I have to get to war-tier, no matter what it takes.

  I’m waltzed into House Sivus by our pudgy ring leader as he showcases the grand entrance hall. You guessed it, another momentous scale symbol is etched behind a floor-to-ceiling sculpture of a judicious hooded man in oversized robes wielding a hammer and a book. Cut-outs in the wall just above the plates of the scale harbor very real variant, high-magic essences. Gears churn thunderously in the background, causing the magical essences to shift from one side of the scale to the other. Snowy spheres clash with balls of fire, making for a hypnotizing spectacle.

  It’s pretty cool, to be honest, and the irony of students decked in polished armor crossing with studious types isn’t lost on me. Everything in here echoes the same sentiment—balance. But all I can think of is Kane.

  He’s alive.

  My brother’s alive.

  And by the sound of it, he needs me.

  It’s hard to believe he’s been thrust into war with less than five years of training. Then again, we’re at peak physicality during these years, even if our magic wielding isn’t yet up to par. Taking a look around, it’s even harder to believe there actually is a war going on. Snooty students debate which types of riders are more prominent in battle, while others debate high-magic armor enchantments. It’s not the topics that make me skeptical. It’s the tone. So leisurely, like they’re sipping maid’s milk and licking pie while they do it.

  “This is nothing like our first house,” Layla speaks the obvious.

  “Blood tempering is over, Layla Barristan,” Aster says. “You will now don wears more suitable to your surname, and that shield.”

  Thinking back to the Barristan bullet points in the lineage tomes, her ancestors were all prominent defenders of royalty or politicians… always placed close to importance. Selfishly, I think of her as guarding something of importance now, whereas it used to be something pathetic.

  “Do not be a fool, Haledyn,” Boeru’s deep voice drags in my mind. “Your strength never lied in physical form… even now. Just as mine doesn’t.”

  It’s hard to believe the dragon, considering how powerful my once-decrepit body has become. Climbing the spire proved it. I increased endurance the longer I went, like getting a second wind without losing the first. Defeating Grondus—a spiced brute twice my size. The warring dark. It’s all exhilarating. And I’m going to use it to climb past everyone, with my marked by my side.

  We hang a sharp left, past a room of chandeliers with a piano, which is playing by itself—my guess is by some snobby student using their wind magic. It makes me wonder what the high-magic wielders have to do to get here. This academy is like a hub, right? We climb up from the darkness, and they… do they have to jump down from tier two? The thought makes me think of that jerk who spat at us… maybe they’re flown in on a cloud like the pampered jerkoffs they are?

  I should stop hating… it’s not a good look.

  My breath is stolen once we reach the library. Mythos tomes line the walls… endlessly. Real ones. Numbered in numerals and finely covered. A barefoot woman levitates high as she peruses the ancient tomes, humming over us.

  Another two thin men whisper while pointing to a diagram in a tome. That’s going to be me and Jurso soon, I can feel it. One look at him tells me he’s as giddy as I am. The truth awaits us. I’m going to be buried face deep in bond theory, and in Elden magic for Boeru’s sake. We’ll all read together.

  “Some of you will tip the scale as intellects, while others will focus on combatants. Magi appeals to both—never forget that. Even the warring dark, as evil as the practices may be.” Aster’s hand glows red as he points to a book, and in a flash, the tome he’s holding is replaced with the one he pointed at. Red mist puffs around him, making me wonder what type of magic that is.

  “Rude,” Jenny says, still holding her ribs. “Now that one is out of place.” She nods to the tome Aster just magically placed, and we all laugh.

  “What do you think librarians are for, Ms. Tus’Bernard? I am keeping them employed.” Aster smirks as we continue on.

  We hang a few rights, passing through a botanists’ grove of the strangest scents I’ve ever smelled. Misty sticks her nose in a layered red flower and flails back when her skin immediately shines pink, causing her to sneeze.

  “It will be good to know what allergens affect you, Misteria, because the poison ranks will target you in war-tier.” Aster’s tone grows ominous once in a while, as a scare tactic to keep us on our toes no doubt.

  He doesn’t know that I want to be sent there though. I have to.

  Layla fearlessly sticks her face in each of the most poisonous plants Aster reveals, and nothing. Everyone else who dare tries comes back with some itchy reaction or temporary black-vein ailment. I hold Jurso’s shoulder, knowing he wants to join.

  Even though we’re told these plants are just benign tests of truer lethal poisons, I know what Arkitus can do to him.

  “I’ll have to grow stronger someday, Hale. Might as well start now.” He shrugs out of my grasp and stuffs his face in what Aster calls “Kriger Lilly.”

  Surprise, surprise. A coughing fit erupts, triggering Layla to pat his back as we move on.

  A few rooms out of the grove, we’re introduced to the Sivus arena. Elaborate weapons with inscriptions and diverse-colored steel hang from silver clasps. Multiple rings of waist-level stone mark off sparring sections, where students are currently in session. They use real weapons, unlike House Kavoh used to, and attack with the fury of the Sept’s desire.

  The warmth that’d been building through this tour diminishes on a whim. People die here, just like in the sub-tier.

  I notice a wind enchantment cycling one of the fighter’s breastplate. When he ducks a mighty swing of a hammer he stomps the ground, and the tornado encircling him expands to send his opponent scattering back into the sand.

  Misty spits out some that flew into her mouth, then hangs onto the stone ledge, cheering for the downed student to get up.

  “What happens if blade meets neck?” Layla asks.

  “The same thing that happens anytime blade meets neck.” Aster tilts his head. “However, if blade meets other, less critical spots, there is a concentrated healing aura in the right and left corners which usually provides enough time for a healer to be summoned.”

  “How many have died this past year, inside Sivus’ house?” I ask.

  Aster purses his lips in thought. “There are twelve hundred of us residing in this house, making us not the largest nor smallest.”

  “The house of balance is in the middle? Shocking.” Jurso raises his eyebrows to another handful of chuckles.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “This past year, we lost thirty to in-house training. And eighty to Elshard.”

  The chuckling stops dead.

  “Oh shit.” Jurso tenses.

  “Quite right,” Aster agrees. “Don’t worry, Jursento. The library does not quite punish as harshly.”

  Oh, that was a slap in the face for making a joke in the arena.

  “For the others… here you will duel for two reasons—to earn weaponry purchased by the house, and to gain combat skill. Just a month ago, Donovan here couldn’t attach his wind affinity to anything, let alone a breastplate of the old rook. Now look at him.” Aster presents the man holding his opponent down with a sword to his neck. “Soon, we might have to deem him the Wind Knight.” He turns to face us. “Classes in Elshard are all critical, and tailored to your individual characteristics, as has been observed throughout your time in the sub-tier. Learn what you can, and fast. Try your newfound talents here, so that you may excel in ranking trials in Elshard. Oh, and try not to die on the way. For the intellectuals like myself, there will be magical rank-ups by trials other than combat. Tests—written and practical—and the like. As you advance, remember, though the walls of our castles do not shake, there is a very real war above the sky, and that is what we fight for.”

  It’s true Miria earned none of our loyalty, but taking a look around this place, it certainly could be a home. Something worth protecting. There’re layers of complexity, and a path to power. Once I make my family whole, what more can I ask for?

  Flashes of my incinerated brothers and sisters darken the thought.

  Aster leads us to the next war rooms—one for target practice, another for forging, enchanting, and sharpening weaponry. This place has it all. To my surprise, Rogo and another of our siblings runs over to the resident smith who’s doused in sweat. Watching the smith smash the edge of a battle axe with a black hammer, then whisper enchantment incantations in between, speaks to imbuing practices of old mythos. The fresh hanging steel all around the sweaty man rings with white noise as if the blades themselves whisper to us. Rogo wants another axe for himself, or perhaps wants to imbue his own. I’ll find out what that’s about later.

  Once our minds are sufficiently overloaded with information, Aster takes us into a dormitory of sectioned-off rooms. As we pass by the doorways, all sorts of Sivus students glare our way. Some are half-naked changing for class, others are getting ready for bed.

  “And here is where you lot will be staying. Consider it… quarters for batch twenty-eight. It may fill to capacity upon the last two incoming batches in the next few weeks. But for now, stretch your legs.” Aster presents a room of dark mahogany-wood walls, candlelight upon each of the dressers separating feather-spun beds. I’ve only read about them, but just laying eyes on the soft comforter and fluffy pillow makes my eyes grow heavy.

  “Well, this is the end of the tour. I’ll leave you all here to settle in.” Aster’s friendly demeanor resumes. “Both new and returning, welcome to your second house. You represent Sivus now. Be prepared to fill Drydon’s shoes, for it will not be an easy task.”

  ***

  After Misty discovered the shower and promptly locked herself inside, we’ve all been patiently waiting our turn. Claiming a bed was actually a tactical decision. I had a feeling Jurso and I would be getting up in the night to run to the library, so I made sure he was on one side, and in case an assassin decided to creep in, Layla rests on my other.

  An hour or two of gossip about the snooty assholes in Elshard let us complete shower rotations. The stink of the Sept will hopefully never plague us again. To think, just hours ago we were climbing for our lives, and days ago, fighting to our deaths…

  Feels like eternity.

  I test the curtains that give each bed privacy if needed. Jenny, being paranoid, checks the lock on our quarters’ door. It works. Who knows if there’s some sick hazing or whatever. Practices like that probably occur in House Kavoh, to be honest, but not here. Sivus’ philosophy is more… refined, I guess.

  “What do you think, Boeru?” I ask in my head, drying off my hair with a fresh towel.

  “That your war is more conflated than your superiors think.” He crawls around my back, popping his shadowy head out of my shoulder. “On every turn, Lacor Kingdomonia looms.”

  “Maybe that’s just Drydon’s old scent you’re picking up,” I suggest. “He’s the one you believe to be a spy, yes?”

  “Among others,” Boeru’s voice shakes my ribcage. “But right now, I think you have bigger fish to fry.” He puffs away with a snicker, and my curtain swooshes aside to present Layla freshly washed in Sivus-provided clothes. A tight pair of shorts stitched with crimson gold hugs her thighs, and a cloth tank-top barely hides her generous cleavage. She unabashedly sits on the bed next to me, and there’s an odd energy that springs up between us. That newness is in her eyes again, confusing my already muddled head.

  A few days ago, she wouldn’t dream of looking at me the way she does now. It’s hard to accept, honestly. She makes herself comfortable, inching back and crossing her mostly bare legs.

  “We fucking did it, Hale. Somewhere between the cold snaps and Grondus severing Jurso’s chain, I was worried for a second we might not make it.”

  “Really? Not pitting me up against a gods-damn brute?”

  We both chuckle.

  “You’re almost a brute yourself these days.” She grabs at my muscular arm, her calloused skin lingering for a bit.

  “Let’s not be ridiculous. I’m still half their size.” I glance at her hand, which she pulls away.

  “You’re strong now, Hale. I’m in awe of it,” she says, making me wonder if I’m misreading the situation. “Climbing that spire, we all got winded… everyone but you.”

  “Been thinking about that, actually. It might be the dragon’s spirit, but the physiology of it all might contain the answer. Boeru removed my Arkitus, something that made my body work twice as hard just to breathe. Imagine being stuck in a feeble cage, able to feel your lungs expanding, your heart always pulsing in your head. Now that it’s gone… it’s like I’m running without those weight sacks on my ankles, you know?” I hold her blue eyes. It really is surreal to be sitting here next to her, out of harm’s way, in an actual bed.

  My thoughts stray to Renesta. I wonder what she’s doing behind her curtain. Brushing her hair, testing her warring dark. A part of me wishes she would be this forward. Then again, I’m supposed to court her, right?

  These new possibilities are distracting…

  “Hale,” her voice lowers. “What did Relias want?”

  I bite down, tensing my jaw. “Kane.”

  Her eyes light up. She always had a thing for my brother. Then again, every woman flocked to him, even if he didn’t pay them much mind. Maybe that’s precisely why, hah. His interests were always more on protecting me or fine-tuning his combat craft, and above all, finding out the truth as to why we were dumped in House Kavoh.

  A memory of him gazing at the black sky overwhelms my vision. Him talking about seeing golden rays that weren’t there… in the end, he was right. It must be some special attunement to be able to see past magic like that.

  “What about him?” Layla snaps me back, leaning closer.

  “He’s alive, in some war-tier far above us I guess.” I shake my head, suddenly having an urge to scour the library. I don’t think my tired eyes would let me read more than a few lines at this point though. It’s been a week.

  Layla scrunches the sheets in her fists. “It was him, wasn’t it? Five years ago. The awakened.”

  “Yeah. Apparently he’s a ghoulborn, with a bond worse than Broggen’s.”

  “Hard to imagine,” she scoffs. “Two brothers with the same tempered blood. Makes you wonder if breaking the Seal is a family thing.”

  “Could very well be. If any of the houses had a true answer, there wouldn’t be so many conflicting theories. Then again, Lay.” I lean close, lowering my voice further, “Boeru chose me because I gave Jurso my meds.”

  “Get the hell out of here. A warring dark spirit of the afterlife? Acted on a stint of kindness?” She furrows her brow.

  “Straight from the dragon’s mouth,” I say, pausing for a second when I hear rustling outside the curtain. Just someone going to bed nearby. “My theory? The tempered blood spilled from twenty-seven batches before us drew the afterlife closer to our realm, allowing Boeru—among other spirits—to inspect us more closely.”

  She sniffs. “Well, you have all the mythos in the world to piece it together now, don’t you?”

  “Damn straight. And after that? I’m going to break to the top and find him, Lay; even if it kills me.”

  “I’ll be right by your side.” Her hand folds over mine, sending a slight tingle running up my arm—not sure from shock, or what.

  I squeeze her hand once and pull away, holding it up for a pound. “Guide and guard.”

  “Always.”

  We chat about old times in House Kavoh, and every couple of minutes she adjusts her posture so our legs are touching, no matter how many times I pull away. Eventually, I just let it be. It’s so jarring to be treated this way after always having my hair rustled, or shoved to the side so I could be protected.

  Do I look that different now?

  The answer is clearly yes. When I was in the shower, a looking glass cemented it. Chiseled jaw, eyes more alive with green, brown hair with black streaks shimmering. And ever since Boeru stepped in, there’s been a single streak of gray. It almost looks stylish—freakin’ dragon.

  Jurso pops his head in and joins us for a bit as we recall our journey, until the hour becomes late. We all look tired, as if the weight of death smacks us all at once. So we call it, and for the first time in my life, I’m swallowed by the softness of a bed. All my joints, every bone, is alleviated from pressure, sending me fast into the darkness.

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