RESTARTED

Zalan Astaroth levels a dead-eyed stare at us. “What do you know about Maiden-stalker drakes?”

Everyone in the infirmary stiffens. A primal involuntary reaction to just hearing the creature’s name. It’s so quiet you could hear a sheet of parchment drop, and even breathing sounds excessive.

And then Rián McAvoy blurts out loudly in his irreverent Irish lilt, “Those are the ones that go after virgin lasses, right?” Either to relieve the tension you can practically taste in the air, or to mask his own unease. Either way, he earns himself a hard elbow to the ribs from Felix Bristow for his troubles. 

“What?” Rián grumbles sourly. 

Zalan clears his throat, running a hand over the stiffened linen of the cast immobilizing his left forearm. “It’s not just…youthful girls they pursue. No one is safe if you haven’t…” He swallows hard.

The infirmary falls deathly silent once more. 

I just stare at him. He can’t really be saying what I think he is…can he?

“They’re called ‘Maiden-stalkers,’ but in truth, a mage of any gender who’s approaching the edge of Fledglinghood will suit those creatures just fine. It’s all the same to them, really.”

When not even Roland challenges him on that fact, Zalan continues, his viridian gaze drifting to the enormous stained glass window in the distance. “The Maiden-stalker lets you think you’ve a chance at first. But eventually it runs you down until you’re too exhausted to have any hope of defending yourself.”

Zalan clutches his injured arm a bit tighter to himself. “Until you’ve burned through your magik and have nothing left. Or you fuck up and lose possession of your wand. Whatever the reason—”

“Is that what happened to you?” Roland questions accusingly. “Did you arrogantly think you could best a Stalker at your age?”

Zalan turns on him, pinning Smoot with a look that could break bones. “I never had a wand to begin with?”

Blood drains from the faces of the Hippogryphs. 

“You didn’t have a wand…?” Captain Kolby Fenwick repeats in horror. 

“What happens after it catches you?” I blurt out, and they all look at me like I’ve lost my damned mind for asking such a thing. And yet one by one, each pair of eyes slowly returns to Zalan.

My dormmate looks away once more, off toward the other end of the infirmary. “When it finally catches its prey, the Maiden-stalker pins you to the ground so you’ve no means of escape. Crushing your bones beneath it.”

His green-eyed gaze drops to his chest as he drags a single finger down his breastbone. “It penetrates your heart with its barbed tail, using your own circulatory system to deliver its toxic magik throughout your body.”

He swallows hard as if trying to force down the terrible memories. “Struggling is a futile waste of effort. The end is the same regardless. You become nothing more than a catalyst. The perfect host for its clutch of unborn dragonlings.” 

“How does someone even survive something like that?” Vice Captain Bristow questions in a horrified voice. 

“You don’t,” Zalan answers flatly as his gaze flicks up to meet Bristow’s. “Frankly, I’m only alive and breathing because my uncle is beyond brilliant.”

His…uncle? Wait, does he mean Antoni Astaroth, the legendary Master Artificer & Alchemist?

My dormmate pulls the edges of his ruined uniform open just far enough to give us a good look at the dark vermilion inkwork running the entirety of his ribs and breastbone. It’s beautiful and terrible and I can’t stop looking at any of it.

“The Maiden-stalker crushed my bones and damaged my heart in its attack. This magikal array etched into my flesh and bones is the only thing sustaining my life.”

Zalan flicks Smoot a savage glare. “And your imbecilic little brother thought I was using this to cheat at a fucking game.”

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Chapter 21 – Restarted: Part Two, ExSpelled © 2026 by Kat Vancil

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