Humility Force soldiers took Jay away the moment they learned he was awake and healthy. They walked him out of the hospital and led him into the back of a truck, where a canopy had been set up with benches. Four HF soldiers sat across from him, and four more sat on his side.

  The truck rumbled through the storm. He didn’t ask where they were headed. His life had fallen into a brutal cycle. Once again, he was being forced in a direction he was powerless to refuse.

  Having two men pressed against him was bad enough, but the unbearable sun made the heat worse. The back of his neck burned, baked under constant exposure. Sweat stung his eyes — sweat he couldn’t wipe away with his cuffed hands.

  Up ahead, a portal opened. On the other side lay a ruin. Buildings levelled to the ground. Rubble, bent metal, burst pipes — smoke and dust so thick you could barely see. The wind had teeth here, and it scraped them against his skin.

  Their progress was slow, following a narrow road carved out for transport. A white trail appeared in the distance. On closer look, it was a line of tents. Food banks had been set up, with volunteers in white dishing meals to long queues of people. Those not taking aid stood on the rooftops of the remaining buildings. A few had binoculars, scanning the Ossen Sea for something unseen.

  Men and women in white attire moved through the rubble in teams. Each bore the Creator’s symbol on their sleeves. The HF truck halted midway down the road, waiting for the disaster relief agents to clear the way. Using levithium rods, they formed a triangle around massive slabs of concrete, each rod staked at a vertex. Clapping their hands in prayer, they chanted and a pulse of light carried through the rods. Marker ascension lifted the slabs gently into the air.

  The truck still couldn’t move. Beneath the stones lay a heap of bodies — eight or more — children, women, men, all ashen with dust. The relief agents began their grim work, pulling the corpses from the road and laying them side by side. Each was covered with a white sheet marked by the Creator’s symbol. It won’t revive them from the dead, but make the corpse presentable.

  This was the capital. Henrik City. He could no longer deny it. Sexton had raided the capital in a counter-invasion, just when the Empire finally captured Calimer on the Midder-Lands.

  Silent fireflies drifted toward the sea by the hundreds, each one hauling a hook fastened to a massive slab of levithium. Whatever was happening at the border had drawn the attention of those watching from the rooftops.

  At first, he assumed they were taking him to face the Assembly. That assumption vanished when they drove past the shattered glass dome. The Supreme Court, then? No — not by the route they were taking. Soon, they left the disaster behind, entering districts that resembled what the capital should have always looked like. The heat, however, remained relentless. So did the dry wind.

  They veered off the main road toward a cluster of diplomatic buildings — grey square blocks with little distinction. Passing through a set of metal gates and onto a stone drive, he caught sight of a signpost on the lawn:

  House of Sentry.

  It all came back to him — the significance of this place. Mariel’s intent was clear now. The House of Sentry served as the administrative office of the High Commander. Schemel had relocated it to Camp Regis during the Midder-Lands conflict. This had once been Regis Regal’s House of Sentry when he held the title. Mariel had simply restored it to its original seat.

  Dozens of men in grey tunics, with their secretaries in tow, lingered across the compound. Many sat in the shade, idly fanning themselves. The HF soldiers climbed out of the truck, dragging Jay along. It felt as if they’d brought him here for auction.

  The councilmen seated nearby paid the soldiers no attention. It seemed this was not the first time such an escort had arrived. Even from where Jay stood, the raised voices carried easily across the courtyard.

  Inside the chamber was a fragmented nest of offices. Councilmen argued with civilians; clerks shouted over telephones that never stopped ringing. Queues wound across the floor, papers passed from hand to hand. The ceiling fans spun at their highest, yet sweat stained everyone’s backs. It was a wonder the HF soldiers still stood in full gear.

  As they made their way through, Jay caught glimpses of chaos at each station. Councilmen from different districts of Henrik City demanded resources for their people. The water from taps had turned salty. One furious official hurled a stack of documents at a clerk’s face, shouting for the disaster relief agents he’d requested time and again. Missing children. Injuries. Power outages. It was all noise.

  They stopped at a cramped office tucked into a corner. A woman burst through the crowd, pushing past clerks on either side. She slammed her hands on the desk. “Where is he?”

  “I assure you, Demettle is safe and unharmed.” For a fleeting moment, Jay wished it were Schemel speaking. Mariel sounded so much like her predecessor.

  “I’m not asking for his well-being. No one elected you to be in charge.”

  “This is not the time to discuss that, Renna Sabina.”

  “If he were here, he would have sent a rescue team to the damned island by now.”

  “There is nothing we can do for the dead.”

  Renna Sabina spat in Mariel’s face and reached over the desk to slap her, but an HF soldier seized her wrist. His glare silenced her rage. She wrenched her hand free and stormed out.

  The soldiers turned and saluted. Mariel took a long breath before pulling a tissue from the desk and wiping her face. She looked like someone half-chewed by a giant—leaner, drained, but still unbroken.

  “I was wondering when you would return. Personally, I thought you were dead,” Renna Mariel said. “The doctors tell me you lost your powers, which makes my job so much easier since I no longer have to pass judgment on you.”

  “The doctors are wrong,” he said.

  “We can’t argue with a medical report. It may be hard for you to accept, but your time as a Gaverian is over.”

  “I refuse to retire, Renna,” he said. “This is no way to treat a good soldier.”

  “You should be grateful your powers are gone — the alternative would’ve been a sentence to out you in Stasis. Or have you somehow forgotten the heinous crimes you committed mere days ago?”

  “You would never lock me up. The country has a very short roster of Gaverians. There’s no way you’d imprison someone as valuable as me.”

  “What are you waiting for, then? Show us how valuable you are to the Henrikian people,” Renna Mariel said, more amused than annoyed. “Your arrogance makes me wonder what world you think you live in.”

  “Genevie,” Jay said. “The HF got the wrong person on their mission. During my time in the South, I gathered information about the real Genevie’s whereabouts. If you permit me, I will finish her off.”

  “That would be impressive,” she admitted. “But a pointless endeavour.”

  “You’ll let a traitor walk free?”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “There is no one in the country who can stand up to her,” he said. “If Genevie attacks Henrikia right now, who can you rely on to protect the people?”

  “Genevie is not attacking—” she said. “And you need some sleep.”

  “Give me a week to prepare. A week and one ship.”

  She sighed. “Jay, no one is asking you to do this.”

  “The people of Henrikia need me to do my job,” he said. “So they can sleep at night. Please, Mariel.”

  “Fine,” she said. “You can gather whatever resource is available for this mission but do not consider it a mandate. If I hear nothing from you after three days, consider yourself retired and, under no circumstances, would you involve yourself in state affairs again.”

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  He began his lonely walk toward the nearest Ring. Government officials streamed in the opposite direction, heading to the House of Sentry. Many didn’t recognise him. Those who did had no smiles to spare. There was a special kind of hatred in their eyes.

  When he reached the Ring, he changed his mind about going home. Instead, he asked the operator to set course for Mortal Ascenders Hospital. Of all the places he had visited, this was the hottest region yet. The heat was made worse by the sheer number of people gathered at the hospital gates. They had laid out mats, pots of flowers, good-luck charms, love letters, and pamphlets stamped with the Creator’s symbol across the grounds.

  GET WELL SOON, JACQOLIN

  More people were pressing into the hospital. Half of them demanded to see the unconscious Gaverian in person, while the other half had genuine concerns. Many had blood-stained handkerchiefs pressed over their noses. Disaster relief agents carved their way through with blaring sirens, carrying streams of patients to the emergency ward.

  Even the rooftops were crowded. Jay had to shove people aside to reach the edge. Winds gushed overhead as Fireflies swarmed by the hundreds, each carrying slabs of metal on hooked lines.

  It seemed they were forming some kind of barrier on the eastern front. Engineers and soldiers worked side by side to align the levithium plates, leaving about five hundred meters between each one. The slabs suspended one another in the air, forming a glowing force-field along the border.

  Schemel’s spell had been cast too close to the mainland. The heat might be the least of its side effects, Jay deduced. The force-field was likely the only thing protecting the people living near the docks. Even then, evacuation would be inevitable.

  When he squinted toward the horizon, he saw it. The obsidian peak rising from the ocean’s surface. That was what he had spent nearly a decade fighting for.

  Jay got the right permission to see his father. He was the first visitor the hospital administration had allowed in since Jay himself. The room they kept his father in was on the highest floor, isolated behind a security door.

  It was cold inside — almost like a morgue. His father lay on the only bed in the room, still asleep. Jay sniffed the air but picked up nothing. No trace of ascension whatsoever. Was it he who had lost the ability to detect magic, or was his father the one who had lost power?

  He had a few things on his mind; putting them together into meaningful words was the problem. His father had never been one for conversation. There was always something better to do for Jacqolin — a party to attend, a mistress to appease, friends to find.

  “Blackwood was an embarrassment. Mariel has given me a chance to redeem myself. I’ll be the one to execute Genevie. There’s no problem. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Hopefully, you’ll have recovered by the time I return.”

  If his father heard him, the man gave no sign.

  The people living in his home yelled a welcome in unison. He didn’t remember their names anymore, and their faces were beginning to blur together. He’d brought the first one in after meeting her at his graduation party, and she never left. Every month or so, another would show up, and he’d let them stay — as long as they agreed they were his to do with as he wanted, whenever he wanted. It wasn’t as though they paid rent.

  On a day like this, when nothing went right, he might once have let them comfort him all at once. Now, not an ounce of his flesh wanted anything to do with them.

  “I told you to leave,” he said quietly.

  Their smiles faltered.

  “What?” asked the one closest to him.

  “Before I left for the South, I told you I no longer wanted any of you here.”

  “You were serious?”

  He said nothing more. Jay opened the door wide and gestured for them to leave. They did no such thing — all four stood their ground. To his surprise, they looked quite angry. Each had her hands on her hips, expecting some form of apology.

  “We heard what happened,” said the one in the nightie. “What kind of friends would we be if we left you on your own?”

  Friends. That was funny.

  “I don’t know who any of you are,” he said. “I didn’t ask for a cake. I didn’t ask for all this crap you’ve done to my apartment. Take what belongs to you and get out.”

  “We don’t care if you’ve lost your powers. We’re not here for your money.”

  “Out.” He pointed at the door.

  They spent an hour packing. He didn’t spare them time to get dressed. In a single file they left. Jay closed the door and locked it. Slowly he slid down the wall, bowed his head, and pressed his eyes shut.

  What made them pity him? What made them wake up one day and think, “Yes, a cake would make him feel better”? He swept the cake off the table and kicked the table over. Glass, bottles, plates — all crashed to the floor. Does someone who deserves pity do this? He knew what he was. He had no excuse for his shitty attitude. There was no deeper meaning for who he was, no ghost haunting him. He was just an asshole.

  One bottle rolled across the floor. He grabbed it by the neck, dashed it against the wall, and hissed as shards pierced his hand. He dropped the broken glass and clutched his right palm, waiting for it to heal. Why wasn’t he healing? Right. Shit.

  He tore through the kitchen cabinets. No first-aid kit. But his emergency stash — blue crystals bobbed in a water-filled case. Jay set it on the counter, took out the astaphite stones, and mocked the doctor. “Doctor, have I really lost my powers? Maybe you’re not good at your job. Jay Arson wants some astaphite, that’s all. Give me some astaphite and I’ll be brand new.”

  He crushed a crystal into fragments and pressed them into his cut. He ground the slivers into his palm, fighting the sting.

  Nothing happened. The stone was the same — blood-smeared and inert. “Get inside my body, you stupid rock.” He crushed it again and again. When that failed, he slammed it on the counter, harder and harder until it exploded. The force threw him across the kitchen; he hit his head against the wall and collapsed onto the floor.

  Hard knocks followed at the door. The pestering “friends” hadn’t gone far. They asked him to open up. When he did, he barrelled out — car keys gripped in his good hand — and drove off.

  He slammed the pedal to the floor, racing down the empty street. He used to think sports cars were boring — not nearly as fast as everyone claimed, not compared to him. But now he understood the appeal: everything blurred past like a dream. He hit the brakes when he saw a Ring. “Home of Heroes,” he muttered.

  The Green Guards on duty recognised the car. They’d seen him drive through countless times. The portal opened without delay, and Jay sped down the lonely road toward Se Fina.

  He got out and made his way to the Villa. Beyond it, he ventured into the forest until he reached the clearing. The glass prism stood there — the building that housed the fae, Verimae.

  She would have the answers to his condition. Normally, she appeared behind the glass the moment she sensed him near. Jay called out. No response. He climbed the stairs and rattled the door with a knock. Nothing. He opened it and stepped inside, searching. He pushed aside the curtain to the space she called her room.

  The blood drained from his head. She was gone. How? Who had let her out?

  Pathetic. He was trembling. What for? He didn’t need anyone. He could recover on his own. If Mariel thought he was suffering divine punishment, he’d prove her wrong. No one made fun of him.

  Jay opened his car door, then stopped, thinking. Cars, a comfortable bed, phones, parties, women — they’d made him soft. He hadn’t had any of those things when he trained at Se Fina. They were distractions that had rotted his core.

  If he would go somewhere, he would run. If he would eat, he would hunt. No two ways about it.

  Jay tossed his keys away. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside. The sun beat down on his bare chest. He stretched one leg back, set his stance, and ran with all his might.

  He ran faster than the car could ever take him. Even without his powers, he easily outpaced the world. The wind in his face, the grace of his stride—glorious. But it wasn’t enough. He had to go faster. Faster, faster, faster. Fast enough to spark his power again. He screamed, whooshing past the front gardens and onto the tarred road, pushing himself harder.

  A sharp smack to his leg sent him tumbling. He scraped his face against the asphalt, cursing between coughs. His chin burned. Then a shadow fell over him.

  Of all the people to find him today, why did it have to be Ursel? “What the hell did you do that for?” he growled, realizing she must’ve been the one who tripped him. She leaned casually on a metal rod, twice her height.

  “You have no idea how much I’m enjoying this,” she snorted.

  He jumped to his feet, clenched his fist, and swung hard and fast. She slipped away just before the punch connected. Ursel spun her rod, jabbed him in the belly, smacked his back, and swept the back of his knees, sending him crashing down.

  She laughed. “Karma exists,” she said. And she had reason to.

  They had trained at Se Fina together once. Only one of them could graduate. Each was the child of a Henrikian legend. It all came down to who wanted it more.

  Jay had never backed down from anything. During a training session, he faced Ursel and proved he was better in every way. He’d wounded her so badly that even after she’d healed, she refused to use her powers again. Ursel never returned to Se Fina, and never became a Gaverian.

  Now they sat together on the grass of the rolling hills, beside a slow stream. The country might’ve been a ruin, but the Home of Heroes remained a welcome exception.

  “I’ve heard more stories about you than I’d like to,” she said. “Some were scary, Jay.”

  “You wouldn’t believe the truth if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  He bet she’d laugh if she knew what he’d been through. She did, but it didn’t bother him. But he couldn’t just sit there if she had nothing useful to offer. Jay stood to leave, but she caught him by the wrist and pulled him back down.

  “It’s all in your mind,” she said. “Trust me.”

  She would know.

  “Somewhere deep inside, you don’t want to fight anymore — because you’re scared you’ll lose.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I beat Calimer. I fought Emic and all those other guys. Why would I be scared to lose?”

  “You lost at the South, didn’t you?” she said. “I don’t know what happened in Blackwood, but you weren’t cut out to deal with it — and it’s haunting you. So, you came up with this excuse not to use your power again.”

  “There’s no ascension in my blood, Ursel. How do you explain that?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But you wouldn’t be running around half-naked if you thought your powers were gone for good, now would you?”

  “I’m not naked,” he grumbled — but she was right. After he refused Frennie’s offer, he had still used his power to kill the Bannermen.

  He could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. “What should I do to get my powers back?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas,” she said, tapping her head. “We have to build up your confidence — make you believe in yourself. Do what Jac did on the night he left for the Grem.”

  “What’s this got to do with Jacqolin?”

  “Don’t you remember the feast at Grefus Square? It was the biggest party we’d ever seen. Everyone gave him their full support.”

  “I’m not going to buy the people’s love. It won’t work,” said Jay. “The people love Jac because he’s strong. They know he’s going to win no matter what.”

  “You’ve got it backwards,” she said. “I figured out your old man’s secret long ago. Even you should be smart enough to understand — the people don’t love Jac because he’s strong. He’s strong because they love him.”