The sickening sounds of snakes slapping their bodies around them eventually ceased. It had taken several tense hours of sweating it out, but it was finally over. The fervor had passed.

  Jeol disintegrated the marble dome with a gesture, revealing the passage of time: it was now past nightfall. The books on Oberon Island’s life hadn’t had any illustrations to do this view justice. Glimmermoss tufts on the floor, on tree trunks, and on overhead branches glowed a bright blue, the only source of light in the chilly darkness.

  Jeol led the group at a brisk pace through the forest. It felt like walking through a sea of stars.

  Under better circumstances, Firnix could’ve stared at the Glimmermoss for hours on end. Jeol vigilantly glared daggers at him as if practicing caution against a feral animal. Under his gaze, Firnix tried his best to walk as casually as possible, which turned out considerably difficult. He was hyper aware of the snake in his robes, passive thanks to its ongoing digestion.

  Unveiling it now and dashing into the darkness wouldn’t work, much as he wanted this nightmare to end. Soulcasters had heightened physical ability, so even Jeol, old as he was, could run many times faster. A hasty dash into the woods would last no more than a second. He needed to wait for a better moment. If one would even come.

  “Welcome to Sylvanshade!” Syra announced.

  It took him a moment to notice they’d reached a village. If she hadn’t spoken, he almost could’ve missed it.

  Boxy dwellings draped in vines and Glimmermoss sagged in on each other between the greatwood trees, almost blending into the shapes and colors of the forest proper. Narrow paths nestled between the cramped buildings. Overhead, a few brown and gray tarps hung haphazardly on the immense tree branches. No trees had been cut to make room; considering the wide girth of their trunks, it likely wasn’t worth the effort.

  If Firnix didn’t know better, he would’ve thought this was a makeshift dwelling for those who’d fallen under hard times. The sheer contrast to the opulence of the Wardens’ estates was staggering. But he’d studied Oberon Island: for centuries, almost the entirety of their population lived in small villages scattered around the island. It was a way of living that most other societies had long since evolved from.

  That didn’t make it any less intimidating, however. The rustle of grass and leaves in the distance made Firnix flinch, and he snapped his gaze to the faint sight of a shadow passing between nearby buildings.

  Jeol chuckled darkly and slapped Firnix on the back. “Keep moving, keep moving. It’s just someone who lives here.”

  Syra chimed in with a more reassuring tone. “They’ve got an Umbra, so don’t worry about them! They won’t do anything bad to you!”

  “Not like you should be worried about any random villager,” Jeol added as he led the group down a twisting path. “The only Soulcasters on the island are the four Redcloaks, Elkah, and Syra.”

  Really? Firnix wondered, taken aback. Only six Soulcasters across the whole island. No less than half of them are escorting me right now. Even if the great nations had many, many more Soulcasters each, Firnix felt no relief; even just one of the weakest Soulcaster in Arla was enough to take him down. He had three with him already, and it seemed like he was about to get the misfortune of greeting at least one more. But a chance to escape hadn’t presented itself, so he held firm. As well as he could.

  Jeol made for the nearest house through an open doorway, and Duri and Syra followed on his heels.

  I’m meeting Elkah here? Firnix thought, surprised.

  The house looked as dilapidated as the rest of the buildings. An odd residence for someone at the top of society. The Grand Wardens loved ostentatious architecture like fish loved water, and the same could be said for the powerful Soulcasters back in Firnix’s birthplace.

  The interior was no less modest than the building’s facade. Large glass lanterns filled with what must’ve been Glimmermoss hung from the ceiling, illuminating all but the shadowy corners with their blue glow. The room looked like a large toolshed, but instead of tools, an assortment of scrolls, tomes, and stationary filled the walls’ shelves.

  Jeol and Duri took a seat at a table, while Syra leaned against one of the walls. She fidgeted with her hands, shifting her weight from boot to boot. Firnix stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of what was expected of him.

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  He debated whether to unleash the snake right then. If more people were coming, though, he could run into one of them on the way out and the plan would instantly fail. He’d have to wait until they were all in the room with him.

  “Don’t be scared,” Jeol said. “Gifting is mostly painless. Usually. Depends how accurate Roshi is with the sword.”

  A sword? Firnix thought, swallowing. What’s the sword for?

  Violence, certainly. It always came down to that, with these kinds of people. Always.

  “Wait, Da does it?” Syra asked.

  “You didn’t know? He’s been doing it for years,” Jeol said.

  “He’s never mentioned it before!”

  “A caterpillar may be uneasy as it morphs into a chrysalis,” came an old woman’s voice from behind him. “Little does it know, it becomes a butterfly as a result.”

  He turned to see a small lady, gray hair tied in a bun, with soft eyes surrounded by a score of wrinkles.

  She doesn’t have an Umbra on her forehead, Firnix thought, stomach squirming. She must be the one. “Greetings to the venerable Queen of Oberon,” he said with a bow.

  “Queen of Oberon? Nonsense, call me Elkah.” She spoke kindly, with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “Forgive me. Greetings to the venerable lady Elkah.”

  “He seems to have more manners than the rest of you put together,” Elkah said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “I am called Firnix, Que— ah, Elkah.”

  “You are alone?”

  “Only he came off the ship,” Jeol reported as Elkah took a seat at the table. “He’s a dangerous one. Had a vial of blood that attracted a flurry of snakes to us. That’s why we’re so late.”

  “Everyone has a dangerous streak now and then,” she said. “Before they’re Gifted, at least. Let us wait. Roshi and Moth will be coming soon.”

  Syra perked up. “Both of them are coming? It’s been a while since all four Redcloaks have been together, hasn’t it? Oh, Redcloaks are the Soulcasters of this island, besides me,” she added to Firnix.

  “Things are finally settling down,” Elkah said. “To think this day would come. The entire island, secured. That makes me wonder. Why was it you came, boy? We do not often get visitors.”

  “He said he wanted to research the wildlife,” Jeol said.

  “The wildlife, is it?”

  Firnix swallowed. “Indeed, venerable lady. Greatwood trees are said to be the largest species in Arla. Your homeland is a true marvel.”

  He thought he saw a bit of pride in her expression.

  It was unlikely to convert to mercy, but he pushed through his nerves to keep the conversation going. “Is Oberon Kingdom truly a relic of the past?”

  Elkah surveyed him, her eyebrows slightly raised. “As of around two decades ago, yes. Perhaps I should be surprised you weren’t aware, but news does travel slowly from here to the rest of the world. If at all.”

  Firnix nodded in agreement. “And a great leader you are to have accomplished such a thing.”

  “Coating sugar on your tongue won’t make it any more palatable,” Jeol growled.

  Elkah waved a hand. “Now, now, Jeol. I may not have a sweet tooth, but I’m very much enjoying this.”

  “Pardon my boldness, but I wonder how you have managed such a great feat. Is it Soulcasting?”

  “I presume so,” Elkah said. She didn’t elaborate, and he hesitated to prod.

  Footsteps padded from out the doorway. He turned to see a man and woman enter the room, crimson cloaks swirling about them. They must’ve been Roshi and Moth. The man had a close-shaved head of black-and-gray hair. The woman had defined crow’s feet and a large gash over the right side of her face, putting her eye in a permanent squint — or more like a half-scowl.

  Both had Umbras on their foreheads.

  Finally, everyone was present. To Firnix, being stuck in a room with five Soulcasters was more claustrophobic than being folded up in a wooden shipping crate. He’d expected to have found a better chance to run, but now he knew he couldn’t rely on waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

  His chest tightened. I don’t know what to do.

  I don’t think this will work.

  I should just give up.

  But he had nothing left to lose that was more important than a chance of returning to Fraela. All that remained was to try.