With a dying woman in my arms, I walk to the ledge of the wooden nest. The cold snap is behind us, and I only have minutes before her shallow breath turns flat. The brutes I pass are dead silent as they watch. I’m determined to save her.

  Even if it’s a long shot that there’s a healer or aura inside, I have to try.

  “Listen, Jenny. You’re going to have to hold on tight, okay?”

  “Mm,” she holds back a cry as I readjust her in my grasp. There’s an inkling of strength left in her arms as she squeezes around my neck. “My leg…”

  “It’s broken. Just focus on your arms.” I’m holding onto her with one arm now. It’s amazing how much stronger I’ve become since Boeru bonded with me. I’m physically useful now. The warring dark is cycling my left arm to grant me unnatural strength. It reminds me of when I watched Grondus charge me in slow motion. There are benefits to this dark magic.

  I take out my dagger and place it in Layla’s hand. “Don’t let go.” My eyes linger as I wrap the other end of the chain tightly around my fist. “Renesta,” I call, and she comes running over. “Can you become a shade and scope out some kind of healer for me?”

  “It would take too long, Haledyn.” She shakes her head. “At this point, you must trust your instincts. Let your bond guide you.”

  “Hear that, Boeru?”

  “I hear everything you mortals bicker about, unfortunately,” the dragon snarls.

  After another minute of planning, I have Layla line up with two other brutes holding my chain like they’re about to play tug-of-war and Tristian bent over the edge, aiming one of his ribbons to propel me into the shattered window once I’m lowered down.

  “Gen, these weapons are forged of the highest quality, right?” My teeth clatter as I ready to hop off the ledge backward.

  His arms are folded—cowl whipping in the winds, as well as his lancer’s silhouette. “It will hold, Dragonborn.”

  Taking one deep breath to steel myself does nothing for my nerves, but Jenny’s shallow breathing helps me work past them.

  “Ready,” I say, scanning the faces of all involved. “Okay.” Another deep breath. “Let’s get you help, Jenny.”

  I hop back to clear enough space for Jenny and fall into a slight swing. As my siblings disappear from view, my stomach leaps into my chest. Having nothing beneath my feet is completely different without Relias’ wind sphere guiding us.

  The chain jerks, keeping me from death. Hold on, Layla.

  Back and forth we swing as I eye the window. There’s a shard of broken glass I’ll have to kick through and shield Jenny from. Her body can’t take anything more.

  “You still with me?” I ask.

  “You’re crazy.” She shivers, holding tight.

  “It’s the dragon in me,” I lie.

  Kicking my legs back and forth to gain some momentum, I ready myself to be propelled by Tristian’s dark ribbon. Other orphans are scrambling to look over the ledge; I can hear the thumps above me.

  Here we go.

  Fssh!

  The ribbon shoots me forward—Tristian’s foreign warring dark activating on my arm. As the broken window comes rapidly closer, I squeeze Jenny tight and press my feet forward.

  “Grah!”

  The rest of the glass shatters as we slide right in. My dirty boots clomp onto a pristine carpet before I’m jerked the other way by Layla and company pulling to make sure they didn’t lose me.

  “Slack!” I yell, holding my fist out, arm stretched to maximum. “I’m in! Give me slack!” My arm falls when they hear, giving me the chance to quickly unravel myself from the burning pressure and tie the chain around a nearby fixture. A quick scan shows a direct sketch of olden time mythos designs—intricately carved wooden furniture, vases with old faction symbols etched into it, banners hanging from the ceiling—which I quickly realize is actually current-time Miria.

  “Sense any auras, Boeru?”

  “This place is littered with high magic. The stench is overwhelming.”

  “Good, that means an aura might be nearby, right?”

  “Haledyn… it’s cold.” Jenny trembles, holding onto me tighter.

  “Shit.” I rush into the next room, astounded by how large the place feels now that I’m inside. Part of me wonders if I can find a staircase leading me all the way up to the sky, but that’s neither here nor there right now.

  No signs of life anywhere I turn. A room with a grand chandelier and perfect place settings on each round table makes me pause for a fraction of a second I don’t have. Such wealth. The silverware sparkles even without light. Is this a gods-damn tourist outing to visit the pit of Miria?

  Anger roils in my veins.

  The next opening down the way has to have something.

  Boeru sniffs in my mind. “Yes, I sense magi in that direction.”

  Magi… like the magics of old.

  Please be an aura, I pray to myself.

  Jenny’s getting heavier in my arms, more like dead weight. I look down at her pale face. “Hey. Stay with me!”

  “Mm,” she groans. “Tired.”

  There’s an attunement percolating within her. I feel it conflicting with mine since I first grabbed her, but the presence is waning. She’s fading quickly.

  “Help!” I call, barreling into a kitchen with wooden cooking tools hanging from ledges and a giant fire pit in the center.

  A chubby woman wrapped in a tight apron startles, nearly throwing her broom.

  “Ma’am. Please. This woman is badly injured,” I plead.

  Her eyebrows scrunch as she scans me, hand still on her heart. She’s uneasy. It’s my ragged clothes, and the blood leaking out of Jenny’s mouth.

  “Ma’am!” I step closer, showcasing Jenny.

  She shakes her head. “Can’t.”

  “What do you mean ‘can’t?’ She’s going to—” I choke back the words in case she can still hear me. “Ma’am, I’m begging you. Help her.”

  “We aren’t allowed to interfere with Sept business.” She presses even flatter against the wall, spatulas still swaying overhead from when she jumped.

  Sept business? Are all the spires aware that the orphan houses are essentially ant farms?

  “Just point me in the direction of a healing aura, or a healer, mender, something!” I’m losing patience, the magical pressure around my forearms crisscrossing more violently.

  She’s weak. I can force her into helping me, a dark thought enters my mind.

  “Ma’am!” I yell, snapping her to attention. “You’d let an innocent person die?” I finally say it out loud. I’m out of time.

  She takes a deep breath, peeling herself off the wall and slumping into a defeated hunch. Her eyes fall to Jenny. The shallow breathing and pathetic dangling limbs are something she can’t ignore. We’re all human, for gods’ sake.

  “Come. This way.”

  I exhale as she hurries past me.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  We bustle into a maze of hallways, then down a staircase, hope filling my lungs. I adjust Jenny in my grasp for a second. Pressing two fingers to her neck still gives me a faint pulse. Still alive.

  Hang in there.

  The next floor below is a series of numbered rooms with amber mist seeping out from under the doors. There’s a soothing nature about it… magically charged to emulate a hot spring. Reminds me of when Layla, Iro, and I ventured into the dead forest after dark and found one of those bubbling nature baths that forms after a hot storm. Perfect temperature to strip down to our breaches and hop in.

  As my mind drifts, I realize I’m standing in an aura.

  “This one.” The woman pulls a brass key from her apron. “It’s not booked for tonight’s event.”

  Event? Does that include dining in hopes to watch us fall from our climb? I recall Relias’ words.

  As we enter, she beckons me to hurry, then locks the door behind me. I’m shocked to see a canopy with translucent sheets blowing in a manifested summer breeze. White noise mimics a soothing melody, which reminds me of the same magic the Danes used to distort their whispers. None of that matters though. It’s the halo of energy floating on the left side of the bed. Golden flakes float within it.

  “Here, bring her.” She waddles over to the bed, flattening the sheets around the halo.

  “What is it?” I’m protective of Jenny. For all intents and purposes, this is a foreign world I’ve crashed into and might as well be a time portal birthed right out of mythos.

  “A soothing sphere. Guests use it to unwind and regenerate after a long day of activity. It also brightens their moods, since traveling under a dark sky can tend to dim spirits.”

  “Will it stabilize her?”

  “Yes. It’s regenerative. But it won’t fix that.” She points to Jenny’s mangled leg.

  I huff and place her carefully on the bed, letting her body pass through the golden ring. Now she lays within it, the golden flakes illuminating her belly like fireflies. She takes a long, unconscious breath as soon as she settles, then her breathing slows.

  The chubby woman nods, delicately positioning her broken leg. “I’ll fetch the staff mender, and the staff mage.”

  “What if…”

  “They’re friends,” she assures. “I don’t know how they’ll react, because in all my twenty years no Sept sacrifice has ever stepped foot inside these spire walls without climbing them first, but I imagine they’ll help an injured innocent.”

  I shake my head. “We’re all innocent, ma’am.”

  She frowns, then nods sadly. “I know.”

  I’m not sure whether to be angry at her for working at such a place under her own free will, or thanking her for stabilizing Jenny.

  “What will happen to her?” I press my hand to her forehead, feeling warmth rushing back into it.

  “I’m not certain, but I’ll try to keep this room off limits until she’s healed enough to walk.”

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Nirele.”

  “I’m Haledyn Winbridge, dragonborn. The first awakened in five years. And I will sooner join Lacor Kingdomonia if I hear Jenny is sacrificed.”

  She averts her gaze, playing with her thumbs.

  “This isn’t a threat to you, Nirele. You only helped, and I know I put you in a difficult position. But if an authority figure tries anything—Dane or other—please give them that message. Plead to put her in the exiled house with the others if they threaten death.”

  “You have done more than enough, mortal.” Boeru twists his long neck so he’s facing me in my mind. “It is time to return to our marked and climb to our destiny.”

  “I’m told guests gather to watch the weak fall.” I dip my head to find Nirele’s eyes.

  “It is… tradition. Yes. It’s what pays for these lavish estates.” She nods toward the room. “This is prime season.”

  “Are we not people to them?” I seethe, feeling the dragon’s spirit boiling inside me.

  “It is the way of the warring dark, or so I’m told, Sir Haledyn.” She bows her head. “Most people in the upper tiers never visit the pits. But those who do must be wined and dined as royalty if we’re to host them.”

  “And you?” I stare at her.

  “Caught stealing lafaya meats in tier two.” She winces as if I’ve dug up a terrible memory. “Working off my debt, just like the other staff.”

  Whatever malice I was feeling evaporates. Of course the pits are full of screwed-up practices. What the hell was I thinking? Who would voluntarily work under a dark sky of falling “orphans” knowing that something better exists above?

  I need to get far away from here.

  “Well, given your understanding of desperation, you won’t mind if I borrow these.” I swipe several cloths from the counter with a faint healing aura imbued. These could be used as bandages for the climb.

  She clenches her jaw. “I can replace one without a hitch, but those imbuings aren’t cheap.”

  “Fair enough.” I put the others back. “Tell me about tier two. Give me something to climb for,” I embellish, as if I don’t already have enough ammunition to reach for the sky.

  “Oh, my word, Haledyn. I cannot imagine what it’s like to never have seen the golden sun.” She wipes her mouth. “Cities upon cities flowing with people. Rich, poor, Miria is alive, young man. You must see it.”

  Nirele folds her hands in prayer, glancing at Jenny.

  “Do you have children, up there?” I ask.

  “Two daughters, almost full grown by now.”

  My jaw tightens. “Pretend she’s one of them.” I turn for the door, only for her to grab my arm.

  “Will you give them a message if you make it to tier two before I do?” her voice shakes.

  I narrow my eyes, then nod.

  “To Bokyenesh and Miyanda Treenere, Mother loves you both to the daisy havens and back, squirts. Take care of Daddy ‘til I return.”

  I nod again, then freeze when I hear footsteps.

  “Shh.” Nirele tiptoes ahead of me as the footsteps fall out of earshot and then presses her ear against the frame.

  We wait, jitters snapping inside me like House Mother’s whip. I’m unarmed, except for the warring dark rushing around my arms. Would I be able to use it again if security comes to claim me? Would it even matter?

  Nirele nods, then unlocks the door and carefully turns the brass knob, pulling the door open. “Clear. Those were just cleaners tidying up for tonight. Good luck, Haledyn. I pray you make it to the top,” she whispers.

  “The path back to the window should be clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you again, Nirele. I’ll bring that message to your daughters if I ever see them.” I take one last look at Jenny, then swiftly turn away.

  I’ve done all that I can. I echo Boeru’s sentiment as I retrace my steps—up the marble stairs, through the maze of hallways, beyond the kitchen. There’s not a soul this way, thankfully.

  My brain feels broken with each discovery. I always wondered what was in these spires. House Mother fibbed and said they were for the Sept—divine intervention so the black sky didn’t come roaring down and kill us all.

  Liar.

  I inch toward the broken window, noting my chain still in the place I left it. I’m lucky no one saw it. Now, here’s to hoping the others haven’t abandoned me. It’s only been fifteen minutes or so.

  Please still be there.

  Unhooking the links from its fixture feels like there’s no pressure on the other side. Layla wouldn’t leave me though. She wouldn’t.

  Closing my eyes and tugging once leaves me in anticipation.

  The chain stretches taut, and my smile grows from ear to ear. Winds are warm again, which means the cold snap long passed, so I wrap the links tight around both fists and tug to be pulled back.

  “Pull?” Layla’s voice breaches the wind.

  “Pull!” I yell, pressing my feet over the ledge, the sound of broken glass crinkling.

  I hold my breath once I’m heaved out of the window, daring to look down. If the chain snapped, I’d fall forever. Hearing the links scrape against the wood nest above me as I swing in the chain’s mercy is horrifying. I find myself again questioning the enchanted weaponry’s maker.

  “Heave,” Layla’s voice breaks past the wind again. “Heave!”

  I’m nearing the ledge when a powerful hand grasps my arm, then another. I’m flung over the top and onto solid wood once more.

  “The fate of Jennith Tus’Bernard?” Gen stands over me as I unravel the chains from my reddened palms.

  “Alive and stable. A cleaning woman was nice enough to sneak me into elite quarters with a high-magic rejuvenation sphere on the bed.” I get to my feet with the help of Layla. “She assured me a mender is on the way for her leg.”

  “She twisted that thing into a pretzel, didn’t she?” one of Broggen’s brutes says.

  “Lucky she had you to swing her to safety.” Layla hits my back rather hard.

  “That’s incredible, Hale.” Jurso gapes at me.

  “Indeed. Quick thinking, Dragonborn. But now the time for idling is done.” Gen looks up to the course.

  “I also found this.” I pull the healing cloth and sever it in half with a quick swipe of my dagger. “Might be useful on our climb. Gods knows what booby traps await us.”

  “Good man.” Gen clenches his jaw, accepting his half of the bargain as agreed.

  “Yo, Hale. Telling me you didn’t find a staircase up to heaven in there?” Horo tilts his head.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Tristian remarks. “We must play the Danes’ game if we want to advance our magic. That much is clear.”

  “Who the fuck said I care about that?”

  “Good luck getting back in there without my warring dark.” Tristian adjusts his food sack.

  Horo scoffs, holding his side from the stab wound.

  I get a few more pats on the back as I ready, Rogoshel among them. For all his taunting and lambasting since Kane left, he’s finally silent.

  There’s so few of us left on ground zero. A few weaker orphans huddle together on the far side of the nest, likely procrastinating their fate, and the marked others are all around me, plus Horo. Everyone else has either fallen or climbed beyond our sight.

  Gen’s right. It’s time to go.

  “What’s it like inside the spire, Hale?” Jurso’s in my ear as we prepare. “My mythos showed Sept séances and blood drinking. The diagrams were horrifying. Not something any of us in House Sivus ever wanted to visit.”

  “Nothing like that. It’s lavish. Exactly what you’d expect from the Miria readings, believe it or not. I think it’s becoming more and more clear that Miria history is actually the current-day world we’re reaching for up there.”

  “So many lies.” Jurso shakes his head, then stifles a cough.

  “We’ll have your back up there,” I whisper to him. “I didn’t pull you from the pits to watch you die.”

  He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me.

  Gen holds out his hand for the archer brute’s bow. As soon as it’s placed in his grip, tendrils of black ethereal essence feather off it. Then the arrow swirls to life near the quill. He’s in a league of his own—Renesta and Tristian gawking at him only proves it.

  “His skill is taught, not stumbled upon,” Boeru growls in my ear. “Be wary of him, mortal. He and the Storm Lance together can send us spinning to an early grave.”

  “Or propel us higher to Elden magic,” I quip back.

  Fshew!

  Gen shoots the arrow into an inlet far above us—perfect aim—where a black magical chain manifests from the quill all the way down to the bow. He grasps it and hands it to Grondus. “Go.”

  Fshew!

  He repeats the process four more times, spacing out his arrows, explaining that he’s unsure of the weight threshold, so better each brute gets their own chain. Then, as promised, he makes his way over to our group waiting patiently.

  “As promised.” Gen shifts his gaze from me to Jurso, then huffs. The golden-black bow makes him look like a hidden king under that cowl. The way his face twitches now and again makes me wonder how in hell he’s going to scale a spire in that condition, but I assume, like Boeru, Noctus doesn’t want his bond to die so soon.

  Fshew!

  Gen looses an arrow on the opposite side of the course—away from his group, which essentially forces us up that path if we want his lifeline. He knows what he’s doing, but whether it’s for his own protection or my disadvantage, I have no idea.

  “May your blood be worthy, Dragonborn.”

  “You too, Riderborn.”