Mari busied herself with making dinner for Jeromy, though no one had asked her to. The soldiers had made it clear that no one would be allowed near him. She did not care. All by herself in the kitchen, she did what she felt was right.

  Maselli, meanwhile, remained seated on Ezra’s bed, with Ezra beside him. She was recovering much faster now; her coughs were almost gone. It was as if the Black Vein knew it was no longer the centre of attention and had fled for good.

  “Where is Aron?” asked Ezra.

  “The soldiers are interrogating him again.”

  For hours, they had pressed Aron to recount everything that had happened. They had then asked about a certain shadow in the woods. He had been light-headed and nauseous most of the time, and it was only a miracle that he told them a straight story despite the many gaps. He had also asked them questions—such as why Doctor Leonard hadn’t shown up yet. They did not answer him.

  “Is Aron in trouble?”

  Maselli pretended not to hear. He was tired of answering questions, tired of speculating on the future he had already ruined for Jeromy.

  “You’re worried about the wrong person,” he said. “No matter what happens, we won’t be staying in this apartment for long. We have to find a way to move you out without anyone noticing.”

  The balustrade on this side of the apartment complex was twisted out of shape, and half of their wall was gone. Beside the room they were using, everywhere else offered no privacy. He had to make sure no one was moving about in the hallway before Ezra could use the bathroom.

  The night had settled into a lull when an idea struck him. Maselli stepped out of the bedroom, navigating through debris scattered across the living room. Mari was still at it in the kitchen, pouring hot chocolate into a flask. The door to Ezra’s bedroom remained open, and she leaned back, curious about what he was up to.

  He grabbed one armchair and shook the dust out of it. A chunk of cement had lodged itself in the seat; he picked it out and dragged the furniture further into the shadows of their home. Both Mari and Ezra peeped from their respective rooms, curious but silent. After setting up the first sofa, he moved on to another. It was less dusty, and he didn’t have to drag it far. Once done, he flopped down onto it and let out a long, relaxing sigh.

  The evening breeze swept through their room, giving him space to appreciate the night sky. Stars glittered against the grey moon, a simple but breathtaking sight. He didn’t need to be earthen, rhen, ascender, or non-ascender to enjoy it.

  Ezra creaked the bedroom door wider and lingered beside it, keeping a careful eye on Mari. The mouse moved through the shadows, one cautious step at a time, until she reached the empty sofa. Knees pressed together, back straight, she prepared to spring back into the bedroom at the slightest sign of trouble.

  “When was the last time you saw the night sky?” he asked her.

  “Me and my sisters used to stay out all night with our father. He had a telescope set up at the back of our house. It was a hobby we got to share with him.”

  “You have sisters?” He waited for her to laugh, to say it was a joke. The colours in her eyes swirled under the moonlight. She shrank beneath Maselli’s growing shadow. And she better be scared—he would strangle her when he got close enough. They’d been living together for almost a decade, and it had never occurred to Ezra to mention this. Or had he never asked? It seemed such an odd detail to miss. No, she must be joking.

  “Mari,” Maselli called. “Ezra says she has sisters.”

  “I know,” said Mari.

  “What?” Maselli shrieked. “Am I the only one who didn’t know?”

  “I have told you several times already,” said Ezra. “You just forgot.”

  He would not buy that, but was there any other explanation—pain shot through his head. Maselli seethed. Something didn’t feel right. Something didn’t feel right at all. He closed his eyes and let the ache fade. Ezra waited in silence, a little concerned but restrained.

  When he seemed back to himself, she perked up and beamed at the sky, pointing with her chin. “Did you know the brightest stars in the night sky aren’t stars at all? There,” she said, pointing out a bright violet point of light. “That’s Chaos.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, that bright thing is a portal that leads to Chaos,” she explained.

  “Well, then what world does this star lead to?” Maselli asked, pointing to a bright green one.

  “That is Absence. It’s a portal to the Absent World,” said Ezra. “And the silver star belongs to Neverland.” She tugged at him until his cheek brushed hers. She nudged his chin up and pointed to a star brighter than the rest. “That’s The Gate of Heaven.”

  “I see,” said Maselli.

  “You know that story of how Rheina was born?”

  “The story of Christmas?” asked Maselli.

  “Fonifa gave birth to Rheina, and three magicians travelled from Solvaria to Henrikia to worship him. They found their way to Rheina by following a bright star—this Gate of Heaven.”

  Maselli chuckled. “Is that where angels come from? They travel through the portal and into the Living World.” He tried not to laugh. “Do people living in other Worlds see a portal to our World?”

  “That’s how portals work,” said Ezra.

  “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  For a moment, the stars shone brighter in her eyes. He could read something there he could not comprehend. Letting out a quiet sigh, she turned to him and said, “I’ve had a lot of time.”

  Debris crunched under Mari’s boots as she cut across the living room. She carried a small lunch bag with her. Reaching the space where the door had once stood, she halted. What kept Mari at bay? She did not speak, only trembled, holding onto the cracked wall for balance. Could she be afraid to face the soldiers alone? All it took was Maselli’s steady hand for her to relinquish the responsibility to him. He didn’t mind.

  He carried the lunch bag across the hallway. Some of his neighbours lounged nearby. Uncle Percy patted him on the back. “Everything will be alright,” he said.

  “Should I help you, Maselli?” asked Danica.

  Someone else patted his head. “God watches over us,” they said.

  Only a few soldiers had come through the portal the first time around. Since then, movement had been minimal, further cementing his suspicion that the Green Corps was keeping Jeromy a secret. A gathering surrounded the chapel. His neighbours sat on benches or stood under trees, some with fingers on their chins, others with arms folded. The evening mist rolled in, oozing from their noses. Many had not eaten or bathed since morning, unwilling to miss a moment of the spectacle.

  As he cut through the crowd, eyes followed him, making way for him to reach the perimeter set by the guards. Lights flickered inside the chapel. He glanced at the green uniforms stationed there. Two more guards stood at the entrance, heavy rifles dangling at their fronts. Maselli stepped over the border and the soldiers reacted with a tilt of their heads. He lifted his hands, sliding the lunch bag onto the floor.

  “I’m here to give him dinner,” said Maselli.

  “Kelsi lecias,” the soldier said.

  “I’m his brother—the one from earlier.”

  “Lecias!”

  “I want to see my brother!”

  Maselli grabbed his lunch bag just as the soldier’s boot swung his way. One man indoors bellowed, and the young officer held his boot fast. He stomped the ground, turned about for instructions within the chapel, and in a matter of seconds returned. Approaching Maselli, he hissed through his teeth, “Get in.”

  Lanterns shone over several pews, illuminating the faces of the Green Officers guarding Jeromy. The earthen ascender himself sat on a pew, facing the altar, looking as though he had lost his soul. After Maselli explained why he had come, one soldier poked at the lunch bag and asked him to take out the food. He set it on the pew, removing the flask containing the beverage and the omelette sandwich.

  “Taste it,” one guard said.

  “I’m not here to poison him,” Maselli replied. “I’m his brother.”

  The guard eyed Jeromy and muttered, “I would.”

  Having missed him earlier, Maselli caught sight of the priest beside the altar, holding a phone to his ear. The substance of the conversation was of no concern.

  After further examination by the soldiers, Maselli was granted permission to sit with Jeromy. “Be careful how you speak to your brother,” the guard warned. “Do not stress him too much.” These were the same soldiers who had been pointing guns at Jerry and yelling at him all day.

  With aching fingers, Maselli nudged the sandwich closer to his baby brother. He did the same with the flask, but when it brushed Jeromy’s hand, Jeromy recoiled.

  “It’s too hot,” Jeromy said. “I want to cool off, but the soldiers wouldn’t let me bathe.” He was soaked in sweat, from the tip of his hair to his feet. “Do you know the feeling when someone puts your hand too close to a candle? You feel the burn and nudge away. That’s the pain I’m feeling right now. Except I can’t pull away. My skin itches. The skin on my head tightens every time I breathe.”

  “Help is on the way, Jerry,” Maselli said. “I swear, you’ll be—”

  “No—”

  “Yes. Leonard and his doctors will take care of you. Come on, you’re one of a kind. Do you think they’ll sit there and watch you suffer? You’ll be getting the finest treatment in the best hospitals from now on.”

  “I am one of a kind,” Jeromy said. “No one knows what to do, because no one has seen anything like me. Only Ezra can help me. She knows things. She knows everything. Maselli, ask her to help.”

  Jeromy brushed the flask away from his side. It toppled, spilling hot chocolate across the floor. He splashed through it with his boots, reaching for Maselli’s hands. Maselli tried to pull free, but his brother’s grip was iron-strong. Not good. The soldiers were approaching.

  “Ask Ezra to help me. Please, Maselli, ask her for me.”

  “Who is Ezra?” the guard nearest them asked.

  “Zerah,” Maselli corrected. “She is a friend of ours.”

  “Ezra, Ezra, Ezra!” Jeromy cried. “I said Ezra, not Zerah. What do I need Zerah for?”

  Suddenly, all the guards stopped in their tracks, turning towards the church entrance. Whatever had drawn their attention, Maselli couldn’t hear over his pounding heart and Jeromy’s ragged breathing. The soldiers pulled away from the two boys, moving towards the doors.

  Father Ken caught on and asked, “Is anything wrong?”

  The guards ignored him.

  “Maselli,” Jeromy said, voice tight with urgency. “Someone is coming.”

  “It’s probably the Ring,” Maselli said. “The doctors are coming for you.”

  But the Ring did not rev like an engine. Murmurs of confusion rippled through the crowd outside. The guards barked questions, but no one answered.

  “Who is it?”

  “They’re not our men.”

  “How many?”

  “About ten of them, more approaching from the forest.”

  The captain of the guards eyed Jeromy first, then gestured sharply to his subordinates. “Get the boy upstairs. Report to Victor. Intruders in Blackwood. Hurry!”

  One soldier complied, holding a communication device to his mouth and relaying the information. The guard captain stepped outside, shouting orders at the men. Maselli had no idea how many Henrikian soldiers were present, but the panic consuming them suggested there weren’t enough.

  “Come on,” the guard assigned to Jeromy said, leading him up the stairs.

  “Hurry, boy,” Father Ken said, shoving Maselli to follow. The Blackens outside grew louder, but so did the soldiers. Engines revved, blue lights flashed through the chapel.

  The stairs led them to a lobby lined with doors on either end. They shoved one open, pushing Jeromy inside. Maselli and the priest followed willingly. The soldiers muttered among themselves as they drew torches from their utility belts. One muttered that he wasn’t willing to die for some earthen.

  Through a small window, Maselli peered at the distant black forest. Specks of light flickered within it, scattered like fireflies. The migraine from earlier wormed its way through his skull again.

  “Sit,” one guard ordered. Maselli turned, pressing his back against the wall alongside Father Ken and Jeromy, settling on the bare floor.

  The floor creaked under the second soldier’s boot as he approached the window. Engines revved again, men shouted distant commands. No matter what happened, let Aron be safe—he hadn’t seen him since the afternoon. Mari and Ezra should be somewhere no one would dare seek them. And above all, Jeromy must survive. He was far too innocent to die.

  Bang!

  Shots tore through the air in rapid succession, mingling with wails, curses, stampedes, and thundering chaos. The noise surged up the stairs. The two soldiers inside drew their blades, exchanging hardened looks. They crouched on opposite sides of the closed doors. The floorboards creaked under their weight. A shadow moved closer. Its presence darkened the room.

  The door burst open. One shadowed figure grabbed the first soldier by the arm, wrenched a knife free, and plunged it into his neck. The second guard roared and lunged for the intruder, only to have a blue bolt scatter his brains across the floor.

  Tall, broad-shouldered figures gathered at the entrance. The Blackens in the room pressed together, stunned into silence. Calling them men seemed inadequate. No man, rhen, or earthen had six eyes on his face. These figures did, and all six eyes glowed a cold, piercing blue.

  One stepped forward, crushing his foot into the splattered brain matter. He crouched, staring down at the three of them. Maselli, Jeromy, and Father Ken stared back, hearts hammering, trapped in the gaze of the impossible.

  The first thing Maselli noticed was the pistol in the man’s hand. Blue triangle etchings ran along the barrel, sizzling like a cooling pan. He was clad in black boots and trousers, with a shirt and a bulletproof jacket. The emblem on the jacket depicted a human head split into two colours: black and gold.

  “Maselli Shepherd,” a voice came from the six-eyed figure. The three Blackens stepped back, frozen in numb astonishment. The man pressed a button on the mask. Steam hissed from the helmet as the six eyes closed. It wasn’t the creature’s real head—just a mask. Beneath it was a man, with golden-brown eyes that mirrored their own.

  “How are you all?” he asked in English. A Sodenite. “My name is Nate. I am honoured to meet you boys in person. My men and I are members of the Black Banner Rebellion. We’re here to save you from your oppressors.”

  He was dark-skinned, his hair short and faded at the edges. Receiving no reply, he stood and refitted the helmet.

  “Father Ken, please come with me.”

  The priest barely had time to process the request before Nate grabbed him by the arm, yanking him to his feet. With a swift twist, he seized the priest’s phone and guided him toward the exit.

  Stolen story; please report.

  With Father Ken gone, Maselli and Jeromy remained alone until the door reopened and the priest returned to his seat. No bruises or cuts marred him; the only difference was the absence of his phone.

  “What is going on?” Maselli asked.

  “They’re mad,” said the priest.

  “What did they ask you to do?”

  “They made me lie to the commissioner, told him they were already off with Jeromy.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Maselli said.

  “Quiet,” came a sharp command. The Blackens fell silent. Had they not, they would not have noticed the commotion outside. Maselli peered through the window. Many Blackens had gathered in the courtyard. His burning gaze swept the crowd, searching for his father or Mari.

  Bannermen occupied the posts of the now-dead Henrikian guards. Their guns were larger and blacker than the Green Officers’ weapons. More emerged from the forest, skidding on motorcycles. One Bannerman stood atop the highest step, raising a hand to silence the crowd. Surrounded by armed men, the Blackens huddled together. Women and children instinctively moved toward the centre. Claiming the men of Blackwood were angry and ready to fight would have been a lie—they weren’t bowing or pleading at the militia’s feet, but they didn’t appear prepared for battle either.

  When the last murmurs died, the Bannerman dropped his hand and nodded. To whom? Maselli had a fair idea. From beneath the shadows of the tall trees, a lean young man sauntered through the gathered crowd. With her head held high, Franka climbed the stairs, standing beside the Bannerman.

  “Blackwood, you owe this young man everything,” said the Bannerman, patting Franka on the back. “He has shown loyalty and courage to our cause throughout the years, and tonight, it all pays off. Tonight, you taste liberty. Tonight, you become freemen.”

  Some Blackens cast their eyes down at the bodies of soldiers lying side by side in the dirt. The children, too small to understand, tugged at their parents’ sleeves, afraid of the six-eyed men.

  Franka stepped forward. “I get it. You have no reason to trust these men, especially after what you just saw. But you know me, and I can speak on their behalf. They have shown me things none of you can imagine. These men are our men. They are earthens just like us, reaching heights the rhens fear we can reach. And they want the same for us. They want to share their knowledge and prosperity. Doesn’t that stir something within you? Aren’t you angry at how unfair life has been, always thinking you’re less than someone else? Why can’t we be like the Sodenites? Is it not the same blood that runs through us all?

  “I have a friend undercover right now, and he has told me what the Assembly intends to do—not just to my brother, but to all of us. They’re sending a Gaverian to Blackwood at this very moment, and she’s coming to kill us all. We are witnesses to something they do not want other earthens to know is possible. An earthen ascender—think about it. That’s why we haven’t had any doctors here to treat Jeromy. That’s the gratitude we get from the Assembly after all these years of work. If that doesn’t make you angry, I don’t know what will!”

  “Maselli,” called Jeromy.

  “It’s not true,” Maselli said, turning to Father Ken. “Tell him.” The priest said nothing.

  Franka’s words failed to sway the crowd. They would have walked away if not for the armed men surrounding them. “We’re the only ones who can save you from the Gaverian. As much as I hate to do this, I will be keeping a dozen of your young ones here. This is to ensure you do not interfere with our operations…”

  The Bannerman did not finish. An outcry erupted as parents smothered their children, weaving through the shifting crowd. Blackens pushed and pulled, shoving aside the Bannermen. One man grabbed a woman by the arm, trying to pull her away from her screaming child. She shoved him back; her son stamped his feet in defiance. The Bannerman raised his pistol. Fear flickered across her face, and she did not resist the second time the armed man seized her son.

  A line of screaming boys and girls thrashed against the men, who carried them into the chapel. The cacophony grew unbearable until the Bannermen called for a few mothers to accompany them inside. Outside, the fathers of Blackwood gathered at the gates, silent, unblinking, as the chapel doors closed.

  Shortly after, the door to the room where Maselli and Jeromy were hiding creaked open.

  Unable to make out faces, Maselli could only watch as children filed in and sat against the wall. The soldiers’ corpses still lay where they had fallen, some sat in the blood. A few mothers who had been allowed inside comforted their children, whispering lies that they would be home soon. Some of the little ones seemed to understand; others, whose mothers weren’t permitted entry, cried without end.

  “At least let me in,” came a voice Maselli knew instantly. He and Jeromy pressed their faces to the window. Outside, Mari and Aron stood together, pleading with the Bannerman at the chapel gate.

  “Our boy is very ill,” Mari said. “If you cared, you would let me tend to him.”

  “Franka will take care of the boy,” the Bannerman replied. “Franka is also your son, isn’t he?”

  Mari sealed her lips. From then on, Aron did all the talking, but Maselli silently begged the Bannerman to relent, to let just one parent through. He had never wanted to hold his parents more than in that moment. A simple embrace would have meant everything. Yet he knew that if he cried out, he would lose even the privilege of watching from the window.

  Aron finally took Mari by the arm and led her away from the chapel entrance.

  “To your homes,” one Bannerman ordered the crowd. “Your children are safe—if and only if you comply. No one comes out tonight. Lock your doors. See nothing, say nothing.”

  No one moved. Breath steamed in the cold air, fists clenched, eyes fixed. None dared test the militia; none would risk twelve children and six mothers. Slowly, those still holding their children turned back first. The rest followed—parents with sons and daughters they might never see again. Aron and Mari lingered longest at the chapel gate, before at last retreating home as well.

  “Children, remember this day,” said the priest. “The rhens have never raised a hand against Blackwood. But it is an earthman like you who will fire the shot that kills us.”

  The children began to cry. The Bannermen thundered at them for silence, which only made the wailing worse. The door flung open. Screams rang out. “Calm down,” came a familiar voice. “It’s just me.”

  Franka. He pushed through the huddle, shoving small heads aside, until he reached the window. He chuckled at Father Ken, then smiled down at Maselli. Coincidence or not, Jeromy burned with heat beside him.

  “Back on the Third, when you crossed me and Jeromy, you said you needed the money for a worthwhile cause,” Maselli said. “You meant this.”

  “Re-education programs. Smuggling our people to Soden. Etcetera.”

  Franka bared his teeth in a half-laugh, pausing as if daring Maselli to argue.

  “You shouldn’t have killed the soldiers,” Maselli said. “They didn’t even want to be here.”

  “The sooner you realise Henrikians aren’t as fearsome as they pretend, the sooner you’ll understand everything I’ve been saying,” Franka said, as though they were having a different conversation altogether.

  “There’s no chance of that,” Father Ken said. He had been silent until now.

  Franka chuckled again and turned toward the window. “Get up and see for yourself.”

  Father Ken stayed seated, but Maselli’s curiosity tugged him up. Outside, the motorcycles were gone. The Bannermen too. Then—a flicker in the distance. From the top floor of an abandoned laboratory, a Bannerman’s rifle glinted in the sun, trained on the open street. Maselli’s mind snapped back to the day Colin led the Green Officers into an ambush on the Third Farm.

  “The High Commander has sent Erisa Zeal to fetch Jeromy,” Franka said. “None of them know the Banner is here, waiting. Once Erisa steps into range—bang. Our first ever Gaverian kill.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Father Ken said. “You should have told them to run while they had the chance. They were lucky to beat soldiers once. Try it again, and you’ll prove yourself the greatest fool alive.”

  “Would they care for Jeromy in Soden?” Maselli asked. “Would he get the same treatment the Assembly would give him?”

  Jeromy rested his head on his knees, flinching whenever Maselli spoke his name. Franka stayed quiet, as though testing whether Maselli truly meant what he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Jeromy muttered.

  “It’s not an option, Jerry,” said Maselli. His voice cracked. “I know you don’t want to hear it—and I don’t want to say it—but it’s the truth. Either the Henrikians or the Sodenites are taking you tonight. You know that. It’s bad enough we don’t even get to say a proper goodbye—”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Jeromy said again, louder this time, followed by a sniffle. He repeated it over and over until the words dissolved into sobs.

  Only the moon lit Blackwood, and it did a poor job of it. The world was a black canvas, like the depths of a drowned sea. Shadows thickened. Predators waited, their murderous intent coiling in the dark.

  The Ring hummed. A portal flared open. No army came through—only two figures. One pair of eyes glowed green. The other burned a deep, bloody red.

  The Bannermen were already dead; they just hadn’t realized it yet.

  “It’s not too late to call off the attack,” Maselli whispered. “The Sodenites won’t dare assassinate two Gaverians.”

  “Two?” Father Ken asked. “Who has come, boy?”

  “Don’t tell him anything,” Franka snapped, jabbing a finger into Maselli’s face. The mask of confidence he wore was already cracking. His throat bobbed with a forced swallow as he dragged his gaze back to the newcomers. “The plan goes on,” he stammered. “This is a bigger reward.”

  Erisa Zeal was the one with green eyes. But the other man—he shouldn’t be here. He belonged to a nightmare. There was only one ascender on the continent with eyes that shade of red.

  Maselli raked his fingers through his hair and bit down hard on his tongue. Father Ken was right. The Banner should have run when they had the chance.

  Franka gripped his tattooed hand, rubbing at the skin. His breath came uneven now. Maselli recognized that feeling—the way a single unexpected factor could topple even the most careful plan.

  “The plan goes on,” Franka muttered. “And I can’t wait to see the look on your face when we dance on the ascenders’ graves.” He forced out a laugh.

  His tongue wouldn’t stop wagging. He boasted about how long they had been preparing for a day like this, insisted that Regilon Regal was just a retiree sent to intimidate them. Maselli shut him out. His eyes stayed fixed on the abandoned buildings.

  He searched for the rifles he knew were hidden there but saw nothing. More than once, he wanted to scream, to warn the Gaverians about the ambush. But shouting would only mean more death—and somehow, he sensed the Gaverians already knew. Why else were they standing there so still?

  The red eyes never flickered. Both sides settled in, a long game being played without words.

  “What are they waiting for?” Franka muttered at the window.

  What were they waiting for? Were they trying to confirm Jeromy was here? Ascenders could sense one another’s magic. Maybe Jeromy’s aura wasn’t strong enough to be noticed. No—Maselli could feel it himself, prickling against his skin. They had to know.

  And then he saw it. Something Franka hadn’t noticed.

  Blackwood was cold, but in the last few minutes it had grown unnaturally colder. Frost crept along the ground in thin, delicate webs. Tiny shards of crystal glinted over the black soil. The evening air thickened into mist. Franka’s fingers were turning blue. Strange, Maselli thought, how the mind ignored signs when fixed on one fear.

  Then it came.

  Pillars of fire erupted from the Bannermen’s hiding places. Red, ravenous flame tore skyward. A wave of heat rolled across Blackwood. Windows burst into shrapnel, glass scattering thousands of metres into the air. Roofs blew open as infernos clawed out of them.

  Screams pierced the night. Bannermen burned alive, their skin sloughing from bone. Blood boiled in their veins. Bodies cracked and shattered as flames hurled them from windows, twisting midair, still burning. The fire was so bright Maselli’s eyes seared—yet he could not look away.

  A short time passed, and the screaming ended. The Bannermen were erased from existence.

  Regilon wasn’t finished. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and the fog around them thickened, swallowing the village whole. The green eyes beside him—the ones that had stood motionless all this time—disappeared into the mist.

  At the chapel door, Nate appeared, helmet tucked under his arm, gasping for air. His gaze found Franka after a long search. “Bring him,” Nate ordered, snapping a glance over his shoulder. “We’re leaving.”

  Maselli clutched Jeromy at once.

  “Don’t get yourself killed,” said Franka.

  “Maselli,” the priest whispered, “let him go.”

  “Maselli, please.” That was Sera, one of the mothers, shielding the frightened children with her arms.

  “Maselli, let him go,” Gracey begged, her voice breaking. “Now, Maselli.”

  Maselli crushed Jeromy tighter, desperate to speak before they tore his brother away. But no words came.

  Six eyes gleamed from the shadows as another Bannerman emerged in the doorway. He seized a boy from the front row. At once, every hostage scrambled to their feet—only to freeze when the man levelled his pistol at them.

  “Stay back,” Nate warned, retreating with the other man. No one dared move as they dragged the boy away.

  Maselli didn’t know Davey personally, but he knew people who did. He wondered what memories they might cling to now. What would his mother say when she learned her son was gone? The Bannerman’s grip on Davey’s neck tightened as he backed farther into the shadows.

  At the door, Gracey lifted her arms, barring anyone from running off without her lead. Franka slipped into the background, hands tucked into his coat, letting the crowd’s eyes follow the gunman instead.

  Together, the hostages began to move, huddled in a knot with the children in the middle. They crept through the attic’s darkness until they reached the stairs leading down into the chapel.

  Gracey raised her hand, and they froze.

  The Bannermen were present.

  Two of them crouched behind the altar. Two more behind pews, rifles poised. Another lurked by a window, weapon angled toward the ceiling. One stood in the open by the locked front doors, Davey pressed against his side. And the last blocked the bottom of the stairs, eyes locked on the group of Blackens.

  “We know you’re here,” said the Bannerman holding Davey. “We know you’ve come for the ascender. We don’t care about him anymore. All we want is to leave. Step aside, and no one gets hurt.”

  A window shattered. A hand thrust through, clutching a green blade. It drove straight into the skull of the Bannerman crouched beneath the window frame.

  The Blackens screamed. Panic broke them apart, shoving bodies up the stairs in a desperate flood. Maselli hit the floor, boots trampling over him. He couldn’t scream for them to stop. He couldn’t even twist around to grab Jeromy.

  Then—bang! Another scream.

  Davey lay sprawled on the floor, half his head gone to a bullet.

  A Bannerman seized a girl, tugged between two frantic women. “Let go!” he barked—right before a bolt of green plasma tore through his skull. He collapsed. The women wrenched the girl free, bolting for the stairs, faces and hands streaked with blood.

  Another Bannerman lunged after them, but a green shot pierced his throat, flinging him atop his fallen comrade.

  Then—a sphere smashed through a window. It clattered to the chapel floor, black with blinking green lights.

  A piercing ring shrieked. Maselli clapped his hands over his ears. Around him, others did the same, grimacing under the same agony.

  The Bannermen broke cover. Three crawled across the ground, arms outstretched, reaching for the device. Gunfire cracked. One by one, they dropped dead.

  The device fell silent. Then it hummed. Two nozzles sprang out.

  They spat a storm of rounds, shredding pews to splinters. One Bannerman was ripped apart, his body scattering in pieces. The guns spun down. A pistol cocked.

  Having had enough, one Bannerman burst out from behind the wreckage.

  “Face us like a man, you coward!” he screamed, spraying fire wherever his rage pointed. “Face us!” His plasma gun overheated, but he never stopped until it cooled—then a green bolt split his jaw in two.

  Silence. Bodies sprawled across the chapel floor. Maselli told himself he should be used to corpses by now. But could anyone ever get used to watching people die?

  The front chains rattled, and a heavy boot shattered the door.

  Maselli had always pictured a Gaverian as a hulking brute, with a ridged neck and an angular face carved from stone. Erisa defied that image. She had muscle, more than most men he’d seen, but her frame was lean, no taller than Mari. Her face was narrow, her cheekbones sharp, her hollow green eyes unreadable. She wore green armour patterned in hexagons that caught the light like scales.

  From nowhere, a blue bolt cracked from behind the altar. It struck her midriff. She staggered, wide-eyed with surprise. Another shot struck, her armour glowing faintly where the blasts landed.

  She snapped into motion as the next round came, sliding along the floor, then slanting across the wall. The Bannermen kept firing, desperate. Erisa dashed, bounced off the wall, and spun high into the air.

  One Bannerman fled, but the other was too slow. She landed on him, conjured twin pistols, pressed them against his nostrils—bang!

  Blue plasma bolts smashed the altar to dust, missing Erisa by inches. She vanished into the shadows, then burst out again with a hot green blade in her hand. One sweep of her leg sent a Bannerman crashing to the floor. Before he could recover, she drove a green knife through his skull.

  She froze for a heartbeat—then spun aside as a silver knife slashed at her. Catching the man’s arm, she slammed him hard against the wall. His blade clattered to the floor. She pinned him by the throat, conjured a pistol, and pressed the barrel against his head.

  “No, please, please—”

  Bang.

  The silence that followed was suffocating. The last of the Bannermen lay dead.

  The Blackens descended the stairs in a tight cluster, children in the centre. On the chapel’s lower floor, they finally stood before the Gaverian. None of them had ever been so close to one before. And yet, this was no day they would wish to remember.

  They stared at her. She stared back.

  “Which one is the ascender?” she asked, robotic.

  The crowd parted. Jeromy stood revealed, slightly hunched, his breath ragged. He made no move to resist.

  “Hello,” said the Gaverian, clearing her throat. “My name is Erisa Zeal. The High Commander sent me to fetch you. We’re leaving.”

  She didn’t ask his name, or who his parents were, or whether he needed to bring anything. The bluntness cut deeper than her blade had.

  Maselli burned to speak, to call her out for her coldness, but fear kept his tongue heavy. His legs gave way, and he slumped down. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but someone’s arms kept him from falling to the floor.

  “You don’t have to watch,” Mari would have said. Yet Maselli did, because Jeromy was looking his way. The Gaverian and Jeromy reached the door, and Maselli couldn’t bear it anymore. Someone else had to suffer.

  “Renna,” he called. “You missed one. This is the man who brought the Bannermen to Blackwood. He works for them. He admitted it himself.”

  Erisa stepped back into the chapel. The hostages said nothing. They only looked at Davey’s cold body, then shifted aside, leaving Franka alone in the middle. He tried to move, but the women blocked him.

  Erisa’s gaze pinned him. Franka broke into a frantic laugh, wagging his finger. “I told you not to make those kinds of jokes. My brother is only trying to lighten the mood.” He forced another laugh, choking on the lump in his throat. He waited for her to turn away. She didn’t. His laughter shrank into squeaks as he searched the crowd for a sympathetic glance and found none.

  ‘X’ marked the spot where Franka Shepherd knelt, pinned under Erisa Zeal’s arm. Mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters gathered to witness the execution of a man who had dodged fate too long. Blackwood bowed her head and shut her ears to his heresy.

  He screamed until his throat swelled, and even then, he did not stop. “I did this for you!” he cried.

  “There are six gods, not seven,” prayed the priest.

  “Always six and never seven,” chanted the masses. “Pray to the Six and not the Seven.”

  “Six be damned! I did this for you!”

  “May the merciful God bestow mercy on your soul, my son.”

  And then came peace. The Gaverian crafted a pistol, pressed it to the back of Franka’s head, and pulled the trigger. His hairs split. He dropped face-first into the dirt.

  As the Gaverian walked on, so did the Blackens. They turned their backs on Franka and the pool of blood spreading from his head. They gathered behind the Ring, where a portal to a foreign land had opened. The red-eyed Gaverian had never moved. As Erisa approached with Jeromy, Ren Regal sniffed, then slowly turned toward the apartment buildings.

  “Is there someone else here?” Erisa asked.

  Regilon sniffed again. “There’s always someone here,” he said. “Let’s get going.” He crossed through the portal, and Erisa followed, her hand pressed gently against Jerry’s back. Jeromy walked through without turning around.

  Maselli understood then he was expecting too much from life.

  There’s always someone here.

  He reached home before his parents and walked straight into his bedroom. Ezra stood waiting for news. Maselli brushed past her, reaching under their bed. He dragged out a ransack and swept items from the dressing mirror into it. He stuffed dresses and underwear from the wardrobe.

  “Maselli,” said Ezra. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re leaving,” he said. “Regilon knows you’re here. We can steal one of the motorcycles, make our way through the forest. Head south, maybe find a ship and leave for Solvaria.” He jammed the bag shut.

  “Maselli…”

  “Hurry.”

  “I already told you,” she said. “I can’t leave this place.”

  “Why? Why can’t you just tell me everything you know? Why is Jerry an ascender? Why did you let him leave?” She placed one hand on the bedframe, watching him quietly.

  “Why did he have to go?”

  He miscalculated the weight of the bag. It dragged him down. The person he wanted to run away with didn’t want to come, and he stood there in the middle of the road, looking like a fool. He dropped the bag and slammed the door shut.

  His migraine returned—bigger and meaner than before. It wrecked his fragile mind, shattering everything he thought was right. One cruel night had taken not one, but two brothers from him.

  How was Jeromy supposed to survive alone? Who knew Jeromy always drank a glass of water before bed? Who would wake him every morning, remind him to get ready because he tended to oversleep? Who would explain to others that Jeromy wasn’t cold or apathetic—just shy, just needing time? Who would tell them that?

  Two hands crept along his midriff, locking over his belly. Ezra pressed her head against his back. His thoughts ebbed as he focused on her embrace. Her warmth became his. This, their bond, was stronger than anything else in the universe.

  “You’ve done so much for me,” she whispered. “Let me return the favour.”

  “What could you ever give me?”

  “Do you love me?” she asked. Their bodies swayed together, gently, without rhythm.

  “Ezra…”

  “Do you love me, Maselli?”

  “I do,” he said. “I love you so much.”

  Her arms around his belly tightened. The pounding of her heart sent shivers up his spine. “I promise you,” she said. “Everything will be fine.”