“Are we done?” Head Magus is sick of his arena event turning into a circus.

  Four of us stand facing each other—Broggen, Fontus, Fiora, and myself—in a red-floor arena with a giant crystal-white phoenix watching over from the open roof. An audience of thousands surrounds us, but it’s not them that grabs my attention. We all glance at the donated hyrolth blade being placed in its trophy holster over the elite balcony ledge.

  It shimmers in the sunlight like a resplendent treasure.

  Magic reflection, indestructible. Anyone who wields it will be leagues ahead of the other first years.

  Maybe a sword like that could neutralize Gen’s weapon enchantments, or at least have an edge against them.

  Warring dark whips around my forearms as the standoff intensifies—Boeru coming out to growl whenever one of the cadets stares too long.

  Head Magus turns from scolding his house lords when all eyes turn to something behind me. Now what?

  There’s movement in the audience, grumbling as someone shoves their way to the first section of the arena.

  Woosh!

  Layla leaps over the boundary and into the arena ground, making my eyes go wide. She stomps forward with her shield drawn, determined frown plastered on her face.

  “What was that balance you were speaking of, Karloth?” Headmagus sneers at him, then faces forward. “That’s enough. We will accept no more contenders onto the arena. Cadets, stand down.” A frosty wave of wind blankets the arena, sending a chill down my spine.

  “My, my, Head Magus, how the zealous hanker for a chance at hyrolth steel.” Hook cackles.

  “Lay, what the fuck?” I whisper.

  “Guide and guard.” She punches her shield.

  Now I’m the one worried. Sure, she’s fearless, but she has zero magic, and she’s stuck in a cage bursting with it. Literally.

  Gen bares his teeth under his cowl. “Had I known we could invite friends to this excursion, perhaps I might’ve.”

  “The one living inside you isn’t enough?” Fiora sneers.

  “I trade bloody axe for pretty sword, once it claims your heads.” Fontus twists the double-head, then lets it crash into the sand.

  “Going for kills, then?” Fiora smirks. “Probably should’ve thought better of that before entering the arena with a myth weaver.”

  “All from the same sanctum. Why don’t we bring it down a notch?” I say.

  “I have a war to get to, Dragonborn. Go sit in the corner if you’re having second thoughts.” Fiora cracks her knuckles.

  “Miria loses battle after battle.” Fontus lifts his axe only to drop it again. “Because Lacor ruthless. We must harden to match. No hesitation. No fear. Like Head Magus.”

  Layla and I side-eye each other. Of course I leapt into an arena of overzealous psychos. I guess the Sept prepared us for the worst.

  The phoenix extends its wings—crystalline tips reflecting prismatic light.

  “Anashi grows impatient.” Hook pets her. “Head Magus, show me Miria isn’t doomed.”

  Foren begrudgingly abides, facing us from his balcony, directly above the hyrolth steel trophy. “Layla Barristan of House Sivus is the last contender. Now… retreat to your corners.”

  Five step stools ascend from the end of the arena, sand trickling down them. We each turn our backs to one another and walk to the ones closest to us. My mind is on fire the whole way. The only opponent I know is Gen. Not sure how much he’s grown since the last few Prominent classes have been solo, but it’s safe to say Noctus is reeling to get out.

  Don’t clash head-on with him. He’ll only open an arsenal from his sword.

  “Until you manifest me, I will watch your back, mortal,” Boeru promises.

  “Okay. No fire.”

  Boeru chuffs. “My dragon fire could end this bout before it begins. We’d then see how eager they are to play for heads.”

  The prospect is enticing, but I’ll pass out if he tries. My gaze switches to Fiora—the woman has let on little to nothing about herself. Fighting style, weapon choice, magic affinity… all a mystery. The only thing I know is that she’s a myth weaver—royal mages with unique traits. Best to let one of the others test her out.

  I stare at the huge bald man to my right. Even with green blood leaking down his teeth, he’s the least intimidating. I’ve never seen spice so dramatic, but he seems the only basic opponent. Avoid his axe. That’s it.

  Layla’s blue eyes demand my attention. Still can’t believe she’s here. We’re going to be viewed as cheaters by the entire sanctum for this stint. Gods… what if they make us turn against one another as part of the game?

  My breath hitches when Head Magus speaks again.

  “Future warriors. The rules of the arena are simple. Last one standing with the pendant in hand receives the sword. Suffering a severe or mortal wound casts you out of the race. Give your donor a show.”

  Pendant? What?

  Before I can question anything further, a mountainous rock lifts from the center point of the arena beneath the sand, blocking out my view of Gen immediately. Water rushes down one end, crashing into a reservoir made out of thin air.

  Creationist spells. Who’s doing that? I stare up to see Head Magus standing leisurely over us. No glowing eyes, no indication. Boeru… this is…

  “Elden Magic.” He’s as surprised as I am.

  The sanctum has a gods-damn Elden mage just casually sitting in an arena with first years? That makes no sense.

  “Haledyn, focus on our opponents. We can take this to the library later.”

  “Right.”

  Once the mountain is done shaking the entire sanctum as it reaches its peak, a gold pendant manifests, spinning midair. The first person to reach for it would be a fool, wouldn’t they?

  Unless they’re trying to impress…

  House Rhylock, looking at you. Then again, putting on a show for the donor, swaying a castle owner… that could go a long way long-term.

  We’re too new to try.

  I look at Layla and shake my head. She understands. As soon as the battle begins, we’re going to fall into position side by side.

  “Warriors. On my mark…”

  I hold my dagger hilt tighter in its sheath and get into running position. For all I know, Fiora could hurl a fireball over the mountain to burn me alive. Or maybe I’ll suffer one of Gen’s manifested arrows through the heart.

  Have to be ready for anything.

  “Begin!”

  Fontus roars as expected, and I hear rocks crunching like thunder opposite me while Layla and I dash to one another.

  “You had to fucking fly in all dramatically,” Layla growls.

  “Are you kidding? Me, the dramatic one?”

  We share a panicked smirk.

  “I need to understand our opponents,” I tell her.

  “Half the reason I ran in here is because of the brute. He’s not an ordinary spicer, Hale. In my sparring class, he exuded wind magic to propel him.”

  “Gods. Is everyone above the sub-tier freaking attuned to wind?” I grit my teeth. “Still, Lay. He’s the least threatening.”

  “I agree. So, what’s the plan?”

  “I’ll attack Fontus outright as soon as he nabs the pendent. I’m almost certain he’s going to go for it. Fiora and Gen are side by side from their starting points, so hopefully my distraction on Fontus will persuade them to attack one another.”

  “Risky,” she says. “They could come for either us or the baldy once they see we’re distracted.”

  “Worth it. I have your shield and Boeru watching my back. We’re three against one in some cases. With me?”

  “Run with it. Guide and guard.” She adjusts her shield.

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  We head carefully toward the thirty-foot mountainous hill, hopping over a brook and crunching weeds under our boots. This is surreal. I suddenly feel like a stable beast in someone else’s barn. I’m going to be harassing all of my war-tutors for answers if I make it out of this.

  Pebbles roll down the hill from activity close by. Hopefully it’s the brute still climbing. I have to get about twenty paces up before he makes it to the top—so my dagger is in range to bite.

  The terrain we trek is jagged, but it’s not completely vertical.

  We crawl carefully, inching away from the noise to our left.

  “Any signs?” I whisper over my shoulder.

  “Clear.”

  “Okay, few more steps to that flat land, and I should have a clear shot.” I point, and she nods.

  We carefully scale. The intensity of my warring dark is like a threat meter. There’s a lull right now, so I think we’re clear.

  The crowd to our side “Oohs!” which makes me think something happened out of sight.

  Once settled on the piece of flat land, I look to the mountaintop. The crowd stomping at my back is distracting and awe-inspiring at the same time.

  “Rrr!” Fontus rears his spiced-out head from the other side. He made it to the top first, as expected, flexing for the crowd right beneath the pendant.

  If he wasn’t so stone-headed, he would realize he has the best vantage point of the arena right now. Too bad.

  I whip my chained dagger into a quick rotation to aim, and as soon as the brute grabs the pendant, let it fly. Feeling the links flow through my loose grip is satisfying, knowing my aim is true.

  Rrrahr!

  My heart stalls when a four-legged beast tackles Fontus right off the mountaintop, leaving my dagger to hit nothing but air.

  “Fiora is a tamer?” My face scrunches. “When did she even sneak a beast into—”

  “Hale!” Lay throws up her shield as Gen’s warring dark shadow molds to life from the brook, black spear in hand. I notice the ornate, wispy gold lines drawn on the spear. It’s from his enchanted sword. Has to be.

  Gods. Scorius taught Gen to grant Noctus manifested weapons.

  Woosh!

  The spear looses, and Lay holds up her shield to block perfectly. Wham! A blast of black mist sends her flying past me as she tumbles down the mountain.

  Holy! That’s strong magic!

  “Lay!”

  “Eyes forward, mortal,” Boeru warns.

  I watch as Broggen snaps to Noctus like he’s flung out of a slingshot, merging with the shadow.

  “Hope your lessons have been as productive as mine, Dragonborn.” Broggen unsheathes his sword, stalking forward.

  I whip my dagger back into my grip, spin it twice on the chain, and let it fly.

  Ting!

  He knocks it flying with precision, using the lull to dash as I try to reel the chain for another round. I’m backpedaling, doing my best not to tumble twenty feet, managing the growing pressure cycling my forearms.

  Gen has grown even more terrifying than when we first met. He stands unworried, handing off his enchanted sword to a mangled shadow struggling to take shape as it pushes out of his body. Noctus snarls as he rips away into his own independent form.

  As jarring as the sight is, I ignore the threat and rush to higher ground, taking stock that Gen is now unarmed. Two momentum-gaining swings and a hard toss sends my dagger flying.

  Shng!

  With a mighty whoosh, the shield manifests out of Noctus’ sword to defend Gen.

  Of course. I grit my teeth, dashing farther back as Noctus ignores the terrain with his ethereal legs and glides to meet me head-on.

  “Boe!” I press into the ring, feeling relief when I prick myself as the pressure of the dark manifests into the mighty Torn Wing.

  All of the dragon’s pain and strength become mine as he lunges forward to thwart the notorious rider of the afterlife. He catches the sword with one talon and smacks Noctus flying with his good wing.

  Hell yeah!

  “Too easy,” Gen sneers, bow now in hand—the same one he used to help us climb the spire. He took his brute’s weapon!

  Fss! Fss! Fss!

  He looses three arrows in quick succession, piercing Boeru’s gray scales and sending waves of hot pain scorching my side. The crowd roars at my back as Boeru is forced to retreat back into me. As soon as he dissipates the pain triples, like I’m hoarding both his and mine.

  “Arrows enchanted with the dark,” Boeru huffs. “Send me back out!”

  As I’m about to heed the call, Gen closes his fist, crushing black slivers to dust. Whatever he just did ignites the magical residue around my wounds to burn even more.

  My vision goes black.

  I fall hard to one knee, blinking in quick succession, trying to make out the foggy shapes slowly returning.

  The hell kind of power is this?

  “Haledyn!” Boeru’s echoing voice snaps me out of it.

  Gen… he’s coming. With a quick dash to reclaim his sword, he sprints up the jagged hill to slash me down.

  Trying to get back up, I’m pulled by the blinding pain.

  This hurts more than the fucking dagger to the heart.

  “Because the burn is magical. Fight through it! Release me, mortal!”

  I shift my ring to a new, unscathed spot on my finger and press it again.

  It’s no use. The warring dark cycles like molasses, and the sharp pain only intensifies.

  Shit, they’re going to pull me out of the fight for this wound.

  I look up to see Gen reeling back, mere steps away from cleaving me.

  Nope. Going to be worse than that.

  “Boe!”

  I grit my teeth, trying my hardest to will him out.

  Fsss!

  Steam hisses out of me, the dragon’s maw forming for an instant before dissipating to mist. Desperately, I clamor for my dagger, reeling the chain. Nope. No time. Use the chain.

  I grasp the links in hand and hold it up just as Gen descends.

  He’ll snap right through them. Shit!

  I turn my head when I feel a rush of wind from the other direction.

  Wham!

  Layla bashes Gen off balance—sending him tumbling twice before his fingers scrape against the rock to catch himself. She plants both feet protectively in front of me, scraped and battered from her fall.

  Thank the gods.

  I scramble to my feet and put one hand on her shoulder as the crowd boos loudly. “Looks like we’re not winning any popularity contests anytime soon.”

  “Least you still have your head,” she scoffs.

  “There is that, yes.” I pat her twice before whipping my blade back in hand. The warring dark is slowly speeding up again around my arms. Guess Broggen’s magical poison is short-lived.

  “Wooa!” the crowd cheers, and I have no idea why.

  When I glance over my shoulder, I’m forced to turn completely around. Fontus is sprawled on his side, mauled and spitting green blood while a thin crimson tigress prowls forward with the pendent clutched between her fangs.

  I’m not sure whether to impale it, or scout for wherever the hell Fiora went. She has to be watching close by… waiting. But she didn’t have any weapons—

  Yellow wisps huff out of the tigress’ mouth, swirling around her entire body as she slowly gets to her hind legs, shedding her fur into the ether as a grinning Fiora rises with the pendent in her grasp.

  “Gods of hell!” I take a step backward until I’m flush against Lay’s armor.

  “What?” Lay speaks over her shoulder.

  “Fiora’s a shapeshifter. That’s her unique trait.”

  My mind races through old mythos… stories of that kind of magic… not spirit based like an awakening, but more of a mimic.

  “Stand firm, mortal, and search your thoughts for something we can actually use,” Boeru warns.

  “Right.”

  Hm… They need aspects of the beasts they turn into. Some wear fangs around their necks—which I don’t see on her…

  It hits me like a sparring stick. Her braids. Not all of it is hair. The metal clamps have fur in them. I need to lop off her gods-damn scalp.

  “End of the line, Dragonborn. You and your little bodyguard can surrender now.” Gen lifts off his cowl, eyes glowing white. “The sanctum already hates you.”

  I gnaw my bottom lip. Why is he only addressing me?

  Lay and I fidget as the two enemies inch closer from either side.

  “That’s right. We made a pact just as your friend showed up to protect you. Wipe the board. Then, we’ll deal with each other.” Gen’s straight face is worse than Fiora’s smug one.

  “Plan?” Lay whispers nervously.

  The warring dark riles as Boeru sways around my back, trying to get out. One glance at that trophy sword hanging from the balcony evokes images of Kane standing over me in the sub-tier, protecting me against spicing brutes. I was useless then.

  My tempered blood boils.

  Adrenaline roars through me like a rushing river.

  The news of my brother losing himself after his awakening… I need to save him. Layla… I can’t let her down.

  I’m the dragonborn.

  Snapping back to reality, I know Lay can match Gen physically, but one magical hit and she’s done.

  He used a lot of the dark though. He has to be starving for energy… even if he doesn’t show it.

  Swinging my dagger in place while gauging Fiora, I analyze her smug expression as she whips her tri-braid so the furry links settle over her shoulder. She’s going to shift again.

  Then I notice something… something no one else does.

  “We’re going for Gen,” I whisper.

  Lay nods, and I take a deep breath.

  “Fiora.” I catch the dagger to keep her attention, squeezing the hilt tight before sending it into swinging motion again.

  “Famous last words?” Fiora pets her hair and plucks out a piece of fur from the lower half of her braid, twisting it in her grasp as golden slivers undulate around her palm.

  “Guess where you come from, sitting in your ivory tower, you don’t deal with spicers too often,” I say. “Just a tip for next time, make sure they’re dead.”

  Fontus leaps with a mighty roar—blood leaking out of every claw mark down his abdomen—and slashes Fiora hard across the back. The last thing I see before I turn is her back arched from the horrible wound, and tigress claws formed in place of her hands as she spins and swipes.

  “Now, Boe!”

  I whip the chain so my dagger hilt claps into my hand, spin, and push off Layla to leap toward Gen. Out of the corner of my eye I see Gen’s plan in motion—Noctus crawls on the ground like some half-demon silhouette—so I mentally send Boe roaring over Layla to protect her.

  Our marks shine brightly on our arms, but I can’t afford to think about why, or what it means.

  As I meet Gen face to face, he seems so much more intimidating. He presses forward with the flat of his sword, even knowing I have the faster weapon short range.

  Cling!

  He shoves my dagger off course, then whacks me with the blade like I’m nothing.

  As I fly off balance, the trails of Boeru manifesting to pin down Noctus remain.

  My back scrapes against the jagged slope as Lay leaps in to guard. A quick look at Boeru swiping at Noctus gives me hope—his enormous talons raking the shadow into mist, until—shloo!

  Broggen snaps into Noctus’ place like a whip and jabs his sword through Boeru’s maw.

  “Rrrru!” Boeru is forced to dissolve into my shoulders, swirling into my abdomen as he suffers the pain of a magical stab.

  That ability of Gen’s is ruining everything.

  As Lay dashes in the other direction to meet Gen—foot pushing off a jagged stone—I kick up to my feet and whip my chain in hand. One swing and I toss it to race Lay.

  The dagger point soars on a true path, on course to land square in Gen’s chest.

  Fssst!

  He holds up his hand, letting it pierce him.

  What?

  The chain coils as he smirks—Noctus’ expression tracing his. Did he just use my blade to release his warring dark? Is he mad?

  Black copious matter swirls around his enchanted sword as he clashes with Layla. She meets two hard strikes with her sparring sword, her legs nearly crumpling with each clash. Her perfect form and rivaling strength pales against the dark. All the training seems useless in this moment without magic.

  I strafe for a clear shot and whip the dagger again for his leg.

  He releases one hand and claws it to summon the shield, but Layla drops her own shield and grabs his hand, suffering the warring dark with gritted teeth.

  Fsst!

  My dagger bites into Gen’s shin, white-hot anger glowing through his eyes. He headbutts Layla and cuts the sparring sword in half, and in a blur, slices Layla hard across the chest.

  “No!” Through my leaking wounds, I exhale Boeru out of me—which sends him flying and yanking me by the back of the neck, sending me torpedoing forward. I whip my dagger back in hand and plunge it through Gen’s abdomen, clutching his neck with my free hand to choke him, while Boeru catches up to pin down a writhing Noctus forming out of his shadow.

  “You tried to kill Jurso! Now, Layla!”

  I stab again as Boeru claws.

  For an instant in time, I merge with Boeru—seeing his past as he soared down into an army of flaming spears set to pierce him. I feel his instincts as he spins midair to evade, and then comes the cerulean fire.

  Ffff!

  Boeru and I make the combined decision to exhale the magical flames over Noctus, burning the chaotic silhouette, draining all the blood from my face and limbs and freezing Gen’s body into painful shock as Noctus combines back with him.

  Heartbeat pulsing in my ears, vision blurry, I can’t believe what’s in front of me. Broggen Lor’fyre, bested.

  My limbs shake as I push upright, yanking the dagger out of his abs.

  His body convulses as I rise. The packed audience cheers my name as I look to see white-robed healers rushing onto the arena floor, two of which are already tending to Fiora and Fontus—who both left each other bleeding.

  None of it matters. None of it.

  I turn my head and run.

  “Layla…”