He woke from his first real sleep since the incident in the South. The first thing he tested for were sparks between his fingers. The pit within his soul deepened when nothing came of it.

  Ursel was on her way. He should get ready too. They needed to be at Varmel Central before sunrise. Volunteering for the disaster relief agents would do well to boost his reputation — and hopefully stir his dead magic back to life. He didn’t have much time.

  Jay could make do with some breakfast before the work began. He got out of bed, trudging carefully (there were shards in the carpet) until he reached the kitchen. He fumbled for the switch, turned on the light — and froze.

  A woman in black stood behind his counter.

  His tongue died in his mouth. In an instant, his kitchen transformed into the cursed forest. Vines crawled out of the ground, wrapping around the legs of the table. Thorny branches reached from the cabinets, and a violet liquid dripped from the faucet into the sink.

  Frennie took her place behind his dinner table, crossing one leg over the other as she sipped poison from a cup.

  “You should change your mind,” she said. “Because you’re really going to die if you don’t. Forget about any slim chance of victory — abandon all hope for trickery or a lucky day of weakness from the sorceress. Genevie will kill you if you face her without your magic. It is definite.”

  “Either this or that. Retire or die. Follow me or die. Options, options, options. Always with the options. No one tells me what to do! Rot in hell, hag — and stay out of my damned business.”

  A knock came at the door.

  Ursel walked in. At a typical Geles dawn, no one sane would be caught in jean shorts and a T-shirt — that would be suicide. Jay himself was only in his briefs and already craving a cold shower. The only thing unchanged about Ursel was the overgrown shrub of hair sitting on her head, black and glossy, coiled and tangled in impossible knots. There was never a time she’d kept it kempt.

  “Why aren’t you ready yet?” she asked. “Hell, Jay, you just crawled out of bed, didn’t you?”

  “So what if I did?” he said. “I’m tired.”

  “What? Should I carry you to the bath and scrub you myself?”

  “Pest.”

  “Man-child,” she shot back. “Get up.”

  Jay stood, but reached for a mug instead. “The people at Varmel Central can wait a few more hours.”

  “I know what’s going to motivate you,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Honest opinions only. Is Jay Arson the worst Gaverian ever?” She read out the words in theatrical fashion.

  “Well?” asked Jay, taking a bite of his omelette sandwich. “What do the people say?”

  “There have been considerably worse Gaverians in our history,” she read, “but just as his dad is the best Gaverian, I think Jay is definitely in contention for the worst of our time.”

  Ursel scrolled through a few more comments.

  “‘Schemel literally wiped out an entire civilization and is still somehow better than Jay. I don’t condone Schemel’s actions in any way. Both she and Jay are terrible, horrible people. That being said, you can tell Schemel cares about Henrikia at least, even if in a really twisted way. Jay is just a selfish asshole. He doesn’t come across as honest at all.’”

  The bread in his mouth went dry.

  “‘He’s an irresponsible, violent, show-off, Jacqolin wannabe. I wish he would die and stop embarrassing our country all the time.’”

  He stopped eating. It was time to take a bath.

  “I hate to admit it,” Ursel read from behind the bathroom door, “but I’d rather take the earthen ascender over Jay. Jay is only relevant because Jacqolin is everyone’s favourite.”

  “Who cares? It’s Circular,” he shot back — referring to a controversial social media platform founded by national idiot En Gesa. “It’s literally a bunch of New Crest’s so-called forward-thinking reformists. Can’t expect much from people who hate their own country.”

  “You care,” she said.

  He did care. And that was why they arrived at Varmel Central just as the disaster relief caravans were pulling into the region. With the sun not yet up, it was hard to make out the levithium wall far above the city.

  Several fireflies hovered down, releasing crates into the rubble below. Ursel approached the disaster relief agents on standby and offered, on Jay’s behalf, to volunteer in any way permissible.

  “These are quite fragile, so I need you to be careful,” their team leader said. “We’re carrying them over to all the camps around.”

  “What’s in them?” asked Jay.

  “Immunization vials,” the team leader replied. “There’s a respiratory disease making its way around. These should fortify those who haven’t fallen ill yet.”

  Along with reflector vests, Ursel and Jay were each given a crate to carry. He could barely make his way around, while Ursel skipped toward the camp. Jay tripped over a misplaced slab, bent his ankle, and wobbled — but the crate did not fall, saving him some shame.

  They arrived at the first camp, where the agents on duty quickly took the crates from them. Ursel turned back for another run. Jay lingered longer, watching the few in the shelter who were awake. The people had wrapped themselves in a blanket of melancholy, their eyes glowing faintly — violet, blue, green, and yellow — in the dark of dawn.

  And a thought came to him: the earthens he had stayed with in the Banner camp were much happier than this. The circumstances were different, of course, but none of the earthens had lived an easier life until then.

  “The supplier could’ve dropped the shipment a lot closer to the camp,” grumbled Jay after his second trip.

  “The wind would’ve ripped the tents right off the ground,” the team leader replied.

  “Why can’t you drive?” asked Jay.

  “Manoeuvring through this mess isn’t easy,” the team leader retorted.

  “Jay, the camp is right there,” Ursel pointed out. “Stuff making a fuss.”

  He wouldn’t make a fuss. Rather, he’d come up with a solution to make the disaster relief agents more efficient. Jay carried two crates at the same time, each in one hand.

  “Hey, no, you can’t do that,” an officer standing by said. “One at a time.”

  “They’re fragile, Master Arson,” the team leader said. “We can’t let you do that.”

  “Relax,” he said, barging out of the way of the officer. They were not that heavy. Jay made the trip without any incident, and insisted for four boxes. They refused to give him any.

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  “Respectfully, Sir, if you can’t follow orders, I’m afraid we have to ask you to leave,” said the officer.

  Jay scoffed. He stepped to the crate. The officer blocked his path. All the agents had stopped working, watching. Their team leader kept a blank face, conflicted on how to deal with the situation. To save him the trouble, Jay abandoned his post.

  Ursel joined Jay at the outskirts of camp, sitting on a chunk of concrete. She said nothing to annoy him. Upon sunrise, she nudged him up. “We’ve got good lighting now. Better make use of it.”

  The immunization session had already begun while other volunteers packed breakfast into sets, providing it for those who had taken their shots already. Jay found an empty crate, closed it up and stepped about a hundred metres away.

  Ursel recorded him walking towards the camp with the box, cutting the video before they reached. He checked it out, asked them to reshoot, repeating the process until his gait was perfect. Jay wished he could’ve rolled up his sleeves a bit more so that his biceps would show. They would look pretty good in the morning sunlight.

  The agents packing the breakfast for the campers were understaffed, causing a queue to build. This was quite convenient for Jay, since no one paid attention to him, could share sandwiches and hot chocolate without anyone complaining. Ursel stood at a far end, taking pictures.

  Some smiled when they recognised who he was. A few went so far as to take a picture with him. Good to know he had fans in the city still. A mother handed him a tissue to sign an autograph. As he fumbled for a pen, the man at the back of the queue threw his hand up, yelling at them to hurry along.

  “I’m just here to help,” said Jay, raising his hand in surrender. “These are dark times. We’re all doing our part to make life better.”

  Those listening nodded in agreement. The man did not care, but calmed down when the other volunteers got to him.

  A girl, seven or eight years, came alone, sad. After serving her, Ursel signalled him about the missed opportunity. Jay hissed at the girl to come back. He went around the serving table, got on one knee and took back the sandwich and cup of hot chocolate from the girl. Ursel rushed closer, going down as well to capture the shot of him handing the sad girl her breakfast. It was a good picture. The best so far. But it could be better.

  “I think you’ve done enough,” the supervisor around came by to say.

  Jay understood — or pretended to. He left for another spot. There was a team clearing the streets of rubble. They weren’t ascenders, but they were skilled in the art of spell-casting, working deftly with levithium rods and marker hexes. Convincing them to let him join was easy enough, though they insisted everyone work in teams. That didn’t please Jay.

  There was nothing complicated about the task. He could stake three rods in the ground and levitate the rocks himself. He was a disciple of Se Fina, after all. No one here understood magic better than he did.

  He brushed off their supervisor, grabbed a bundle of rods under his arm, and headed toward a heap of stone and twisted iron. Once again, work stopped as people turned to watch. Ursel was already recording, camera steady.

  Jay staked the three rods around the rubble, forming a triangle. He made the sign of Geles, goddess of Time, clasped his hands, and muttered a prayer.

  The debris blasted apart — in every direction except up.

  A boulder smashed through the windshield of a nearby truck. Shards of stone spun wildly, tearing down lampposts and scattering crates. Besides Jay’s pride, no one was hurt.

  Ursel deleted the video on his request. “How about we take our time for the next one,” she said. “Let’s find something that compliments your strengths.”

  She left him under a patch of shade and returned a few minutes later with a scrawny-looking man in roughed-up clothes. He waved shyly at Jay. A water bottle hung from his belt, his trousers were filthy, and his cap had holes torn through the top, revealing a wild nest of hair.

  “Where did you find this guy?” asked Jay.

  “I’m a collector,” said the man. “My name is—”

  “Don’t care,” Jay cut in. “Why is he here?”

  “Found him wandering around,” said Ursel. “He was digging through the dirt to see what he could find.”

  “Stealing from people in misfortune is bad luck,” Jay muttered.

  “Well, it’s not really stealing if they’re not coming back for it,” the man laughed.

  Jay’s expression didn’t change. “Do you want to make some real money?”

  The plan was simple. The collector would do what he usually did — slip through cracks under rubble — only this time, he wouldn’t be searching for valuables. He’d call out for help instead.

  Jay and Ursel stood a measurable distance away from the main culprit of fraud. They made rounds by the several tents, placing their existence in the conscience of the campers while avoiding the areas where local media had turned up. The temptation to involve news agencies was there, but it was better if Jay controlled the channel of information.

  They put the plan into motion. Jay and Ursel pretended to be having a conversation when suddenly Jay stopped and perked his ears up.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked his audience.

  Ursel frowned, genuinely confused.

  “I thought I heard someone,” Jay said, ambling to the centre of his stage, hands on his waist, head tilted down in focus.

  “You must’ve imagined it,” said Ursel—in what had to be the worst acting performance ever.

  “No, I heard what I heard,” Jay insisted. “I trained to become a Gaverian. I always feel it when someone is in trouble.”

  He sprinted toward the rubble.

  Ursel followed, readying her camera. A small crowd came along, cutting through the dangerous route, eager to keep up with Jay. Soon, it wasn’t just Ursel with her phone out.

  A slab of stone lay flat on the ground, cracked around the edges, where light and sound could still pass through. He had to act before the disaster relief agents arrived. Jay dropped to his belly and peered into the crack. The collector’s dusty face appeared below, standing on a stack of broken shelves and stone. He grinned at Jay and gave a thumbs-up. Ursel had outdone herself covering his escape route so well—he would actually have to rescue the man now.

  “Stay back, everyone,” Jay said, dusting his hands. He parted his feet, bent his knees, and dug his fingers beneath the stone. Dear God, the weight of this thing. He groaned as he heaved it up. The people watching began to applaud, cheering him on. Jay should’ve tossed the slab aside by now and pulled the man out. The veins bulging on his temple suggested otherwise.

  Brave souls from the crowd rushed to his side, supporting the stone with their own weight. Another knelt down to offer a hand to the collector, who was still unable—or unwilling—to climb out. The plan was for Jay to personally carry him out. The idiot couldn’t improvise for a second.

  “Come out now!” shrieked Ursel, her voice cracking. The collector stirred, scrambling out of the opening with sudden energy.

  There was no time to question the sequence of events. Jay was receiving his praises in full. It felt like he was going somewhere now. The love of the people was as good as a hit of astaphite.

  Evening came sooner than expected. After the rescue, Jay and Ursel spent the rest of the day laying low and planning the next phase. They wouldn’t post all the content in one day, and they would need several credible sources to share the videos for them.

  “We need someone with influence to get people talking about it,” Ursel said.

  When Jay nominated himself, she called it charity suicide—whatever that meant.

  “How about Ashey? She’s popular on Circular,” Ursel suggested.

  “I don’t need another idiot condoning my actions,” Jay said. “My reputation’s bad enough as it is.”

  Ursel didn’t respond. Her attention had drifted elsewhere—to a group of Myersian men sitting around a fire. They were the only Myersians he’d seen in any of the camps so far. Myersians weren’t typically residents of Varmel Central.

  “Jay Arson, I see it,” said Ursel, almost entranced.

  “What?”

  “The vision.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “We need that photo of you behind that fire,” she said. “Just look at them.”

  He did. The men sat in solemn silence, each lost in thought, the fire reflecting in their glossy eyes. The potential was there.

  It turned out the men weren’t engaged in deep reflection after all—they were just listening to the radio. Jay asked to join them, which they welcomed. Ursel stood close enough to capture a few shots. They weren’t going to be good enough. It would be so much better if Jay were giving a speech.

  With a deep sigh, he stood and positioned himself behind the fire. All six or so men looked up at him. He planted a foot on a crate, leaned on his knee, and closed his eyes, deep in thought. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Had Ursel taken the shot? Okay — enough thinking.

  “Men,” he began. “Are you happy with your lives? Our city is falling apart. You know it’s not just these buildings that are broken. We have had our hearts broken as well. Sexton needs to pay. They will pay.”

  They blinked at him in turn, before focusing on the radio once gain. When he heard Tenrad’s voice, he also paid attention. “Regilon Regal shall not be laid to rest until I bury his wife alongside him. So, I speak to you directly, Genevie, prepare for your execution.”

  “Tenrad — proper Gaverian, that one,” one of the men said. “Less words, more action.”

  “He’s better than the cowards who do nothing but talk,” another added, and they laughed.

  “Are you talking about me?” Jay said, stepping forward. “Are you calling me a coward, huh?” He shoved the man off his bench. The others rose. Good. The one who’d been running his mouth jumped to his feet and lunged. The men rushed between them, stretching out hands, telling both to cool off.

  “Just a joke, ascender,” one called. “You can take a joke, can’t you, ascender?”

  Jay left. The group broke into sniggers as he walked away; their mocking laughter followed him all the way back to his apartment block. That man had been lucky — Jay would have beaten the crap out of him if he’d made a single wrong move. He’d sworn on his life; they’d have seen blood today.

  He was so furious he barely noticed the lights in his home were on. Worse — an aroma slipped out from beneath the door. Someone was inside. Definitely. Those girls had come again. Jay was not in the mood.

  He barged the door wide open, and the intruder froze in place, in the same way Jay had been stilled. “You’re home now,” the intruder said at last.

  “Verimae,” Jay breathed.