The journey eastward turned silent by the third day.
They crossed barren plains dotted with dead trees and wind-stripped ruins. Each sunrise seemed duller than the last, washed out like color fading from an old painting. The sky darkened earlier now, not from the fall of night, but from something heavier—something waiting.
The City of Glass lay just beyond the far hills. Its name shimmered like a whisper in the air, seductive and sharp.
No maps marked it anymore. No caravans dared to travel near it.
It was vampire royal ground—unchallenged, unreformed, unkind.
They made camp beneath the roots of a long-dead tree that night. Lyra sharpened her daggers in rhythmic silence. Cazriel pored over the fragments of the Sunspell scroll, comparing each glyph to what little memory he still trusted.
Qin sat on a rock near the fire, his hood low, eyes distant.
He hadn't said much since the temple. But the silence around him wasn't quiet—it buzzed, charged, like storm air before a flash.
Lyra finally broke it.
"We should talk about it."
Qin didn't look up. "Talk about what?"
"You know what."
Cazriel didn't raise his head either. "She's right. You've felt it. Your magic's evolving faster. That dream-sigil on your back still pulses at night. You're not just a wizard anymore."
Qin's fingers clenched.
Lyra continued, voice low but firm. "You're changing. You're meant to."
Qin stood.
"I'm not having this conversation."
Cazriel rose calmly, folding the scroll. "We're walking into royal vampire territory, boy. My kind. They won't care what powers you have—they'll try to gut you on sight. But if you are what we think…"
"I said I don't care," Qin snapped.
Both stared at him.
He exhaled sharply. The firelight made his shadow stretch long and thin across the dirt.
"You think I haven't thought about it?" he said. "About what it means? Wizard. Werewolf. Vampire. All in one."
He turned toward them.
"You think I don't wake up wondering if I'll still be human tomorrow?"
Silence.
Qin's voice lowered.
"I get it. Fate picked me. Chosen one. Flame of destiny. Blah blah blah."
"But I didn't pick it."
Lyra stepped forward slowly.
"No one's asking you to become a god, Qin."
"Yes, you are," he said. "You're all watching me like I'm some ancient prophecy come to life. But I'm still me. I'm just trying to keep us alive. To find the second scroll. To stop Umbhrax from turning the world inside out."
His gaze flicked to Cazriel.
"So if I start growing fangs or claws or floating off the ground, then fine—we'll talk. But until then…"
He looked away.
"We focus on the scroll."
Cazriel tilted his head slightly. "You think this isn't connected?"
"I think," Qin said, "I don't have the luxury to care right now."
His magic flared slightly as he said it—harsh and unbalanced. Wild.
The group fell silent again.
Even Lyra didn't argue.
Eventually, Qin sat back down, shoulders tight. The fire crackled, as if exhaling tension none of them had words for.
They didn't speak again that night.
The next morning, the landscape changed.
Gone were the plains and twisted roots.
In their place stood broken stone spires rising from the earth like glass daggers. Thin fog slithered across the ground, and every tree looked burned from the inside out.
"Royal territory," Cazriel said simply.
"Feels like it," Lyra muttered, eyeing the shadows.
They walked single file now. Qin in the center, Lyra ahead, Cazriel behind. Their pace slowed. Sound changed—muffled, distant. Like the world was listening.
Then they saw it.
The City of Glass.
It shimmered at the edge of a dead lake—crystalline towers stretching into the sky, their surfaces polished like mirrors. But no light reflected off them. No birds flew above. No scent of life drifted on the air.
It was beautiful.
And terrifying.
"It's a prison made of pride," Cazriel said softly. "Even the walls mock you."
"Where's the library?" Qin asked.
Cazriel pointed toward a tower half-sunken into the lake. "There. The Vault of Silence."
"Let me guess," Lyra muttered. "It's not exactly open to tourists."
"No," Cazriel replied. "But there's a way in. I have… connections."
"Is that a fancy way of saying 'ex-lovers with grudges'?"
Cazriel smirked. "Several, yes."
As they approached the city's edge, the tension thickened.
Qin slowed.
Every step felt like walking into a mirror that might break—and slice you open.
"I don't feel right," he said suddenly.
Lyra turned. "What is it?"
"My blood. It's... aware."
Cazriel stepped closer. "Your magic's reacting to the wards. This place was built to repel outsiders."
"But I'm not just an outsider," Qin said. "It feels like the city knows me."
They exchanged a look.
Then Cazriel said something unexpected:
"Maybe it does."
That night, they made camp within the city's outer ruins—just beyond the patrol wards.
They didn't light a fire.
Too dangerous.
Instead, they sat in the cold, backs to stone, eyes to the sky.
Qin sat apart from the others again, watching the glass towers.
Reflected in them, his face looked strange—older. Sharper. Almost… inhuman.
He looked down at his hands.
Still his.
Still shaking.
He whispered to himself, "One thing at a time."
But the wind answered with a whisper.
"Heir of Three…"
Qin lingered behind as the others scouted the ruins ahead. The city shimmered like a dream he wasn't meant to wake from—too sharp, too perfect, too still. Every inch of it felt like it had been built to reflect things you didn't want to see.
His own reflection stared back at him from a broken shard of glass near the path. Pale. Haunted. Not the boy who had left the village. Not even the boy who had buried his master.
Something else now. Something becoming.
He bent down, touching the shard. A whisper ran up his arm.
You are not one of them.
His eyes widened. The voice wasn't external. It came from the blood inside him.
Qin jerked his hand back. His magic sparked without his permission—just a flicker, but enough to burn the edge of the grass. He clenched his fists, forcing it down.
Not now. Not here.
When he looked up again, the shard had melted into the ground like it had never been.
"Qin," Lyra called softly from ahead. "You good?"
He stood slowly. "Yeah. Just... catching my breath."
She didn't press, but her eyes lingered a moment too long before turning away.
Qin followed her into the ruins, the city swallowing them whole. But behind his ribs, the whisper remained.
You are not one of them. You are more.