny body an essential piece of the spell. Zara had sacrificed everything for this moment. Her youth, her life, had been slipping away for years, the weight of time catching up to her. But this—the ritual—would change everything. Kaelira's blood, her life force, would bind Zara's essence, keeping her forever young, forever powerful. No more would she need to harvest sacrifices or red lyrium.
Words spilled from Zara's lips in a low, melodic chant, each syllable drawing more of the infant's life into the ritual. As the magic grew stronger, the baby's breath seemed to slow, her tiny pulse weakening in rhythm with the surge of Zara's own power. The bond was forming—Zara could feel it, the pulse of the magic, deep and visceral, as though she could taste the essence of her own immortality.
Her heart raced. This is it. This is everything.
The blood from both mother and child swirled together on the altar, their fates irrevocably tied. As Kaelira's life force surged into her, Zara felt the years falling away. Her skin tightened, smoothing out the lines of age, her body returning to the vigor of youth. She could feel the magic coursing through her, replenishing what had been lost, making her stronger .
But then— the crash .
The doors flew open with a deafening bang, and soldiers stormed the room, shouting orders, swords drawn. Zara's heart skipped a beat. No, they couldn't— they couldn't ruin this . She was so close. The ritual was almost complete. She had earned this—earned her freedom from the ravages of time. The Imperium's soldiers, with their arrogant uniforms and empty orders, would not stop her now.
" No! " she snarled, her voice shaking with fury. "Stay away from her!"
She reached for Kaelira, the bond nearly complete, but a soldier was already at the altar, pulling the infant from her grasp. Zara's magic crackled in the air, but she fought to hold it in check. If the ritual was interrupted now, everything would be ruined. Kaelira would die, and Zara's immortality would slip away like sand through her fingers.
But it was already too late.
The soldier yanked Kaelira from the altar, and in that moment, the tether snapped. The bond between mother and daughter broke violently. Zara staggered back, gasping, as the power she had drawn from Kaelira's life force exploded outward, uncontrolled. The years she'd just reclaimed seemed to drain away, leaving her hollow, her skin cold and empty.
"No!" Zara screamed, her voice raw with rage. She was mine. She was my power, my future.
Her hands clenched into fists, but there was nothing she could do. The ritual had failed. Kaelira, the vessel that had been meant to keep her young forever, was gone, taken by the very soldiers who had broken her magic. The bond was shattered, and Zara felt the age creeping back in—sinking into her bones, pulling her into the years she'd fought so desperately to escape.
" I will make you pay, " she hissed, her voice low and venomous. Her fury burned through her, but even she knew—there was nothing she could do now. The Imperium had taken Kaelira. And with her, they had stolen Zara's chance at eternal youth.
The soldiers, oblivious to the consequences of their actions, dragged Kaelira away, and Zara's heart shattered. The power had been hers. She had been hers. But now, it was gone.
As the ritual's remnants faded, Zara's youthful glow dimmed, and her heart grew cold. She would find Kaelira. She would track her down, no matter how long it took—and when she did, she would finish the ritual. She would take everything, just as she had planned.
But for now, Zara stood frozen, the weight of the loss crushing her, knowing that her immortality had slipped through her grasp because of one careless interruption.
Xari startled awake, her eyes snapping open to the familiar stone ceiling of her quarters. The dim light from a single flickering candle cast long shadows across the room, and the soft hum of the underground headquarters filled the air. She was back, safe—or so she hoped—but the pounding in her chest and the ringing in her ears told her otherwise.
Her breath came in short gasps as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The walls were made of rough stone, worn smooth in places from years of use. Her bed was small, tucked in a corner with little more than a blanket and a few personal items scattered around, but it felt like a sanctuary in this moment. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling a tightness she couldn't shake. Something had happened. Something important.
The memories of the ritual flashed in her mind—the woman, the baby, the blood, the magic that had coursed through her veins. She had been so close to completing it. The ritual that would have bound them together, made her a vessel of power, keeping her young forever, but it had been interrupted. By the Imperium .
Her thoughts were still a jumbled mess, her mind struggling to grasp the full weight of what had happened. The ritual hadn't been finished. The bond between mother and daughter, the connection of blood, still lingered within her. She could feel it—faint, but there, like a tether that couldn't be cut. That magic was still inside her, and it felt foreign, unnatural, like a poison running through her veins.
There was no denying it now—the baby she saw in the vision was her. She was Kaelira. The woman– that blood mage– was her mother.
Xari swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet hitting the cold stone floor with a dull thud. The shadows in her quarters felt different now, oppressive, as if something was watching her, waiting. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push away the overwhelming sense of dread.
Get it together , she told herself. She wasn't that scared girl anymore. She had trained for this. She was a Shadow Dragon now. She had faced death before—this was no different.
But it was different.
Xari could still feel the connection—the magic—pulling at her. It was a part of her now. She was tethered to it, tethered to her mother in ways she couldn't fully understand. The ritual had left its mark, and no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, it was there. A constant, gnawing presence. Xari wanted nothing more but to reach inside herself and destroy every ounce of Venatori. She wanted to be rid of the visions, the nightmares. But deep down, she knew the truth: she would have to face her mother eventually. The ritual had been interrupted, yes, but the bond was still there. She wasn't finished with her. And Xari would have to face whatever dark path her mother had laid out for her
For now, there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. With silent determination, Xari stood and grabbed her cloak from the end of her bed. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she grabbed her blades and walked out of her room. It was a surreal feeling, being free to leave her quarters in the dead of night without having to sneak out of her window.
Xari pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, letting the soft fabric obscure her face as she made her way through the winding corridors of the Shadow Dragons' headquarters. The faint hum of activity echoed through the halls—low murmurs of conversation, the distant clang of steel from the training grounds—but most were asleep at this hour.
Her footsteps were light and deliberate, the sound barely a whisper against the stone floor. As she approached the exit that led to the surface, she felt the weight of her blades at her side, a steadying presence. The world outside was dangerous, but the unknown lurking within her was far worse.
She stepped into the cool night air, her breath clouding in the dim light of the moons. Minrathous's labyrinthine streets stretched before her, shadowed and quiet, save for the faint flicker of lanterns and the occasional distant sound of laughter or argument. She moved with purpose, her destination clear in her mind.
Seralys.
The eccentric man operated her market stall at all hours, catering to the restless and the desperate, the kind of people who sought answers in the middle of the night. Xari wasn't sure which one she was. Maybe both.
The market wasn't far—a hidden enclave nestled in the crumbling heart of the city, far from the opulence of the magisters' estates. Here, merchants sold goods that couldn't be found in official shops: rare herbs, forbidden tomes, and services like the ones Seralys offered.
When Xari arrived, Seralys sat behind the counter, his wiry frame wrapped in layers of shawls. His salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a tight bun, and his sharp eyes flicked up as Xari approached.
"Well," the man said, her voice low and gravelly, "if it isn't my favorite orphan-ess. And at this hour, no less."
Xari lowered her hood, revealing her face. "I need a reading," she said simply.
Seralys gestured to the stool in front of his stall. "You'll have to be more specific, girl. The Fade doesn't deal in vague requests."
Xari sat, her hands resting on her thighs as she considered how much to say. She wasn't sure if Seralys could be trusted, but if anyone in Minrathous knew about blood magic and the bonds it created, it was him.
"I need to know if something is binding me," Xari said, her voice low but firm. "If there's a… connection. To someone."
Seralys's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze piercing. "Blood magic," he murmured. "A dangerous game. Let me see your hand."
Xari hesitated before extending her palm. The psychic took it gently, his fingers surprisingly warm as they traced the lines etched into Xari's skin. He muttered under her breath, words Xari couldn't quite catch, eyes unfocused as if seeing something far beyond the physical world.
For a moment, the market seemed to fade away, the sounds of the city muffled and distant. A chill ran down Xari's spine as Seralys's grip tightened. For a moment, he did not speak, frowning at her palm like he was deciphering a mathematical equation.
"There is a bond," Seralys said finally, his voice heavy with certainty. "A powerful one. It ties you to someone who holds great darkness within them. This bond wasn't forged lightly—it's deep, unbreakable without sacrifice."
Xari's throat tightened. "Can it be severed?"
Seralys was silent for a long moment, fingers still tracing Xari's palm. "Severed, perhaps. But not easily. The one who created this bond will not let it go willingly. And breaking it…" He looked up, his sharp eyes locking with Xari's. "...would mean cutting away a piece of yourself."
Xari pulled her hand back, her mind racing. "What does that mean? Cutting away a piece of myself?"
Seralys leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. "That's for you to figure out. Blood magic always comes at a price. But be warned, child: the longer this bond remains, the more it will consume you."
The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Xari clenched her fists, the faint pull of the bond within her more noticeable now, like a chain tightening around her chest.
"What do I do?" she asked quietly.
Seralys gave a faint shrug, his expression softening just slightly. "That's not for me to decide. But if you want to survive, you'll need to confront the source of the bond. Face it head-on, no matter how painful it might be."
Xari stood, her cloak billowing slightly in the night breeze. She slipped a coin onto the counter, her expression hard. "Thank you."
Seralys watched her for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Good luck, little dragon," he winked.
As Xari walked away, the weight of the conversation settled heavily on her shoulders. She didn't know where this path would lead, but one thing was certain—she couldn't run from it.
Not anymore.
The faint glow of morning filtered through the stone cracks of the Shadow Dragons' underground stronghold, painting the cold walls with streaks of pale light. Xari stood in the central chamber, her fists clenched at her sides as Maevaris regarded her with a calm but unyielding gaze.
"I want to be assigned to the next mission involving the Venatori," Xari said, her voice firm but laced with urgency. "I know I can help."
Maevaris arched a brow, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the long table before her. She was always composed, an air of authority radiating from her that no one dared challenge lightly. "And what makes you think you're ready for that?" She asked coolly. "You've been with us for what- a month now?- and you're demanding to be included on a Venatori mission."
Xari hesitated, her mind racing. She couldn't tell Maevaris the truth—not all of it. The bond, the blood magic, her mother. It was too personal, too raw. "They're a threat," she said instead. "To the Imperium, to us. If we can take them down, I want to be part of it. I'm ready."
Maevaris tilted her head, scrutinizing her. "You think you're ready," she said, her voice sharp, cutting through the chamber like a blade. "But readiness isn't just about skill, Xari. It's about discipline. Focus. And right now, you're lacking both."
Xari took a step forward, her tone rising. "With all due respect, I've trained my whole life, before I ever joined this team. I've done everything that's been asked of me. I can handle this."
"And yet, here you are, demanding assignments as if you have the authority to dictate where you go," Maevaris snapped. Her calm demeanor cracked, revealing the fire beneath. "Do you even hear yourself? You're not asking to go because you want to serve the Shadow Dragons. You're asking to go because you have a personal vendetta. That kind of selfishness is dangerous—not just to you, but to the entire team."
Xari's jaw tightened. "I just want answers."
Maevaris slammed her palm on the table, silencing the younger woman. "The Shadow Dragons don't exist to serve your personal needs, Xari. We're here to fight for something greater—for the people the Imperium overlooks, for the future the magisters deny us. We don't risk lives for individual grudges."
Xari opened her mouth to argue, but Maevaris cut her off with a raised hand.
"You will go where you are assigned," she said, her voice cold as stone. "And you will do so because that is the oath you swore when you joined. A rook does not make demands, Xari. A rook learns, obeys, and proves themselves until the time comes to rise. If you can't handle that, you don't belong here."
The words stung, but Xari swallowed her anger, keeping her expression neutral. She knew Maevaris was right—at least partly. But that didn't make the rejection any easier to bear.
"Yes, ma'am," she said finally, her voice low, carefully controlled.
Maevaris watched her for a long moment before nodding. "Good. Dismissed."
Xari turned on her heel and walked out of the chamber, her cloak trailing behind her. Her mind raced with frustration and doubt, the weight of Maevaris's words pressing heavily on her. But beneath the sting of reprimand, there was something else—a spark of determination.
If the Shadow Dragons wouldn't let her pursue the Venatori, she would find another way. She had to. The bond wouldn't wait, and neither would her mother.
Xari would obey her orders as a rook, go where Maevaris told her and do what she was assigned. But the fire that sparked inside of her was only just beginning. The fire wouldn't fade—it would burn brighter with every passing moment she was denied what she sought.
Xari clenched her fists as she strode through the dim corridors of the headquarters, the sound of her boots echoing off the stone walls. She would play the part of the dutiful rook, bide her time, and earn Maevaris's trust again. But beneath the surface, her mind churned with plans.
She needed information. The Shadow Dragons had networks that stretched far beyond what she could access on her own, but they weren't the only resource in Minrathous. Xari had spent enough time sneaking through the city's underbelly to know where to find whispers of forbidden knowledge. She'd start small—carefully, quietly—but she wouldn't stop until she knew the truth.
The fire inside her fueled her resolve as she stepped into the training grounds. Other recruits were already there, sparring, running drills, honing their skills under the watchful eyes of their instructors. Xari squared her shoulders and approached the weapon rack, selecting her daggers with practiced ease. If she was to follow orders, she would excel at them—she would leave no reason for Maevaris to doubt her again.
But as she trained, her mind remained sharp, her focus divided. Her thoughts were already drifting to her next move. One day, the sinister visions and the looming shadow of her bloodline would no longer control her. Xari would forge her own path, even if it meant leaving destruction in her wake. No matter how long it took, she would take back her life.