They divided into four groups, each with a Primordial guide and a specific target.

  The decision had not been easy. Kael had argued against it at first, unwilling to split their forces, afraid of losing more people. But the Primordials had convinced him—they could cover more ground this way, hit multiple prisons before the Gilded could react, build their army faster than the empire could respond.

  And they were running out of time.

  "The Gilded know we're coming," Ignis had rumbled, his fiery eyes glowing in the darkness. "They felt Aria's prison fall. They felt mine. They will be watching the remaining prisons, waiting for us to show ourselves. If we go to them one by one, they will be ready every time. If we go to them all at once, they cannot be everywhere."

  Kael had finally agreed, though every instinct screamed against it. Splitting up meant vulnerability. It meant that if something went wrong, he couldn't be there to help. It meant trusting others with lives he felt responsible for.

  But that was the point, wasn't it? Trusting others. Letting go of control. Believing that the people who had followed him into darkness were capable of more than just following.

  He still hated it.

  Kael would lead one group north, toward the prison of Glacies, the ice titan. Vex would guide them, his silver light cutting through the frozen darkness. Lyra would come with Aria—her warmth would be valuable against the cold, and the two Primordials worked well together. Finn would join them, despite his lingering weakness, because Kael couldn't bear to send him away. And two other Forgotten would complete their group: Mira, the quiet woman with healing hands who had kept them all alive more than once, and Jax, a young man who'd been a runner in the Underspire and could move faster than anyone Kael had ever seen.

  "Glacies's prison is the oldest," Vex explained as they prepared. "The coldest. The Gilded built it first, to test their methods. There will be traps—ancient things, designed to kill without thought. We must be careful."

  Kael nodded, memorizing every word. Knowledge was survival. He'd learned that in the Underspire, and it was even truer here.

  Corvus would lead a group east, toward the prison of Terra, the earth-shaker. Ignis would guide them, his fire useful against stone and his knowledge of the deep places invaluable. With him would go Sola, a fierce woman who'd lost her family to the Gilded and wanted revenge, and Petir, a massive man whose strength rivaled Corvus's own.

  "Terra sleeps deep," Ignis told them. "His prison is within the living rock, miles below the surface. The Gilded built it to be unreachable—but nothing is unreachable for those who know stone."

  Corvus grinned, hefting his pick. "I know stone. We'll find him."

  Elara would lead a group west, toward the prison of Ventus, the storm-bringer. Aria would guide them, her light cutting through the eternal tempests that surrounded Ventus's prison. With her would go Ren, a former hunter who could track anything, and Vesper, a woman who had been a child when she failed her Rite and had grown up in the Deep Home, knowing nothing but darkness.

  "Ventus is wild," Aria warned. "His prison is surrounded by winds that never cease, storms that would tear ordinary humans apart. But my light can guide you through. Trust it, and you will survive."

  Elara nodded, her mapper's eyes already distant, planning routes through impossible terrain. "We'll make it. We always do."

  And Thend would lead a group south, toward the prison of Aqua, the tide-turner.

  He had no Primordial guide—Aqua was distant and isolated, buried under miles of ocean, and none of the freed Primordials had a strong connection to her. But Thend had his knowledge, his wisdom, and two companions: Orin, a former fisherman who understood water in ways that land-dwellers couldn't, and Sage, a young woman with a gift for languages who might be able to read the prison's ancient markings.

  "Aqua's prison is the most dangerous," Vex admitted. "Not because it is better guarded—it is actually the least defended of all. But because it is under the ocean, and water is not kind to air-breathers."

  Thend had smiled, his ancient face creased with wrinkles. "I've survived this long by being careful. I'll be careful."

  Kael had wanted to argue, to insist that Thend stay with them where it was safer. But he knew the old scholar wouldn't agree. Thend had come this far to help free the Primordials. He wouldn't stop now.

  "You have three months," Kael told them all, standing at the mouth of the cave where they'd first emerged from the tunnels. The grey light of dawn was creeping over the valley, painting the mountains in shades of gold and rose. It was beautiful—a reminder of the world they were fighting for.

  Three months. Ninety days. It felt like both an eternity and no time at all.

  "If you're not back by then, we'll come looking for you," Kael continued. "If you free your Primordial, send word through the Aether—we'll feel it. And if you run into trouble..." He trailed off, not sure what to say. If they ran into trouble, they were on their own. That was the reality of splitting up.

  "We will know," Vex said. "The bonds between us Primordials are strong. If one of us falls, the others will feel it. If one of us succeeds, we will know that too."

  It wasn't much comfort, but it was something.

  They embraced, these twelve Forgotten who had become family.

  Corvus clasped Kael's arm, his grip firm and warm. "Take care of yourself, boy. Don't do anything stupid."

  "You first." Kael managed a smile. "And Corvus? Thank you. For everything."

  The big miner nodded gruffly, but Kael saw the emotion in his eyes. "Just make sure you're here when I get back. We've got a war to win."

  Elara hugged Lyra tightly, whispering something in her ear that made the girl smile. Then she turned to Kael, her mapper's composure cracking just slightly.

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  "Watch over her," she said. "She's special. We all know it."

  "I will. You watch over yourself."

  Ren shook Kael's hand firmly. Vesper gave him a shy smile. Sola nodded once, her eyes burning with purpose. Petir clapped him on the shoulder so hard he stumbled.

  And then there was Thend.

  The old scholar stood before Kael, looking smaller than he had before—or maybe that was just Kael's fear, making him see things that weren't there. Thend's eyes were bright, knowing, filled with the wisdom of years.

  "Don't look so worried, boy," he said gently. "I've survived this long by being careful. I'll be careful."

  "I know." Kael's voice was rough. "I just... I can't lose anyone else."

  Thend's expression softened. "You won't lose me. I promise." He reached up and touched Kael's cheek, his papery skin warm despite the cold. "You've grown so much, Kael. From a gutter rat who only wanted to protect his sister to a leader of nations. I'm proud of you. Your parents would be proud of you."

  Kael couldn't speak. He just nodded, blinking back tears.

  Thend hugged him then—a brief, warm embrace that spoke of decades of wisdom and kindness. Then he stepped back, smiled once more, and turned to join his group.

  Orin and Sage waited for him at the tunnel entrance. The fisherman nodded to Kael, his weathered face calm. Sage waved shyly, her young face eager despite the danger ahead.

  Then they were gone, swallowed by darkness.

  Kael watched them go, Lyra's hand in his, and wondered how many he would see again.

  Thend's group disappeared first, taking the southern tunnel. Then Corvus's group headed east, their torchlight fading slowly. Then Elara's group took the western path, Aria's light flickering in the distance until it, too, was gone.

  Only Kael's group remained.

  "Time to go," he said quietly.

  Lyra squeezed his hand. "They'll be okay. They're strong."

  "I know." Kael took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Let's move."

  They turned north, into the frozen darkness, and began their own journey.

  The first days were the hardest.

  Without the others, the tunnels felt emptier, quieter. Kael kept expecting to hear Corvus's rumbling laugh or Thend's scholarly observations. But there was only the sound of their own footsteps, their own breathing, their own hearts beating in the vast silence.

  Finn's cough worsened as they traveled north. The cold seeped into his lungs despite their best efforts, and Mira worked on him every night, her healing hands glowing in the darkness. She never complained, never suggested they slow down, but Kael could see the worry in her eyes.

  Jax scouted ahead, his runner's speed making him invaluable. He would dash forward, check the path, then race back to report. His presence was a comfort—at least they had someone who could move quickly if trouble came.

  Lyra walked beside Kael, her hand in his. She was quieter now than she'd been before the bonding, but it was a peaceful quiet, not the fearful silence of their Underspire days. Aria spoke to her often, teaching her things Kael couldn't hear, preparing her for challenges to come.

  "She grows strong," Vex observed. "The bond suits her."

  "She's always been strong," Kael said. "She just didn't know it."

  "And now she does. That is the gift we give—not power, but awareness of the power that was always there."

  Kael thought about that as they walked. About the power that had always been inside him—the stubbornness, the love, the refusal to give up. Vex hadn't given him those things. He'd just helped Kael see them.

  Maybe that was what family did. Maybe that was what they all were becoming to each other.

  On the third day, they found the first sign that others had come this way before.

  It was a marker—a small carving on the tunnel wall, barely visible in the dim light. Kael almost missed it, but Jax's sharp eyes caught the anomaly and called them over.

  "What is it?" Finn asked, leaning heavily on his staff.

  Thend would have known, Kael thought. Thend would have been able to read the symbols, to tell them what it meant.

  But Thend wasn't here.

  "It is a warning," Vex said slowly. "From the early days of the empire. It says: 'Turn back. Death lies ahead.'"

  "Someone wanted to help future travelers," Lyra observed. "Warn them away from danger."

  "Or someone wanted to discourage competition." Vex's voice was thoughtful. "The Gilded were not the only ones who sought the Primordials' power. There were others—rogue bonders, rebels, people who thought they could free us and use us for themselves."

  Kael stared at the carving, imagining the person who had made it. A rebel, maybe, who had come this far and then turned back. Or a Gilded soldier, ordered to leave warnings for their enemies. Or someone else entirely, someone whose name and purpose had been lost to time.

  "We go on," he said finally. "We knew this wouldn't be easy."

  They pressed forward, leaving the warning behind.

  The tunnels changed as they traveled north.

  The rock became smoother, almost polished, as if something had worn it down over millennia. The air grew colder, thinner, harder to breathe. Strange formations appeared on the walls—patterns that looked almost like writing, almost like art, but not quite either.

  "We are close," Vex said on the fifth day. "I can feel Glacies now. She sleeps, but she dreams. And in her dreams, she calls out."

  Kael tried to feel it—the presence of another Primordial, so different from Vex's silver calm or Aria's emerald music. At first, there was nothing. Then, faintly, he sensed it: a cold that wasn't just temperature, a stillness that wasn't just quiet, a peace that wasn't just absence of conflict.

  Glacies.

  "She's beautiful," Lyra whispered, feeling it too. "Even in sleep. Even after all this time."

  "She was always the gentlest of us," Vex agreed. "The most peaceful. That made her imprisonment especially cruel—to trap someone who loved stillness in a place where she could never move."

  Kael thought about that as they walked. About the nature of cruelty, about the Gilded's willingness to inflict maximum suffering. They hadn't just imprisoned the Primordials—they'd tailored each prison to its occupant, ensuring that the pain was as exquisite as possible.

  Thend had been right. The Gilded were monsters.

  On the seventh day, they found the first body.

  It was ancient—little more than bones and frozen rags—but Kael could see the remnants of Gilded armor, the tarnished metal of a Sentinel's badge still pinned to what remained of a cloak. The skeleton lay against the tunnel wall, its arms wrapped around itself as if trying to ward off the cold even in death.

  "Someone tried before us," Finn observed quietly.

  "Many someones." Kael pointed ahead, where more bones were visible in the dim light. "Look."

  The tunnel ahead was lined with remains—dozens of them, maybe hundreds, scattered along the path like markers on a road to death. Some were Gilded, their armor recognizable despite the centuries. Others were different—older, stranger, wearing clothing that predated the empire.

  "The Gilded did not care," Vex said softly. "They let the bodies lie where they fell. A warning, perhaps. Or simply indifference. The cold preserves, but it also reminds."

  Kael stepped over the first skeleton carefully, trying not to disturb it. The bones crumbled at the slightest touch, falling to dust that mixed with the frost on the floor.

  "Keep going," he said. "Don't stop. Don't look back."

  They pressed on, through the graveyard of the ambitious and the unlucky.

  The prison revealed itself on the ninth day.

  Kael saw it first—a glow in the distance, faint but unmistakable, different from the cold light of the ice. It was the light of Aether, of ancient power, of something that had been waiting for a very long time.

  They emerged from the tunnel into a vast cavern, and Kael stopped in his tracks.

  The prison of Glacies was a palace of ice.

  It rose from the cavern floor like something out of a dream—towers and spires of frozen water, bridges of frost that arched between them, walls so clear they were almost invisible. The ice caught what little light penetrated this deep and threw it back in rainbows, in prismatic displays that hurt to look at. It was beautiful in a terrible way—the beauty of a place designed to kill, to trap, to hold forever.

  And at its center, frozen in a block of crystal-clear ice as large as a building, slept a creature of impossible grace.

  Glacies.

  "Sister," Vex breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "We've come."

  Kael felt the Primordial's grief like a physical weight—millennia of separation, of longing, of hope deferred. It pressed against his chest, made it hard to breathe, brought tears to his eyes that weren't entirely his own.

  "We'll free her," he said. "That's why we're here."

  They stepped forward, into the frozen palace, toward the sleeping beauty and the chains that bound her.

  The final challenge had begun.