“Jaspha left his wife and sons to my care. Franka was on my heels and I left them behind. The good people have died. Only the killers are left behind. Before the monster comes for us all, we come for retribution.”

  “I will fix this. I swear on my life, I will fix this.”

  “Maselli, I don't blame you. You’re as much of a victim as I am. You know who we want.”

  “I’m sorry, but you can’t have her.”

  “Faeries are liars, Maselli. Don’t let her get to you."

  "This one is my kin. I know her like my blood. She would never lie to me."

  Maselli shifted his gaze from the door to the earnest faces gathered inside the nursery. A single lantern lit the room, casting a pale white glow across the grey walls. Painted letters of the English alphabet stretched over the plaster, cheery colours dimmed by shadow.

  Gracie sat with Zerah’s baby cradled in her arms, rocking him gently while Mari prepared a cot. Mari and Hanna had found Gracie here when they arrived, asking what had happened to the other children she’d been with before Franka attacked. Gracie had no answer—she’d left them behind.

  Since Ezra and Maselli had entered, Mari had been unusually quiet, avoiding him whenever he tried to approach. Maselli lacked the strength to press her.

  Against the far wall, Anna-Lisa sat curled on a mat, her forehead resting on her knees. She was the one who had suggested setting the laser barrier, but when others praised her for it, she had only shaken her head, refusing to claim credit.

  Maselli lowered himself beside her. She lifted her head, meeting him with a soft smile. He leaned close and kissed her cheek. She stiffened, then frowned.

  “It’s okay,” Maselli whispered. “My wives are upstairs.”

  “Idiot.” Anna-Lisa snorted, sitting up straighter. She flicked a glance at the wooden stairs leading to the upper floor before settling back beside him.

  “Why did you help us?” Maselli asked. “Your life would have been much easier if you hadn’t.”

  “I helped because it was the right thing to do,” she said. “You tried to fix your mess, and they turned their backs on you. I wasn’t going to do the same.”

  “So, you’re a good person?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  “You’re going to die because of me,” he said. “Want me to say that again?”

  Anna-Lisa shrugged. “There’s no turning back.”

  Across the room, Gracie laid the baby in the cot, humming a lullaby while Mari joined in softly.

  “Can I ask you something, honestly?” Maselli said. “Why do you think I was the only one who survived our trip to the surface?”

  “You’re sharper than the rest of us. Smart enough to wriggle out of anything.”

  “Lucky, maybe,” Maselli admitted. “But brains don’t do you much good when someone’s swinging a staff at them.”

  “Then you must be very fortunate.”

  “It feels like someone’s been watching out for me.”

  “You don’t actually believe Ezra’s behind that, do you?” Anna-Lisa’s voice dropped lower. “Out of everyone here, I thought you’d be the last to suspect your own sister.”

  “When I was up there, I used a marker spell to keep Gemma from entering my apartment.”

  Anna-Lisa scoffed, too weary to laugh. “That? Enough to keep Gemma out? You should be dead.”

  “I know,” he said. Gemma could’ve forced her way in through another route. “Even when the spell broke, she didn’t attack. She stood with her back to me, distracted by the soldiers.”

  That caught Anna-Lisa’s interest. She stayed silent, turning it over.

  Maselli pressed on, unwilling to let doubt creep back in. “Zerah and Will can’t both be alive, not after everything. One of them should be dead by now. Antonica swore he’d protect Jaspha’s wife and children, and if he couldn’t… then what chance does Zerah have with a crying baby?”

  "Gracie also lost her children," Anna-Lisa added. "But why would Franka spare Zerah?"

  Why Zerah? Well, because... "I don't know," Maselli confessed.

  Maselli followed Anna-Lisa up the stairs into a smaller room. Unlike the nursery, this one had no beds or cots—only an office desk and a chair. The wooden floor was thick with decades-old dust, but Ezra seemed unfazed as she sat cross-legged on the ground. Another lantern burned here, much dimmer than the one downstairs. Crafter-ascension was draining fast from their surroundings. If his friends had a plan, he needed to hear it.

  "I'm glad both of you could join us," Hanna said. "I was about to come get you."

  "What were you talking about?" he asked.

  "Your sister was telling us how we defeat Shados."

  Ezra looked as startled as Maselli, if not more. She waved both hands at Hanna, but Hanna pressed on. "Jeromy didn't gain his powers for no reason. He's the only one who can fight this thing and win." She said it with a straight face.

  Maselli snorted. He found a spot to stand, took a good long look at Hanna, and realised she wasn’t joking. No one else found it funny either.

  “Come on,” said Maselli. “You can’t be serious. Ezra, why would you tell Hanna something like that?”

  “We’re serious,” said Hanna.

  “No, you’re not. And it’s absurd you’ve wasted all this time just to come up with that. Ezra, I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t some story. This is our lives, and we don’t get tidy endings. We’re in shit, and we’re sinking in it!”

  Zerah broke the silence. “What do we do?” she asked.

  “What can we do that the Henrikian Army couldn’t?” he shot back. “There is nothing we can do.”

  “They’re regular rhens, and you’re not,” said Ezra. “Black Vein kills any rhen who enters the UCL. Franka must’ve made it worse somehow. But ascenders, including Jeromy, will stand a chance.”

  “Have I mentioned the Gaverian who came along with the soldiers?”

  “Yes, Maselli, several times,” said Hanna.

  “Votress Gallant,” he stated. “Does that name ring a bell? He’s Tenrad Gallant’s son! Do you realise how insane that is? And where is he now?”

  “Probably still fighting Franka,” said Anna-Lisa. “We don’t know if he’s alive or not.”

  “He’s dead,” Maselli said. “Assume he’s dead. The government won’t send another one of their precious Gaverians to save some cursed village.”

  “Then what’s the point of them being Gaverians?” asked Hanna. “Isn’t this entire mess what they were meant for?”

  “All I ask is that you stop being selfish and let my brother live his life,” said Maselli.

  “What then do we do?” Zerah asked.

  “Live like rats,” said Maselli. “We have the one resource we need: ascension. So much ascension we won’t know what to do with it. Without the Henrikians breathing down our necks, we can use our heads and build a life for ourselves down here. It’ll be a struggle, but not impossible. The earthmen who lived here managed it. So can we.”

  “They were scientists, experts, doctors, geniuses with state funds,” said Hanna.

  “All I hear is a quitter. I can’t live with that attitude. If you want to die, then die and leave the rest of us to keep fighting.”

  Hanna frowned but stayed silent. There wasn’t much else to say. He’d come, and he’d pissed everyone off. Nobody showed him the respect he deserved. Eventually, they would see how right he was about everything. He turned and started back down the stairs.

  He stopped when he heard Mari’s voice. She was chatting with Gracie. It might sound pathetic, but he missed seeing her like that. He knew that the moment they spotted him, she would stop talking. For that reason, he lingered on the stairs and listened.

  “He’s a quiet one, isn’t he?” Gracie said.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Very,” Mari replied. “He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

  “I don’t think he’s noticed much has changed.”

  “As it should be,” said Mari, snorting. “This one reminds me of Franka, to be honest. Never stirred in his sleep. I woke up so many times during the night just to see if he was still alive and breathing.”

  He couldn’t believe his ears. Mari was actually talking about Franka.

  “What about the one who came after?” asked Gracie. “Everyone complained about him.”

  “Maselli?” Mari groaned. “We thought God was punishing us for something we’d done wrong. He made our neighbours deaf. The thing was, Aron and I aren’t loud people. Franka was just as quiet, and it made us wonder—what if the baby wasn’t ours? The nurses might have swapped our boy with someone else’s. He was too orange to be anyone else’s, though.” Mari snorted again.

  “Rheina must’ve felt guilty afterward, and that’s why he gave you Jeromy,” said Gracie. “I don’t remember him growing up at all. I was on the school compound one morning when I saw Maselli coming through the gates with a sad little boy trailing behind.”

  “After the first two, you stop paying attention,” said Mari.

  “Forgive me for saying this, but how do you manage? Your sons have given you quite a name.”

  Maselli sealed his lips, sensing his mother doing the same. He pressed his ear against the railing, waiting for a response that might never come.

  “I’ve asked myself the very thing for some time. I used Jeromy as an exception to keep my sanity,” Mari said. “Why did it have to be me? Can’t I have one normal son?”

  “Mari, don’t say that.”

  “You’ll get devils for sons.” Mari sniffled. “The curse has come to pass.”

  “Oh, Mari, that still bothers you. Patrica apologised many times since.”

  Maplewood had a surplus of women during Mari’s generation. Not all could be paired with a man for marriage. So the Commissioner of Maplewood transferred Mari to Blackwood. The priest of Blackwood had to alter his list to accommodate Mari, which meant Patrica lost her pairing to Aron. Patrica hated Mari for a long time because of this, and she hurled curses at Mari’s future family when they’d still been teenagers.

  “Maselli?”

  He jumped out of his skin. It was Zerah.

  “Can I join you?”

  “So, you’re the one they sent,” said Maselli. “Go back and tell Hanna I’m not changing my mind. Jeromy is untouchable.”

  “No one sent me. I came on my own, because none of them are as desperate as I am. They’re starting to consider what you said about finding a way to survive down here. It’s terrifying. And I’m saying that because it means I have to let Will go.”

  “Zerah...”

  “It needs to be said. This is no place for an infant.”

  “Where is your faith?” he asked. “You have to believe God will see us through this.”

  “Don’t tell me stupid things.” She stopped herself, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but Maselli, you sound just like my father before Franka put the stick through his neck. Kneeling and praying—what good does that do?”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “But it’s true. Rheina was just another Henrikian. There is nothing holy about him. The Henrikians encourage us to pray because it distracts us from thinking for ourselves. Some people, like you, know how to use their heads. As much as I wish I could help myself, I can’t. I’m humble enough to beg you instead.”

  Will lay on his side, content in his cot. He was still chubby, and it wouldn’t be long before his clothes no longer fit him. They’d need to search for infant clothing. This baby had survived for so long—after bawling through the tunnels, after all the dangers. He had survived when those who stood a better chance had died.

  “We were thinking you could use that head of yours to find a way to contact Jeromy.” Zerah placed her hand on Maselli’s. The corners of her eyes twitched, worn thin by frayed nerves and stress.

  “Don’t doubt anything I do, not even for a moment,” he said.

  She tipped her head once.

  “Alright. Follow me downstairs.”

  Together, they descended to the ground floor. Zerah stayed close to him, as though she were walking through an unfamiliar place. Mari and Gracie were no longer by Will’s side, but from where they stood, Maselli and Zerah were visible. Mari’s face contorted briefly with irritation—an expression she likely meant to conceal. Maselli ignored her and stepped toward the cot.

  Will lay curled up against the cold, his tiny nose sniffling.

  “He’s been in the dark for far too long,” Maselli croaked. “I should take him outside for a walk.”

  The words tore at Zerah, but she held herself steady. Maselli felt Mari and Gracie closing in.

  “How are you planning to get out?” Zerah asked.

  “I can’t break the spells you and Anna-Lisa cast in the hallway. You’ll have to do that for me.”

  “What about Antonica? Your sister—”

  “Ezra’s taken more precautions than necessary. She’ll be fine.”

  “Maselli, I don’t understand—”

  “Do you want me to reach Jeromy or not?” His tone cut like a blade. “You asked for my help. I’m helping you.”

  “Give me your knife,” she said.

  Before Mari or Gracie could move, Zerah snatched the knife and bolted for the front door.

  “Zerah!” Gracie shouted, but she was already at the threshold.

  Neither woman noticed Maselli lifting Will from the cot.

  “Zerah, what are you doing?” Anna-Lisa cried, rushing down the stairs.

  Outside, Zerah reached the first triangle. Steel slashed across the triangles—once, twice—and the laser sputtered out. She moved to the next, her strikes swift.

  Mari and Gracie stared in disbelief. Hanna barked orders at Ezra to hide, then stormed down the steps with Anna-Lisa. By the time they reached the door, Zerah had already cut through six more. The laser barriers flickered.

  “Zerah, have you lost your mind?” Hanna screamed. “What are you doing?”

  Hanna lunged for her wrist. Zerah spun and levelled the blade at Hanna’s face. Whatever words she hissed next, Maselli couldn’t hear them—but Hanna recoiled at once, backing away without another word.

  With Will in his arms, Maselli walked out of the nursery and down the hallway, the only barrier between him and Antonica being the remaining lasers. Zerah took care of those, slicing her blade through another triangle and leaving the last one active. Antonica stood motionless at the far end, and behind him were former friends too ashamed to meet Maselli’s gaze.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Antonica asked. “I’m not negotiating with you about anything. There’s nothing I want from you. I’m setting things right, and that means killing the fae.”

  Maselli shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  Antonica gritted, restraining himself from throwing the fist he had clenched for so long. He glanced at Zerah, then back at Maselli. He wanted to know what Maselli was up to. It was natural to be cautious. The others behind him didn’t even try to hide their fear. Samellie took a step back, and the others followed.

  Zerah cast one last glance at Will, gulped, and slashed through the final triangle. Antonica remained where he was, as if nothing had changed.

  “No matter what happens, I hope you know I had good intentions. Your mother was foolish enough to trust me. You have every reason to despise her for it,” Maselli said to the baby. “You know, she’s the reason you’re a bastard. She’ll be the reason your life will be bitter and short.”

  Maselli emerged onto the surface, one hand shielding his eyes from the morning sun. He pressed Will against his chest and made his way towards the Ring. Everything seemed the same as when he had left it—a desolate landscape strewn with bodies. Most were hidden beneath the dust, with a few hands and legs protruding from the soil.

  To the south stood the forest, now silent after its recent battle. The clashes and thunder of magic no longer shook its leaves and branches. Aircraft lay scattered across the open plains as useless chunks of metal. One soldier slumped, asleep or dead, over a shattered window. Maselli walked past the wreckage.

  It didn’t take long for him to find the people he had come to see. Gemma was the first to notice him, leaning against a broken aircraft, her hands clasped behind her back. She smiled at Maselli, then quickly averted her gaze. Franka was still preoccupied with Votress’ lifeless body and had yet to notice Maselli’s presence. He twisted the dead Gaverian’s arm, breaking the ball-and-socket joint. He then discarded the severed limb and moved on to the leg, snapping it at the knee and tearing through the ligaments.

  When he finally turned, facing Maselli, the wind whipped around them, tugging at their clothes. Franka wore the same bored expression he had since his resurrection. The symbol on his forehead remained as black as ever. The demon had not changed.

  “I saw him speaking through a communicator during your fight,” Maselli said.

  Pressing a blade against Will’s throat, he went on, “You can’t fool me anymore. I know enough to understand that you’re nothing. You’ve dedicated your life to causing me pain, and this child is the ultimate insult. Touch me, and I might as well not be the uncle you hoped I would be.”

  It was a gamble. Franka had avoided killing Will and Zerah, just as he had avoided killing Maselli. They were close to the demon. Maselli suspected who Will’s father was the moment he heard Zerah spouting the same nonsense about Rheina as the Sodenites Franka used to walk with. He’d wormed his way into her head at some point.

  Gemma seemed poised to intervene, but a grunt from Franka stopped her. The air grew thick with vexation—unseen, but unmistakable. Maselli had come this far, and backing out now would be worse than foolish. He kept walking, his eyes fixed on the communication device strapped to Votress’ battered torso. If God would not answer his prayers, then this device had to be the exception. It had to work.

  He crouched and worked it free. Votress’ lifeless body was cold and stiff against his skin, but he forced himself not to dwell on it. Once he had the communicator loose, he closed his eyes and braced for a strike from above. None came. Rising slowly, scarcely believing he had succeeded, he tightened his grip on the device.

  But there was more to do. Maselli made for the tunnels. Franka did not move to stop him. He descended the stairs, and still, nobody followed. Deep within the tunnel, he paused to test the device. He remembered Votress pressing a button on its side. After a few attempts, he managed to activate it, and a piercing screech split the silence.

  “Hello?” he called. “Can anyone hear me?”

  Minutes ticked by. Maselli slid down to the floor, banging his head softly against the wall. He was exhausted. “Can anyone hear me?” he pleaded. His ears hardly believed it when the interference shifted frequencies. Rubbing his cheeks, he pressed his nose against the device.

  “Vidro Sentry, mekohi rennsa?”

  “English, please,” Maselli begged.

  “Sentry Respondent, to whom am I speaking? Respond.”

  “My name is Maselli. I’m from Blackwood. There’s a monster here, killing everybody. Votress and his men are dead. Please—you have to help us. We don’t want to die.”

  No response.

  “Hello? Please, please don’t leave me.”

  “Maselli.”

  “Commissioner!” Maselli gasped. “Commissioner, I miss you.”

  “Quiet. I’m with the Green Chief. He wants to speak to you. Tell us everything from the beginning.”

  Maselli obeyed, recounting the events—but he left out Ezra and her role.

  “Can you identify Genevie?” Talon asked.

  “Genevie?” Maselli frowned. “The ascender? No, no, no Genevie here.”

  “And where are you now?”

  “We’re hiding underground,” Maselli said. “Sir, some of our own are turning against us, picking us off one by one because they think it will please the creature.”

  “I can only do so much,” Talon said. “Protect yourself and your loved ones.”

  “Sir—if you’ll allow me—I can take you to the bad actors. Please, talk to them for us.”

  A long pause. Then Talon’s voice: “Don’t get yourself killed.”

  “I’ll be fine, sir.”

  When Maselli returned to the nursery building, chaos had already broken loose. A crowd tore through the classroom where he had once sheltered his family, kicking over beds and ripping open mattresses in their hunt for Ezra.

  “We know you’re in there!” Antonica bellowed. “Save us the trouble and show yourself!”

  “Maselli?”

  It was Zerah. Her eyes darted between Will and Maselli, unbelieving. Her lips parted, trembling. She shook her head slowly. “How?”

  Zerah slipped her baby from his arms, clutching Will tight against her chest. Maselli didn’t pause—he kept walking, the communicator cold in his hand.

  The crowd in the nursery froze, their frantic search cut short the instant they laid eyes on him. Even Antonica’s roar died on his lips, smothered by the heavy silence that spread through the room.

  Boots pounded down the stairs. Antonica emerged onto the ground floor, his breath harsh, his face taut with suspicion. He didn’t look shocked to see Maselli alive—he’d already accounted for that possibility—but his gaze faltered when it caught the device Maselli carried.

  Maselli raised it slightly, his voice low but firm.

  “Ren Talon wants to speak to you.”