I ran my hand along the jagged edge of the half-collapsed plaza, stone crumbling beneath my fingertips. Three days since Bartholomew vanished. One since Al followed, taking the beetles with him. And still—no word from below.

  Have the Cinders returned? Has a Guardian attacked?

  Waelid sat nearby on a broken marble pillar, flicking pebbles. “Something’s happening,” he muttered. “But the major won’t let us go yet . . . If I could just hit the third level of infusion, we could leave.”

  “That’s not it,” I replied. “Philip wants the floor boss dead first.”

  Waelid scoffed. “Yeah, and I can’t kill it until I transform. Explain again what happened with you and that thing inside you?”

  I hesitated. “It’s hard to explain. I know that doesn’t help, and I would be frustrated with that answer too. But really, it just happened to me as I followed the fundamentals that the major taught us. Once I ‘slipped,’ I found the chimera inside a bad memory of Fern’s. We fought, and when it got tired, it bowed, and I just . . . knew it accepted me. It wasn’t a contract—it was becoming ‘one.’ You’ll probably have to find yours in a painful memory.”

  He fell quiet. “I’ve got too many I avoid,” he admitted. He stretched, rolling his shoulders. Since we learned clearing the floors was time sensitive, he’d latched onto it like a personal challenge.

  “We moved fast so far. If I can’t transform, it will be all my fault,” he said. “I just need to get it done. Today’s the day.”

  “Don’t force it,” I warned. “Let it happen. Keep your mind active, but let your body sleep,” I said.

  He folded his arms. “I just hope Al and Bartholomew are okay,” he murmured.

  Heavy footsteps broke the silence. Major Philip approached. “Gentlemen! Enough chatter,” he grunted. “Waelid, are you ready?”

  Waelid saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  Philip turned to me. “Erik, get Laska and grab the incense.”

  “Aye.” I ran to retrieve the supplies. Tonight, we were throwing everything at Waelid to force him into a trance—double the incense, double the needles, double the brew.

  Waelid knelt before the fire, shirtless, incense thick in the air. Laska and the major pricked his skin with dozens of needles along his spine. Miners formed a circle, singing bowls in hand, waiting for Major Philip’s signal.

  “Remember your training,” the major said. “Listen to the sounds, smell the incense, and focus on one point. Envision the phoenix fully fused. It no longer drains you—you command it.”

  Seven miners took their places, rubbing glass sticks against the bowls’ rims. A deep, resonant hum filled the air.

  Laska whispered beside me, rubbing her wrists. “You think he’ll break through tonight?”

  “He has to,” I muttered. “If not, we’re walking into that cathedral down a fighter.”

  Major Philip had told us to focus on Waelid—to guide him with our intent. It sounded like nonsense, but I’d seen it work. And once you’ve seen something like this work, you can’t go back. Somehow, in this world, focused willpower mattered.

  ‘He’ll manage,’ Fern said. ‘He won’t let you stay ahead of him.’

  I smirked. Fern wasn’t wrong. Waelid’s pride wouldn’t let him lag behind.

  The air grew thick, charged with energy. Waelid trembled, sweat dripping from his brow. The needles in his back popped free, one by one.

  CRACK.

  Sparks danced around him. The circle pulsed with eerie orange light.

  “Back up!” Philip barked.

  I yanked Laska away as Waelid convulsed. His breathing grew ragged, his limbs shaking. The singing bowls intensified

  “More! Keep going!” Major Philip ordered them.

  Then Waelid rose—floating like a puppet on invisible strings. A line of fire erupted from the bottom of his spine and spun around his body up to above his head. Then his body stretched, feathers sprouting along his arms. A white mask formed, emblazoned with a phoenix. The harpy-like visage cracked, revealing dark feathers streaked with gold. His eyes burned pitch-black, irises glowing like twin suns.

  For a moment, he looked like a god.

  The major exhaled, relieved. “You did it.”

  Waelid jerked forward. He let out a triumphant cry, wings of fire unfurling behind him.

  Sweat dripped down my face from the heat. For the first time, I felt the true strength of the third form.. Maybe we could really take on theRoyal mage knights. Maybe I could reach Noah.

  I eyed Waelid. I’d hated him once, but fighting alongside him in the ruins had changed things. Still, we weren’t friends. Not yet.

  Waelid landed, flexing his flaming wings. “So . . . this is what stage three feels like.” He turned to Major Philip. “Now I can match Erik.”

  The major nodded. “You reached the third level. Good work. But don’t get cocky—level four is double the power it took to get here.”

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  Waelid frowned. “You’re joking.”

  Major Philip shrugged.

  Laska cheered, clapping. “Nice job, Waelid! We’ll tear through the floor boss now.”

  Even the miners let out a few whoops. For once, things felt . . . hopeful.

  Major Philip cleared his throat. “Enough celebrating. Get some sleep. First thing in the morning we got a job to do, kill this floor boss. Then we head straight for the academy and figure out what the hell is going on.”

  Waelid grinned, grabbing his scimitar. It looked like a long knife in his larger hands. He spun it once. “Let’s go.”

  When we reached the cathedral’s entrance the next morning, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  But it was two things: One, the cathedral was massive. It stood ten times taller than any of the other buildings around it. Two, it looked like the very definition of a dark-fantasy boss-fight arena.

  The massive doors hung crooked on ruined hinges, and the carved stone archway was thick with layers of spider silk. Even from outside, I felt a cold breeze swirl through the interior, carrying a damp, rotten smell that made my stomach lurch.

  The four of us stepped inside together. The floor was littered with debris—broken pews, splinters, collapsed columns that had rotted from centuries of neglect. Every step kicked up clouds of dust that danced in the faint light.

  ‘Something’s watching us,’ Fern hissed. ‘I can smell it.’

  You can smell it? How can you smell someone watching? I said, laughing quietly to myself to calm down.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Fern said, annoyed.

  Major Philip led us down the central aisle, his eyes scanning left and right. The middle of the cathedral was still at least four hundred yards away.

  “So, who are we fighting? Is it the lady who the three lichguards fell in love with?” I asked as we pushed ahead over broken benches.

  Major shook his head. “This floor boss—Exalted Princess Qwenburg—was once revered in the old empire, long before the woman who won the three princes’ hearts. They say she served the Kingdom Above as a direct envoy.”

  He peered down a dark passage where webs glistened in the gloom. “Centuries ago, after ascending to the Kingdom Above, she was granted a soul extension but became tethered to this floor, forever bound to the graveyard she filled during her rule. Even after death, her hatred twisted her into a spiderlike demon. She looks like a failed blood infusion—lost to the beast. She spawns abominations, and if we leave her, she’ll start reviving the ghosts.”

  A flash of movement made us whirl. A shape vanished behind collapsed arches. Clicking legs and dry rustling filled the air.

  “We take her down now,” Major Philip said. “Or we risk delaying the Cinders’ march.”

  The floor shuddered. From overhead balconies, hundreds of spiders descended on silk threads, ranging from palm-sized to torso-sized, their bulbous abdomens twitching.

  The major’s gaze hardened. “Erik, Waelid, Laska—you handle these. Keep them off me while I draw Qwenburg out.”

  “Got it.” Laska flipped her sword in a practiced motion. Waelid grinned like he’d been waiting all morning. I reached inside myself for the chimera. My transformation was smoother now—scales rippling over my arms, a mane of beastly fur bristling along my neck. My limbs lengthened, claws grew, wings unfurled, and a snake-headed tail slithered to my shoulder.

  “Time for a trick,” Fern’s goat-horned snake head hissed. He opened his mouth, and the cursed black blade slid out, biting the hilt with his fangs.

  I stared. “You just . . . vomited out the sword?”

  “Looks insane, right?”

  “Insane, but badass. You cover my blind spots.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  The spiders dropped in droves. We sprang into action. Laska’s body elongated, her muscles coiling. White fur sprouted along her limbs, two tails unfurling behind her as ice crystals shimmered over her skin. She cut through the first wave, frost coating her slashes, spider legs snapping like brittle glass. She stood up and turned toward us. She looked like a more regal and goddess-like version of a cat-woman.

  Waelid erupted into flames, his phoenix wings sending searing gusts. He tore spiders from the walls, talons flashing.

  I lunged into the fray. A few spiders leaped at me, mandibles clicking, but Fern struck them down midair with a slash from his sword.

  “Nice one!” I shouted as I swiped my claws down on two more spiders.

  A shrill screech split the cathedral. I looked up—a spider the size of a carriage loomed, a woman’s torso fused atop its body. Multifaceted eyes pulsed, and her tattered gown was tangled in cobwebs.

  “Qwenburg,” the major growled. “Stay sharp.”

  He roared, warping into something massive—an elephant-like head, a coiled serpentine body, and mammoth fists. The Grootslang’s roar sent shivers through me.

  Qwenburg clacked forward, impossibly fast. Philip met her charge, trunk swinging. The impact thundered through the cathedral.

  More spiders flooded in behind her.

  “Waelid! Erik! We clear these so the major can focus!” Laska shouted.

  “On it!” I shouted.

  She vaulted over a column, freezing the ground beneath the swarm. Waelid swooped overhead, flames scorching the horde. I tore through them, my claws rending exoskeletons. Behind me, Fern’s sword whirled like a propeller.

  Qwenburg shrieked, stabbing a leg at the major. He parried, but a second limb speared his shoulder.

  “Enough!” I vaulted onto a toppled pillar and leaped toward the spider queen. My claws raked into her leg, tearing the exoskeleton and flesh that hid beneath. She reared back, towering over us, her human torso limp and pale, covered in thick tattoos.

  The monster straightened, and spotting Waelid mid-flight, she lunged.

  Her barbed limb speared him clean through the chest.

  “Shit!” Fern cried.

  Qwenburg hurled his body down. It smashed through a table.

  Fern tensed.

  “Don’t panic. What’s a phoenix known for?”

  And as if Waelid was waiting for someone to say that, golden-red fire erupted around his corpse. Qwenburg recoiled, shrieking. Waelid’s eyes snapped open—reborn. With a savage screech, he rocketed skyward, grabbing a spider limb and twisting. He picked up Qwenburg and lifted her high up to the ceiling of the cathedral. Then he flew around in a wide circle, gaining speed, over and over until he hurled her to the floor.

  Laska seized the moment, freezing Qwenburg’s legs to the ground.

  “Erik! Help me drop the columns!” the major roared.

  I slammed into the nearest pillar. The stone groaned, then collapsed. The roof caved in, crushing Qwenburg beneath a cascade of debris. Her scream faded into a gurgling hiss.

  Silence followed.

  A thick green mist coiled through the cathedral—her soul severed until the next tower reset.

  Waelid staggered beside me. Laska sank to one knee, catching her breath. The major shrank back to human form, hands on his hips, then laughed.

  “Well done! You pass my specialized training.”

  I exhaled. “Did I mention I hate spiders?”

  Laska grinned. “Too bad Tevin’s not here—he’d have tried to befriend the spider-princess.”

  Waelid rubbed his chest. “Rebirth . . . not doing that again anytime soon.”

  Reaching our makeshift camp near the plaza took longer than expected, but the lanterns’ glow was a relief.

  Miners rushed forward as we arrived, anxious and relieved. Coren, Waelid’s friend, ran straight to Major Philip.

  This can’t be good.

  “Sir,” he panted, “we found something . . . or rather, it found us.”

  He cupped his hands, revealing a grapefruit-sized beetle smeared with crimson. Across its shell, shaky letters spelled one word.

  “Mageblood,” Laska read. She paled.

  Waelid swore.

  I took the beetle gingerly. It chittered weakly.

  “That’s blood,” I whispered. “Human blood.”

  Major Philip’s fists were clenched. “So, they’ve broken through.” His voice was quiet, deadly.

  “What do you mean?” Waelid asked.

  The major turned and looked at us with a serious look. “The magebloods are inside the academy.”

  A weight heavier than any spider queen settled over us.