#1 This is Way Beneath Me

Zephyr Sylvaran POV

"This Is Way Beneath Me"

I've stolen relics from sky temples. Seduced two thirds of an elven war council. Escaped a cursed library while it was on fire. And once, just for fun, I convinced the Goddess of Dreams I was her ex.

So tell me why the fuck I'm standing in the Headmaster's war room, being told I have to go spelunking through prison filth to rescue some half feral fae girl who nuked her high school.

"Absolutely not," I say, my arms crossed, wings flaring just enough to show my irritation. "Send a fetch hound. Or a crow. Or literally anyone else. I'm not built for sewers and screaming teenagers."

"Zephyr," Headmaster Malric Nocturne says in that slow, shadow drenched tone that makes my skin itch, "this is not a request."

Of course it's not. He's wearing his usual high collar robes woven from night silk, a ring of voidglass on each finger, and an expression that says he's either about to murder me or offer me tenure.

I'm not sure which would be worse.

To my left stands Professor Liraeth Duskwell, the academy's Battle Theory instructor. Tall, grim, and always ten seconds away from stabbing someone. She wears bloodstone armor even in faculty meetings and hasn't smiled since the last divine war.

To my right is Commander Ryn Dravenclaw, a fae guard from the Academy's external enforcement division. He's built like a fortress with eyes like broken ice and carries a thunder forged halberd taller than me. He hasn't spoken yet. I'm not sure he can.

These are my companions for this delightful shitstorm. Fantastic.

"This girl," Malric continues, sliding a piece of parchment across the obsidian table, "is not just another explosive street rat."

I glance at the paper. It's a hand drawn map of the Hollowhold, the fae realm's oldest prison and least sanitary architectural nightmare.

"She's a godblood." His voice drops, like the word should crack the walls.

I raise an eyebrow. "We're all godbloods. That's why we're here. You summoned me away from my bonding seminar for this?"

He doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. "She's different, Zephyr. She cracked reality during her awakening. The Accord wants her dead before dawn. You have four hours. You will break in, extract her, and return her to the Academy."

"And if I don't?"

The air tightens. His gaze sharpens. "I'll chain your magic to the Tower of Silence and assign you to mentor first years for the next century."

...I fucking hate him.

"Fine," I snap, grabbing the map and tossing it open on the table.

The layout's a mess of wards, enchanted gates, kill zones, and soul sealed cells. Classic Hollowhold architecture, ugly and impossible.

"There's a service access tunnel here," Liraeth murmurs, pointing with a gauntleted finger. "Guard rotation every thirteen minutes. Ryn and I can breach the lower west wing. You go in from above."

I snort. "Of course I go in from above. I have wings, professor. I'm not crawling through piss tunnels."

"Then stop talking and fly."

She says it without looking at me. Rude. We finalize the plan in five tense minutes. Ryn disables the external barrier wards using his magic etched halberd. Liraeth takes out the ground patrols and cracks the door sigils. I drop in through the roof cell hatch, extract the girl, and GTFO before sunrise.

"She better not scream," I mutter, folding the map. "Or cry. Or faint. Or talk."

"She might explode," Vaelric offers with something dangerously close to amusement.

I scowl. "Perfect."

We move out in ten.

And if this Rowyn Vale turns out to be as unstable as the whispers say? Well...I could always drop her mid flight.

Just saying.

Rowyn Vale POV

I didn't touch the food. It sat there, mocking me from the chipped stone floor like a sad little offering. Two strips of dried meat, a chunk of what I think used to be bread, and a cup of water that smelled too clean to be real. Yeah, no thanks.

I've been poor my whole life. I know what poisoned kindness tastes like. I'd rather starve with my pride than eat a godsdamned sedative sandwich.

Besides... something was coming. I could feel it. Dusk had crawled in hours ago, bringing with it the scent of cold rot and broken magic. Hollowhold stinks worse at night, like the ghosts of everyone they've executed are seeping out of the stone to scream. Which, considering this place? They probably are.

I sat on my cot, if you could call a slab of moldy stone with a straw stuffed sack a "cot", knee bouncing, chewing the same piece of gum I've had since yesterday morning. Cinnamon. Faded as hell now, but it kept my jaw from locking up and stopped me from screaming.

Well. Mostly.

I reached into my jacket, fingers brushing the folded letter. The only good thing that's happened since my life went to shit.

The Calling is upon you. You are summoned to Eidolon Academy. Your blood remembers. Your trials begin now.

Yeah, no pressure. I didn't know what it meant. Not really. But I knew enough to recognize a last second divine "plot twist" when it slapped me in the face.

The floor rumbled beneath me.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. Could've been withdrawal....my magic hadn't flared since the explosion at school. It had gone quiet. Dormant. Like it was waiting.

But this wasn't internal. This was external. Stone groaned. The kind of groan that means something's being ripped apart under your feet. The cup of water tipped over and rolled across the floor. Then came the shouting. Not the usual Hollowhold background noise of misery and guard boots.

Screams. Someone was fighting back. Someone was getting in. I stood slowly. Not scared. Not excited. Just... ready.

I shoved the letter into the back pocket of my ripped jeans and moved to the bars, gum still tucked in the side of my cheek, eyes narrowed.

My fingers curled around the cold iron, and I stared into the flickering torchlight beyond.

I know what I look like. Light brown skin marked with bruises and rage, freckles dusting every visible surface like the stars got drunk on my face. Auburn curls that had never met a brush they liked. Mostly red, always wild. Pierced lip. Pierced nose. Long, pointed fae ears that marked me as lowblood, but long enough to make the highborn nervous. And my eyes?

Glowing green fury. Unnatural, they said. Dangerous. Good. Let them be afraid. More screaming. Metal clashing. Magic sizzling. Some poor bastard's skull hits the wall three cells down with a wet thud, and I grin around my gum.

"Shit's about to get interesting," I muttered.