Jacob is riding on the ship directed back at the Academy, sitting on a coil of rope near the central mast. He’s trying really hard to enjoy a few moments of quiet after all that went down in the Celestial Tower with Nimirea, King Baalrek, and the general consequences that this will all have once they’re back at the Academy.

  Yet, the ship creaking as it cuts through the water makes some noise that distracts him. However, nothing distracts Jacob as much as all the other Champions acting like aunts who want to know everything about what went down in the Celestial Tower.

  It’s a beautiful sight that Jacob is staring at, trying to ignore them. The hull rides over long, lazy swells and the emerald green sea stretches out in every direction. The sun sinks toward the horizon and paints a bright orange road across the waves.

  “So what happened with Nimirea,” someone says.

  “What did she try,” another asks.

  “Did she cry when she lost the sparring match?” someone in the back calls. “You must have won, right?”

  Jacob turns to find Orrivane staring at him.

  “How would I win if you all lost? I asked her to go easy on me. Even at the Rank… she’s… incredible.”

  They pepper him with questions. Voices overlap. Hands wave. Armor clinks every time the ship rolls and they shift to keep their balance.

  “Incredible?” Iskara says. “Is that how we’re calling our enemies now? Huh?!”

  “Yeah,” Jacob nods. “Incredible. We’re much weaker than them. They… there’s a lot I need to think about. What happened in the tower didn’t really let me any time to reflect. So, please, guys, would you give me a little time alone?”

  “Why, what happened in the tower? Did you two…” Orrivane puts a hand in front of his mouth. “You didn’t.”

  Jacob says nothing. He keeps his eyes on the sea and lets the noise run over him.

  Iskara elbows her way forward. She plants her boots wide and crosses her arms.

  “Did you extract any more useful information about the woman,” she asks. “You spent more time with her than any of us.”

  “I know what monsters we are dealing with,” Jacob groans, rubbing his face.

  “And what are they,” she asks.

  He glances at the green water. The setting sun hurts his eyes a little.

  “Very broken people who are ready to do anything to win,” he says.

  “Good,” Iskara nods.

  “No. Not good. That does not make them less dangerous. It makes them more dangerous.”

  The deck goes quiet.

  “Nimirea was tempted to kill all of you,” Jacob says. “Apparently, the only reason she didn’t is because each and every one of us has one Rainbow Skill—Generation of Legends stuff, I suppose. But yeah, so, that considered, they want to rip the Rainbow Skills out of us. To do so, they need something related to Karma. I think that we’re so weak that we’re actually useless to them right now. I think it interferes with their plans.”

  A murmur spreads.

  “That is not possible,” Zibrek says.

  “What kind of technique is that?” Kaelrik ponders.

  Astorion steps forward. “Do you think we would have lost? Against any Dark Champion?” he asks.

  “Yes,” Jacob says.

  They break into arguments. Some deny it. Some scoff. Some look away. Jacob lifts a hand and quiets them.

  “You can be angry,” he says. “You can deny it. It does not change anything. They are ahead of us. We have a long way in front of us.”

  Boomgar leans on a crate. He does not joke. “Lad, how are we going to become stronger then?” he asks.

  Jacob turns with an apologetic smile.

  The wind tugs at his ruined clothes.

  “I actually have no idea,” he says.

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  * * *

  Night falls fast over the sea.

  The deck empties as the Champions head to their sleeping cabins. Lamps hang along the railing and throw small pools of yellow light. The rest of the ship lies in shadow.

  Jacob stands by the railing alone. The wind tastes of salt and cold. The water glows with faint streaks of phosphorescence where the hull cuts through it. The waves slap against the wood in a steady rhythm.

  King Baalrek is gone.

  Jacob watches the dark horizon. He keeps expecting to hear that crystalline laugh behind him. He keeps expecting a dry voice in his head that calls him “boy” and mocks his choices. Nothing comes. The silence feels heavier because of it.

  “You really left,” he thinks.

  King Baalrek left him three gifts.

  He cannot control any of them yet.

  So after fighting a cursed king, he thinks, I have to attend damn classes.

  He snorts. He gambled his soul, and now he has to sign up for a course he has been dodging.

  * * *

  Footsteps approach from behind. Light and careful.

  Iskera stops beside him and rests her forearms on the railing. Her hair moves in the wind. She stays silent for a few breaths.

  “So,” she says. “What happened with Nimirea.”

  “Is this an interrogation,” Jacob asks.

  “You avoided everyone else’s questions,” she says. “You cannot avoid mine.”

  “I’m not avoiding.”

  “You’re not just avoiding, Jacob. You’re sulking.”

  “I am not sulking,” he says.

  “You are brooding with purpose,” she says. “What happened.”

  He tries to dodge. He gives short answers. “We talked.” “We fought.” “We survived.” She pushes. “Talked about what.” “Fought how.” “Survived why.” The back and forth dies.

  She sighs and studies his face.

  “You look more mature,” she says. “All of a sudden.”

  “Is that your way of saying I look like crap,” he asks.

  “I am serious. Is everything okay?”

  “I lost my mentor,” he says.

  She stays quiet.

  “I did not expect to be left alone,” Jacob says. “He is the only reason I became a Champion.”

  “You are being too harsh on yourself,” she says. “You passed the trials—”

  “I mean it literally,” he says. “If he had not pulled strings, I would still be… nobody. I owe him more than I can explain. I do not want to talk about it now.”

  Iskera hears his tone. She steps back. “Then I will not push,” she says. “For now.”

  She leaves him with the dark sea.

  * * *

  Zibrek comes next.

  She stands beside him without speaking. The wind presses her cloak against her back. Her small, green hands grip the railing. She watches the water for a long time.

  “I feel useless,” she says.

  Jacob turns. “What do you mean,” he asks.

  “I am a Guide,” she says. “I dreamed of guiding Champions. When I realized I would work with the Generation of Legends, I thought I was dreaming. Being a Guide, I thought I’d be the one leading. Then you show up. You outclass me in every field of a Guide, Jacob.”

  “You are not a Guide,” Jacob says, shrugging.

  “Thank you. Very helpful,” she says.

  “What I mean, Zibrek, is that you are a Champion,” he says. “You became one because of your engineering. You can focus on what you do best.”

  She does not answer. She stares at the waves.

  She pushes away from the railing and walks off. He thinks she is gone.

  She stops and looks back. The lamplight grazes her cheek.

  “I am sorry about Nimirea,” she says.

  Then she leaves him alone again.

  * * *

  Kaelrik comes when the lamps burn low.

  He walks up with two tin mugs. He hands one to Jacob without a word. Jacob takes a drink.

  “Beer? Nice,” Jacob laughs, taking a sip.

  “Only us two have blood that is poor and weak,” Kaelrik says. “You might as well grace it with some alcohol.”

  “You know how to open a conversation,” Jacob says.

  “You know what I mean. They have old Houses. Strong lines. Names that open doors. We have nothing like that. That is why we are not as panicked as the rest. They met Nimirea and saw that Dark Champions are not weaker than they are. Some might be stronger. Their world cracked.”

  Jacob smiles. “I had not thought of that. That’s a sharp observation. Cheers to that.”

  They hit their mugs together again.

  “Sorry, my head has been all over today,” Jacob says.

  “You don’t have to apologize. It’s normal. We are at a crossroad, aren’t we? You might not have noticed, Jacob, but everyone is waiting for you to lead.”

  “Huh?” Jacob turns, confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Some of them don’t want to say it out loud, but you’re the most trusted person in the group. I can guarantee that because it’s the same for me.” Kaelrik lowers his voice. “If anyone else had found out about my Rainbow Skill, I would have panicked. I do not know how you found out in the Tomb of Fate.” He meets Jacob’s eyes. “But I trust you more than anybody else.”

  “Thank you,” Jacob says. “I wonder why.”

  “Just… it’s a weird quality you have, I suppose.”

  He drinks and looks at the dark water. A thought takes shape.

  The Dark Champions are ahead because they share everything with each other. They know each other’s Skills. They know each other’s limits. They plan as one. The Champions do not. They hoard secrets. They hide trump cards. Politics and diffidence choke them.

  The Dark Champions also have one shared goal they will die for. The Champions do not.

  Until that changes, they will not beat the fake Champions.

  Jacob finishes the beer in one gulp and hands the mug back. “I need to think,” he says.

  Kaelrik nods.

  Jacob walks toward his cabin. He thinks about King Baalrek’s first gift and the class he has been dodging. He grimaces as he reaches the door.

  “Fight a Mad King,” he thinks, “and then you can... do homework, I guess."

  He steps inside the dark cabin, already planning what comes next.