“The dragonborn finds his way,” Hookvos announces over cheers blanketing the arena. His phoenix flaps its wings once, leaping to the other side of the open roof for a different vantage point. “Perhaps he is worthy of defending Miria’s name.”

  The words go in one ear and out the other. I’m cradling Layla in my arms, tracing the deep gash down from breast to belt. Links in her mesh armor torn in two. Black wisps of Gen’s warring dark slither up her neck, poisoning her.

  “Lay, say something.”

  “Another fucking scar.” She coughs out a laugh.

  I smile. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “Not so sure.” She winces.

  It’s true. Her face is pale like I’ve never seen, not a hint of rosy blood flowing, except out of the corners of her mouth. Blue eyes dull by the second.

  “Help!” I shout, but the healers are already here, pushing their way in to handle her like I don’t exist.

  As I’m shoved aside, I hold onto her hand, noticing her mark still resplendent.

  “A war bond is eternal,” Boeru chuffs solemnly. “I feel it the same as I did millennia ago.”

  I crawl around to try and hear what the healers are saying over the crowd.

  “Any other untrained first year would’ve been drained to death on the spot,” one healer says. “Lor’fyre’s dark levels are frighteningly high.”

  “What do you expect out of House Valor?” the main healer says. “Baenar produces legends.”

  “The gash is deep. Mortal, even.” The secondary healer’s bright hand waves over the wound.

  “We have to move her, now.” The main healer braces behind her.

  My throat dries at their panic, which spreads through me like a bolt of painful electricity.

  “The last man standing,” Head Magus regards me, and I don’t even turn his way. “Retrieve the pendant and claim your prize.”

  My eyes, my thoughts, my attention is only on her as she’s carried frantically toward the opening arena ledge. I stand to help, but the healers scold me.

  “Let us work, cadet,” the main healer says. “Your warring dark interferes with our bliss!”

  I stiffen and let go immediately, then continue at a close pace so not to lose her.

  “The cadet is not yet hardened… even coming from the Sept?” Hook bellows.

  “He fails to see the big picture. How else better to avenge your friend than to wield the treasures at your disposal?” Head Magus’ voice stops me in my tracks.

  I picture Kane captured and tortured. Jurso falling down the length of the spire. Layla… dying. All my fears strike through me as if he willed them to life in my mind.

  “Haledyn!” Karloth—my house lord—calls from his balcony. “You have made Sivus proud this day. Proven that my trade for Drydon is already paying off. Stake your claim.”

  I turn, sweeping my gaze through the arena.

  “Haledyn! Haledyn!” they cheer.

  “The dragonborn!” Jenny calls over the chant.

  Head Magus is right. Say I was thrown into the war-tier tomorrow. I’d fair better with that blade. Suppose Izfael decided to attack again—I could resist him with it.

  Walking over to the pendant sends a whirlwind of emotion barreling through me. The arena dirt has blood all over it. My fellow cadets are carried out at my sides. And when I pick up the pendant, the cheers feel hollow.

  What did I do to achieve it? Harm my brothers and sisters?

  “They will heal,” Boeru comforts. “You are taking a mighty step to our goals this day.”

  “Layla.” I shake my head.

  “Hold up the pendant to appease them, and go to her.”

  I hold the bloody piece of jewelry in my hands, analyzing the Miria shield-and-hammer insignia etched into it. As the pain of Layla’s sacrifice bubbles into my chest, I thrust the pendant up for all to behold. “Hookvos!” I shout, and the crowd dies down to whispers. “Kane Winbridge is my brother. When you watch from your high castle, tell him I’m coming to his aid!”

  The crowd roars at my proclamation.

  “I accept your gift!” I shout so loud my lungs hurt. “I accept it for him. And for Layla Barristan!”

  Once the crowd starts pumping their fists for me, I notice Karloth relaxing over the balcony ledge. Our eyes lock, and his nod of approval means something to me, apparently, because I feel it. He can hold the sword on my behest. That’s what my nod back to him communicates.

  And with that, I rush away to follow the healers. They’re not hard to catch up with since they’re carrying bodies to the Healing Wing—a place I haven’t had the dread of visiting yet. Most every healer has a painful-looking affliction attached to them—a scar across one’s throat, another missing an ear. I guess it’s true what they say about the blissful light… the body clings to it when suffering.

  I can’t imagine the training Jurso is going through.

  It could easily have been me in his shoes, if circumstances were different.

  Angelic statues reach gently from their daises, showcasing scars wherever the open robes peek and calm expressions on their faces. There’s a warmth to it. Like they’re here to help despite their suffering. It’s more enclosed than the Big Wing. Lower ceilings and more intimate hallways. We pass rooms full of beds—some with cadets sitting on them and healers assessing wounds, but it’s mostly empty—I’m assuming because of the arena challenge everyone’s packed into.

  Layla is whisked into a solo healing room and I tiptoe to the entrance, fearful that my warring dark will interfere with the process.

  “Stay back, cadet!” the main healer scolds me. “I don’t care if you’re the second coming of General Skaluz. Get out of my chamber while we work.”

  I curse and spin out of the room, pacing. Replaying Broggen’s lethal strike in my mind—his expression fully consumed by his riderborn spirit… was it really him who had the intention to kill?

  Jurso and crew scramble into the room, rushing to greet me. He grabs my cuirass. “She okay?” His eyes are all fear.

  “I don’t know. They’re saying my warring dark would interfere if I get too close.”

  “Because it pulses off you like a blackened heart,” Renesta says while walking in smoothly. “Your power grows by the hour, Hale.”

  “I don’t care. Layla,” I say it aloud so she knows where my priorities lie. She’s my fucking friend, and ran into an arena of spirit wielders and myth weavers just to have my back. As stupid as it was, no one else dared.

  “—Made a fatal mistake,” Renesta says evenly. “If anything, she slowed you down.”

  “Are you kidding? Bitch was badass.” Misty shoves her. “If Rogo hadn’t bear hugged me, I would’ve jumped right in there with her.”

  My eyes snap to Rogoshel. His tense jaw tells the truth of it. He really is starting to care about the group.

  “Don’t give me that look, Dragonborn. I only did it because I wanted to watch you die so I can steal your dragon,” Rogo says, and we smirk at each other.

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  I switch my attention to Jurso. “You’re training under a healing Prominent. Can you go in?”

  “Do you really want me to risk it? Let them work,” he sighs, because we both know he’s right.

  I pull at my hair. “Distract me then.”

  “Hale, the way you flew into that arena…” Misty clenches her fists. “That was the coolest thing I ever witnessed in my life. You should’ve seen everyone’s faces.”

  I fight my frown. She’s like a ball of unstoppable energy, even when things are glum.

  “It was quite an entrance,” Rogo agrees.

  “The challenge served as our most valuable lesson yet.” Renesta paces toward one of the statues, petting it gingerly. “We bore witness to some of the highest value first years, and now know their capacity.”

  “Damn straight.” Rogo punches his fists together. “If that animal bitch swipes those dirty claws at me, she’ll find an axe between the eyes.”

  “Easy, there.” I huff. “She might wind up saving our asses one day. You never know.”

  “This sanctum is a soldier-eat-soldier barracks,” Rogo growls. “Don’t be fooled by the pretty columns, Dragonborn. It’s like our stables… or worse, the Sept.”

  “Yeah.” Jurso rubs his chin. “Instead of tempered blood, now they’re tempering our minds.”

  “It’s a war school. They have to stir conflict and build bonds,” I say. “Creating artificial hostility between us through the four houses tests our dealings with adversity while making our links unbreakable.” I start to pace. “It’s the key to every noteworthy army in mythos. Banner men and women of old kingdomonia gathered together by a singular cause.”

  “And today’s task? Learn our brothers and sisters like they’re our enemy, so we can one day protect them,” Jurso says.

  A rush of adrenaline spikes through me as I dream of defending Lay. “We’re not only tethered by Boeru’s mark, but by our bonds from the Sept. Let’s make a pact, today, in this room.” I give a moment to let the words settle, analyzing their reactions.

  Rogo’s brow furrows, but his smirk is undeniable.

  Jurso nods at me.

  Misty, of course, beams at the idea.

  Only Renesta is hard to read, but she’ll join in.

  “Once Layla is upright and out of that bed, we climb to the top of Sivus—get our own suite to dump all of our won weaponry, and ride this sanctum all the way to the top. Not for the houses. Not for Miria. We do it for us. We’re lone-trotting puppets who’ve been lied to since the beginning. We’re climbing the hell out of that, and have a whole world to find.”

  “Hell yeah.” Misty pumps her fist.

  “What if one of us gets traded?” Jurso grits his teeth, and I walk up to him.

  “Then that’s one of us on the inside of enemy walls. Welcome it.” I nudge him.

  He pushes his lips to one side but nods again. “Yeah.”

  “Boeru chose us for a reason… he sees something in us. You with me?”

  Jurso hits my back with fervor. “Since I met you.”

  Rogo folds his arms. “As long as I get to bash Broggen’s face in for trying to kill us.”

  “The dragon’s spirit is alive within you.” Renesta lifts her chin at me.

  “Damn fucking right it is.” Misty mistook Renesta’s testiness for comradery, and I love it. “Ride the sanctum together. Let’s do it.” She slaps my hand three times to show her excitement.

  The glass-rank band Head Magus enchanted onto my arm suddenly shimmers white under my armor.

  “Oh man.” Jurso pokes at it. “You and Lay are two of the first starting the climb through glass rank. Wait. Does that count as a victory for her too? Gods, tell me that event only counted for one victory? No way.” He looks for clues around the band, but nothing comes up.

  “Guess that’s all built into the enchantment,” I say.

  “Can’t wait to get in there. Been sparring like a madwoman every day in class with this guy healing me.” Misty pushes Jurso. “Best get ready, bliss-man. We’re going to climb the next arena mountain if it kills us. Hah.”

  “Remember where you are.” Renesta snaps her tongue.

  “Right. Sorry,” Misty whispers.

  We linger for a while around the healing ward. Rogo and Misty itch to head back and catch Izfael’s grand challenge, but they know better than to ask with Layla being worked on in the next room. My emotions go haywire in the interim. Replaying Gen’s slash over and over again makes my blood boil… it drove me to stab him.

  But I know that bastard is too strong to die. I’m not even worried about him.

  Layla…

  Have to stay distracted.

  “There are pacts made like ours all over the sanctum,” I say. “We saw it today. Broggen’s brutes, Fiora’s followers, Izfael’s servants. We have to study them all to best them.”

  “Now we know why they follow Fiora. It’s not just her arrogance,” Jurso replies.

  “It’s true. Fiora was a mystery until today,” Renesta adds. “My guess? Her shapeshifting only occurred in her Prominent class. Only her closest knew what she was capable of. Now? We know her powers and limitations. Same with our fearless dragonborn. Boeru seems able to overpower other spirits, yet can be impaled by a dark-enchanted blade.” She peruses another statue.

  The way she speaks makes me uneasy, even if my rousing speech before called for it. She’s more tactical than she lets on.

  “You seem interested, all of a sudden.” Jurso tilts his head. “I thought I was the only one taking notes today.”

  She sniffs at that. “Perhaps I found a reason to participate.”

  My neck tenses at her words. Did my visit in the night mean that much?

  She continues on, “If nothing else is clear, the Head Magus seeks for us to think strategically, and will reward us for drawing blood.”

  “That’s the sad truth of it.” Jurso rubs his temples. “Which is why I have to study these bliss mythos tomes a bit harder. That way when one of us gets hurt, I can be the aura you guys need.”

  “Noble, Jursento.” Renesta smiles, making her way back toward the group. “There are threats beyond any of our skill though. Second years. Third years. Fourth years. Don’t forget our ranking in the grand scheme. We’re too new to compete. And there is one of us we learned more of today… Lor’fyre. His attunement develops far faster than any of us can keep up with.”

  “It’s his bond,” I say evenly. “He’s figuring out how to manage it, and they feed off each other well.”

  “Shadow snapping is an art as old as the warring dark,” a deep, throaty voice scares us all stiff, followed by the clack of a cane.

  We all turn at once to Scorius making his way in.

  “Broggen Lor’fyre is Miria’s future. A general’s mind combined with a warrior’s dedication. He thinks only of advancement with his army in tow.” Scorius’ cane taps with every step closer.

  “Yet sits in a ward with dragonborn wounds in his belly,” Misty says defiantly.

  Scorius cackles at that. “A fatal mistake, as is the point of these exercises. The five of you best bet… he will never make it again.”

  The drone of his voice lingers in the air like a beast’s growl.

  “You could’ve warned us,” I say. “About the rules of challenge in the sanctum.”

  He grumbles. “There are many uncertainties in battle. To think you scoped out the enemy army, only for a left flank to soar from the west. What do you do, Dragonborn? All of your riders and mages cast north.”

  I decide to remain quiet, even though I’m boiling. I get his point. We can’t know everything in advance. Then we’d never learn to adapt.

  “Wise not to answer. How could you? You never lived it.” He eyes all of my marked carefully, black feathery wisps trickling down his robes. “Events like these are that left flank. All part of it.”

  “Part of what?” I ask.

  “Your Rite of Ascension.” He stamps his cane, sending wisps gliding toward the floor like a bird shedding feathers. “Tutors and house lords watch with keen eyes. Decisions under duress, bravery amidst a battalion. Willingness to kill.”

  I clench my jaw at that. “And what did you learn of me, Prominent?”

  His mouth snaps into an angry smile. “Leave us.” His growl sends a tenseness wafting around the room.

  After a moment of hesitation, my marked eye one another and begin filing out of the ward. Once we’re alone, Scorius leans uncomfortably close.

  “Listen carefully. The house lords and Head Magus speak openly of you and Barristan. They also talk of Fontus—who defied the rules of the duel by leaping on as the third. There are lessons to be gained on every turn. Note that Fontus was hailed, not shamed for his action.”

  “Left flank,” I say.

  “Indeed. Hookvos came for a display from the sanctum, cadets worth sponsoring in the war-tier. Though the Head Magus angered at the disorganization, he understood the end goal would be beneficial nonetheless.”

  “I see. Is it like old wars of mythos? Sponsors get first grabs at enemy lands conquered by their champions?”

  “And steadfast protection from Miria’s battalions if their lands are under siege. Perks for donating wealth to the cause.” Scorius leans forward, perching over his cane. “Long wars are like an unstable potion. Explosions are commonplace with the variety of variables stirring within it.”

  “You were one of them, I hear.”

  His nostrils flair as he takes in a long breath. “You are veering far from relevance.”

  I swallow past a lump.

  “Your focus should be on the lessons in the arena. Crawl before you fly, Dragonborn.”

  I do my best not to wince. I hit a nerve.

  “Right. Fontus’ left flank. But what of mine? Layla coming to my aid. The crowd hated it.”

  “At first,” Scorius says. “Then when it became clear the riderborn and shifter made a pact, the crowd turned again. They are fickle like that, and enjoy the twists and turns of a good fight.”

  Thinking back to Fontus cleaving Fiora from the back sends a chill down my spine.

  “I’m alive because of luck,” I admit.

  “That’s partially true. Or perhaps, you knew from the beginning the limitations of spice… or lack thereof… where the shifter made a critical mistake,” Scorius goes on. “The events unfolded as they were meant to. Each blunder more punishable than the last. The riderborn underestimated you because of your lack of experience. The shifter’s arrogance was rewarded with an axe to the back. And Barristan… her loyalty earned her wound.”

  I shut my eyes tight at that one. As if the guilt couldn’t weigh any more.

  “Which leaves you. The one still standing. I’m afraid your stay here will no longer be that of an invisible insect.” He grunts. “You received your lashings from the high-society cadets on your first day, survived Izfael’s assassination attempt. Now you thrive in front of the entire sanctum.”

  The guilt morphs into anxiety. More targets on my back.

  “You are right to be worried.” Scorius nods. “I would condemn you if you weren’t. Bring him out.”

  “Here?” I spread my arms, noting the serene atmosphere.

  “Did I stutter, boy?”

  Boeru claws out like wings spurting from my back. He remains a carefully small manifestation—just a maw over my shoulder, his crystal-blue eye staring unwaveringly at my Prominent.

  “I will speak frankly,” Scorius says. “As I said before—Broggen is the key to this generation. He has already unleashed his trait—albeit a common one. Shadow snapping will keep him alive if he is slashed off his beast, or outnumbered one hundred to one. But this is a known specialty to the enemy. It can be planned against. I told him the same as I tell the two of you.”

  I stand at attention, listening, while Boeru chuffs as if he wants to tear the tutor’s head off.

  “He is a prodigy of the warring dark. You… are not. However, your bond is strong. If we can unleash your trait in the coming semesters, we might have two worthy in this year’s class.”

  “We will do our best, Prominent.” I bow my head.

  “Hm. That you will.” He waves his hand casually, dissipating Boeru like he’s nothing.

  I hold back my awe and watch as he hobbles to slide open the ward where Layla is being taken care of. Before I can try to stop him, he just watches on.

  “W—will she be okay?”

  His hawkish eyes scan her body. “Her road will not be easy. Though her Prominent recognized her this day.”