Arc 3, Chapter 42: Clouded Judgment

  Golden petals drifted toward the floor and dissolved before they could reach the gray mist. The steady clink of iron chains echoed across the platform.

  From the center of the platform, Ash watched Anna rise near the archway. Her knees locked with a jerky hitch as she forced herself up. Her fingers trembled as she drew an emerald vial from her vest. She popped the cork with a flick of her thumb. Under the halo light, the green liquid sparkled as Anna drained the vial in three gulps. She lowered her arm and held still. Her ribcage rose and fell in slow heaves until the cords in her neck loosened.

  To his right, the wooden figures wall loomed close. Carved wooden faces stared toward the center, their painted pupils unblinking in the halo light. Spearheads and war hammers pointed at Ash's ribs. The figures had advanced until the spiraling grain of their limbs and the hairline fractures in their hollow torsos filled his vision. Ash glanced at their weapons; an iridescent sludge coated the iron tips of the spears. The oily liquid gathered into heavy beads and dripped onto the platform. Where the fluid struck, the surface hissed and began to bubble, leaving behind a row of black pits.

  Ahead of him, the platform broke into a jagged rim a few paces away. Beyond it, the light failed, and the gray mist dissolved into a lightless pit. Pell, Vera, Voss, and Orin stood between Ash and the ledge, shoulder to shoulder in the center of the remaining space, their backs to the drop-off.

  To his left, Rowan sagged into his iron links. His weight pulled the metal taut, the chains biting into his wrists and rattling against the platform as he moved. He hung inches from the edge. Behind his slumped frame, the gray haze poured over the rim into the void.

  Ash's gaze swept across the platform. White cubes lay scattered across the gray mist, covering the remaining surface in every direction.

  "That thing is still floating. What is keeping it up there?" Anna's voice drifted from behind him as Ash stared up at the die hanging motionless overhead.

  He turned toward her. Anna stood near the archway, bent at the waist as she reached into the mist for her rapier. Her fingers slid around the metal hilt. She straightened with the blade in hand.

  *Two black pits. The platform hasn't released us. The game is still in motion.*

  —

  "That light." Rowan's voice cut through Ash's thoughts, his heel sliding through the gray mist as he dragged his boot backward. His shoulder pulled against the chains as he took another step, widening the space between them until he hovered near the edge. "I saw the violet light. And the murk that seeped from your hands."

  Rowan's stare locked onto Ash's face. His eyes held on Ash's left eye, where the gray film clouded the iris. "They call your kind filth. They say Dark Gate mages bring the rot. My whole life, I've heard mages like you were the reason for every blight and every failure in the world."

  A sharp click snapped from the pit to Ash's left. Another followed. The noise multiplied into a cascade, rippling through the darkness beyond the platform's rim like a thousand dry bones rattling against one another deep below.

  Ash's hand dropped to his belt and curled around the leather grip of his dagger. He twisted toward Anna. She had already dropped into a low crouch, her weight poised as she leveled her rapier at Rowan's position. The cascade of clicks thinned into a sparse rattle, then sank back into the void, leaving only their breathing across the platform.

  Orin's head whipped toward the edge. His breathing turned shallow and rapid. "What is that sound?" "Her kind made you a pariah. They threw you in the dirt with the rest of us." Rowan lunged against his chains, his voice reaching a jagged peak. "Why are you shielding her? She’s academy-born. Proper. Clean. The kind that gets a throne while they spit on people like you in the gutters."

  Pell stepped forward, one hand raised toward Rowan. "Enough of this. Put aside whatever grudge you're carrying and help us survive."

  Voss planted himself beside Pell. "We need every blade we have if something climbs out of that pit. Settle your grievances after we escape."

  Rowan's laugh came out bitter and thin. "Escape? You still think there's a door waiting for us? We're trapped in a slaughterhouse, and the butcher is sharpening his knife."

  Ash released his grip on the dagger and moved through the knee-high mist. Rowan's knife lay half buried at his feet, the blade dull in the halo light. He sank into a crouch and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. "Anna," he said, turning toward the ledge. "Three rounds. Three failures." He drew back his arm, flicked his wrist, and sent the weapon spinning into the void. It tumbled through the darkness and vanished. "We're missing the pattern."

  "I don’t believe you’re the target." Ash turned toward Anna.

  He took three steps toward her. "Noble domains are single chambers—traps built for one purpose, then discarded. This place is different."

  Vera’s voice broke through, cracking on the words. "I'll never hold them again. My daughters—"

  Ash's eyes flicked to Vera, just once, then back to Anna. "This structure is far more complex. Multiple rooms. A functioning ecosystem."

  Pell's voice rang across the platform. "Don't let Rowan get to you. We're getting out of here."

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  Voss cut in. "Stop shouting." He turned to Anna. "All of us make it. That's the only way this ends."

  A small laugh slipped out of Anna and caught in her throat. "Thank you. All." Her shoulders eased. The rapier's point dipped toward the mist. "What do we do now?"

  "The wooden figures are punishment." Ash moved toward them through the mist. "Every failure makes them advance. They're shrinking the platform."

  Pell shouted. "Punishment!"

  Ash turned his head toward him. "What?"

  Pell lifted a hand. "Nothing. Just remembering something." He scratched at his jaw. "My brother and I used to make up games when we were young. Set the rules ourselves. Lose a round, take the hit." A grin crossed his face. "Life felt simpler then."

  Anna looked up at the die. "We had competitions like this in my world. Challenges with specific outcomes."

  Pell's head tilted. "Your world? You mean-"

  "I'm a summoned hero." Anna held his stare. "I should have told you all sooner."

  Silence held for a heartbeat.

  Pell moved first, boots scuffing under the mist as he closed the distance. Voss followed a step behind. Vera pushed herself up and went to Anna.

  Ash watched Vera move.

  *Vera—No sound from her boots.*

  They reached Anna. Vera took Anna's hands. "Tell me this ends. Tell me I go back to them." Tears tracked down her cheeks. "My daughters need me."

  Anna tightened her grip. "We're getting out. I promise."

  "An honor! A real summoned hero among us!" Pell's voice boomed across the platform.

  Voss grabbed his shoulder. "Will you lower your voice for once?"

  "You're the one who lost control in the statue chamber and nearly crushed us all!" Pell said.

  The scrape of chain links struck Ash's ears. He kept his eyes on the wooden faces ahead. Warm breath brushed the back of his neck. He wrenched around.

  A needle-thin blade leveled at his throat.

  Rowan was there, driving steel for Ash's collar. Ash threw his torso aside. The metal hissed past his ear. Rowan's momentum carried him forward into a stumble. He lurched toward the mannequin wall, his boots carving furrows through the mist as he fought to stop. He caught himself three paces from the wooden faces, his fingers clenching the hilt so hard his hand trembled.

  Ash straightened beside Orin. His hand dropped to the leather hilt of his dagger.

  Pell's voice rose. "Where did he get that blade?"

  Rowan jabbed the blade toward Ash, the chain snapping tight as his arm strained forward. "People like you sit in towers while the rest of us watch the borders." His voice shook. "I gave years to that work. Scouting. Guarding villages nobody cared about." He took another step backward. "One night I gambled instead of my post, and suddenly I'm the villain."

  The massive die began to vibrate. A deep buzz rattled the platform. Ash's head snapped up. Then the die froze mid-air before tearing into a wild spin, twisting on every axis in a blur of flashing faces. A shriek ripped the air apart. The echo hit, and he spun toward the wooden wall, eyes wide, every muscle drawn tight.

  Blood spread across the platform. A dark red stream burst out, arcing through the air and slapping the platform with wet thuds.

  Rowan hung a foot above the floor, impaled from behind by six dark spears that had punched through his chest and stomach. The shafts protruded from his front and held him pressed against the carved wooden torsos of the mannequins behind him, bearing his weight. Blood welled from the ragged exit wounds, streamed along the cold metal, and cascaded down the front of his tunic.

  A red pulse erupted from the void. The light flooded the platform in a blinding rush that caught Rowan against the wood. His eyes stretched wide. The wet irises turned the color of raw flesh as they reflected the red glare.

  Rowan's mouth trembled. "Save me. Anyone. I didn't mean—"

  The dark rushed back in. It devoured the red light in an instant, choking the platform with freezing gloom. The green halos overhead sputtered. Their glow shrank to a diseased, pulsing ring that barely reached the mist around Ash’s boots.

  Anna stepped toward Rowan, and Vera’s hand snapped out, catching her wrist. The force yanked Anna to a sudden halt. "No, hero. We need you alive. We cannot afford to lose you as well."

  Rowan’s chin dropped. The light in his pupils died, leaving behind two flat, painted dots. Color bled out of his face and hands first. The skin paled, then took on the dull sheen of polished wood. Fine-grain lines rose across his cheeks as the flesh hardened. His fingers froze mid-twitch. The neck creaked once and locked forward. His whole body settled into the stiff pose of the other carved figures.

  A faint light kindled at the heart of every white cube scattered across the platform. It flared brighter with each second, pushing the gray mist back in widening rings until each cube burned clear in the haze. The cubes began to tremble. The vibration built in waves, sending hundreds of white shapes blurring upward in spiraling lines that twisted and converged on the suspended die overhead.

  The die came to rest. Five black hollows gazed down at the platform for a frozen second. Then the white cubes swarmed in, fusing into a dense, whirling ring around the block and blotting out the marked face entirely.

  Thud. Thud.

  The mannequin wall advanced two steps.

  —

  *Five holes facing down. The wooden figures stepped forward twice. The last round showed two. The punishment arrives one turn late.*

  Pell's voice cracked across the platform, loud enough to cloud Ash's focus. "Why are you doing this to us?" He broke from Anna's side and strode toward the center. "We haven't done anything to deserve this!"

  Two white cubes broke from the overhead swarm. They spiraled upward, climbed higher, then froze for a heartbeat before plunging in tightening corkscrews toward Pell’s face.

  *They're targeting Pell. Not me. Why?*

  "STOP MOVING NOW!" Ash shouted.

  Pell went rigid. The cubes stopped an inch from his eyes, spinning in place. They hung there, each one swelling and receding in a slow throb that felt like a heart barely beating.

  Voss's voice came low. "Pell. You alright?"

  "I can't feel my legs." Pell's breath hitched.

  Anna's voice reached them from the archway. "Ash. What's going on?"

  Ash kept his eyes on the suspended cubes. "Motion. They respond to movement."

  "I noticed that earlier. They came at us more than anyone else. I assumed it was because we were attacking them," Anna said.

  The suspended die pulsed. A blast of pressure shoved the spinning cube mass away. The formation recoiled, then slammed back into place.

  Thud.

  The line of wooden figures advanced one step.

  The die pulsed again. The cubes buckled, then crashed forward.

  Thud.

  The wooden figures kept advancing, their heavy footfalls thudding with each pulse of the die.

  "What's happening? They keep moving?" Pell said.

  Ash flicked his eyes toward the archway. Gray haze flooded the entrance, piling up and sealing the passage behind a swirling wall of mist. His eyes snapped back to the advancing wooden figures. He kept his voice low. "Slow. Back to the edge opposite the wooden wall. Stay together. No sudden moves. One step at a time. Don't look back."

  At the platform's edge, Ash took position with the others. The wooden figures kept their steady approach.

  *Less ground every step—we need a way out.*

  *Before: punishment. Then they held still after each round. Now the march never stops. Rules changed?*

  *Motion. Because we saw it?*

  *There has to be an escape. What am I missing?*