Weeks go by. Our Battle Formations tutor lets us rent out his space in the Big Wing and hire an alt-magic user in exchange for humbling cleaning duty. And now that I really have time to analyze us as a group, I realize we’re not as perfect as the class audience made us out to be.

  During class they cheered at our flashy evades and quick shifts, but now that the auditorium is empty, I realize the strides we’ve all made in our individual skillsets left large egos to get in our way.

  Thinking back to the first months, there was a sense of playing off one another’s strengths. Misty’s energy was a great distraction to let Jurso recharge his bliss. Rogo’s strength rivaled entire blockades of Lacor shield-bearers. Sure, the alt-magic conjuring may have exaggerated our power a bit, but still. Layla would swoop in whenever someone was in need. Renesta’s shadow magic could literally withstand an entire front line for a short duration. And me? I would bring the power of a dragon and the split-decision-making of a general.

  Times have changed. Now that Layla found her stride in anti-mage stances, she heads the charge whenever there’s any type of magi at the forefront. Doing this takes away Misty’s spunk, Rogo’s adrenaline. The dynamic shifts sharply, and now that they all call me captain, I can’t just rely on my awakening to carry me to victory. I have to be the guide. The leader. There are only a few months until Call to Arms. We have to be a seamless, elite squadron—like those of old mythos worthy enough to be remembered.

  It doesn’t help that Misty and Jurso are obviously romantic, and that Renesta and I are harboring a few secrets of our own. It affects the dynamic. A part of me wants to rescue her over others whenever she’s in danger, even if it makes more sense to pry Jurso free from a cage-conjuring magi. These split-second decisions can be an eternity in battle, and sway an entire war. There’s no room for mistakes or feelings.

  I draw my chained dagger while facing forward, concentrating the warring dark into the blade. I’ve been reading up on black captures—impaling an enemy with a warring-dark-infused blade and using the essence to wrap around the foe like a spider spinning a web. It could be invaluable during flight, and a great disruptor on the ground. Izfael’s tomes have been proving useful.

  But that’s not my only goal today. I have to whip my marked back into shape. Like House Mother used to whip us to temper our blood, I have to scold to temper egos. Otherwise Broggen, Fiora, Elrick, anyone talented in their own right could break our ranks apart, including me.

  “Tutor!” I call to the alt-magic user assigned to us this evening. “Conjure an iron-rank myth weaver with twenty cadets. Fifteen ground, five aerial. Give them the high ground.”

  Jurso scoffs at me. “The hell, Hale? Trying to get us killed? People have died in these conjurings, if you recall.”

  “I do. Except egos have been flying high in this group. Let’s see what they’re worth.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were punishing us for advancing,” Layla says evenly.

  “Challenging,” I counter. “Lor’fyre’s brutes are all the size of Rogoshel. Fiora can shift into a fae-lion at the snap of her fingers. Elrick can hunt through the ground. What can we do?”

  Everyone squares their shoulders and faces forward at my challenge, as the ground shifts from under us and the arena fades from existence like a painted-over canvas.

  My vision refocuses on a mid-sized wyvern circling far above a smoky mountaintop, screeching to the other four patrolling close behind. The stamping of spears and pounding of heavy armor work to intimidate.

  “Our summit has not been breached in centuries. Look below you, foolish intruders, and fall to the bones of your predecessors,” a loud royal voice calls from above. Bongo drums send shivers through me, not from fear, but because an old mythos battle comes to life. The Summit Divine. A group of elite warriors of old Regalia Kingdomonia held the key intermediary fire beacon that signaled to allies which way an attack was coming. If I recall correctly, it was a string of archers using dark bliss. The poison would slow the climb, and when invaders were sufficiently incapacitated, the wyverns would feast.

  “Boe, did I bite off more than I can chew here?” I talk to him like I’m praying to a god, knowing he won’t respond but hoping he can hear me anyway. I miss his counsel and our banter. His silence motivates me to get past Relias’ ward and find Sefene for him. That’s after I survive this battle.

  “Marked! If mythos serves me right, dark bliss arrows will rain down on us. Layla, you’re front and center. Terror stance. Misty, counter wind measures to blow the arrows off course. Jurso, behind them to keep them up as we trek. I’ll try to deflect on the way up.” I sheath my dagger and pull Spellglass. “Renesta, stay back and create decoy shadows that sprint up the hill from other locations. Once we encroach the peak of the summit, Rogo and I break for offense.”

  “Our captain has spoken.” Layla bangs her shield. “Hooa!”

  Having no audience makes the battle feel real. Trekking up an impossible mountain, hearing the gravel scrunch beneath our feet, the labored breathing of adrenaline. There’s a rawness to it… a danger I’m meant to exist in.

  “Archers!” The royal elites announce themselves for intimidation. “Rain!”

  “Huddle!” I shout, pushing everyone behind Layla, making sure Ren is a few bodies apart. “Ren, shield!”

  She digs into the ground to pull out shadows and lift them overhead, stretching them like a blanket.

  Fth! Fth! Fth!

  Arrows sizzle as they hit the ground around us and clunk off Layla’s shield. As they collide into Ren’s, she falls to one knee with green-black marks bubbling to the surface of her skin. The dark bliss pierces her magi shield, which makes me abandon the whole idea entirely.

  “Jurso, cure her. Ren, disengage. Misty, countermeasures.”

  “Can you walk?” Jurso asks her.

  She nods, biting her lip.

  “We have to rush in between attacks. Go!” I call.

  This exercise reminds me of our great climb up the endless spire. Only this time, we have the means to fight back.

  “Loose!”

  Layla locks her arms in a box shape and stomps wide, activating terror stance again. The pulse of anti-mage energy draws in some of the arrows toward her shield, causing batches of them to tumble away like sticks.

  “Hell yeah, Lay. Sick stance!” Misty climbs to her shoulders and leaps into the air, spinning into a whirlwind that sends the next wave limp midair.

  “Charge!” I shout. Noticing Ren starting to lag, I command Rogo to carry her. The windows are getting smaller. My legs ache as I push off of jutting rock to advance. Need to give credit where credit’s due—Layla’s bulky armor must weigh a ton, yet she doesn’t complain one bit. Same with Rogo’s axe. They’re top-tier brutes.

  Every step higher I imagine us not as glass ranks, but as war-ready steel.

  “Advance!” I call, my voice deepening with the power of the warring dark flowing through my veins. I could end this all by squeezing Dovesier out of the mental plane and commanding lightning to the summit. I should.

  I’d risk the chaos of destroying the entire auditorium, or worse, striking one of my own. But I can’t be frightened of chaos… otherwise I’ll never be able to wield it.

  Sparks bounce off my skin, making the hair stand on the back of my neck.

  “Loose!” the royal elite calls.

  “Fight through it! Misty, front lines with me!” We shift ahead of Layla. Now that the smoke’s cleared, I see the shimmering gold armor amid the haze.

  Arrows fly close range, and I attempt the variation of terror stance used for the blade. I can feel the dark bliss counteracting in my joints, but I don’t have enough of a hold to deflect. Thankfully, a swipe of Misty’s dagger sends the next wave of arrows into the gravel at our feet.

  “Second! Loose!”

  We’re caught off guard by the change in timing. He staggered his archers this go round. Shit!

  Fth! Fth! Fth!

  Arrows plunge down upon us, and while Misty tries to charge for another high-magic swing, one punctures her shoulder, sending her tumbling back. With a mighty roar, Layla leaps to the forefront and activates terror once more.

  I repeat the motion of altered stance and swipe Spellglass at an incoming arrow. The intense magic connected to the arrow syphons through me. It enhances the closer it gets, like a tethered rope. As enchanted steel and arrowhead connect, a powerful wave of dark bliss explodes back toward the royal elite, forcing them to cower.

  “He finally learns to wield a sword properly. Took you long enough,” Dovesier cackles in my ear.

  “Fuck off,” I yell back in my head, then turn. “Jurso! Switch to Misty! Get her free of the dark bliss. Everyone else, charge!”

  The exercises rage deep into the night. We pull each other up when we’re down, and Jurso cures the wounds suffered by powerful alt-magic. These projections are becoming all too real, making me think Tutor Carlyle has been holding back.

  Our synergies are growing. Ever since Rogoshel helped Jurso regulate his addiction, they’ve grown close, which certainly has been helping in battle—considering Rogo is always getting hacked up on the front lines. After a week, Jurso gave me a fist bump and a wink that said all that needed to be said. My worry of him falling down the addiction well wasn’t for nothing, and he was grateful.

  Lay and I are as fluid as ever. Chained dagger tosses into seamless shield defense allows us to advance and defend simultaneously. We know exactly when to alternate, and ever since her stances have been put into motion, we’re unstoppable.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Days go by. In between training sessions and class, I make periodic stops to Izfael’s secret chambers, where Renesta and Tess toil to unlock Relias’ ward. They placed strings over the Seal, which I’m told is to identify the strongest parts of the ward.

  Honestly, this isn’t something I’ve studied. For some reason, cracking the code of magical tethers doesn’t pique my interest like bonds do. It’s a methodical process, like picking a lock. Or in this case, many locks, with enchanted steel barriers.

  Pulling Ren aside and giving her a kiss reinforces my appreciation. I know Sefene’s down there… and if she can somehow squeeze me back into the afterlife… I know I can find her.

  The deep cellar of that floating castle is the key. The one where I captured Dovesier. I know that now.

  ***

  On the eleventh night, I enter our lavish quarters to Tess rushing into the main hall. The double fireplace flames stoke to bolster her entrance.

  “Hale!” She can’t catch her breath. “Breakthrough. I think we can get you in.”

  “Where’s Renesta?”

  She stiffens.

  “You left her in there alone? The whole point of involving you was—”

  “I figured it’s safe if you’re freakin’ giving her a goodnight kiss every night.”

  My stomach does a somersault from anxiety. Ren could lock herself in there and try to activate a bond for herself for all I know. The last thing I need is another ghoulborn clawing at my face.

  I stomp past Tesstalia, annoyed, making way toward the other rooms that eventually lead into the tight corridor with the secret stone entrance sealed shut. With an angry glare over my shoulder, I pray Ren didn’t close herself off.

  “Sorry, Hale. Shit.” Tess turns sharply away with her hands on her hips. “There’s a breakthrough in there.”

  I shut my eyes and place my hand over the stone, telling myself there was no reason to close it off unless she was up to something deceitful.

  Can’t trust her as far as I can throw her, I sigh, realizing that our relationship—whatever it is—is a toxic mess.

  The stone door rumbles… but doesn’t open, causing Tess to click her tongue.

  “She’s going to try and crack the Seal for herself,” I say.

  “Gods. Shit!” Tess slaps the bookcase by her side. “She’s so damn convincing.”

  I remove my hand and place it back on the designated spot.

  Rrrr.

  It rumbles, but refuses to slide open.

  “Maybe we can crack the alt-magic on the skylight and break through.” I think back to the mayhem of killing Izfael. “I’ve done it before.”

  “If that’s what it takes. C’mon, let’s go.” Tess tugs at my arm.

  Just as we’re scrambling out of the narrow book room, the stone door slides open.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Ren says with her arms folded. “Thought it was Riko trying to peek in again. He’s one nosy pledge.” She stands aside for us to enter.

  Heat rushes to my face. I’m embarrassed as hell, to be honest, and I can tell Tess feels vindicated.

  “What’s with the silent treatment? Oh, I see. Thought I was trying to steal the Seal for myself. Still don’t trust me, huh?”

  I clench my jaw. “It’s not like my suspicions come from nowhere.”

  “The ol’ reversal. Should’ve expected a reader of old mythos to fight like that.” Ren smirks, and Tess stifles a laugh.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I stare deep into her emerald eyes. “I apologize for having a rogue thought about you… this time.”

  “Mm. Maybe I’ll forgive you.” She brushes past my shoulder, striding toward the Seal. “Or maybe I’ll bury you in the afterlife.” She steps delicately in between the strings and crouches to a small pentagon shape of string on the floor.

  Dark mythos tomes are scattered around the Seal, each opened and upside down.

  “I’ve been racking my brain for weeks. You’ve sent me into an obsessive tailwind… but I think I’ve finally got it. Drop your blood here, and I think I can squeeze you past the ward.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t want to bore such a busy elite with the particulars—”

  I’m rolling my eyes.

  “—But, if I concentrate all of my shade power on trying to bypass the ward on the stronger sides of the incantation, then I can free up the magi on the weak side for you to slip through. These types of wards are meant to stop one crazy person from trying to break them, not two.”

  “And if we fail?” I ask.

  “Your soul gets trapped in between the ward and your body becomes a husk.” She shrugs. “Not to worry, though. I’ll just run and get Karloth if that happens. He’ll rush to get Relias to undo his magic, unless he wants to lose his most prized cadet.”

  The logic is sound, I can’t lie. Who’s to say being stuck in a ward won’t feel like an eternity though? Or be like dying a thousand deaths?

  Either way, it’s worth it. Boe is worth it.

  I unsheathe my dagger and look to Tess. “You’ve been studying with her?”

  “What else do I have to do? You locked me in here every night with a dark witch. Might as well learn a thing or two.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think that dragon of yours burned me out of the sky, and we need him back,” Tess replies.

  “Good enough.” I walk up to the Seal. “Cancel my classes for the day. No one comes in or out but you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tess gets excited at the prospect, as I carefully step opposite Ren, crouching to analyze the small pentagram.

  I hold up my hand with my dagger ready to slice my skin. “There aren’t any cracks.”

  Ren scoffs. “The way the afterlife salivates to swallow you, I doubt that’ll be an issue.”

  My blood runs cold. Does she know another bond has formed within me? That’s what access to the afterlife is, after all.

  Narrowing my eyes, I don’t see the knowingly smug expression I’ve come to find with her. Maybe I’m just in my own head.

  “Ready to give this a go?” she asks, stepping back between other strings and prepping her shade form.

  “Sure. I’ll be the bonded fool who willingly got trapped by a deceptive shade,” I say.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve trapped you.” She winks.

  I groan. “The black widow.”

  “In the flesh.” She presses her hands flat on the Seal. “Okay, when you notice a pulse of warring dark rile, drop your blood.”

  She concentrates hard on what she’s doing, the playfulness in her expression disappearing completely. Her shadow flickers as it always does when she’s working—like a candle in the wind.

  There’s activity. The tiny vibrations of the Seal remind me of my first time in the Sept dungeon.

  She’s onto something. I tighten my grip around the blade edge.

  Whomf!

  The pulse flies through me like a dragon, and I pull the blade down for a clean slice. Plenty of blood to activate—

  Chrk!

  The Seal cracks, to my astonishment, revealing that familiar white light shimmering from below. Faint sounds of shouting soldiers and roaring creatures resounds from under me. I’m drawn to it. My soul follows.

  The metallic, rotting winds waft into my face, but I don’t mind. They’re synonymous with power now, and a world only few mortals can walk.

  A familiar red dawn sullies the air around me. I’m no longer in my secret quarters. I’m falling—no, diving into the black ocean. But why am I here? I didn’t drink Shade’s Milke. Is this an echo?

  My ethereal brow furrows as I aim directly for the afterlife portal in the black ocean. I see a silhouette of my brother waiting with his claws out, and a shade of Renesta judging me seductively. This is her doing, isn’t it?

  She’s taking notes.

  Maybe she lathered my dagger in the Milk. Or fed it to me after I passed out.

  I give her a cold side-eye as I descend into the afterlife. My world changes again in the course of a minute. Strong winds, loud whispers, and an unending storm of weather and war. My mind allows me to navigate familiar terrain. I’m on a path toward Dovesier’s castle—the one rebuilt and surely hoarding Sefene inside. The bastard spirit would never admit it, but I know it’s true.

  I have to be careful—strong threats loom from all around. Dragons tangle with riders hurling spears at one another. Hogs charge and transform into bulky brutes on a floating island. Everything is war. It’s as if we on the higher tiers are just trying to emulate death. Or perhaps the way we live causes this.

  A forever cycle.

  Lightning strikes beside me, scaring me back to my wits. Three bridges and two castles down the way, I recognize the one where I tamed Dovesier—the same one from his past when he abandoned his sister and snuffed Boeru’s request.

  They left her to suffer at the hands of the enemy. Three arrogant dragons—Dove, Kelfore, and Risorgus… fools undeserving of their own power.

  I have no wings, yet I soar as an unseen soul, leaping over spire tips and twisting down to the broken castle where I inherited lightning unmatched. Crashing down on the masonry feels familiar, but there’s no more watcher here to try and throw me back.

  Now that I know the depths of this castle, I can somehow feel the vibrations under my weightless feet. There must be a whole army beneath me.

  Replaying the memory of Dovesier flying with his brothers, I rush to trace their path and the canyon Boeru ascended from. One look over the stone ledge shows endless sky instead of dark cove, but as I stretch my gaze farther down, I see it—orange-lit spires stretching deep beneath the castle—like a glacier listed in mythos.

  There’s nothing stopping me here. No more fear of great heights.

  With one hop, I direct myself down toward the castle roots. Spiraling around and checking the windows one at a time, I don’t see any rooms big enough to house a dragon. Farther down I go.

  Farther…

  To the pits, where I worry I’ve made a huge mistake, until I hear two growls at the very bottom window barren of light. The hum is low and foreboding—nothing like the graceful Sefene I remember. Perhaps she’s guarded.

  One look inside and I can sense the vastness of the room. The smell is of charcoal and soot. Something was burned here long ago. When I slip inside, the window blackens with warring dark.

  “Sefene!” I call. “Your brother searches high and low for you. Boeru is relentless, to no avail.” I hold up my finger and pull a wisp of dark fire to light my radius. “But I know this is where you’ve been kept. It has to be.”

  “Oh? Why does it have to be?” A giant maw of back-facing spikes and sand-colored scales dips to my level.

  I’d know that face anywhere. “Kelfore.”

  “You dare interrupt our repentance?” Risorgus seethes from behind me.

  “I’m not here for either of you. I already have one stubborn brother,” I say, pulling a flash of Dove’s lightning to scare them both back.

  They lift their maws in unison, and then cackle to one another.

  “Is that what all that commotion was about up there?” Kelfore asks.

  “Tell me Dovesier no longer protects his castle,” Risorgus chuffs.

  I yank the dragon out of my shoulders to jar them again. He rages—manifesting and stomping the dark masonry with bolts flaring through his nose. This time they take a step back, their demeanor changing entirely.

  “Your sister. Where is she?”

  Risorgus uses his wings to scratch his back. “No one has seen Sefene for a thousand years.”

  “Has it been that long?” Kelfore paces, shaking the whole cavern. “That means only two hundred left to go.”

  “Why aren’t you fighting like the rest of the souls up there?”

  “Not all seek to chain jabbering, washed-up warriors for some endless war. Some of us have a higher calling—”

  “You will pretend not to seek gifts from the dark?” Risorgus scowls at his brother.

  “We hibernate and consider our faults in our first life,” Kelfore says, curling up into an innocent ball and abandoning his intimidating demeanor.

  “You two can drop the act. I’ve already seen memories from your past,” I say.

  The dragons lock eyes with one another.

  “Perhaps this is the gift giver,” Kelfore says.

  “Impossible,” Risorgus disagrees. “A bluff from one of Dovesier’s enemies. Nothing more.”

  “Kelfore, mighty tail-shifter. I’ve watched you hurl spikes and mold your tail into a hammer. You have the gift of transformative warring dark.” I turn to the other. “Risorgu. White winds so pure they caught fire in your old life, only to devolve into icy gales in the darkness of your later years. A dragon’s magi is only set to turn in the blackest of nights.”

  “It is him!” Kelfore affirms.

  “Just a well-read scholar who lost his way,” Risorgus chuffs.

  “And hoards the soul of our brother?” Kelfore growls, unfurling from his nap.

  “You seek retribution for reward in the afterlife, do you?” I challenge. “What if we could shorten your sentence?”

  “You speak lies.” Risorgus spits a gust of ice.

  “I only tell you that my search for Sefene is paramount.”

  “She must know we repent, bonded mortal,” Kelfore says.

  “Come with me, and you can tell her yourself.”

  ***

  I return to the living two dragons richer, both bonded with my soul. Dovesier and his brothers are rowdy together—bickering, beating their wings overhead, and spitting their elements. The power is immense. With one move of my hand, I can wield what a battalion of mages wishes they could. Sure, I have to beware of the downsides—expending too much energy creates a fatigue I’ve only known with Arkitus—but that’s easily manageable.

  Icy breath pools around me as my vision clears.

  Renesta and Tesstalia stare like I’ve returned from the grave.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” Ren asks tentatively.

  I know she’s been watching from the black ocean. She knows something has transpired. But if I had to guess? She doesn’t know what.

  I’m confident I could mold my dagger into a hammer just to shock them, but this is my secret. I won’t get beheaded for the threat of foreign mythos. I’ll hoard this power until the time is right.