The wind had swept away just enough clouds for the moonlight to fall over seven hooded figures. Twilight was gone, leaving only the dark and the battlefield that had once been a village.

  No victors.

  Only survivors.

  The demand from the hooded man had been as clear as it was absurd. They wanted Alyra.

  Maybe it had to do with what she had done to the creature. That abomination had flinched from her… and the girl had even managed to wound it with nothing but her fists.

  There was something unnatural at work. Something that smelled of magic.

  Derek shifted, shoulders tight. “Care to explain why you’re after this girl?” His eyes narrowed. “Or should I assume the obvious, that you’re just a bunch of creeps in robes?”

  Alyra spun toward him with a scowl.

  He answered with a crooked smirk.

  The man said nothing, the silence stretching. With the hood veiling half his face and shadow swallowing the rest, his expression was a void.

  At last, his voice cut through. “The girl has accepted the Seed of Death within her. Rare, at such a young age. With training, she could become one of us. Perhaps even lead us, one day.”

  Derek rubbed his beard, lips twisting. “Yeah, the whole ‘seed inside her’ thing? Not exactly reassuring.” He shrugged. “Either way, she’s staying with us.”

  This time, the man’s posture stiffened. Maybe he hadn’t expected that kind of pushback, given the clear power imbalance. “She no longer belongs among you.” He turned his gaze to Isabelle and Tunga. “Not in the Church of Orbisar, nor among the jungle tribes. Death is not welcome in these lands. We know that better than most. The devastation around us is proof.”

  “Derek,” Vanda whispered in his ear. “Movement behind us. A large group, tight formation.”

  The Sacred Guard? If so, his first stroke of luck in weeks.

  Isabelle stepped forward. “Do you truly believe we’d hand over one of our Sprout based solely on your word? Whatever this is, we’ll consult our seers and Alchemists. We’ll figure it out, and we’ll help her.”

  The man shook his head. “The moment one of your seers gets a proper look at her, they’ll summon the Guard.” His arms folded across his chest. “Hand her over. No need for force tonight. In time, you’ll see where she truly belongs.”

  Another hooded figure—thin, hunched—slipped to his side and whispered into his ear.

  The first man nodded and turned back to them. “We have to leave now. In time, you’ll see where the girl truly belongs. When that happens, bring her back here. One of us will be waiting.”

  The seven of them turned and walked north, without waiting for a reply.

  The figures moved in unison, side by side, as if performing some ritual.

  Derek watched them vanish into the night, their formation never breaking.

  He wanted to dismiss the man as another raving lunatic, but too much had happened on this world to brush it off. And how the hell had Alyra managed to hurt that Silver-level creature—something not even Isabelle or Tunga had been able to scratch? What else had happened to that unlucky girl?

  He turned to her. Alyra’s eyes flicked to his, worried, then darted down to her hands. She tucked them quickly behind her back.

  Derek cleared his throat. “You okay?”

  A quick nod.

  He jerked his chin toward the fading silhouettes of the cultists. “Any idea what that creepy dude was going on about? The seed thing and all that?”

  She shook her head, biting her lip, her hands still hidden.

  “I see.” Derek’s tone softened. “You can talk to Isabelle if you want. Or Tunga. Just… not at school. And not to anyone else. Got it?”

  She held his gaze. “Why did that man say you’d realize where I belong?”

  Derek shrugged. “Guess he thinks you belong with them.” He forced a crooked smile. “Looks like you’ve got fans.”

  No smile came back. Her face drained of color, eyes brimming. “Do you think he’s right? That I’ll have to go with them?”

  He shook his head. “I really don’t see any reas—”

  “Derek!” Isabelle’s voice cut across. She beckoned him over.

  He frowned, then turned back to Alyra. “Just a sec.” With that, he strode toward the Warden.

  Once they were far enough from the others, she stopped and faced him, her features drawn tight, skin pale.

  “That man was a high priest of the Cult of Death.”

  Derek glanced at the hooded figures, now little more than shadows near the temple. “I thought those guys just summoned their dead relatives for super creepy family reunions. Didn’t know they had a whole chain of command.”

  “There were rumors,” Isabelle said.

  “Well, rumor confirmed. Fantastic. Just what I needed—another insane Cult. Can’t wait to see if I become their messiah too.”

  Isabelle’s expression didn’t waver. “I wonder if you’ll ever take anything seriously.”

  “The day I do, I’ll probably lose my mind.”

  Her steely gray eyes held his, a shadow of words left unspoken flickering beneath their surface.

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  Derek kept his arms loose at his sides, though a knot of unease coiled in his chest.

  “You haven’t seen the power level of the Death sphere, have you?” she asked carefully. “I knew your armor could give you that kind of information.”

  He shrugged. “The NOVA’s hanging together by scraps right now. I didn’t even catch the notification on the display.” His eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me that? I know that tone. That’s your ‘I’m about to tell you something I’ll hate’ tone. This is about Alyra, isn’t it?”

  The Warden gave a single nod. “That Seed of Death he spoke of…” She faltered.

  Derek rolled his eyes. “Vanda’s already spotted a group moving in. It’s probably the Sacred Guard. Whatever it is, spit it out. We’re not getting another quiet moment anytime soon.”

  She drew a slow breath. “I don’t know much, but I remember hearing it happens to those who handle a Death sphere. If enough energy seeps into a chakra, the power fuses with the body.”

  Derek swallowed, though his mouth felt bone dry. “Is it dangerous?”

  Another nod. “Most of the time it’s lethal. It’s Death magic, Derek.”

  “But I absorbed the energy from a full sphere!”

  Isabelle shook her head. “Your armor absorbed it, not you. And when Orbisar Ascendants choose to absorb a Death sphere, they do so only once their Auric Level is high enough to withstand it. At the very least, they balance it by absorbing a Life sphere of equal power.”

  Derek’s gaze sharpened. “Alyra didn’t have the right level, sure, but she only held it for a while. NOVA absorbed the power, not her.”

  Isabelle’s posture stiffened. Her lower lip gave the faintest tremor.

  Suspicion cut through him like a blade. “What aren’t you telling me, Isabelle?”

  “Derek,” she said, faltering. “The sphere Alyra brought you… it was Bronze-tier.”

  Derek blinked. He couldn’t have heard that right. “You’re telling me you handed a Bronze-level Death sphere to Alyra? A kid?”

  The Warden shifted, unease written across her face. “It was crucial you had it immediately. It was the only thing capable of stopping that creature. And I wasn’t… in any condition to bring it to you myself. Believe me, I tried, but—”

  “Jesus, Isabelle!” Derek’s voice cracked through the night. His heart pounded like a drum, fists clenching until NOVA’s servos groaned under the strain.

  Tunga and Alyra turned toward them.

  Derek ground his teeth, forcing his voice low. “I saw what a Bronze-tier sphere did to a man who was just chopping wood. And that was an Illusion sphere. This one was a fucking sphere of Death. Death, Isabelle! And you thought it was safe to put that in a child’s hands?”

  Isabelle forced herself to hold his gaze. “I did the only thing I could, given the circumstances.”

  Derek shook his head. “No. That’s not true. You could’ve let me face it without the sphere. You could’ve let me die.” A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. “But you couldn’t, could you? Because I’m the fucking Cashnar. And you had to save me at any cost, right?”

  Isabelle lowered her gaze. “If you’d died, that creature would’ve killed the rest of us anyway.”

  “Bullshit!” Derek’s boot slammed into a wooden beam, sending it skidding dozens of feet across the ground. He spun back on her. “So? Is Alyra going to die now? Did you kill her?”

  Isabelle cleared her throat. “N-no… if what the priest said is true, she won’t die. The energy in her chakra is contained and stable. It’s rare, but it happens.”

  Derek’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means Alyra now carries Death magic inside her. What he called the ‘seed.’ It’s not the same as fully absorbing a sphere, but in a way… it kind of is. That power is part of her now, Derek.”

  He dragged a hand down his face, forcing his breathing to steady. It was all a mess. Another heap of magical nonsense that broke every law of science he knew.

  God, he hated this world. “So that’s what that guy meant? Alyra can’t stay with the Church if she’s carrying Death magic. And she can’t stay with the tribes either.”

  She gave a slow nod. “The tribes worship nature and see Death as the ultimate evil. And the Church of Orbisar… well, you know.”

  Isabelle stepped closer, her voice dropping. “She’ll have to keep this power secret until she Ascends. Once she absorbs an Orbisar sphere into the same tainted chakras, the Death magic will stop being dominant.”

  Derek bit his tongue to keep from yelling again. “And if one of your seers—or whatever—analyzes her afterward? Won’t they still find it?”

  “It’s possible. But they’d have to be looking for it. Unless she’s already under suspicion, a seer would need to dig very deep and know exactly what to search for.”

  Derek tilted his head back, staring at the dark sky as he pulled in a long breath. The stench of rotting flesh hit him like a brick to the lungs, but he needed the oxygen. “You condemned her to a life of secrets. Just when she was starting to live a normal one again.”

  Isabelle’s brow tightened.

  She bent to snatch up her sword, flicked the mud off with a sharp motion, then slid it back into its sheath. “At least she still has a life. If you think we could’ve survived a rampaging Silver-ranked undead without that Death sphere, you’re delusional.” Her chin jerked toward him. “Look at your precious armor.”

  Derek lowered his gaze. His abdominal plating gaped open, wires spilling like metal entrails. The suit still ran only because it had been built with extreme redundancy—every vital system backed up, every core function rerouted when one failed. “Doesn’t matter. You had no right to sacrifice her.”

  Isabelle’s brow furrowed. “I told you she’ll be fine! She won’t—”

  “Not because of you!” Derek snapped. “Don’t take credit for blind luck. You had a choice, and you made it.”

  She held his stare for a long moment, jaw tight. Then she gave a short nod and turned away.

  Alyra stood frozen, eyes wide, shock plain on her face. She must have heard him shouting. Fine. Let her know what her precious Warden had done.

  Tunga’s rough voice cut through his thoughts. “Someone come.”

  Derek turned to where the shaman pointed.

  A column of soldiers was marching up the road from Rothmere, war hammers and tower shields glinting in the moonlight. Among them was the officer who’d nearly arrested him on his first day in the city. Maren—that was it.

  At the front strode Garath. Same chainmail over his robe, now with a plain steel helmet pulled low. His eyes swept across the carnage—human and beast alike littering the ground. His brow furrowed.

  Derek glanced at Isabelle. She met his gaze, eyes sharp, the warning written all over her face.

  After Uriela, the last person who could ever find out about Alyra’s condition… was Garath.

  Dragging NOVA’s damaged leg, Derek limped toward the Inquisitor. Isabelle fell in behind him, with Tunga and Alyra flanking his sides.

  Garath raised a hand, halting the column, and stepped forward alone. His frown deepened with every pace through the bloodstained wreckage of the battlefield.

  By the time he reached them, he was holding a hand over his nose and mouth. His face had gone pale and tight. “What… what happened here?”

  Derek scratched at his beard. “We ran into some complications.”

  Garath glanced around, his brown eyes wide. “These are complications?” His gaze snapped to Isabelle.

  The Warden lifted her chin, shoulders squaring. “We were attacked by the Cult of Death.”

  Garath’s eyes narrowed. “The Cult of Death? They’ve never attacked anyone. They live in sin, yes, but to strike against the Church? And how could they have done all this?” He swept an arm at the devastation around them.

  “The Cult wouldn’t have attacked if your priest hadn’t screwed everything up first,” a woman’s voice cut in.

  A swirl of purple mist coiled into shape before them.

  Garath and Isabelle both reached for their hilts.

  Before steel cleared leather, the smoke peeled back—revealing the smirking face of Sierelith. Just her head, hovering in the air. She turned to Derek and winked.

  Derek arched a brow. What the hell was that fox doing here?

  “No need to reach for your weapons,” the spy said. “I’m nowhere near you. I left a crystal behind for this projection, but it won’t last long.”

  “What do you want?” Isabelle asked, her hand dropping from her sword.

  “I’m here to make sure you understand what happened and to give you a warning,” Sierelith’s head replied.

  Garath’s scowl deepened. “And why should we listen to a heretic spy?”

  “Do as you like. I’ve already reported everything to my father, and he asked me to deliver this message. Once I’m done, I’m out. What you do with the information isn’t my concern.”

  The inquisitor clenched his jaw. “Then say what you came to say and vanish, heretic.”

  Sierelith smiled. “With pleasure. Your priest, Elias, confiscated the spheres the Cult of Death was using for their rituals. Then he decided to absorb the Life Sphere they were channeling.”

  Garath lifted his chin. “He was well within his rights to do both.”

  “Knew you’d say that.” Sierelith’s smile sharpened to a blade. “But the area was already saturated with Life magic, and his chakras were already charged. Absorbing that Sphere pushed him right up against his Auric limit.”

  Garath’s broad shoulders rose in a shrug. “Still don’t see the problem, if he was within his limits.”

  “The problem started when another Sphere fell from the sky. Let’s just say Orbisar decided to play a nasty little prank on him. Wouldn’t you agree, Inquisitor?”

  His scowl deepened. “Orbisar doesn’t play games, heretic.”

  “Exactly.” Sierelith tilted her head. “So let’s call it divine punishment instead. The Sphere that fell—an Iron-tier one—cracked open and contaminated him. It pushed him past his limit.”

  Garath’s mouth fell open. He glanced around, disbelief written across his face. “You’re suggesting Elias caused all of this? That’s absurd.”

  Derek smirked under his breath. That fox was too damn clever for her own good. But where was she going with this?

  Sierelith shook her head. “Not on purpose. When Elias lost control, the high priests of the Cult arrived. They saw what had happened and took control of him. He became a puppet in their hands, and they used him to retaliate. They summoned a golem to make your Church pay for what they considered an act of sacrilege.”

  Garath stiffened. “So you admit it. The Cult of Death attacked us, just as the Warden said.”

  Sierelith rolled her eyes. “That’s the only part you caught? The Church struck first. Then they botched it. Then the Cult decided to send a message. My father wanted you to know both sides were at fault and that maybe now isn’t the best time to launch a witch hunt over it. Or at least… that’s how I read his point.”

  Garath shook his head. “Why would I trust the leader of a heretic cult—or his daughter?”

  Her grin widened. “Didn’t think you would. You’ll find Elias’s remains inside the temple. Have your best seers examine them, and they’ll confirm what I’ve told you. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” She sighed. “Now I have to go.”

  Her head turned toward Alyra and gave her a wink before vanishing in a hiss of violet smoke, dissolving into the air.

  Garath shook his head while Derek gave a small nod.

  Her story lined up with what he’d seen, and she didn’t have much reason to lie. Still, with her, you could never be completely sure.

  Isabelle cleared her throat. “I can confirm that Elias was… out of control. I faced him myself. A war against the Cult of Death might be… excessive, given the circumstances.”

  Garath met her eyes. “We certainly can’t afford two wars at once.”

  Derek’s eyes narrowed, a chill running down his spine. “What do you mean, ‘two wars’?”

  Garath drew in a heavy breath, chest swelling. “We’ve found conclusive evidence that the the assault on the bridge of the bridge—the attack on your life—was carried out by a member of the Nakori tribe.” His gaze shifted to Tunga.

  The shaman’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl.

  Derek’s heart jolted. What the hell was this idiot implying? “You’re not seriously suggesting—”

  The inquisitor nodded. “In light of the attempt on the sacred Cashnar’s life, Uriela has ordered preparations for a campaign against the jungle tribes. Dispatches have already been sent to the Divine Chancellor, Luthiel Othran, requesting authorization to begin a military campaign, along with a formal plea for his blessing in this holy endeavor.”

  Tunga’s brow knotted. “What you say? Speak plain.”

  Garath bared his teeth in a cold smile. “It means war, shaman.”