Chapter 13 - INTO THE IRON SPIRE
The Iron Spire was a colossal, black-stone fortress built into the side of the Obsidian Crags, fifty miles north of the capital. It was designed for one purpose: to hold dragons that the military could neither control nor bring themselves to slay.
When Marlo, Alistair, and Nyx arrived under heavy escort, the oppressive atmosphere was immediate. The air smelled of sulfur, damp iron, and burning sedatives. Heavy iron chains rattled in the dark corridors, accompanied by the muffled, piteous moans of dozens of trapped dragons.
Nyx shuddered as he stepped into the courtyard, his wings pressing tight against his body.
"Easy, boy," Marlo whispered, keeping her hand pressed against his neck. "I’m right here."
They were met by Warden Drake, a tall, scarred man whose face was half-covered by a brass plate—a souvenir from a wild dragon strike twenty years prior.
"Welcome to the end of the line, Flight Master," Drake said, his voice grating like stone against stone. "Here, there are no titles, no medals, and no soft words. Every beast stays chained until its mind surrenders."
"These creatures don't need chains," Marlo said, looking around at the massive iron collars fastened to stone pillars. "They need medical care and space to heal."
"Medical care?" Drake laughed dryly. "This is a depot for broken weapons, girl. Your black dragon goes into Block Nine—the high-security wing."
"I stay with him," Marlo demanded.
"You have six hours a day to perform basic grooming," Drake growled. "At night, he is locked in double iron. No exceptions."
As Nyx was led into a massive dark cell fitted with heavy iron gates, Marlo noticed something strange written in chalk on the archway: Subject 09 - Wing Resection Candidate.
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Marlo’s eyes narrowed. "What does 'resection' mean, Drake?"
Drake didn't answer. He simply smiled, his brass mask catching the dim torchlight, and turned away.
