Firnix recalled what Syra had said earlier, when they were being attacked by snakes. I became a Soulcaster to get strong and help make the world a better place.

  She hadn’t been lying. She’d really meant that.

  He’d thought it was absurd before, but now that he thought about it, he had a similar goal driving him.

  For many years, he’d suspected he already had a Soulcaster’s Will. There was nothing he wanted more than to erase Soulcasting from the world to make it a better place for humanity. Of course, he’d never tried declaring it as a Soulcaster’s Will.

  He didn’t want to become a Soulcaster.

  Soulcasting was a power that corrupted. It gave too much influence to too few people. The strongest Soulcasters could define eras, could make or break nations. Most of Arla’s land was covered by three great nations, each of which had an Apex Soulcaster — and that was no coincidence. There was a reason they were called the Three Great Powers of Arla. On a whim, any one of them could raze a village or lay waste to a city.

  Such power imbalance between humans was a malady to society. The same way anyone could indifferently step on an ant and feel no remorse, a powerful Soulcaster could relentlessly pursue their passions, as was encouraged by the way Soulcasting itself worked, regardless of how the common man suffered for it. Elkah was the perfect example of how that stood true no matter where he went in the world. If he let himself wield power, he feared he would end up corrupted by it. Like every Soulcaster he’d encountered.

  But if he didn’t become a Soulcaster, conversely, he’d be obliged to participate in a society of absolute oppression under Elkah, living the rest of his life as no more than her servant. It would mean giving up returning to the Wardens, giving up finding a way to erase Soulcasting. It would mean giving up his goals, his passions, his entire life. Not unlike death itself.

  Firnix ground his teeth. It would be tough to decide between the two. Or, at least, it should’ve been. But the prospect of death just didn’t seem as bad as turning into one of the monsters he feared.

  “Why are you so silent?” Syra asked. “Did Elkah force you to? Or, no! Don’t tell me you’re planning on becoming a Soulcaster too?”

  “I was,” Firnix muttered bitterly.

  “Wait, really? Do you have a Soulcaster’s Will? Did you just get one? I didn’t think — wow, that’s awesome. Oh, what kind of abilities will you have?”

  It seemed all the excitement that usually came with becoming a Soulcaster had gone to her. Firnix felt only worry. It’d once been a dream of his to be a Soulcaster, but that had been many years ago, and that childish desire had been his worst mistake.

  He shook himself. He wouldn’t let himself fall down that road again. “Pardon, but I don’t wish to become a Soulcaster, even if I could.”

  “What? That’s such a waste! Are you afraid Elkah will punish you for it? Don’t worry, she’s tolerated me all this time. She’s an understanding person, once you get to know her! I can vouch for you, too.”

  “Much appreciated, Syra,” Firnix said, though he hoped he wouldn’t ever see Elkah again. “You are very kind. But do you have any idea what this place is? How can we get out?”

  His nose still hadn’t acclimated to the overpowering smell of the lightless underground cave. With the immediate fear of his Umbra pushed to the back of his mind, the fear of the surroundings chilled him down to his bones. Could they even find a way out?

  “Um. I’ve lived here a long time, but I never knew this place existed,” Syra said. “It’s creepy as cackles. The floor is also really thin. One wrong step and you slip off somewhere further down, onto yet another slick surface.”

  Firnix was glad for the distraction. He thought about her description, and the forest, and the trees. “Like roots?” he gasped.

  “Mm”, Syra hummed. “I guess. Yeah, that actually makes a lot of sense. This whole place must be full of the forest’s roots!”

  A hollow subterranean expanse like this hadn’t been recorded in any of the books he’d read in preparation for this trip — and he’d combed through the entirety of the greatest library in the world. But that wasn’t too surprising. Very few research teams bothered coming to Oberon Island, given its lack of ardor wells, and its distance from everywhere important. In the back of his mind, he felt a sort of excitement at the thought of discovering a new ecosystem. His dry throat and growling stomach convinced him he should rather beeline for the nearest exit, considering how he was likely to starve or dehydrate.

  It felt like pushing his muscles through hot coals, but Firnix pulled himself to his feet. “I do not mean to hold you up with my infirmity. How are you feeling?”

  “Wretched as crottle, right now. But I can still walk, I suppose. Let’s go slowly, these roots curve around sometimes. Slippery as ice, too.”

  He tried not to think about what lay beneath all the roots. There had to be a floor to the cavern, right? And all this slime on the roots would have to collect somewhere. All the more reason to not fall down, he thought, shuddering.

  “Let’s go the same direction I’ve been going along,” she said. “I walked a bit before you woke up. I dragged you along with me.”

  That explained his soggy robes. Why hadn’t she left him behind, though? A guilt conscience?

  “Which direction had you taken?” he asked.

  Silence.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Are you pointing?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Yes, I am! Oh. Right. You can’t — here.” He felt a finger on his shoulder drawn from front to back. “That direction.”

  And so they walked slowly, with no complications.

  Until a few seconds in, when a loud groan like grinding millstones echoed throughout the cave, and the root beneath them gave way to gravity’s pull.

  With a shared scream, they fell further into the gloom.

  Firnix had the wind knocked out of him like he’d taken a bull’s headbutt to the chest.

  He’d landed on another massive root, just a few seconds down. He was relieved he hadn’t fallen any further.

  As he tried getting up, he slipped on the root’s slime. And fell further.

  Just as he did, however, a sudden weight pulled on the hem of his robes and yanked him upwards. Syra. He felt a moment of weightlessness before collapsing spread-eagle back on the root he’d slipped off of.

  “Thank you,” Firnix said after spitting out a bitter mouthful of gunk. He was impressed by how much power she’d needed to yank him up.

  “It’s no problem. But what just happened? Why did the root fall beneath us back then?” she asked, echoing his thoughts. “It couldn’t have been because we were too heavy for the root, right?”

  “It has to be a living organism,” Firnix said. His stomach turned. “It’s no coincidence the crash happened right where we were.”

  “And it's powerful enough to shear these thick roots!”

  “And I don’t think it has taken kindly to our presence.”

  A blood-curdling screech sounding like a pack of raving hyenas rang out throughout the cave.

  “That sounded like a confirmation,” Syra said. “It’s a Root Horror!”

  “A Root Horror? Have you heard of it before?”

  “No, I just came up with that name. It’s fitting, isn’t it?”

  Firnix didn’t know how to respond. The fear of a massive, powerful organism had woken his tired senses, but only to trash them senseless. He could hardly think straight.

  “It took all I had just to get up,” he said frantically. “And you’re in no better shape. How are we going to—”

  The cringing groan echoed again, and like last time, it came from right near him, to the left. The root beneath him began to sag in that direction. The groaning noise must’ve been the sound of it snapping.

  Such massive roots, treated like twigs.

  He scrambled to the right, but what began as an uphill climb soon became a downhill slide as the frictionless slime conspired with gravity against him.

  “Jump forward!” came Syra’s yell from beside him.

  He complied unthinkingly, and air rushed past him for a few seconds before he crumpled painfully onto a lower root. He made sure to stabilize his position on it before relaxing.

  “Are you here?” came her voice, but she wasn’t near him anymore. She sounded somewhere off in the distance, vaguely beneath. He realized with horror they’d jumped in opposite directions.

  “I’m here!” he called.

  She responded after a second, presumably taking a moment to register their separation. “Crottle!”

  The cold and dark of the cave had never felt as oppressive as it did now.

  “You need to become a Soulcaster!” Syra shouted, her voice shrill, afraid. “It’s the only chance you have of getting out of here!”

  “I can’t!”

  “Why not? I don’t understand!”

  “Because…”

  Because of that day nine years ago, he thought. And every day since then.

  He’d already made his decision. His regret that day, the regret of approaching that Soulcaster, could never leave him.

  He would rather die than go against his principles.

  If this Root Horror is how I die, then so be it.

  Syra’s voice filtered through the murk. “Firnix. What do we do?”

  So why am I clinging so tightly to the root?

  He didn’t understand. Was his resolve that weak? Was his natural instinct to survive that strong?

  No, it was something else.

  It wasn’t only his life in his hands, right now.

  There was someone else here with him. And if he died, she would too.

  Firnix didn’t trust Syra. He barely knew her, she had participated in his capture, and worst of all, she was a Soulcaster. But she’d saved his life by bringing him down to this cave, even if that was accidental. She hadn’t abandoned him, either. That was why…

  No, none of that mattered. None of that was why he was so reluctant to give himself up.

  When he thought back to that day nine years ago, it wasn’t the moment he approached the Soulcaster that he regretted the most. He’d just been a naive kid, a victim of his childish ignorance. No, the moment he regretted most was running away. He should’ve stayed, should’ve tried something to dissuade the Soulcaster from killing his family. It wasn’t his ambition, but his cowardice, that he would always hate himself for. That was why he’d never left Fraela, enduring, hoping for a way to end the cruel reign of Soulcasters across the world. He couldn’t run.

  I’ve decided to not be a Soulcaster this whole time. By becoming one, I prove to myself I’m capable of going against my morals and I could end up becoming exactly what I’m fighting against. I might come to despise myself for this.

  But if there was one thing I could never do anymore, it’s to run away from someone, anyone, whose life I can save!

  In the confines of his own mind, Firnix proclaimed his Soulcaster’s Will: a desire core to his being, core to his desire to return to Fraela and continue searching the First Library, core to the reason he could get up from his sheets every morning.

  I want to rid the world of Soulcasting.

  Something deep within him shook in response to his personal proclamation. An overwhelming sensation enveloped him. His breaths came shallow and ragged, and his Umbra began to glow dangerously bright.

  “Oh, crottle! What’s happening? Are you alright?” Syra asked.

  Firnix felt his aches and pains dull, his senses sharpened, and then his breathing steadied. It felt as though his muscles and bones were reinforced and his veins were washed clean.

  He gasped.

  Was it over?

  There was one way to confirm. “Your physical recovery is because of your Trunk enhancements.”

  He set his jaw, chest heavy as lead.

  He’d deactivated his Umbra.

  And become a Soulcaster.