Summer humidity fades into an autumn chill as the month goes by. Back in the sub-tier, the weather shifts were nothing but temperature swaps. Here? The trees change beautifully to all different colors and the grass blends to brown, appearing as a mythos fever dream to any of us “orphans.” Most of my fellow siblings are already past the awe. But for some reason… I’m not.

  My weeks have been different, to say the least. Praise and hate tripled since my arena victory. Some call me a cheater for bringing a body guard to the fight, others acclaim my ruthlessness. And regardless of feelings toward me, all gape at the sword on my belt.

  House Lord Karloth presented it to me the day after the victory, sharing words of pride I didn’t deserve, while Layla rested unconscious in a healer’s bed. Still, I listened. The sword’s name was “Spellglass,” my guess because of the ability to reflect magic and its crystalline shine. I didn’t dare ask, since Karloth didn’t offer, and instead ran to the library to confirm the truth of my assumptions. My marked put it to the test every spare moment in the Sivus arenas.

  Some other cadets offered their high-magic affinities to test the sword. Safe to say, I was embarrassed on more than occasion when their spells knocked me on my ass. It’s not as easy as I thought lining up sword and spell. There’s a technique to it I don’t yet understand, and I swear anti-mage mythos have been stripped from the library. For sure, this is being hidden from us. Why? Gods know. I guess one of the weapon’s tutors will be the only way to unlock this secret.

  Here I sit on a crowded night in the Sivus arena, a month and two days since the victory. Layla grasps her chest every few steps, choking back a grunt. She hobbles with a cane from nerve damage, shouting for Misty to fix form. Rogo was dick-enough to call her Scorius once, making us all chuckle. But he only did it because she’s obviously healing. Her heart had to be touched by bliss, which is cause for the slow recovery. Apparently, a straight pulse to it can cause trauma to the body. The more I learn…

  I’m grateful she’s alright.

  “High block. Shift weight to your back foot, woman. You can’t be all charging bull when you’re the size of a fucking gnat.” Layla slaps the sparring arena ledge as Misty stands firm against Rogo.

  Izfael’s challenge ignited a frenzy of first years scrounging for loot. Elshard arena has been busy weekly since. And my marked want their chance to shine. We learn the system of acquiring House Sivus’ enchanted artillery taunting us behind glass. Victory in a scheduled skirmish with a ring leader present earns you a point, as does kiss-ass style merits from war-tutors. If you chase those… best be ready to be ridiculed. I’ve been ambitious going for both.

  Seventeen deaths in a month tempers me with caution, however. Two of which I witnessed, same as in Carlyle’s care. This time the mishaps occurred in Battle Riders class, both of them. One was trampled, and the other fell off one of those hefty-winged squalls to his death. Made me think twice about trying out a mid-sized gryphon. Gave me a whole new respect for riders too. I’ll stick to ground mounts for now, thank you very much.

  My attention is pulled to the two other sandy sparring arenas to my side. Whenever a powerful spell is conjured, I always like to watch the outer arena magic barriers somehow catch the spells and dissipate them. But tonight, that’s not why I turn my head.

  Renesta… is nowhere to be found, again. She’s so aloof at times I wonder if she’s going to dive headfirst into the sub-tier portal. I’ll bet my life she shows up tomorrow though, like she decides to do when we all least expect it.

  I’ve kept my distance since Lay’s near-fatal wound, out of respect, I think. How would it look if I was out frolicking with her while Layla was bedridden? Guess I did it just for appearances though, because the truth is, my heart still jumps whenever I think about her… and that kiss.

  “Gotcha, bitch.” Misty holds a shortsword to Rogo’s chest as one of his gums leaks with spice.

  “Now you find your measly wind affinity?” Rogo snarls and leans into the edge, poking himself enough for blood to seep through the leather armor just to show how tough he is. It works, because Misty backs up.

  “The hell, man?” She swipes the blade clean.

  “Back up! Point, Misty. Again!” Layla bangs her resting shield like a gong.

  Turns out Misty’s Prominent saw a bit of high-magic potential in her and has been trying to evoke it since. It’s shoddy, and caused her quite a few new scars on her arms from poorly timed attempts, but once in a while, a stray gust of wind leaves her palm.

  I’ve been deep in the books and discussions about it—high magic is generated from the world around us. Since we were mostly closed off due to our Elden-magic black sky, the lot of us from batch one through twenty-eight are new to its potential. Albeit since the warring dark buds in some of us, it’s less likely high magic will take. Mythos has been interesting, for sure.

  Rogo, on the other hand, is literally being trained how to manage spice intake. There are limitations to dosing, because too much can lead to withdrawals and ultimately atrophy. It’s a questionable choice the sanctum made in leaning into drug use. But I guess in war, all edges are viable.

  I watch them all closely, learning their strengths and their weaknesses while working on my own. Boeru is shameless in pointing them out. He’s been through thousands of battles, so here’s hoping he can make warriors out of us yet.

  “Be back.” Jurso waves his hand, turning away.

  His cough makes me wince, and his hurriedness to leap into a healing aura every time twists my gut like a rag. I swear, the meds we had in sub-tier were more manageable. The scarcity made us think twice before using them.

  Now? I’m not so sure the tradeoff is worth it.

  Watching him inhale sharply inside a heavenly golden aura is an odd thing to witness. He sighs with relief, a euphoric smile washing across his face as his eyes close.

  In truth, the bliss scares me more than the warring dark—the idea of clinging to a crutch.

  “Give me a go with it, Hale.” Rogo curls his finger, nodding at my sword.

  Wouldn’t be the first time.

  I draw it, letting the crystalline edge evoke the same awe it always does. Only my marked get to spar with it. Not only is it deathly sharp, but it makes rival blades quiver whenever they clash.

  “Dragonshit,” Misty scoffs. “Hale, then I get your dagger.”

  I sigh and unravel the chain before tossing it to her.

  “You two have the attention deficit of a red hound!” Layla scolds them. “Can’t even keep your footing right with your home weapons.”

  She’s taking her frustration out on anything that moves. It’s fun to watch, honestly, but still… I’m worried about her. First night back in our quarters, in her own bed, she confided through tears how useless she felt. Everyone around her has magic strength aiding their attacks, everyone but her.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  To boot, every day she has to watch us grow stronger and more nimble, while she’s forced to coach from the sidelines. On the plus side, she’s made some friends in high places. The woman knows how to use her earned clout, that’s for sure.

  “They’ve been at it for hours, guard. Let them play a little.” I smirk at her as I make my way to Jurso.

  Pushing my way past the curtains, I cross the aura threshold. It’s a weird sensation when you’re not in need of it. I feel lightheaded, like I’m floating on a cloud.

  “You—” Jurso exhales again serenely. “Shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Starting to worry about you, buddy. Let’s go to the Healer’s Wing and see what kind of meds they have, like in the old days.” I point down toward the sub-tier. “Maybe take a break from the bliss.”

  He scoffs at me. “I’m supposed to float in bliss whenever I can. You saw the theory I showed you last week.” His head leans back. “The body needs to get used to bliss workings, then it’ll be easier for me to tug at it and pass it to others.”

  Sounds like an excuse to me.

  I keep it to myself though, and let him ramble. Who am I to rain on his parade?

  “Neat trick I learned in that same tome. If I hang in here long enough, the bliss will cling to my Arkitus cells, and I can pull from it instead of calling the bliss blind. Look forward to trying it.” He smiles with unfocused eyes again.

  Everything the guy says is about reasoning to stay. Sounds like one of the brutes who over-spiced to an early grave back in Kavoh, if you ask me.

  Oh, Jurs. Fighting Arkitus is what made us strong in the sub-tier. We survived when we weren’t supposed to.

  I don’t know what this is…

  “He will become strong in his own right, mortal. A healer’s obscure methods do not indicate a faulty path,” Boeru challenges.

  “You’re only saying that because you watched him heal Misty through a shoulder stab,” I counter. “It’s shortsighted if he succumbs to this bliss addiction.”

  “The mortal spends a few fortnights, and thinks himself an expert on all of tier one,” Boeru chuffs. “Maybe I’ll respect you more when that band doesn’t read ‘glass rank.’”

  “Low blow.”

  The dragon and I grow close with each session in Scorius’ prime tank. I learn more of his origins, how he survived a mage-summoned lightning storm on his first castle raid while soaring to burn enemy ranks with one wing and a half-paralyzed body. The other dragons fell because they knew not how to adapt to numb limbs. The Torn Wing is legend for a reason.

  To my surprise, the prime tank switched to one of my old memories too. An embarrassing one—the night after Kane was marched off to the Sept, the brutes unleashed years of held-back anger against me. They pulled me to the stables when everyone else was sleeping and used the sparring sticks to beat me blue. They ignored my wheezing coughs and just took turns wailing to the point my chest caved inward. Don’t think I’ve been the same since mentally. Would be physically too, if Boeru hadn’t intervened.

  Boeru didn’t make any snide remarks that session. We left the tank solemnly. Not only did it remind me of how much I miss my brother, but how bad it actually got down there.

  I get up from the aura seat before my head explodes and pat Jurso’s leg on my way out. “I want to see some results later.”

  “’Course, Hale. What do you take me for, a slacker?” He lets his head lean back again, holding one hand to his chest, smiling because the pain likely subsided.

  The concerned part of me loosens a bit, and in that moment, I see myself recalling the relief of Arkitus medicine. It truly is bliss…

  Perusing the arena, I land back beside Layla, watching her sweat just calling out her frustrations. “Going to retire for the night,” I say.

  “Suit yourself, guide. It won’t make that sword deflect fire any faster.” She grins at me. “You know Izfael is aching to nab you again.”

  “If that time comes, I’ll just have Boeru rip his head off.”

  “That’s the thing about upper ranks, Hale. They see it coming way before we even think it.” She side-eyes me.

  It’s true. Watching them fight in the arena is like brutal poetry. But I’m not dwelling on that right now. I owe Boeru some Elden digging back at my quarters.

  “Alright, you two, weapons back.” I hold out my hand to huffs and groans. I wink at Misty as she rolls up my chain and places the dagger back in my grip. Once I dim the sword’s shine by hiding it in its sheath, I nod to my crew. “Night, Lay.”

  She squeezes my arm, and I turn for the double doors. On the way back to my quarters, Boeru’s maw peeks and dissipates in the same instant, over and over, sniffing something.

  “What is it?”

  His growl lingers. “Lacor.”

  “Again? That’s the fourth time this week.”

  “Mm.” His head tilts as his neck swerves every which way, trying to get a handle on the scent.

  “You know, one thing mythos got wrong… or purposely omitted, is the inner workings of an empire. You smell traitors on every turn, in our own walls. The house lord doesn’t have control of his own house…”

  “Perhaps Miria is just a broken empire, mortal.”

  “Frightening.” I fight the tug of Boeru’s form, instead making a left toward our quarters. My shoes echo through the massive halls as I peer inside wide-open doors to rooms with empty beds.

  The hell?

  Just as I’m about to walk into my quarters, something touches my shoulder. Something cold… a shade.

  Boeru turns his head immediately, narrowing his crystal-blue eye as he manifests.

  I shuffle through to find only one person from batch twenty-eight sitting cross-legged on her bed, in one of her dark trances.

  “A masked scent, as always, from that one,” Boeru chuffs in my mind’s eye.

  Renesta takes a deep breath and returns to the present, opening her eyes directly on me. That same cool shiver passes through me again.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “Jeck from next door riled everyone to watch riders race out on the grounds. Fourth years showing off.”

  I mosey over to my bed and plop down. “Sparring doesn’t excite you… riders don’t excite you. What am I going to do with you, Ren?”

  “You can stop hiding from me, for one.” She pats the seat next to her, and my whole body heats up. “Hm. Knew you wouldn’t dare.”

  I scratch my head, guilt keeping me flat on my seat. “Where were you just now?”

  “Perusing. Peeking.” She tilts her head either way. “Did you know some of the ring leaders patrol as shades?”

  Hm. Maybe that was one of the scents Boeru was picking up.

  “Yeah? Where were they on the night Izfael dragged me from the library?”

  “A conspiracy. Perhaps they were in on it. Or paid off. Izfael is quite rich.”

  “Maybe.” I lean back on my hands, eyeing the mythos tome on my dresser.

  “Oh, am I interrupting you two?” She points to the book. “I do apologize.”

  I swallow past a lump in my throat, realizing that we never really get time alone together. Perhaps I shouldn’t waste it. “At least this one talks to me.” I nod at the book. “Doesn’t hide every bit of information under its shadow.”

  Ren glares at me, digging up my shadow from the floor using her warring dark, but I command Boeru to neutralize her attempt to flirt, puffing it away like a heap of black smoke.

  “Not really into shadows.” I make a funny face at her, and to my dismay, she takes the bait and gets up from her seat. Her sleek night robes fall to the floor as she stands, and nearly hang off her breasts.

  “A prisoner of the flesh, then?” She struts over to my bed, and all I could think of is Layla hobbling in and murdering us both.

  My heart rate rises higher than in the arena. Bare, toned legs drum up all my urges.

  “I meant what I said after your heroic victory a month ago.” She sits next to me, crossing her legs only inches from skin-on-skin. “You convinced me to stay.”

  “Do you have regrets now?” I ask.

  “From the distance you created? No.” She leans in a bit, confidence high. “I am a patient woman, and a tormented one,” she admits.

  “Tormented from what?” I ask, leaning back as she chases my lips.

  She leans in closer, to the point I have nowhere left to go. Finally, our lips touch. It’s like a fire ignited from thin air. The way she scrunches both her hands over my thighs and slithers her tongue just so makes me want to throw her down on the bed. But I resist. Just enjoying this moment and marinating in it.

  From the second I laid eyes on her, she was an unattainable beauty for my broken-down body.

  Now here she is, breaking our kiss just to scan my face, and coming in for more.

  Lacor.

  Enemy.

  Friend.

  All the thoughts swirl around as my warring dark intensifies. Hers does too, creating a pressure at either of our backs that push our bodies together. The heat intensifies as my hand finds the back of her head, tugging on her hair as she squeezes her nails into my chest. A slight moan escapes her, and I now know the bliss Jurso feels in his chambers.

  I’ve never experienced this level of attraction. Ever.

  Staying away from her has been a godsend, because at least I can focus.

  The warring dark riles harsher around my forearms.

  Enemy.

  Enemy.

  “Enemy!”

  I break the embrace, grabbing her shoulders and staring into her eyes. My senses return tenfold, hearing an incoming crowd outside our door. The heat she evoked out of me dissolves to angst. But she’s as calm and soothed as a freshly bathed cub.

  “It’s a nice reminder.” She brushes her lips with a finger while commanding my shadow to carry her back to her bed in the most taunting way. “The reason I stayed.”

  Boeru comes roaring out, eye honed on the door. “One is among them. They will stab you in the night.”

  “At least they’ll be found out when they do.”

  “Not a time for jokes, mortal. Be wary.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  The door bursts open, and a crowd high on entertainment barrels through.