Days go by, and I do what I’m told—attending class without participating. Cadets are talking, wondering what type of torture Scorius is dragging me through. What’s worse, the first echo—or relapse into that strange realm—never came. Every time I feel a bubbling pulse of warring dark reaching all the way up to my throat, it drains like a drying river.

  Maybe my body is resisting it. I can’t say for sure.

  Either way, Boeru is still nowhere to be found.

  At night, Renesta looks at me differently. She knows. The warring dark whispers to her. She knows that it showed me her intentions. It’s all unspoken, but very real. She wonders how this happened, what strides I’ve taken. Or maybe I’m just going mad as Scorius fears.

  Tonight is the night Tesstalia returns with information on how Izfael got his start… how we can make strides as cadets in House Sivus. What she doesn’t know is that I’m at my wits’ end standing on the sidelines while my marked catch up in merits. I need my dragon back. Tesstalia is my answer.

  I stand with my hands on my hips at midnight in the Sivus arena. The fighter circles are full with skirmishes. To my surprise, Layla moves like her old self again. Her bliss-touched heart might be fully healed finally. And as a result, her stance form is immaculate.

  She stomps forward with her gigantic shield, then uses my blade, Spellglass, to strike powerfully against Misty’s bouncing winds. None of us have learned how to reflect with it yet, but it’s still impressive to watch blue-crystal steel wave through the air so fluidly.

  She defeats Misty with a hearty shield-slam, sending her right into the arena ledge. I swear I hear a crack in the brick when she hits it. Everyone, including Layla, rushes to see if Misty’s all right.

  “You hit like a bull.” Misty closes one eye, then reaches her hand to be pulled up by Layla. “Good to have you back.” Her voice is half air as she pats Layla on the shoulder and limps out of the sand.

  “Let’s see how you handle the shadows next, guard.” Renesta elegantly steps onto the ledge and lets herself fall onto the arena sand.

  “Ooo.” Rogoshel claps to entice the others.

  “I’ll bite.” Jurso folds his arms over the ledge.

  One look down at our resident healer, I notice some hard blinks and new strange twitches that weren’t there before. Reminds me too much of a spicer. I’ve seen the signs of a user before. But who would’ve thought bliss could be something so addicting?

  “I forgot you were even part of this squad.” Layla smacks her shield. “Nice of you to show up.”

  Renesta sniffs, drawing her enchanted steel sword. “Brute versus finesse. Which will prevail, I wonder?”

  Flashbacks of Layla tackling Renesta to the floor on our first night in tier one snap to the forefront of my mind. I wonder if some of the tension revolves around me. Is Lay really into me? Or are we just dancing a confusing dance of friendship? Renesta, on the other hand… I’m concerned she just wants to use my new body and toss me to the dirt. Or maybe, in reality, they just don’t like one another, and I’m acting like a high-society shit.

  Lay tosses her shield to Rogo—riling him up even more—and twirls Spellglass in hand.

  “That was a mistake, princess.” Renesta puckers her lips. “You were trained punching animals in the stables, how can you expect to contend?”

  “Oh, you hear that, Rogo? She called you a beast.” Jurso nudges him, and Rogo twists his ear in response.

  “I’ve been living in your house, Renesta.” Lay spreads her arms. “I’m not impressed.”

  For a moment I forget my woes. The feud from these two belongs in House Rhylock. Quite entertaining.

  They circle one another—one flexing her brawny arms, the other nonchalantly creating a long line in the sand with her sword.

  “Hale, why don’t you do the honors? Otherwise, these two will be drawing shapes in the sand all night.” Jurso nods.

  I chuckle, enjoying the view, if I’m being honest. They’re both formidable in their own way. “Alright then. Cadets, ready,” I barely recognize my own deep voice. I really need some sleep.

  They stop circling one another and press their boots firmly in the sand.

  “Fight.”

  Layla charges before Renesta can summon any shadows, Spellglass falling with purpose overhead. Tnng! The blade is deflected with ease, but Lay rolls it again into a crisscross slash. Sparks fly from steel on steel, and Renesta pirouettes away from the ledge to avoid Lay’s attempts of keeping her cornered.

  “A mouse squirms for her life,” Layla taunts, tossing the sword to either hand like it weighs nothing.

  Renesta doesn’t take the bait. She keeps her eyes steadily locked with Lay’s, her form loose.

  “Hrh!” Lay lunges.

  Renesta sucks in her belly while slashing Spellglass to the side, following up with a counter slash that puts her on the offensive. Her footing changes abruptly, pressing forward with a low strike that Layla is forced to skip back from.

  Sand flies in all of our faces.

  “Close one.” Lay stomps forward with a hard swipe.

  Clnng!

  Renesta meets the blade but jerks back from nearly eating her own steel. The force of Layla’s clash is twice hers. She holds on barely with two hands while Layla makes a show of pressing down with one.

  “First cut wins.” That kindness in Layla’s blue eyes really has been absent lately. She leans her face over the clash like she’s expending no effort at all.

  Renesta winces. “It was a good try.”

  Lay’s expression changes when the candlelight shifts from her rising shadow. She breaks the clash, but it’s too late. The shadow bursts into strings that anchor all around the arena ledge, wrapping around Layla’s body. Her veins jut from being squeezed.

  “I may have forgotten to mention… I’ve been attending my Prominent’s private class. Turns out she’s pretty knowledgeable on shadow shifting. Practical, even.” Renesta tightens the strings, causing Layla’s face to turn red.

  Not sure if in embarrassment or strangulation.

  Renesta works the shadows with one hand while dragging the blade leisurely on the floor with the other. “First cut, you say?” She tauntingly raises the blade, tracing Layla’s original scar near her chin—the one that earned her nickname in the sub-tier.

  Layla turns her face away angrily, riling in the shadow’s grip.

  My heart aches for her. She’s been falling day after day to the prospects of magic. And just when she’s finally breaking free from her ailing injury, Ren taunts her…

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  “Well?” Renesta looks around, expecting an applause. She flicks her blade to rile the other marked, then turns back to Layla. “Duel over.”

  A part of me wants to turn away.

  As Renesta touches steel edge to Layla’s cheek to offer her a quick nick, Layla roars, flexing with unholy strength. Goosebumps line my arms at the visceral sight, and to everyone’s shock, the shadows snap into mist.

  Layla’s free.

  Renesta jumps back in terror, working her fist to reorient the shadows, but Layla is a step ahead. She turns on her heel and throws Spellglass like a spear out of the arena, straight for the sconce.

  Jurso ducks, even though he’s nowhere near the outburst.

  Pwoof!

  The flame suffocates and the shadows shift out of Renesta’s grasp.

  Gods. She’s going to kill her.

  Layla leaps forward like a beast, grabbing Renesta’s wrist before she can swing.

  There’s commotion around us since the entire arena fell a few shades darker. All of the other fights stall, parallel combatants and spectators coming over to see what all the fuss is about.

  Light is faint, the only smidges coming from the healing chamber tucked away in the corner.

  “The hell, Dragonborn?” An archer questions.

  I wave him away, focused only on what’s happening in the center.

  Ren’s wrist twists—causing her to drop her blade—but to my surprise, she flips backward to untangle herself, landing on the ledge for an instant before leap-kicking Layla hard in the cheek.

  Her form is expert-level. Whether from her training in the sub-tier or whatever classes she’s been taking in secret here in Elshard… Renesta’s dangerous.

  Layla snaps the other way from the torque, feigning defeat, only to grab Ren’s ankle when the follow-up kick comes.

  Everyone gasps. She’s twice the body, twice the frustration, and she holds the favorable position.

  “Dragonborn, I’m talking to you!” The archer flicks a sphere of high-magic flame to dance on his finger.

  My eyes widen as soon as the light reignites the arena.

  Ren seizes the opportunity to twist the budding shadow in less than a second.

  Dark slivers wrap Layla’s throat like an assassin in the night, giving Ren the opening she needs to pull a dagger from her boot.

  Fsst! Fsst!

  She slashes through both of Layla’s arms without a second thought. The cut is awkward. Teeth are gritted, and everyone awes in shock.

  Layla falls to her knees, blood crisscrossing down her forearms. As the shadow around her neck loosens, Renesta stands heavy of breath with the dagger no one knew of in her hand.

  “Damn, Shade.” Jurso jumps over the ledge to assess Layla’s wounds, then looks up to Ren. “Where’d you get that one?”

  “The magi or the dagger?” Rogo flexes.

  “That was some nasty shifting.” Misty whistles.

  Jurso turns his attention to Lay again, bliss pulsing to life in his hands.

  “Jurs,” I say with a worried tone, jumping in the arena right beside him.

  Layla’s head is down, but I know it’s not from pain. She’s suffered worse on a daily basis in the sub-tier. It’s her pride. This was her chance to show she didn’t need magi to compete. She had brawn and a soldier’s wit.

  “Jurs… let’s take her to the healing—”

  “Nuh, uh, uh. Don’t try to take this from me, Hale. That’s our deal. I get to practice on our wounded.” His eyes nearly roll while tending to Layla’s gashes. “Remember what I told you about my Prominent. She said every soul requires a different touch of bliss. This is helping me become more adaptable. You know it. I know it.”

  The only thing I know is he’s using like a spicer right now, but he’s right. His bliss skills have tripled in the last few weeks, which means we might actually survive group missions with him at our backs. At what cost, though?

  “That move was brilliant, Lay.” I pat her arm once to tell her everything’s fine.

  “Not brilliant enough.” She finally stands, eyes half-closed, wrists held together while Jurso works. The tension between her and Ren is palpable.

  I stand at attention to intervene if one of them decides to finish the duel execution-style.

  “Shade.” Layla lifts her chin. “Good move.”

  “Mm. You fought well too, for a Kavoh brat.” Ren smirks.

  And just like that, I sigh with relief as the mountain of tension lifts.

  The night goes on. We make some new friends in Sivus—second years that commend our skirmishes as full of brass and blood. One of the alt-magic users is even nice enough to hone her attention on Spellglass stuck in the wall, transferring it safely back into my grasp and patching up the wall like nothing happened to it.

  Jurso makes a comment how that skill is probably good for construction, and we all chuckle when she says that’s probably where she’s headed if he says it loud enough. The cadets bring their weapons to Jenny for a fresh restore—sharpening and enchantment check— while making small talk with me. My mind is only half present though. I count down the seconds until Tesstalia is expected to show.

  When the clock ticks two hours after midnight, I stand outside the door warded by Aster’s alt-magic and wait to hand her cloak back to her so she can enter without a hitch. My heart skips when I hear footsteps around the corner.

  Here she comes.

  Tesstalia moves with purpose down the hallway, our eyes locked. She’s wearing crimson, true to her commander’s wardrobe, and looks over her shoulder to make sure no one follows.

  “Here, as promised.” I hold up the cloak.

  “This little arrangement is getting cumbersome,” she says evenly. “Twice, my fellow servants ask where I’m going at this hour.”

  “Does your memory wane with your wounds?” I arc my eyebrow.

  “No, Dragonborn. I very much recall being wrapped in your dragon’s scaly grip. I’d even be lying if I told you nightmares of my little elemental fire suffocating like an ember next to yours haven’t flooded my head.”

  We grin at one another.

  “Shall we?” I hold open the door, and she looks up at the faint red alt-magic pulsing as if daring her to enter.

  “I think not.”

  “The others left. It’s only my marked in there,” I promise.

  “How about we work on mitigating risk a little bit. Let’s stay out here,” she says.

  “So our words can echo all the way back to the house lord?” I jest, but really, I want her in the healing chambers so Jurso can hear whatever she’s gathered.

  “Tick tock, Dragonborn. We’re wasting valuable time.”

  “Fine.” I let the door shut behind me and stare at her.

  She clears her throat. “After making me snoop around my own prison, I’ve managed to convince Vigil I’m being zealous on my quest out of glass rank ever since my failure to apprehend you. I told him I’m going back to the basics to understand our leader’s climb to power, and lucky for you, he was all too happy to tell it.”

  My interest is piqued. “Go on.”

  “Granted, the bastard couldn’t stop staring at my chest.” She pulls her robes tighter.

  “Now who’s wasting time?” I huff.

  “Hmph. Anyway, when Izfael and Drydon realized they were on a level all their own up here… they made a high challenge every week to try and make a name for themselves. It wasn’t done haphazardly, but rather strategically. Drydon being a master of the warring dark preferred to battle wind, fire, and alt, while avoiding ice—because shadows can be frozen, apparently.”

  That lines up with mythos I’ve been reading. So no dragonshit yet.

  “And Izfael took on all the others. They were careful to acknowledge certain donors too, learning their patterns—every second week, Brixel Haroth would carve out two hours to fly down to tier one to spectate an event, and guess who was there to raise their daggers? The two of them won item after item, coaxing the donors back time and again in hopes to build rapport. The thing is, impress a donor, and when the time comes, they might want you in their war-tier corner to seize castles on their behalf. Spoils of war, power and whatnot… the journey begins here.”

  Her story riles me, and reminds of how low on the totem pole I am without Boeru in my corner. Fighting beside Layla comes to mind, as does forging a relationship with others in the sub-tier worth rising with. Tristian. Broggen. Then again, screw them for trying to kill Jurso. I’ll make it with my own marked.

  “Good enough? You have a dragon’s view blueprint on what to do now, so now the easy part—win every challenge you make.”

  I scoff at that. “What about transferrable merits? They didn’t chase those?”

  “Didn’t have to. Vigil said Izfael uses them as carrots to dangle in front of his servants’ faces, but Vigil told me in confidence chasing transferrable merits is a sure way to get sidetracked into someone else’s agenda. Keep earning them the natural way—as the originators of the ranks intended—then earn the fame and glory needed for war.”

  I nod. This is good advice.

  Her hands slap to her sides. “Good?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to kick myself for saying this, but what’s next?” Tess sighs.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Isn’t that what this is?”

  “It involves absolving you of your debt.”

  “Shit yeah. I’m listening—”

  Footsteps clack through the hallway, and I’m forced to tug her near one of the columns away from the doors. The sudden jolt of fear consumes me, and the next time I blink I’m no longer in the Sivus hallway.

  An ocean of black surrounds me. The sun in the red sky implodes before my eyes, and just as I’m about to shout in terror, I blink back to reality.

  I’m face to face with Tess, who’s looking at me like I have three heads.

  Clack. Clack. Clack.

  The footsteps pass, and we both relax.

  “Where did you go just now? Thought you were going to faint.” She eyes me curiously.

  “Just exhausted.”

  Was that an echo? I ask myself, shoving down the warring dark rising within me. It’s trying to pull me back.

  “Whatever, Dragonborn. You were saying something about releasing me from this gods-damn debt?”

  “Right. You’re not going to like it though.” I lean back on the wall, peeking my head past the column to make sure no one is eavesdropping.

  “What else is new?” She taps her foot.

  “I need you to break me into Izfael’s chambers—”

  “What?”

  I clap my hand over her mouth. “Are you nuts? Shh!”

  Slowly removing my hand, I listen for any additional footsteps. Still in the clear.

  “I’m desperate. And for what I plan to do, I need a Seal.”