Returning to Mathis on Layla’s damaged wyvern wasn’t an easy task. It complained the whole way, and even dipped a few times, to our terror. I don’t think I’ve ever paid such close attention to a wound before—watching its neck leak sludge now and again didn’t provide much comfort. Neither did its eyes growing heavy and long neck slouching every few minutes. But we made it. What’s better… we made it first.

  Turns out the giant beast who flew back before us was due to losing her rider. That marked another solemn death for the sanctum.

  Lunor Peraxe—a five-month first year who managed to make it half way through glass in such a short time—fell to his death. He flew right into a spark-storm sixty miles past the wall. Nasty anomalies according to mythos—revolving lightning cycling within winds. Sometimes the sparks may even be invisible… at least that’s what theory states. Most agree they’re a permanent side effect of using Elden magic to create the tiers. Though this death was no accident, according to Mathis. Lunor’s risks were grand on normal course, according to our tutor, as he recalled some of the boy’s challenges to ranks above him. Now he’s gone.

  The class bowed in silence for a short minute on our tutor’s command. At least he had some decency—I guess since many of the deaths come from classes like his.

  On the bright side, that meant we cleared a full batch of ore hours before anyone else. Mathis was shocked at how minted our pack was, and that we were wise enough to spot the coded sections of the map right outside the wall. He deemed our journey efficient despite unexpected troubles, commending us for not only retrieving it, but helping a fellow cadet back to the sanctuary. Whether he witnessed the attack from this distance is still questionable, given the fog across the way, but if he did see it, he didn’t let on.

  At the end of the wait he gives us first and second place, considering our ore is comparable to even the most experienced riders, and brought hours in advance of the others. In war, timing is everything.

  When I humbly asked that Lay and I split the four evenly, his eyes darkened. He lunged for my collar and dared me to make a request like that again—citing that merits are named such for a reason. It is not charity. One receives three, and the other one. Whoever did the lion’s share gets it.

  Layla tilted her head for me to take it, and we made an agreement that she gets the next larger batch. It’s not like I’m climbing these ranks without her. Or any of my marked for that matter. We need to better strategize how to progress through glass together.

  As I check my shining rank band magically etched into my arm, I notice the sharp glass symbol becoming slightly more detailed as three more tallies etch under it.

  Mathis watches us carefully as we exit Battle Riders. I’m not sure he bought our wyvern incident story. If nothing else, he’s definitely suspicious. Hopefully Rainy’s fresh scar shining from her stable gives credence to our tale. Last I heard he doesn’t have any far sight alt-magic, so here’s to hoping his expert experience on beasts isn’t enough for him sniff out the lie. We’ve literally watched the beasts snap at one another plenty of times before…

  Once we’re in the sanctum, Tesstalia offers us a discrete nod and bows away from the class.

  Layla turns to me. “Now we find out the nature of a tier-two brat.”

  “A stereotype in the making,” I reply. “And also, we find out if our instincts led us astray.”

  We wash up in our barren quarters, and my thoughts stray more than once when I notice her drying off in a towel. They’re quickly quashed though when Jurso comes barreling in to find us.

  “Guys. What? You had a wyvern and gryphon battle? What in the actual hells? Is it true?” He runs up to Lay, who winces when he touches a sore spot on her rock-hard belly.

  “Dammit.” She shoves him onto the bed.

  “Is it?” He stifles a cough.

  “Is anyone else coming?” I ask. “Shut the door.”

  He rushes so fast to carry out the order I thought he might fall right through it. I beckon him close and whisper the details of our potential spy in Izfael’s quarters. I tell him of my first contact with Boeru for weeks, and the warring dark mixing with high magic that I was able to syphon from him. He’s literally grabbing his hair so hard in excitement that he takes some strands with him.

  “It’s got to be your trait, Hale. Has to be. Pulling from a dragon spirit? That’s insane.” He rushes over to his bed and pokes through the tomes on his nightstand. “Hate how cryptic these are sometimes.”

  “You and me both, brother,” I chortle, taking a seat on my bed with a towel around my neck, inspecting the bruises on my chest and letting the whiplash of being sprung off a bird-lion settle. “Remember traveling in Relias’ wind sphere? Well, imagine it suddenly disappeared at that height. That’s what it felt like. Gods. If Boeru didn’t…” I shake my head.

  “Well, I’m happy he did.” Jurso slaps the book shut.

  After listening to the rest of our story, Jurso tells us of his progress with his Prominent. She evoked an Arkitus coughing fit apparently, letting it get so bad that Jurs nearly passed out. He wanted to reach for the bliss at the first sign of trouble—as he’s been doing within the healing aura. It’s been worrying me sick about the poor guy. When he told us that she made him wait until the very brink of exhaustion and panic until allowing him to reach for the bliss, I felt warmth in my heart.

  “Then. Oh my gods, it was incredible. A powerful aura pulsed out of me that healed an entire class of spent cadets. Yeah, I passed out for a half hour or so right after, but come on. An aura. Me? And I don’t know if it was a delayed effect or whatever, but I woke up full of energy.”

  I glance at Layla’s reaction to his story and sense the building jealousy inside her. Wish there was something I could do to ease it. Add insult to injury, Misty comes bouncing in using a small wind sphere at her feet to launch her. She lands on Lay, giving her a big hug, which causes Lay to choke back an angry groan.

  “Still… fucking… injured,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” Misty pats her lightly. “Ack! And I got you dirty.” She takes Lay’s towel and wipes her own grime off.

  As the day goes on, I take advantage of being let out of class early and take a two-hour nap before dinner, knowing I have a long night ahead of me. In between arena sessions at night, Layla fights through the pain of practicing her stances. They’re very dramatic. Each one ends with a powerful stomp. Distinct blocks that I’ve seen somewhere in mythos, but I can’t quite place them. Some fighting style, most likely. But honestly? I can’t see her using them in battle. They’re too rigid. She literally has to do each one a thousand times before next class, and her Prominent said she’d know if she didn’t. Makes me wonder if Scorius’ methods are really that bad.

  Come two hours after midnight, and a woman carefully opens the warded doors. Her painted “X” scar alive on her chest, her still too-tight corset pillowing her breasts, and a burnt arm covered with bandages. Her head is hunched like she’s hiding, but the only ones left training are my marked. And all of them know the story.

  Rogoshel bites down when she enters, like a rabid dog about to pounce.

  Tesstalia jerks back.

  “Relax, honey. That just means he likes you.” Misty cackles, then balances a blade on her finger, high-magic winds keeping it upright. “Me, though? Not too sure.” She swipes the hilt threateningly.

  “Relax, everyone. This is someone I was hoping would show,” I say.

  She came…

  I tilt my head toward the healing aura and beckon Jurso to join us.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  She bites her lip when she sits down, constantly checking outside the aura threshold.

  “Relax. No one trains at this hour.” I put a hand on her shoulder so she’ll ease up.

  Jurso fights from rolling his eyes in relief as he enters, which makes me second-guess calling him in. But I need him.

  “If I didn’t have solo quarters in Izfael’s chamber, I’d already be chained up. Someone would’ve followed me here and—”

  “We’ll get you back as quickly as we can then,” I assure.

  “Surprised a submissive thing like you didn’t rat on us the second you returned,” Jurs grills her, holding his chest lightly.

  Tess’ brow furrows as she glances my way, then back at Jurso. “Why is it that the two cadets I tried to kill are the ones treating me with hospitality?”

  Jurso twists his arm and slaps his mark. “You see this? That’s why. Hale picked us all to ascend by his side. You, ma’am, almost threw a spear through our plans.”

  “A mistake, followed by mercy, followed by an honored oath.” Tesstalia leans in so Jurso understands. “One that I don’t have time to debate right now.” She leans back. “It’s in your best interest for future meetings if we get to the point.”

  “Information,” I say. “Things we can’t get in the library.”

  “What are you thinking?” she asks. “Say it and I’ll tell you how impossible the damn task is.”

  “Warring dark advanced technics, including traits and combinations with high magic.”

  “Like what you pulled on me in the air?” She signs. “I’ve never seen anything like that, Dragonborn.”

  I glare at her.

  “I’ll look. But that’s literally in his chamber. On the scale of might-die-getting-it to impossible, I’d say it’s leaning toward the latter.”

  “Advanced bliss mythos, including high-rank skills,” Jurso demands.

  “Same problem. Vigil is a powerful bliss user, and is one room removed from Izfael. Both are suicide runs.” Tess lets both hands slap against the bench. “It’s a tactic of wealthy cadets to keep high-value mythos to themselves and just continue to pay the house fee.”

  “Yeah, we figured.” Jurso folds his arms. “Well, what the heck can you get us that’s worth an assassination attempt on our leader’s life?”

  Leader. I can get used to that title.

  “We’re going to have to be less magically ambitious I think, Jurs,” I say, scanning Tess. “Let’s start here. Figure out how Izfael got his start. We need our own quarters, and a strategy to gain house wealth. How’s that? Then maybe one day people won’t have to be admitted into a famous cadet’s chambers under the prospect of indentured servitude.”

  Tesstalia smiles. “That I can do.”

  The meeting goes on for another few minutes, Jurs throwing a few more jabs before we finally adjourn back to the arena. Walking Tesstalia out, I realize the cloak she tosses over her corset brightens slightly as she approaches Aster’s alt-magic ward on the door.

  “Protection?” I whisper.

  “Do you think I need your nosy ring leader alerted to foreign activity?” She scoffs. “Ironically, I won it here, you know.” She gestures to the armor protected behind enchanted glass.

  Alarms go off in my head. I could use something like that… to follow Renesta more carefully, or…

  “Let me borrow it,” I say flatly.

  Her face scrunches like she sniffed something awful. “I guess you don’t want these visits to continue, because I’ll be dead. Is this some kind of sick punish—”

  “Just for tonight.” I push past the door so Aster’s red ward soothes. “I’ll give it back on our next meeting in four days, same time. We’ll meet before the library doors, which is where I believe Aster’s ward starts.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, then sighs. “I keep thinking of that moment your dragon plucked me in his talon. That was your idea, wasn’t it?”

  I say nothing, earning another sigh.

  “Fine, Dragonborn. Here’s some more good faith. Keep poking and I might not have much left to give.” She rolls up the cloak into a ball and pushes it against my chest.

  A nod on the way out speaks to my thanks for honoring the oath, and the night goes on.

  I watch a few more drills—Misty hurling wind-guided swords at Renesta, who literally summons up her own shadow to catch them—before retiring back to a bench unseen. Hearing Boeru today made me realize how much I miss having him around. When he returned, I felt his pain too. It’s like he’s scrambling through that dark realm trying to find his sister, Sefene.

  Scorius really did a number on him.

  Thinking back to that concocted potion he wafted in my face… I need to have it again to gain answers. I splay the cloak over my lap.

  And now I can.

  ***

  I’m the last man standing four hours after midnight. A minute ago, Lay waved her sweaty towel at me as she hunched out of the Sivus arena. She beckoned me to come with her—maybe where we’d finally share a shower—but I lied, claiming my earlier rest is keeping me awake.

  The truth is, I’ve been obsessed with a terrible idea.

  I have no clue if this cloak Tesstalia let me borrow is powerful enough to shield against a ward in Scorius’ chambers. Or if I can even move through Elshard unseen at this time.

  Doesn’t matter. For Boeru, I have to try.

  Scorius wants my bond to remain antagonistic. He’s the one who caused this whole mess in the first place.

  Because of your lack of progress, a stray thought counters. It’s your own fault. He’s just guiding you to catch up to Broggen.

  I scratch my head, late-night angst bouncing back and forth as I make way through House Sivus.

  “Scorius’ actions evoked our trait,” I speak to the barren plane Boeru once resided. “But it’s not my trait, right? He said I’d know when it was unlocked.”

  Taper your grudge, Hale. Prominent only did what he was supposed to.

  He helped unveil a great power between us, which will surely help when I make it to the war-tier. Separating our symbiotic bond into something antagonistic felt like having that first fight in a relationship. The connection is stronger after.

  Then why isn’t Boeru here?

  Pushing open the west exit gates of House Sivus, I take a deep breath, allowing the cool air to fill my lungs. Manicured grounds look pleasant at this hour. No screeching wyverns or squawking gryphons overhead is a nice touch. Even the riders take a break before dawn.

  It never ceases to amaze me how powerfully large the sanctum is. Walking down the elongated path from House Sivus makes me second-guess whether my plan will work. The etched stone sculpture of a rider charging atop his dragon is pretty much challenging everything I bring into the sanctum.

  For a good cause, I tell myself. My dragon needs me.

  Yanking open the double door just enough for me to squeeze through, I take the familiar path toward the room of many doors. Two hallways and one hard right later, my breath hitches upon seeing two war-tutors conversing with tomes out.

  Without a second thought, I dash behind a column and pull my cloak tight. Way to not look suspicious. It’s only now that I’m hiding do I realize… I’m not breaking any rules. There’s no actual curfew. It’s just suggested.

  Too late. I’m committed. I slip to the next side of the column as they pass.

  My heartbeat rises, thumping in my ears.

  If they sense me, they’re letting it go. And I’m thankful.

  I walk with haste to the room of many doors, knowing there’s a greater chance a tutor might pop out of one at any second, considering there’re so many. What’s worse, Scorius might be hanging upside down sleeping behind those ominous iron slabs in front of me.

  Whatever. I’ll have to take my lashings then.

  My cloak grows hot over my shoulders. Hotter than when I entered the sanctum. That must mean it’s working extra hard to deal with whatever ward Scorius coated over his chambers.

  Staring at the beak-like knob in front of me, I take a deep breath and twist it open. The bellow of iron hinges clacking and a waft of chemically saturated air gives me pause. If I’m seen now, I’m screwed, so I rush inside and pull the door shut.

  Elemental sconces flicker on, illuminating the chambers. The prime bubble waves endlessly in the vat to my left. It’s tempting. That might be a good way to connect with Boeru again, to achieve symbiosis again, but my heart tugs elsewhere… to his right-most desk full of vials. One in particular grabs my attention—the one with crimson liquid.

  Eerrk!

  Some metal contraption clicks behind me, echoing around the vast space, making me turn all the way around with dagger out.

  “Prominent?” I whisper, prickles of cold air dancing around my back.

  Nothing. Just the old bones of a chamber creaking.

  My focus goes back to the bubbling liquid. Scorius refused to give me another whiff since that day I lost Boeru. Even he leaned away when he uncorked the vial. The potency must be legendary. But after today… after having one-hundred-percent certainty I was plummeting to my death… I’ve lost my patience.

  Boeru needs my help. And he needs it now.

  A whiff won’t do.

  If I’m going to pull him out of his desperate chase for his sister, I’m going to have to immerse myself. Right? It’s the only way.

  But the risks… I have no idea what could happen in that plane.

  Pacing back and forth in front of Scorius’ table gives me second thoughts.

  What if Kane is waiting to submerge me? What if—

  Doesn’t matter. Nothing else has worked up to this point, and I’ll never have an opportunity like this again. The risk is worth it. Getting Boe back is everything.

  I grab the vial by the long neck like Scorius did, and swirl the contents around the bulbous bottom. Steam hisses up and down the neck like an angry serpent trying to get out. Last time, I had to breathe in for the stuff to work. If I did that unsupervised, the vial would slip from my unconscious grasp and I’d be paying for my wasteful crimes with nothing more than a passing visit into the ocean of darkness. If I’m to be punished, it has to be worth it.

  The red liquid swirls, leaving me to hold my breath.

  I can’t afford to come out of the haze with no resolution.

  Without Boeru, Broggen is leagues ahead of me. Kane is endlessly out of reach. And Izfael will have me dead.

  The time for tiptoeing is over.

  I take a strong breath in and flex to uncork the vial. The smell radiates even without me breathing. My eyes tear even holding it an arm’s length away.

  With my brother’s face in my mind’s eye, I pull the angry liquid close, the vial cool at my lips.

  “I will find you again, Boe.”

  I tilt the glass up. And up. And up. Gulping down something so painfully cold with scorching carbonation doesn’t make any sense.

  The warring dark pulses as if what I’ve done has even scared the magic to the fringes of my body. Vision blackens in hard lines as I struggle to my knees. With my fleeting moments of consciousness, I press flat on my back so as not to crack my head. It’s my last rational thought before… blackness.