The Gallants lived in a valley. Their house was a castle of stone and glass. From the distance where they stood, they could make out three separate detached buildings on the property, each with more than a few floors. A set of stone stairs was carved into the land, descending through the estate. Hedges bordered each side of the steps, and in them grew violet flowers.

  Once they arrived, Jenne paused a moment to take it all in. He was still new to this kind of life, and everything he saw he had to look at twice. Some older Gallants lounged by the poolside, basking in the sun. Another sat on a high balcony with a glass of wine in hand. The children, however, did not look as though they were having much fun.

  Hamis pointed to Richalli, a daughter of Tenrad. She was about six years old and was clipping hedges with shears twice her size. Two other girls, about Jenne and Hamis’s age, were raking leaves from under a tree.

  “What are you two doing here?” asked Richalli, not turning to look at them.

  “Is your dad around?” asked Hamis. “We want to talk to him.”

  “He hasn’t been very kind to the press. You two seem nice, though. He’s at his studio.” As they turned to leave, she added, “Please, don’t point any cameras in his face.”

  Hamis stepped onto one porch. He turned left, then doubled back and headed in the opposite direction.

  “I thought you knew where you were going,” said Jenne.

  “I’ve never been here before.” Hamis held Jenne by the arm and kept them moving, knocking once on the door they had stopped at.

  “Come in,” a voice crooned.

  Hamis opened the door wide and saluted, and his earthen friend scrambled to do the same. Despite the bright afternoon, almost no sunlight reached the room. Tenrad sat on a stool before a drawing board, a paintbrush poised over an incomplete sketch.

  “Aster, Deus,” said Tenrad. “What brings Se Fina to my home?”

  “We want you to teach us how to—” Jenne slapped Hamis’s back, cutting him off.

  “Sir, we would first wish you good health before anything else,” said Jenne.

  “My body may not be as young, but what Regilon did to me is nothing to be concerned about. I am fine. Thank you for coming by.” He dropped his paintbrush. “My wife will prepare a treat for you before you return—”

  “How did you heal so quickly?” asked Hamis. Before Jenne could stop him, he was already halfway across the room, moving closer to inspect the large man. He reached out, about to place a hand on Tenrad’s torso. The Gaverian snapped Hamis’s hand in his grip. Caught and in pain, Hamis chuckled.

  “I am healed,” said Tenrad. “Your Hyper-Physicals instructor will teach you all you need to know about healing techniques in due time.”

  “About that,” murmured Jenne. “Renna has been very busy. We’re far behind on her lessons.”

  “And you want me to teach you,” said Tenrad. They couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or insulted by the request.

  “Yes, Sir,” said Jenne.

  Any time it seemed the Gaverian was about to break the dreaded silence, he only sank deeper into it. Finally, he asked, “Do you know how many children I have? Seven. What is the problem Henrikia has for many decades now?”

  “We lose more ascenders than we gain,” said Jenne. Father Jade had taught them that in history class.

  “Being a Gaverian for all those years meant nothing to me,” said Tenrad. “The common people see us as legends who gave everything for the love of their country, but I did not see it that way. I saw it as a job. If you have a gift, you use it to serve. Everyone does that. What matters—what I consider true loyalty, true love, and sacrifice—is what I did. No one asked me to have this many children, but I did it for this country. I sent the first two to Se Fina, and they became Gaverians as I was. And nothing came of it. I am tired, and my pride is wounded. The man I despise walks free, and injustice plagues the country. Yet you stand here, against protocol, asking me to do more for Henrikia. What makes you think I would?”

  Was it a rhetorical question, or was he waiting for a response? Jenne hoped Hamis would say something clever. He waited until he realised the marker wouldn’t speak. Jenne and Hamis left the Gallant estate with a cloud over their heads. Rejected, Jenne realised how much this had meant to him. The longer he waited for Schemel to return, the longer he would remain at Se Fina. He’d had an opportunity to change that, but he hadn’t spoken up. What was wrong with him?

  “Let’s try Regilon’s place,” said Hamis.

  “No.” Regilon Regal was insane. “We have other things to do, anyway.”

  “I don’t think we do.”

  “Ashey, Hamis,” said Jenne. “We blew her off for Tenrad. I’m calling.”

  Hamis scoffed, kicked at an imaginary pebble, and made up an excuse about visiting his old school before leaving Jenne by the side of the street.

  “Hey, Ashey.”

  “Jenne?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I might come by and see how you’re doing, wherever you are.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m fine. Trust me. Don’t look for me.”

  She did not sound fine. He was going to look for her. But how? He slapped his forehead. Of course—it was easy. Using strings of golden light, he crafted a compass to float in the palm of his hand. He pressed a thumb over the ripper-triangle at the back of the phone and fixed Ashey in his mind’s eye. The floating compass spun, then shot away.

  “Hey!” he shouted, running after it.

  His little golden creation fled like a spirit. It took everything Jenne had to keep pace. Hamis was up ahead, standing behind a Ring, a portal opening to the mainland.

  “Hamis!” Jenne shouted, but a second too late. The compass shot through the portal, and Jenne dashed after it, blowing past Hamis with speeds he hadn’t known he possessed.

  On an unknown street, Jenne skidded to a halt before a car could run him down. Drivers leaned on their horns and hurled curses. “Watch it!” a pedestrian barked, yanking him aside. Jenne shook himself free.

  The sun was high. There—floating above a store complex! With no thought to his actions, he plunged into traffic, chasing the compass. He dodged bumpers and screeching tyres, then reached the other side, weighing his options. A set of metal stairs climbed the building. No time. He would scale the railings.

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  Pocketing his phone, he grabbed the first railing, hauled himself up, then swung for the second. The more he did it, the smoother it became—and the better it felt. He laughed, clambering faster until he found himself on the roof.

  He could have crafted a new compass, yes, but why should he? Jumping from one roof to another, he landed, rolled, and kept running. Who cared if he fell? He could take it. He leapt again, rolling to his feet, chasing the glimmer. Was it really leading him to Ashey, or was he fooling himself?

  He bounded across another roof, then another, until the compass veered sharply. Without thinking, he hurled himself onto a balcony, swung down, and landed on the roof of a moving bus. He sprinted across, stomped onto the bonnet of a car, slid off, and leapt again—through a window, into a salon, then bursting out onto another street. People screamed in the blur of his passing, but he didn’t care. This was fun.

  The chase ended atop the post office. The compass hovered, waiting. It felt alive—like a pet. Father Bliss had alluded to something similar: if allowed, everything a crafter makes carries a spark of life. Whatever that meant.

  The compass pointed north, thrumming with urgency. A gated community lay ahead: neat road, high walls, security fences.

  “Ashey is here?” Jenne asked. His creation chimed in affirmation.

  Normally he would have hesitated to trespass into such a place alone. Today was different. The compass began to fade as they neared their destination, but Jenne already sensed which doorbell he would press.

  Someone was already pressing it. Eva, from the cafeteria.

  “Ashamel Sorel,” she said into what seemed like a microphone. “Can I speak to her?” She paused, listening. “Of course she knows who I am. Why else would I be here?”

  Jenne got close and heard a voice speak through a speaker on the wall. It belonged to a boy.

  “She is busy,” said the voice. “Don’t make me call security on you, street dog.”

  Ouch. Eva gripped her tattooed hand and dug her nails into the digits.

  “Eva,” Jenne called. “Let’s go.”

  He had come to bring Ashey back to Se Fina, but he’d found something better to do. Eva allowed Jenne to lead her away from the gated community. He asked, “Where would you like me to take you?” And she said she’d like to go home.

  “What am I saying?” She stopped walking. “I can’t take you home with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re fourteen, first of all,” she said. “And you’re way beyond school grounds. You might get into trouble if anyone sees you here. Not to mention what they’ll do to me. And why are you so sweaty? Did you run here?”

  “You came here for Ashey.”

  “To take her back to Se Fina.”

  “Aren’t you going back to Se Fina eventually?”

  “Yes, but I am entitled to spend my free time by myself. I don’t need you to escort me home.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She let him take her to the nearest Ring they could find. They waited in line like everybody else, and when the time came, she told the Ringmaster where they were headed. He keyed in the codes on his dashboard. A portal opened to a part of the city Jenne had never seen before.

  Skeletal buildings stood in a cloud of smoke and ash. The world had never seemed so bleak. There was a familiarity to this place. Eva took a step through the Ring, and he hesitated long enough for her to turn around. She was about to excuse him when he followed her through.

  He had to look up. He had to spin his head around. The Third Farm was just like this place, except people lived here. Grimy apartment blocks encircled them. Many doors were barred, and many more windows were broken. Red-haired men hung out in the corners, watching them pass by. Children ran along the road, most in tattered clothing and bare feet. Everything felt so satisfying to look at that he’d missed the spaceship in front of him.

  “God,” Jenne gasped. “Is that the Black Belt?”

  Right in front of him. The actual thing. It was massive in every dimension, made of black metal, long and coiling like a serpent. The old thing was covered in rust and dust, and people were lying underneath it with mattresses and sleeping clothes. Many more were walking up ramps into the ship with lanterns.

  “Stay close to me,” said Eva. “And don’t look at anyone for too long. Welcome to Dormitia.” Her smile was broad enough, but her eyes told a different story. She didn’t want him here.

  Everyone they passed was wearing a dark shade of black or brown, heavy and dirty, and walking quickly. Those who had not covered their hands did not mind that their digits were showing—digits like his. He’d seen so many people recently without tattoos that the index was starting to look off-putting.

  She took him up an alley and into a public shaft. The chains creaked as he led them up an open hallway in one of the apartment blocks. The place had a urine flavour. Groups of children huddled beside the wall, begging for coins, but Eva refused. Music boomed from behind one of the doors, interlaced with moans and grunts. A couple fought their way out into the hallway as a girl screamed from inside an apartment, a plate shooting out.

  Most of the people here did not look like typical Henrikians. Many had red hair and were lighter-skinned—almost as light-skinned as the Sorels. Eva stopped behind one door and rattled the handle. She pushed through and gestured for Jenne to walk in.

  “Malory,” she said. “I’m home. I came with a friend.”

  The door creaked open, and a girl with yellow-green eyes peeped from behind. Jenne hoped it was Ezra, but it was Malory, Eva’s sister. He soon found out she was mute and could only communicate with gestures.

  Jenne should have made an excuse to leave, but instead he stayed and looked around the apartment. A small place. One coffee table and some old sofas. A flaking wall and bare electrical wires running along it. They didn’t even own a TV.

  Eva invited Jenne to stay for breakfast after breakfast (since he’d already eaten at Se Fina). They shared a meal behind the centre table, and he found himself drifting into thoughts of his family. “Are you going back to Tenrad tomorrow?” Aron would say. “It is time to be a man and face challenges, not run from them.”

  A light tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Malory showed him a video on her phone. Apparently, someone had recorded him making a leap from one roof to another. The one recording whistled and called out to Jenne, but he must not have heard.

  “You’ve got talent,” said Eva. “I’m sure by next year you’ll already be a Gaverian.”

  “Next year?”

  “Come on, Hamis is much better than you,” she said. “There is no way you’ll graduate ahead of him.”

  She should not have said that. The words plagued Jenne. He shunned the memories of Blackwood and dived deep into the library at Se Fina. For hours, he flipped through books on fighting styles used throughout the ages, always returning to the one he deemed perfect: the Dancing Dagger.

  “I’ve spent a lot of days figuring things out on my own, and I can prove myself worthy to be your student by beating you.”

  It was morning. The wind was strong, and the Gallants did not appreciate the early visitor. In his pyjamas, Tenrad glowered at Jenne from his bedroom window. His wife came by, whispering something in his ear. A minute later, Tenrad was downstairs on the porch, frowning.

  “Good morning, Sir—”

  “Walk.”

  This may have been a terrible mistake. Tenrad moved towards the training ground, not a long walk away. Like a magnet, he pulled Jenne along. They arrived on the stone platform. Family members stepped out of their bedrooms and onto their balconies. The younger ones ran downstairs but froze when Tenrad’s gaze caught them.

  The huge man exhaled steam from his nostrils. On the ground, six portals opened, and from them, undead arms reached out. Each arm wielded a unique weapon, which clattered to the floor as the portals to Chaos snapped shut: an axe, a crooked sword, a mace, a hammer, a spear, and a pair of daggers.

  A layman who touched a weapon from Chaos would suffer a stroke. Jenne’s fingers curled. “It’s fine,” said Tenrad. “You are safe from Chaos—unless you are not what you say you are, Aster.”

  Jenne knelt and felt the hilts of the daggers. They pulsed with energy. These blades were made for him. Tenrad smiled, lifting the hammer off the ground. In the palm of his hand, he tapped the head and swung.

  Jenne scrambled away, landing hard on his backside. He rolled aside just as Tenrad’s hammer smashed into the ground where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.

  Don’t be yourself. Be cool like Maselli. Tenrad charged with the force of a tank. He wouldn’t hit Jenne with the hammer, would he? It swished past Jenne’s face and swung right back, missing both times.

  “You’re quick, I’ll give you that,” said Tenrad.

  “Is that good, Sir?”

  “It’s annoying,” growled Tenrad. He surged with speed, and the next thing Jenne saw he was in the air with the Gaverian’s fingers crushing his throat. Jenne choked. He let go of the daggers; they clanked as they bounced on the stone floor. Tenrad took one look at them and scoffed. “There are none like you, are there? Schemel lied to us. Nothing about you feels intentional. All I see is a scared child who has no idea where he is or what he is doing. You are not meant to be here, are you?”

  The feel of cold metal lingered in Jenne’s palms. He latched onto it and let it fester, fuelling it with vexation. A scrap of metal hardened in his hand, taking shape until it formed a sharp edge. Vision fading and in unbearable pain, he found a grip and bared his teeth. Jenne slashed at Tenrad’s face, missing by a hair.

  Tenrad did not let go, and Jenne slashed again. The Gaverian slammed his head into Jenne’s and dropped the earthen on the floor.

  “What made you think you could fight?” asked Tenrad.

  “I read a book,” said Jenne. “I was trying the Dancing Dagger routine.”

  They heard laughter behind them. Jenne turned and found, Tenrad’s daughter Ursel with her hand pressed over her mouth, keeping herself from bursting.

  Jenne wanted to die.