Levithium was a rare metal mined in the northern reaches of Henrikia, primarily from the Axenfurt Mines. What made it remarkable was its high affinity for ascension. Levithium could interact with marker-ascension, allowing a piece of metal to revolve perpetually around larger objects. In the early 200s, an earthen industrialist named Edward Clarkson purchased a large share of Henrikia’s levithium deposits. He saw its potential to transform energy production.

  A few years later, Clarkson developed turbines capable of generating electricity more efficiently than anything the contemporary crafters could produce. Decades on, Chancellor Ashel Sorel sought to break Clarkson Energy Company’s monopoly. His solution: allow smaller companies to mine their own levithium and install “mini generators” in private homes. This initiative shaped Henrikia’s modern landscape, where independent businesses sold and installed these generators.

  Anyone with a keen sense of hearing could detect the faint hum of levithium blades spinning overhead, quietly producing electricity. A blade would stop only when the surrounding marker-ascension was depleted. During sacred day traditions, priests encouraged families to turn off their generators and light candles, allowing ascension to replenish itself in the environment.

  None of this mattered to Ashey or Jenne. Earlier, after a major blackout, Ashey had given Jenne a lecture on levithium. Pulses from across the Ossen Sea had caused the blackout, shaking homes and interfering with levithium blades. Jenne suspected Emic was behind it—the Sexite Gaverian had the power to craft sound, and these pulses disrupted the blades’ rotation. Still, it was of little concern. Their phones and devices relied on ordinary direct current, powered by crafter-hexes embedded in their batteries.

  They lay side by side on the cool floor, shoulders brushing, watching as planes carved trails across the sky, dropping bombs on Henrik City. Buildings crumbled. Tenrad Gallant, pulled out of retirement, fought alongside a shaken Green Corps. Rumours whispered that Ursel Gallant had joined him. Beyond that, the city held no other Gaverians. Jacqolin remained unconscious. Hamis was under house arrest. And Jenne, by orders, was tethered to Ashey’s side. Henrik City was unravelling, but it all felt surreal, almost absurd.

  “I’m pissed this didn’t happen while we were writing our exam,” Ashey muttered, half-laughing. “Do you know it's a law to pass every student when something like this happens during an exam?”

  “I haven’t heard anything like that before,” Jenne replied.

  “It’s true,” she said, rolling onto her belly, eyes glinting with mischief. “I could have made it to high school without a single passing grade.”

  “Too bad,” he said, smirking.

  She poked his cheek. “Jenne.”

  “What?”

  "Aren't you going to go?"

  She wasn’t talking about Blackwood. The Deus family had held a funeral service for Isse. That morning, a dossi from their home had delivered an invitation to Jenne. Surprised, he realized Isse had already been buried. The Grem wasted no time with children.

  “Come on, get up,” Ashey urged, tugging him off the bed. “I’ll go with you so you won’t feel alone.” Her nimble feet carried her to her closet, already pulling out black dresses. “Hamis invited you. He knows you did nothing wrong, and that’s why he wants you there.”

  “I can’t,” Jenne said softly.

  “Jenne, have you ever lost someone you cared about?” she asked, a dress flying over her head in her haste.

  He thought of Franka. “No.”

  “I lost my dad when I was little,” she said, “and even though I didn’t know him, I felt the sadness when I grew up and found out.”

  Another dress floated past Ashey’s head. Jenne’s curiosity piqued—she had never mentioned her father before. “I didn’t want to be alone when I found out,” she said quietly, “and I know Hamis doesn’t want to be alone either.”

  “Do you think it’s a little too soon?”

  “Seeing each other is the only way you can heal,” Ashey said. “The sooner you move past this, the quicker you two become friends again. That’s all that matters.”

  Jenne spent a long time in the bathroom washing his face. Something felt different—he couldn’t quite name it—but he sensed a shift within himself.

  Each step toward Hamis’ house felt like a punch to the gut. More than once, he wavered, thinking about turning back, only for Ashey to grab his hand and reassure him. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll face this together.” Jenne could not imagine Hamis smiling at him again. No one could be that forgiving.

  The compound was quiet, though sombre, with a white canopy stretched over tables and chairs. A soft sound system played muted dirges while friends and family lingered. Everyone wore white kaftans, a stark contrast to the black dress and suit that Ashey and Jenne had chosen. Clearly, the bombings in the capital hadn’t been enough to draw their attention away.

  Ashey led the way, taking Jenne by the hand. They approached a group of their peers. One girl, whom Jenne remembered walking with Isse before, stood and offered a seat to one of them, then moved toward a stack of chairs near the speakers.

  “We’re looking for Hamis,” Ashey asked. “Have you seen him?”

  “You shouldn’t have come,” a stern voice cut through the murmurs. Sirios, Hamis’ father, left Demettle’s side and approached, a saucer in hand. He towered over them, setting the plate down before pointing toward the exit with a sharp chin.

  “I find it very disrespectful that you would think you’re invited—especially you,” he said, glaring at Ashey. “After everything your mother has done, I would be ashamed to be in public. But then again, nothing goes on in that head of yours.”

  “We came here because Hamis is our friend,” Jenne said, tightening his hold on Ashey before she tried to rush off. “Isse may have been your daughter, but she was Hamis’ sister too. And she was our friend.”

  “You have no shame, no pity, to show your face here and remind us of what you did,” Sirios snapped, his jaw tight.

  Demettle’s staff clicked against the stone. “Let your son know his friends from Se Fina are here to see him. That should get him out of his room.” Hearing that, Jenne felt a sudden weight lift off his chest, though it made him struggle to breathe. Demettle moved Sirios aside so the girl who had gone for the chairs could set them down behind the table.

  “Hamis likes you a lot,” a boy said, his eyes wide as they sat alone at the table with Hamis’ old friends from school. “He talks about you all the time in our group chat.”

  “Really?” Ashey asked, leaning forward. “Let me see.”

  Another boy pulled out his phone, showing messages where Jenne’s name appeared alongside pictures of them studying together in the library.

  “We’ve been making fun of him,” one of the boys snorted. “Some of us used to say he’d gone to learn magic and got a boyfriend along the way.”

  “We’re nothing like that,” Jenne murmured.

  “Are you sure?” the girl asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “And what if they were?” Ashey snapped, clearly not amused. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with two boys dating?”

  The table fell silent. “Solis was right about the Sodenites,” one boy murmured to a friend. Ashey didn’t catch it, which made her even more frustrated. She began to rant about being sick of people mocking others for being themselves but cut it short when Sirios returned.

  Though his expression didn’t soften completely, there was a hint of grudging acknowledgment. “Hamis is getting dressed,” he said in a deep, commanding tone. “Once he shows up, you greet him—and then you leave, right?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Jenne said.

  A horn blared across the street, cutting through the tense quiet. Sirios’ head snapped toward the gates. “What now?” he muttered. Jenne’s hand clasped Ashey’s. The sudden movement sent a shiver down her spine; she hissed at him, unsure why. He sniffed the air and slowly turned toward Demettle, whose hairs were also standing on end. The old man’s eyes met Jenne’s, and both shared a rare, unspoken fear.

  Jenne rose from the table, and Ashey followed suit. “Jenne—” she began, but he put a finger to her lips, motioning her to stay quiet and back away. The other guests and soldiers caught on immediately. The question hung unspoken in the air: were the Sexites here? Jenne wished it were just a regular troop that had wandered to the Home of Heroes.

  Sirios froze by the gates, paling beneath his kaftan. He eyed the nearby shrubs, contemplating diving into them, but instead stayed put, hoping the approaching Gaverian wouldn’t notice him as anything important.

  From the corner of his eye, Jenne saw a window on the top floor slide open. Hamis emerged, floating in white trousers and a loose shirt, a white scarf draped over his shoulders. He hadn’t even bothered with shoes, landing on the grass beside Ashey. He nodded at Jenne and rested a reassuring hand on Ashey’s shoulder.

  Flanking a tall, slim man with a strikingly youthful face was a pair of heavily armed soldiers. Unlike the soldiers, he wore a maroon suit, gold rings glittering on his fingers, matching earrings, a necklace, and bracelets. His hand rested lightly on his belly.

  “Sirios, I thought that was you,” the man said smoothly. “I’m here for my daughter. They told me she was here, so here I am.”

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  “Leave,” Demettle barked, his tone cutting. “You’re not welcome here.”

  The man’s amber eyes flashed. He took a deliberate step forward… then another… and another. Looking between Hamis and Jenne, he smiled at Ashey.

  “Ashamel,” he said. “I’m so glad we can finally meet in person.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Ashey snapped, her voice sharp and incredulous.

  “I’m your father, Ashamel,” Pariston said, his voice calm but firm. “I’m here to take you with me, back to Sexton.”

  “No, you’re not,” Ashey snapped, glaring. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  For a moment, Pariston stared, almost in awe. Then he placed a hand over his face and laughed softly into his palm. When he looked back at her, his smile was warm, almost tender. “You’re perfect,” he said, stepping closer.

  “Please don’t try to kidnap me,” Ashey groaned. “I am so over that.”

  “I’ll take you with me to the Sensera,” he said, voice steady. “There I’ll prove to you who you are. Your mother has stolen so many years away from us, but it doesn’t have to be that way anymore.”

  Demettle slammed his staff against the ground. A wave of marker force surged forward, slamming everything into the dirt—Jenne, Ashey, Hamis, the guests. Crates, speakers, tables, and chairs flew across the road. The force struck Pariston squarely in the chest, but he didn’t budge.

  “Hell,” Ashey groaned, trying to push herself up, but Demettle’s grip was too strong. Yet it wasn’t enough to subdue Pariston. Jenne checked his feet—gold spikes protruded from the ground, pinning him in place and countering Demettle’s power.

  The marker force slowly dissipated. Jenne moved his fingers, signalling readiness. Hamis tipped his chin at Ashey, and they nodded to each other in unison.

  Ashey was flung into the air. Jenne grabbed her mid-spin, snapping a string from the rooftop to steady her. Hamis formed quick hand signs, preparing to strike. Pariston reacted, swinging his foot to strike Hamis’ head. Pariston’s hands stayed in his pockets, eyebrows cocked at the groaning Hamis. Then, the Sexite Gaverian’s gaze shifted to the rooftop.

  With a sudden motion, Pariston leapt toward the roof. Jenne shoved Ashey out of harm’s way, crafting daggers in his hands as he charged the incoming crafter. Pariston was faster. He grabbed Jenne by the face before he could react, sending him smashing into the roofing tiles. The man’s speed and reflexes were inhuman.

  Twisting midair, Jenne slashed his foot out, hoping to catch Pariston off guard. The Sexite skipped over it, spinning to grab Hamis by the throat. Hamis flipped backward, planting both hands on Pariston’s cheeks. The Sexite’s head bent backward under Hamis’ spell, leaving his neck exposed. Jenne crafted a blade, bounced off a saucer, and slashed at Pariston’s throat.

  The blade shattered on impact. A glint of gold revealed a protective plate covering Pariston’s neck. Both boys gritted their teeth as the Sexite wrenched free. He grabbed Hamis by the head, slamming him onto the roof. Pariston dashed at Jenne, who staggered as an elbow smashed into his nose. He didn’t notice the spiked hammer coming down toward him—until it struck. He tipped, then crashed to the rooftop again.

  Below, Demettle lifted the Sexite soldiers, twisting their spines before dropping them dead. Sirios sprinted, holding Ashey close, and slid into their parked car. He floored it, leaving Pariston glaring from the rooftop. Hamis and Jenne had to hold the line.

  Jenne lunged at Pariston, only to be tripped immediately. He fell on his back as Pariston’s boot, golden spikes gleaming, hurtled toward his face. Hamis groaned, outstretching a hand to hold the Sexite’s leg back with every ounce of strength he had. Jenne gripped his blade tight and struck at Pariston’s ankle—clank! Metal. He raked his blade across the calf, shin, thigh, and knees—clank, clank, clank!

  Pariston grunted and stomped hard on the rooftop, knocking Hamis forward. He caught the marker in his armpit and slammed Jenne through the groin. Then, with a hand on the boys’ hair, he slammed their heads together.

  Pariston walked to the edge of the house, watching them struggle to rise. Jenne and Hamis tried—tried as hard as they could. Sirios should be halfway to the Ring by now. Pariston placed a hand on his waist and flexed his fingers, summoning a gleaming javelin. He heaved it, and the projectile shot with the force of a bullet.

  Jenne’s eyes widened. The javelin pierced the car and tarred road beneath, sending the back wheels skidding. The back door slammed open, followed by the driver’s side. Sirios and Ashey staggered out and sprinted toward the Ring, barely a step ahead of Pariston’s deadly aim.

  Pariston leapt from the rooftop. Golden pillars erupted from the earth beneath him, one after another, as he bounded forward, landing on each in perfect succession. Jenne retreated three steps and launched into the air, bouncing off a shield of light. The momentum helped—but not enough. Hamis surged past him, halting midair. He formed a sign, and an invisible force seized Pariston, hurling him through the Sorel estate. Walls crumbled, doors splintered, windows shattered, and dossi poured screaming from the house.

  Jenne landed and sprinted to assist. He shoved women aside, barrelling into the main hall. Hamis and Pariston crashed through the upper floor, grappling as they tumbled in front of him. Debris became weapons: shards of glass, broken pots, shoes, wooden splinters—all flung toward Pariston. They cut, stabbed, and slashed at him, overwhelming his defenses. A scream rang out—Ashey.

  “Hamis!” Jenne yelled as the marker broke free from Pariston and shot past him.

  Breathing heavily, Jenne reforged his blades. Pariston coughed, struggling to rise. He shrugged off his coat, his gaze piercing.

  “He’s better than his father,” Pariston said, smirking. “It would be a shame to kill him, to see such talent wasted. I’d be honoured to fight him again once he realizes his full potential. You, on the other hand, are a disappointment. I heard of an earthen ascender and was curious to see what you could do. So far… you’ve not impressed me.”

  With a swift strike, Pariston attacked, missing Jenne by mere inches. Jenne kicked back, dropping his blades, and cast a spell. Strings shot from opposite sides of the room, snaring Pariston’s feet and pulling his legs apart. Jenne caught his blades before they hit the floor, dashed forward, leapt onto a saucer, and landed squarely on Pariston’s shoulder. Locking his legs around the Gaverian’s head, he jabbed—jabbed, jabbed, jabbed, jabbed, jabbed, jabbed, jabbed.

  Clink, clank, clink, clank, clink, clank—the metal plating over Pariston’s face shattered under the assault. Flesh tore, sending shocks of pain through the Sexite. Pariston yanked Jenne off, slamming his brow into the earthen’s nose, but Jenne held firm, maintaining pressure, refusing to relent.

  Jenne crumpled—a brutal kick to the ribs had knocked him down. Pariston’s face was a mess of cuts and burns, smoke rising from the gashes. The gold crafter formed a massive golden sword, lifted it with both hands, and drove it through Jenne’s belly. The earthen didn’t scream; only a sharp whistle of pain escaped. Waves of throbbing agony rolled through him. His belly contracted, the wound forming a crude seal around the blade. His fingers grew cold, curling inward, heavy with shock. Pariston straightened, dusting off his suit, confident that Hamis would not catch him off guard this time.

  Hamis dropped from the sky, clutching Ashey. Jenne’s hope sank with him. A portal opened in the courtyard, and another Sexite stepped out—a man in a bronze uniform, tall like Pariston, with rich dark hair. Steffen Astra. Jenne realized he must have intercepted Hamis. The two Sexites spoke rapidly in a language Jenne didn’t understand, nodding and gesturing at Hamis. Pariston crouched, stroked Hamis’ hair, then nodded to Steffen. In an instant, Pariston pulled Ashey limp from Hamis and formed a golden blade—intent clear: they were going to sever Hamis’ fingers.

  Summoning every ounce of will, Jenne crafted a cord and pressed it against the giant sword in his belly. Heat sizzled as the cord burned through the metal. Sweat and pain seared every nerve. Counting to three, he braced himself.

  “One, two, three—”

  “AAAAAAARGH!” Hamis! Pariston and Steffen knelt in the courtyard, screaming. Their fingers bent and twisted. They slammed into the ground. Marker force kept them pinned. A force so strong it kept Jenne’s own skin pushed against his bones. Hamis was still lying flat on the ground. It couldn’t have been him. What was going on? Jenne puffed, counting to three again.

  “One, two—” The blade shot out of his belly and landed on the tiled floor. Before he could do any more, his body lifted off the ground and floated through the rubble. A bent pillar moved out of the way as he came outside and into the sunlight.

  A woman stood in the middle of the courtyard, her hands making fists at her side. She gave Jenne a long look, and he returned the favour. She wore the green and black of a Henrikian Gaverian, donned with a silver shoulder epaulet and the emblem of a scythe on her badge. Rank Spectre. She carried no outward expression on her face.

  She set Jenne on the ground once she was done inspecting him and walked over to Hamis. She picked him up and placed him behind her back. “You… won’t… get away with this,” Steffen hissed through his teeth, saliva shooting. She flicked a hand, and Steffen’s head spun around. His neck cracked and he slumped dead.

  Pariston choked, eyes bulging. She didn’t kill him though. Instead, he lifted off the ground and floated behind the marker, leaving together with she and Hamis. Long after she was gone, Jenne realized who that was supposed to be. Isse’s mother had returned. Jacqolin’s second in command, Renna Nyte.

  Hours passed and not much changed. With the house destroyed in part, the dossi joined Jenne as they sat in the shadow of Pariston’s gold towers. The orange sun behind them, they watched the displays of violent explosions colour the Henrikian night sky. Ashey sat on the sidewalk with Jenne. She had her hands firmly wrung around his arm, refusing to let out a single breath.

  Soon, a car drove down the road and stopped where they sat. Eden sat in the passenger seat, not giving Jenne or Ashey a glance. Pariston sat behind her, stiff and helpless. How was it possible to keep up a spell for this long? The door opened and Hamis stepped out. He was roughed up but fine. Ashey and Jenne got to their feet, with Ashey taking the lead to approach him.

  The two exchanged words in soft tones and Ashey threw herself at him, giving him a tight hug. Hamis put his head on her chin, closing his eyes. “I’ll miss you,” Ashey said.

  “I’ll miss you too,” he said, breaking free. Hamis stepped away from Ashey and smiled at Jenne.

  “I’m leaving for the Grem,” Hamis said. “I wanted to tell you but I..."

  Jenne said, “Sure.”

  “My mom isn’t the most understanding person,” Hamis said. “She doesn’t want anything to do with Henrikia anymore. I asked her if she could help with Blackwood but—”

  “It’s okay, Hamis,” Jenne said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Hamis forced down a lump and opened up his arms. “I’ll find a way to get in touch,” he said. “Friends?”

  Jenne flashed a smile and nodded sheepishly. “Sure.” Hamis let his hands down and forced a chuckle. He hurried back to the car and they drove off.

  “Do you think we’ll hear from him again?” Ashey asked.

  “I think so.”

  “How far away is the Grem?” she asked. “Do you think we can visit?”

  “I guess.”

  “Hamis,” Ashey sighed. “He must feel so lonely.”

  A ring of violet light spread across the sky, dissipating as soon as it formed. The city was in chaos. If there was a time to leave, now was it. No other immediate threat to Ashey’s life came to mind. This was the time to leave. But Ashey. Once she found out what he was up to, she would be devastated. He would not say goodbye.

  Rising to his feet, Jenne gave a flimsy excuse about needing to use the bathroom. Ashey opted to come along but he insisted he had to go alone. She refrained from following him, disturbed that she was sitting alone with no one to protect her. Already, she was terrified, maybe suspecting him even. He soldiered on, crossing the compound where Steffen’s cold body lay. His walk turned into a jog, then he darted up the wall and Jenne hissed. It burned! He crouched on the wall and thumped it with a fist. God, it did not stop. He pushed himself onto the other side and the pain ate through his neck.

  A thousand ants bit the same spot on his damned neck. He put his back on the ground, squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue, restraining a scream. He dug his nails into the wall and climbed back onto the other side. At first, he thought it was purely coincidental and had written it off. A tingling sensation on Jenne’s neck appeared as the distance between himself and Ashey grew. Quickly, he walked back indoors and searched through the rubbish for a mirror. One glowed behind a block of concrete. Jenne picked it up and darted along the wall once again. He sank his teeth into his collar and waited for the pain. Stepping across the wall, he looked in the mirror. His skin burned. Three rings—the smaller within the larger—glowed amber on his neck, searing his skin. Schemel! She’d trapped him with that spell.

  “You took way too long,” Ashey said. “Couldn’t find a working toilet?”

  “The ones on the lower floors work fine.”

  “Could you keep watch while I use the bathroom?” she said. “I don’t want to go alone.”

  “Sure,” he said, chuckling. “It’s not like we have a choice.” She giggled, unaware of the punishment he’d endured for her sake. Schemel learned this curse from Verimae, so he had no idea what its rules were. Clearly, Ashey felt nothing when they were apart. Did it have something to do with his intention to run away? Was she aware that he had tried to run? What does it matter? He wasn’t going anywhere like this.