The midnight sun had come, caused an apocalypse, and set. Yet that was the least surprising event Jenne had witnessed on his trip south. Boarding the plane, he had not expected his old commissioner to be the pilot—but that barely compared to the other passenger. Jay.

  Jay had been sleeping in the far back, wrapped in blankets. Commissioner Victor had explained that the Gaverian appeared out of nowhere, asking when they would depart for Blackwood. After Victor relayed Regilon’s commands, Jay had shrugged, made himself comfortable, and asked to be woken upon arrival.

  It was the explosion that woke him. The firefly had veered off course for a moment. Jenne could have died right then. Nausea gripped him, forcing him to swallow Ophel’s dinner with difficulty. A small bag of clothes sat beside him. At first, he refused to change—if he had his way, he would never wear another uniform. But he also wanted his father to see him properly dressed. Eventually, he changed. Questions about Hanna lingered, but he could not answer them. He refused to assume she was dead—not until he and Maselli had conducted a thorough search of the I.A.A.

  Thinking of reuniting with his brother sent shivers down his spine. They would play Dominus again, and this time, Maselli would see how good Jenne had become. He bet the café on the Farm did not have the Sexite pack this time. Unfortunately, he had left his phone behind—every log, every record of the year, gone from his grasp. No doubt, Ashey would find it and keep it safe.

  Jay, meanwhile, had gone live for an audience, leaning back with his legs crossed over the opposite seat. “I don’t know how stubborn some of you have to be not to believe in true power,” he said. “Schemel made the sun walk backwards, and yet people still doubt Henrikia. I was there. I saw how rotten those Midder-Landers were. Last week, a young man was heading home from work when Myersian gangsters knifed him and stole his laptop. If we hadn’t brought them from the Midder-Lands, that would have happened. Blame Mariel for that—she allowed us to bring them in.”

  “We’re approaching Blackwood,” Commissioner Victor announced.

  “I have to leave,” Jay told his fans. “I’m on my way to slay this beast that’s been pestering Blackwood for a while now. I’ll post updates once it’s down.”

  He kicked his blanket away, stretching his arms. Victor pressed a button, opening the doors. Jay approached the exit, whistling at the stretch of nothingness below. “This better be worth it,” he said.

  “Ren Arson,” Jenne called, unprepared.

  “What?”

  “Why did you change your mind?”

  Jay shrugged. “I beat Calimer. I guess I was bored.” Then he leapt from the firefly, cracking like thunder, a streak of blue light shooting toward the forest.

  “Now or never, boy,” Commissioner Victor said.

  Jenne balanced himself, gripping the exit frame. The wind roared past his ears, muffling everything else. The fireflies had never felt this fast from the inside. He tried to jump, then hesitated. His heart skipped at the sight of home. Yes, things had changed—but this was still his home.

  A waxy smell drifted through the air. Glancing to the south side of the forest, he made out two blotches in the wilderness. “Take me further forward!” he yelled.

  “What?”

  “Do it!”

  The firefly swooped past the forest. Jenne jumped. The wind caught him with the strength of a mountain, tossing him like a ragdoll. A light saucer formed below him; he bounced off it, then another. Finally, he landed face-first in the dirt.

  Lightning split the sky above Blackwood, followed by a low rumble of thunder.

  He groaned, brushing dirt from his face. Nails scratched the ground nearby. Jenne’s eyes followed the long, black claws on the scaly skin of a giant lizard. On its back sat a woman in a black gown and matching hat. Her eyes were empty—just black circles on white.

  A second lizard moved beside the first. On it sat a girl in a lavender gown. Long black hair framed her rounded face, lavender eyes staring with a dead intensity. Her smile was firm, like a reanimated corpse.

  The girl spoke to Genevie in a melodic language Jenne had never heard before. Genevie winced at whatever the girl said.

  “I am asking Mistress why you have the nose?” the girl said in English, her voice faint, almost childish but not quite. She pointed to her own nose.

  “Why do we smell the same?” Genevie asked.

  “Why do you smile the same?” the girl repeated.

  “Smell,” Jenne muttered.

  “Smile,” the girl said firmly, straightening her back. “You have the Mistress’ smile.”

  “Are you Genevie?” Jenne asked, ignoring the odd girl.

  “Yes, I am,” the woman in black replied. “And who are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m Jenne, Mistress,” he said.

  “Jenne?” The sorceress frowned. “You craft light like a Sorel, yet you look nothing like them. Whose bastard son are you?”

  “I am not a Sorel,” Jenne said, standing taller. “I’m earthen. I come from Blackwood.”

  “A torch brought down from heaven,” Genevie said. “You just dropped from the sky, Jenne Aster.”

  “How did you know my full name—”

  “I wouldn’t call you an earthen,” she interrupted. “Earthens by principle cannot possess or manipulate ascension.” Her beast shifted beneath her, moving past Jenne with a flick of its massive tail. “Come along. Your Gaverian friend should be dead soon. We can proceed to Blackwood without interference.”

  The lavender girl extended a hand. She was small. There was no way she could pull him onto the back of the beast alone—yet she did. Then she kicked the creature in the ribs, jolting them forward.

  “Put your hands on my waist,” she said. Jenne hesitated until a sudden bump sent him sliding toward her. He obeyed, gripping tightly as the beast surged ahead.

  So this was Genevie. After meeting so many legacy Gaverians, Jenne’s heart still thudded at the sight of another.

  “He is excited,” the girl announced. “I think he likes me.”

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  “No. That’s not it at all,” Jenne retorted.

  “Do not pay attention to her,” Genevie said, calm but firm. “And try not to fall.”

  He nearly did the moment the warning came, clinging to Salomae’s waist again. She giggled softly, and he frowned.

  “Yes, I can read minds,” she said, unprompted. “And yes, I am Solvarian. No, I am not related to Verimae. And thank you for helping us find her.”

  “Salomae,” Jenne said, recognition dawning. “Verimae mentioned you once. She said you were her cousin.”

  “Faeries are liars,” Genevie muttered.

  “Ren Regal told me the same thing once,” Jenne said, remembering Regilon’s message. “He couldn’t come with me.”

  “Typical,” Genevie said. “He’s never taken a step into uncertainty.”

  “That’s not true. Ren Regal tried to save Blackwood once already, but he couldn’t. He sacrificed himself to give me a chance. Ren Gallant must have killed him.”

  “Did he have anything he wanted me to know?”

  “Only that he was sorry for everything. He came to Blackwood to save your daughter. He asked that you forgive him.”

  “That sounds nothing like Regilon,” she said.

  Jenne mumbled, “Is Ezra really your daughter?”

  “Who is Ezra?” Genevie asked, pausing thoughtfully. “Ezrael?”

  “Yes, please,” Jenne said.

  She hesitated, the shimmering hues of Jay’s ascension reflecting in her eyes. “How do you know Ezra?” she asked.

  “Our parents raised us together,” Jenne replied.

  “Do you by any chance know Floren?”

  “No, but I’ve heard the name before.”

  “For how long has she stayed with you?”

  “Pretty much all my life,” he said. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

  “I fled Henrikia near the end of the war, pregnant. It was not long until I gave birth.”

  “But that should make Ezra about thirty years old. I don’t know how fae age works, but I assumed she was much younger.”

  “She may have fed you many lies, but her body speaks the truth,” Genevie said. “Ezrael is not my daughter. Venin named her after Ezira, her mother.”

  “Who is Venin?”

  “My son,” Genevie said. “Ezra’s father.”

  “Regilon’s granddaughter,” Jenne concluded. “But what am I? I don’t know you people. I got my powers from an experiment, so why do I smell like you?”

  “You don’t smell like me,” Genevie said, snorting. “You smell like Ezra.”

  “Why?”

  “I think you know why,” she said. “You’re smart; you’ve figured it out by now. You’re just afraid to admit it because it sounds unbelievable. If you’ve seen the sun travel backwards across the sky, what is left to doubt?”

  “I’m being honest, Mistress. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure,” she said, tugging on her reins. The lizards halted just before the forest.

  Salomae glanced at him. “Good luck,” she said, elbowing him in the ribs.

  Jenne entered the forest. Silent. Cold. Dead. Jay was gone. His magic was fading. On any other day, he would have lost courage and fled, knowing he stood no chance against Franka if the rumours of her power were true. But his courage came from the heart. None of Franka’s challengers had come from Blackwood; none bore the same responsibility for the village as he did.

  The deeper he went, the more uneasy he felt. Genevie had slipped a worm into his thoughts, gnawing at his mind. Floren. That name echoed through his head. Of course he knew Floren. She had appeared with the Swayer’s Dawn one night, back when he was still running from home.

  Jenne slapped his back against a trunk, clutching his chest. Where had that come from? He was not Maselli. The digits on the back of his hand should have proved that, right? He tried to read them, but they bent and twisted, refusing to make sense. Were his numbers written in Aren?

  “What the hell am I?” he muttered, sliding down onto the forest floor.

  “Hey!” Franka’s voice rang out. He stood at the edge of the slope, outside the forest, wearing a dirty suit, markings streaked across his face. He smiled as he waved. “What are you doing on the floor?”

  Using the back of his hands, Jenne rubbed his eyes, laughing despite himself. He scrambled to his feet and ran, breaking out of the forest. He struggled up the hill, nearly slipping, when Franka caught him by the arm. Jenne leaned in, embracing his brother. The tears came again.

  “Franka,” Jenne sobbed.

  “I missed you too,” he replied.

  Peace. Quiet. Alone. Empty, yet full of remnants of the past. Broken magical items littered the town—fireflies and motorcycles half-buried in shifting sands. Blocks stood silent, some with corpses dangling over balustrades. In the forest below, Jay struggled against a tree, his greatsword driven through a black trunk. The trees mocked him with every shuddering branch. Gemma stood before him, patting his cheeks, keeping him alive just a little longer.

  Jenne sank into the dirt with his brother, perched on the slope’s edge, surveying the forest below. How nice it was to finally say ‘brother.’ His brother. Jenne’s brother.

  “Am I too late?” Jenne asked. “Is everyone dead?”

  “Maselli and Mari are alive,” Franka reassured him.

  “That’s good to know.” He thought of Aron, gone—it stung. “I wonder if they’ll even recognize me.”

  “You’ve changed,” Franka admitted. “I bet the city had something to do with it. How is it there?”

  “Everything is big. So big, Blackwood looks…”

  “Small?”

  “Yes. There are buildings wherever you turn. Billboards like televisions. Big markets that are like small towns, selling toys, clothes, everything. They even have seats where you can lean back for a haircut, and they massage your head with a warm towel. Statues bigger than our church are everywhere—some even have eyes that glow in the dark.

  “People are nice to me, most of them. They like me because I’m an ascender. I met the Gaverians in history class, and I even ate with some of them. I wish you could see the phone Renna Sorel bought for me—I have pictures and videos on it. I was in a hurry, so I forgot to bring it with me.”

  “You didn’t miss home at all. No wonder it took you so long to return.”

  “That’s not true. All I did was miss home. I wasn’t ready to leave Blackwood behind. Though I do not regret taking that drug for Ezra’s sake, I wish the consequences had been less harsh. Being the only earthen in the room most places made me uncomfortable. There were nights I cried, nights I thought about just how far the south was from the north. But I knew I couldn’t come home yet. I’d promised Aron I would become a Gaverian, never minding the pressure.

  “But it wasn’t all bad. I made friends and enjoyed their company. Learning more about magic has been the most fulfilling experience of my life. I’ve been involved in a rescue of a kidnapped friend. I’ve been shot by gangsters and survived a thrashing by a Sexite Gaverian. I’ve broken into the home of the Blood Storm, found a secret lair for a fae who taught me the hidden arts of crafting, and I even met a girl I liked—and I got her number.”

  “Out of all the things you said, you taking a girl’s number is the most unbelievable.”

  “Her name is Malory. She's really cute.” Jenne hugged his knees and rested his head. “Her hair is red, though.”

  “Mari would never approve.”

  “There was also a girl who said she loved me, but she’s dead.”

  “Who killed her?”

  “I did. That same night I held a little girl while soldiers beat and tortured her father in front of her. How can I come here pretending to be a force for good when I’m not? I can’t bring myself to do it when I see myself as no better than you.”

  “Our story ends when you slay me. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done to others.”

  “Why did you do this in the first place? Blackwood was your home. You loved everyone. Things did not end well for you but the Franka I know is not vengeful. You wouldn’t harm innocent men, not to mention women and helpless children.”

  “A god’s imagination is man’s reality. This world is a stage and we are dancing puppets. I was made to walk the Ways of the villain. You are the hero, an earthen ascender skilled with magic who fights and defeats bad guys. Who also happens to have the Sorels obsessed with him. I wonder whose fantasy that is.”

  “Maselli. In all my dreams, I am Maselli. I share his memories too.”

  “You aren’t Maselli. Truth is, you aren’t anything at all. Just as I am not the Franka you know. We are actors who will fade once the story has ended. I’m sure you know who pulls the strings on this stage.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  “Somehow an earthen ascender makes sense to you. It makes sense to you that your dead brother was brought back to life with invincible power. Gemma transforms into a hound. That all makes sense.”

  “I grew up with friends. I have memories.”

  “You are questioning the power of a being who bends reality for a fun story.”

  “But why would Ezra do this to Blackwood?"

  “Who are we to question a goddess? All I know is that I’ve done my part. Kill me so I can find some peace.”

  “How can you be so calm about this?”

  Franka put a comforting hand on Jenne’s back. “When you come to the end of your story, you’ll find it welcoming. Please kill me. I don’t want to live like this anymore.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to fight me?”

  “What difference does it make? Good defeats evil. Let’s not waste our time.”

  All Jenne had to do was craft his blade. Franka folded his hands around Jenne’s and placed them on his chest. Applying just the right amount of pressure and it sank clean through, clicking on his heart. Franka’s face remained dull, as though dying for the first time had taken all the excitement out of it. When Gemma saw him fall, she left the corpse of Jay alone, smiled at Jenne and walked off into the forest, disappearing behind the trees.

  A hum rumbled the earth, followed by the glow of violet light. Hexes on two great pillars in the middle of the village illuminated. The Ring was working again. Franka’s corpse began to dissipate, proving somewhat that he was right about not being the real Franka.