The ground shook harder around Derek with every passing second. The trees, already swaying from the storm, now quivered with each tremor.

  The gate of an empty livestock pen banged against its rusted hinges, screeching like a terrified goose.

  Tunga crouched, plunged his hand into the muddy ground, and closed his eyes.

  Derek scanned the area, trying to find the source.

  “Vanda, what the hell—”

  “I’m detecting a... mass approaching,” Vanda cut him off.

  “What do you mean, mass?”

  “Apologies. I don’t have clear readings. But it’s coming this way.”

  “Vanda, everything in the damn universe has mass. Could you be a little more specific? What kind of mass are we talking about?”

  Tunga shot to his feet. “Undead,” he said. “Girl inside armor is right. We leave. Now.”

  Derek sighed. “Vanda, plot a course away from this... mass. I’d rather not get trampled during my exit.”

  A blue line blinked onto his HUD, heading away from the Warden and deeper into the jungle.

  Derek cursed under his breath. “Vanda, this route pulls us away from Ebonshade. If Elias attacks Isabelle, we won’t make it back in time.”

  “The undead are heading inland,” Vanda said. “If you want to avoid being overrun, you need to leave. Fast.”

  Tunga grunted. “Warden safe in temple. We die out here.”

  Derek stared at the stone temple in the distance. Tunga was probably right. If Elias controlled the undead, he wouldn’t send them against his own stronghold. Which meant Isabelle was safe.

  For now.

  But she’d be alone in there.

  Alone with the priest who raised the dead.

  Alone, because he had sent her.

  And she’d gone, because he had asked.

  Because she believed in him.

  In her Cashnar.

  And now he was about to abandon her.

  Something gripped his shoulder, hard. The neural interface made it feel real, even through the armor.

  He turned and met Tunga’s steady, grim stare.

  Tunga nodded toward the jungle. “We go, Demon.”

  Derek gave a reluctant nod. Getting himself killed wouldn’t solve anything. They’d come back when the coast was clear.

  A nearby bush exploded into a cloud of leaves and dirt, and a massive horned head burst through. An instant later, dozens more followed.

  They were enormous, like overgrown water buffalo twisted into monstrous parodies of life. Their curved horns were cracked and splintered, some broken clean off. Shaggy coats clung to decaying hides, caked with dried mud and dried blood. Rusted harnesses clinked loosely around their necks, and broken yokes swung from their sides, remnants of a time when they’d been beasts of burden. Some still wore battered cowbells that jingled with each step, an eerie, hollow sound that cut through the rising thunder.

  Milky, lifeless eyes stared ahead with unnatural focus, and every stomp of their hooves left behind glowing, bubbling footprints in the mud.

  They didn’t grunt. They didn’t bellow.

  They just charged, silent and unstoppable, a wall of undead flesh and fury bearing down on them in perfect unison.

  Derek’s eyes widened. They moved just like the dog that had attacked them back at the start. Same coordination. Same dead focus.

  And just like the dog, these had probably been animals from Ebonshade, killed when the undead swept through the village. Trapped inside the pen, surrounded by corpses, they hadn’t stood a chance.

  Now they were something else entirely.

  A reanimated herd.

  Another weapon in Elias’s growing army.

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  They advanced as one.

  A black arrow pounding the earth, perfectly synchronized, and aimed straight at them.

  Like something was guiding them.

  For now, running was their only option.

  Tunga raised a hand toward the sky and a vine dropped from the treetops, landing neatly in his grasp. With a single motion, the shaman vanished into the canopy above.

  Derek powered up the leg actuators. The NOVA launched forward like a jet-black missile, tearing down the path Vanda had plotted. Straight into the jungle.

  Away from Ebonshade.

  And away from Isabelle.

  ***

  Isabelle slowly pulled the metal doors shut behind her. The old hinges groaned, their echoes bouncing through the Temple of Orbisar.

  The air was thick with the smell of stale incense, mold, and burnt wax.

  The place looked abandoned.

  It was far simpler than the grand temples of Rothmere, built in a circular layout with raw stone columns and a sloped ceiling of darkened beams.

  The pews were in disarray. Some overturned, others piled haphazardly near the altar. Sacred symbols were carved into the stone walls, their edges worn smooth by time and neglect.

  Isabelle walked carefully across the circular chamber, boots echoing on the warped wooden floor, half-muted by the steady drum of rain on the roof.

  Derek had sent her here to mislead Elias. To draw him away from Alyra and Sierelith.

  But from the moment she’d heard the plan, she’d known she couldn’t pull it off. Lying was for people like Derek or Sierelith.

  Not for her.

  No, she was here to talk sense into him. Somewhere beneath the madness, Elias had to still be there, the priest who had once watched over Ebonshade with unwavering faith.

  Maybe his mind was like this temple: disorderly, yes... but not beyond saving.

  Isabelle glanced out a narrow window, watching sheets of rain hammer the deserted street.

  Words had never been her strength. She preferred the sword, and the lightning Orbisar had gifted her. But to save Alyra, and whoever else survived, she would try.

  Maybe, just maybe, she could save Elias too. End his suffering before the power devoured what was left of him.

  A metallic clang behind her, followed by the groan of old hinges, made her spin around.

  The entrance stood shrouded in shadow. A tall, thin figure in a long robe stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and remained still.

  Isabelle swallowed. "Elias?"

  She stepped forward slightly, arms relaxed at her sides, making sure she was visible in the flickering temple light. This wasn’t an ambush. She wanted him to know she was waiting, openly, without tricks.

  That was the plan.

  “Warden,” came a raspy, high-pitched voice.

  The figure turned its head from side to side, then locked eyes with her. “Where is the Cashnar?”

  Isabelle took a deep breath to steady her heartbeat. “I’m here to talk. He’s not with me.”

  The priest tilted his head slowly. “What could a Warden possibly want from me?”

  “I came to appeal to your faith, Elias.”

  He stood motionless in the gloom.

  Maybe that meant she could go on. Best not to waste the chance.

  “Your people are suffering, Elias,” she said. “The power you wield, the gift Orbisar gave you to protect Ebonshade, has been twisted.”

  Still no reaction.

  But he hadn’t left.

  He hadn’t attacked her.

  He was listening.

  “I know your mind is clouded now, but if you come with me to Rothmere, we can help you.

  You can remember who you were.

  We’ll uncover the truth of what happened here, and—”

  A laugh split the silence. High-pitched and musical.

  Not raspy.

  Not Elias.

  Isabelle froze.

  The figure stepped forward, a swirl of violet smoke curling around it.

  Isabelle’s hand flew to her sword hilt. “By Orbisar, what—”

  The smoke cleared.

  Sierelith stood in front of her, lips curled in a smug grin. “Please tell me you knew it was me and were just playing along.”

  Isabelle drew her sword. “What are you doing here, heretic?”

  Sierelith rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You really thought you were talking to the real Elias? And what exactly did you hope to achieve, preaching to a walking corpse like that? I can’t believe you honestly thought he’d follow you meekly back to Rothmere.” She crossed her arms, scoffing. “What do they teach you at Novice School to make you this dumb? You’re even worse than Alyra.”

  The name made Isabelle’s blood boil. “What did you do to her, you filthy spy?”

  Sierelith kept smiling and raised her hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, relax. Alyra’s fine. I left her at the forge with the blacksmith and a bunch of kids. They’ve been holed up there for days. Should hold for a few more hours.”

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “Why should I believe a word that comes out of a lying heretic’s mouth?”

  Sierelith dropped her hands and shrugged. “Believe me, don’t. Attack me, walk away… doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

  Isabelle clenched her jaw. Lightning surged from the chakra in her arm, crackling up her blade in thin, twitching arcs. “Killing a dangerous kidnapper and spy sounds like a good place to start.” She stepped forward.

  Sierelith’s grin widened. “I have information about what’s really going on here.”

  Isabelle stopped. “More lies? No thanks.” She took another step.

  The heretic folded her arms. “The yokels in this town haven’t pieced it together yet, but I think I have.”

  The Warden moved closer. If she could get near enough, a disabling strike would drop her. Then she'd just need something to tie her hands, should be enough to stop her from casting.

  Sierelith’s smile vanished. Her multicolored eyes locked onto Isabelle’s. “Elias caused all of this. Him and the death cult hiding in Ebonshade.”

  Isabelle froze.

  She knew about the cult. She’d kept the suspicion to herself, but this girl—this spy—was more informed than she’d expected.

  Then again, she was a spy. Maybe it was worth hearing what she had to say. She could always capture her afterward. “What does Elias have to do with the death cult?”

  Sierelith smirked. “Markus—the blacksmith—said he saw Elias arguing with some of the cultists. Idiot didn’t catch what they were saying, but I’d bet anything it had to do with those little secret ceremonies they’ve been holding for years.”

  Isabelle didn’t move. Where was she going with this? “You’re suggesting Elias supported their blasphemous rituals?”

  Sierelith shook her head. “The opposite. He must’ve found the spheres they were using. You need a Life sphere to raise the dead, and a Death sphere to send them back. I’m guessing the cult had both tucked away for their little shows. Those spheres were both their tools and the proof of their sins.” She chuckled. “Wonder how long they pulled it off right under poor Elias’s nose.”

  Isabelle tightened her grip on the sword. “Enough. I don’t have time for heretic lies.”

  Sierelith kept going. “At some point, Elias must’ve found the spheres. Maybe both, maybe just one. I’m speculating, sure—but something really pissed the cultists off. There were some nasty fights. Or so I’ve been told.”

  Isabelle shifted. It wasn’t impossible. If the spheres had been hidden in the village, Elias might’ve stumbled upon them.

  “He would’ve brought them to Rothmere.”

  The spy nodded. “Sure, if he’d had time. But the old zealot got a nasty surprise.”

  Isabelle’s eyes widened. “The Life sphere that fell from the sky.”

  “Bingo. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  The Warden shook her head. “Nothing happens by chance. If Orbisar sent a sphere at that exact moment, He had a plan.”

  “Exactly, Warden. Finally using that brain. And I think I know what that plan was.”

  Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “A heretic claiming to speak for Orbisar now?”

  The mage ignored her. “I think this whole mess was meant for the Cashnar.”

  “What does Derek have to do with this?”

  Sierelith’s eyes lit up. “Orbisar created this test for the Cashnar.”

  Isabelle shook her head. For a second, she’d almost believed this venomous snake had something useful to say. “He already faced his trial. The Bronze sphere near Rothmere, remember?”

  Sierelith snorted. “The one he pretended to return to the Council? If that was the real trial, he failed epically. No. That was probably Uriela’s setup, maybe her way of getting rid of him.”

  A wave of heat flushed Isabelle’s face. “Enough! Uriela would never do such a thing. Your lies mean nothing to me. Surrender now and I won’t hurt you.”

  The mage drew a lazy circle in the air with her hand—

  and in an instant, dozens of copies flickered into existence all around her.

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes, locking onto the real one.

  “Big mistake using one of your tricks.”

  She channeled lightning into her blade. “Last warning. Dispel the illusions and surrender.”

  Sierelith remained unfazed. When she spoke, the clones echoed her voice in eerie unison.

  “The runaway magic here must be tied to the power of the three spheres. The one from the sky, and the two the cult was hiding.”

  Isabelle didn’t wait. She aimed her sword and unleashed a bolt of searing energy. The lightning leapt from figure to figure, bursting the clones one after another. Each exploded in a puff of violet smoke, leaving the air reeking of ozone and scorched incense.

  Only one voice remained, echoing through the hollow temple from every direction:

  “If you want to save what’s left of Ebonshade… find the other two spheres.”

  The last image of Sierelith shimmered… and vanished.

  Isabelle was alone again.