Chapter 16: The Heart of the Fortress

　　The cavern behind the waterfall was a world unto itself, a pocket of tense silence amidst the roar of the cascade. Violet’s charcoal sketch on the stone floor was not a plan; it was an act of treason, laid bare in the flickering lantern light. The target was not a cadet’s standard. It was the command center of the War Games—the nerve center where General Sorrengail herself presided.

　　Caden stared at the rough lines depicting the headquarters building, a place he knew only from outdated architectural plans. Attacking it was suicide. But as he looked at Violet’s face—the grim resolve, the dark circles under her eyes that spoke of pain and relentless pressure—he understood. This was not a choice. It was the only move left on a board that had been rigged against them from the start.

　　“The main entrance is guarded by the General’s personal detail,” Xaden said, his finger hovering over Violet’s drawing. “Heavily warded. We’d be cut down before we crossed the threshold.”

　　“We’re not using the front door,” Violet replied, her gaze fixed on Caden. “We’re using the foundations. The old foundations.”

　　All eyes turned to him. The archivist. The keeper of forgotten blueprints.

　　Caden’s mind, a labyrinth of historical documents, began to race. He closed his eyes, blocking out the cold and the fear, and pictured the plans he had studied decades ago. The headquarters was not a new construction; it was built upon the ruins of an older, far more paranoid fortress—a citadel from the era of the first dragon riders, when threats came as much from within as from without.

　　“The undercroft,” Caden murmured, his voice barely audible over the waterfall. He opened his eyes and pointed to a section of Violet’s sketch. “Beneath the war room. It was a storage cellar, but before that… it was a bolt-hole. A secret passage for the ruling lord to escape assassins.” He looked at Violet. “The entrance was sealed centuries ago. But the stone… it’s softer there. A weak point.”

　　“Can we breach it?” Garrick asked, his voice tight with pain from his wounded arm.

　　“Not with force,” Caden said. “The wards would detect a direct assault. But…” He trailed off, thinking of the geology texts, the treatises on structural magic. “The seal was reinforced with a specific mortar, a mix that includes powdered dragon bone for strength. But dragon bone… it has a resonance.”

　　Violet’s eyes lit with a fierce understanding. “The static. Like at the Threshing.”

　　Caden nodded. “A precise, low-frequency vibration, channeled not to disrupt a bond, but to agitate the bone powder in the mortar. It wouldn’t break the seal by force. It would… dissolve it. From the inside out. It would look like a structural failure. An accident.”

　　The plan was insane. It required a level of magical finesse none of them possessed. But as Caden explained the theory, he saw a strange look pass between Xaden and Violet. A look of shared, dangerous knowledge.

　　“I can’t do it,” Rhiannon said, shaking her head. “That kind of control… it’s a master-level skill.”

　　“We don’t need a master,” Violet said, her voice strangely calm. She looked at Xaden. “We have a siphon.”

　　A silence fell over the cavern, heavier than the roar of the waterfall. Siphon. The word was a whisper, a myth, a deadly secret. A rider who could not only channel their own power but draw upon and manipulate the power of others. It was a ability so feared, so rare, it was grounds for immediate execution.

　　Xaden held Violet’s gaze for a long moment, a silent conversation passing between them. Then, he gave a single, grim nod. The secret was out.

　　“I can use the ambient magic,” Xaden said, his voice low and dangerous. “The wards on the building, the residual power from the battles… I can draw it in, shape it. But I’ll need a conduit. A focus for the vibration.”

　　Caden’s mind, still racing through archives of knowledge, found the answer. “Iron,” he said. “A specific, high-purity iron ore found only in the Esbenay range. It resonates cleanly. We need a spike of it. Driven into the ground near the foundation wall.”

　　“The geology building,” Violet said immediately. “Their sample room. They’ll have it.”

　　The plan coalesced with terrifying speed. It was a house of cards built on forgotten history, forbidden magic, and a desperate gamble. But it was a plan.

　　“Once we’re inside,” Violet continued, her finger stabbing the drawing on the war room. “We’re not there to fight. We’re there for evidence. My mother keeps a personal log. She’s meticulous. If there’s proof of what happened at Aretia, of her orders, it will be there. We find it, we get out.”

　　“And if she’s in the room?” Garrick asked, his face pale.

　　Violet’s expression did not change. “Then she’ll hear the truth from me.”

　　The finality in her voice sent a chill through Caden. This was no longer a cadet. This was an avenger, stepping out of the shadows he had helped her navigate.

　　They moved under the cover of the lingering drizzle and the deep twilight that followed the storm. The geology building was deserted, the War Games consuming all attention. Rhiannon, with her knack for intricate locks, made short work of the door. Inside, among hundreds of labeled rock samples, they found what they needed: a foot-long, sharpened spike of deep gray Esbenay iron.

　　The journey to the headquarters was a nightmare of shadows and close calls. They moved like ghosts, avoiding patrols, using the chaos of the ongoing Games as their cover. Caden, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, felt every one of his years. He was not built for this. He was a man of parchment and quiet, not of stolen iron and clandestine raids.

　　They reached the target: a neglected, weed-choked area where the headquarters’ foundation met the older, crumbling wall of the original citadel. The air hummed with the powerful wards protecting the building above.

　　Xaden took the iron spike. He closed his eyes, and Caden felt the change in the air—a subtle pulling sensation, as if the very light and sound were being drawn towards the young man. Xaden’s hands began to glow with a faint, unstable light. He drove the spike into the earth at the base of the wall, right where Caden had indicated.

　　For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a low, almost inaudible hum began to emanate from the spike. The stone of the foundation began to weep a fine, gray dust. It was working. The ancient mortar, laced with dragon bone, was resonating itself into powder.

　　Caden watched, mesmerized and horrified. He had provided the key from the dust of history. Xaden was wielding the forbidden magic. And Violet was leading them all into the dragon’s den. The fallen knight, the secret siphon, and the general’s daughter. Together, they were breaking into the heart of the fortress, not with a battering ram, but with a whisper from the past.

　　The stone block shifted with a soft, grinding sigh. A dark, narrow opening appeared, exhaling the cold, dry breath of centuries. The way was open.

　　Violet drew a short blade, her face a mask of grim determination. She looked at her squad, then at Caden.

　　“It’s time,” she said, and stepped into the darkness.

　　Chapter 16 - End