Our master drops us on an outdoor wooden nest, mid-spire. Without the wind sphere holding us in place at these heights, excitement flees my body and is replaced with angst. Focusing on the unfinished wood beneath my fingertips, I wonder how much weight this sectional can hold. It’s a circle of stringed-together slabs surrounding the tower, like a looping bridge. And above us, an obstacle course of grooves and pegs stretch as high as the eye can see.

  Suddenly, the stone well we were lifted from doesn’t seem so daunting.

  Layla is the first to stand, looking over the ledge with her massive shield hooked to her back. She holds strong, despite the fear I know courses through her. She picks at her nails when she’s nervous.

  “Behold.” Relias steps off the wood, letting a wind-magic platform carry him. “Your ascension begins now. You will climb your way out of sub-tier ignorance, and arise baptized into a new world. One where your reality no longer betrays you, yet one that is at war.”

  We all slowly get to our feet, and the cautious ones—including me—inch back toward the spire base and feel the flush marble anchoring us in place. The brave could be tossed off by the slightest stormy wind.

  A thirty-day journey, I recall, craning my neck all the way up. No one can climb for that long. There must be stops along the way. Something…

  “Some of you will die,” Relias assures. “Some prophesize the fall so powerful, that once your body crashes down, your soul is propelled all the way to the depths of the warring dark, where it will fuel the next stronger batch.” He surveys us, making sure we’re all equally horrified.

  It’s working. Even with this new body, I’m not sure I can make it to wherever the first threshold is thousands of feet above us.

  “Step forward,” Relias’ voice booms to scare us.

  Shit. I grit my teeth, slowly convincing myself to leave the massive spire behind.

  Boeru huffs in my ears. “Do not shy away, mortal. Every rider faces their trials. It is a gift to witness these heights.”

  “Doesn’t feel like a fucking gift.” I inch forward, my legs reduced to jelly.

  Something washes over me. As the fear runs through my veins, so does something else—conviction. I’m going to learn everything of the world.

  I’m going to find my brother.

  I’ll become a master of magic and crush this bastard trying to kill us on every whim.

  “You despise me.” Relias smiles. “Good. Because that is your first lesson. Fear and hatred are great conduits for the warring dark. Don’t believe me?” He nods at Layla’s arm, which now radiates her mark.

  In fact, all of our marks are active. My squad’s and Broggen’s.

  “I sense budding attunements in some of you. Great magic resistance in others. Tempered blood serving its purpose. There is retribution in your parents’ sacrifice. Do not waste it by falling six thousand feet to the afterlife. Make the watchers dining below disappointed customers. Ascend.”

  “How, master?” a lanky sibling asks.

  “Face your fear. Use the warring dark to guide you. Listen to it.” His eyes flash white.

  A gust of wind pushes us all one step to the right—Misty nearly falls. A part of me wonders if Relias did it to scare us further.

  “Climb beyond the sky, and begin your journey of service to Miria.”

  We began our service the day we were born, you prick.

  It takes everything to bite back my frustration.

  “Master Dane, you must give us more,” I beg.

  “You have everything you need. Farewell.” Relias quickly soars away in a wind sphere, taunting us with his high magic.

  We’re all left dumbfounded in spring winds that have a hint of chill at this altitude. And as soon as I’m alone, my brain sets on fire. There’re no windows at this level of the spire. No doors. All we have is our rations and each other. Even though the pressure of the warring dark cycles through my forearms from fear, I inch away from the ledge, beckoning the others with the same bright marks to gather.

  In truth, I’ll trust the whole group at this point. It’s not like there’s a reason for the brutes to push us off. We’re not racing for a single slot, so we might as well combine our heads.

  Answers are waiting up there. I just have to get to them.

  “Renesta,” I call. “The shadows you pulled in battle, they have weight. Maybe if you can evoke them, we’ll have safety nets in case we lose our grip.”

  “The amount of energy it takes to evoke just one shadow would be enough to knock me unconscious mid-climb, let alone for an entire group.”

  “Teach us, then,” I grimace.

  Krch!

  The screech of a peg scratching at wood draws all of our attention. One of the brutes starts scaling the course.

  “The hell are you doing, Desmond!” a female brute calls.

  “Not getting tangled in the web of the weak,” he shouts back, grunting on his way up. “I invite all with strength to stop fucking around and rise to the occasion. Awoo!” he howls.

  Another two brutes follow—neither of which carry marks. I notice Broggen coaching his crew near the ledge of the platform, my guess so no one else hears.

  My eyes lock with Renesta’s again. Her calmness soothes me… just a little. “How can we bend shadows?” I ask.

  “You must pull from the well,” she says, holding out her hand. “The dark cycles my right arm. Another attuned in House Sivus had his around his left leg. It is a force that accumulates around our bodies, if our blood allows it. If you know what I speak, then focus on that sensation. If not… focus on your physical strength to scale that marble totem.”

  “Who feels it?” I lift my head, counting those who raise their hands. Rogoshel and Misty. That leaves Layla and Jurso barren. “Okay, you two start practicing with Renesta. I’ll join in momentarily.” I turn to Layla. “Guard. You and Rogoshel will be at the tail end of the train up. If any of our group falls above, please try to catch them.”

  She nods curtly.

  The man with the bad attitude ambles over. Horo. The wound looks like it’s stolen the color from his face, but he doesn’t complain when he approaches. “Mind another? Don’t feel like dying today if I can avoid it. Relax.” He holds up his hands before anyone can say anything. “I’m not here to mooch on your rations. Just seeing how far I can get.”

  I tilt my head at Layla, asking her silently what she thinks. The usual tough woman flees for a minute, and she just slowly nods because the guy is so pathetic.

  “You can join the huddle, Horo. Just no funny business or mouthing off. Deal?” I say.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  We strategize for hours. In that time, seven more siblings began their climb, and so far, no bodies fall past us yet.

  Jurso comes up to me.

  “How we doing on shadows?” I ask.

  “Progress. Misty has been able to manifest the arms of hers, which might be enough to hold her small frame, at least,” he says.

  “Or yours.” I smirk.

  “Or mine.” He coughs, which turns into a fit.

  I don’t know how he’s going to last four weeks on a vertical death mission. He has to scale above Layla, and I have to hope she’s strong enough to hold. Envisioning him falling to his death twists my insides, especially seeing him doubled over already.

  Patting his back is more moral comfort than anything. “It’ll pass.”

  “Tell that”—he coughs up blue phlegm—“to my lungs.”

  After a good twenty seconds, Jurso takes a deep breath, finding himself. “The spirit. How goes it?”

  “We’re working on it.” I frown at the lack of progress, then turn my gaze to Broggen. “I think it’s time for an intermission.”

  “Hale, remember. Cold snaps on ground level are harsh enough. One hour before morning when it hits.”

  Shit. He’s right. At this height, the cold winds would probably pass through at freezing temperatures. Makes me wonder if the brutes are secret geniuses for getting a move on.

  “At this point we should wait it out. What do you think?”

  Jurso nods. “Agreed.”

  I stand up, eyes still on Broggen.

  “Where are you off to?” Jurso asks.

  “To give a sign of good faith.” I edge toward the ledge. The incoming view of dark-top trees far below makes my stomach sink, but I weather it, even if my body tries to force me into a crawling position. “Gen, a word?”

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  The huddle of brutes turns to me—Grondus included—but Gen holds up his hand to call off his dogs. With a flick of his wrist, he leaves Tristian in charge before stalking over to me.

  His cowl whips like a torn flag.

  “Yes, Haledyn?” He says my name but immediately cranes his neck toward the spire. “It seems the brutes have made progress.”

  My eyes follow his to see no one visible above us.

  “About that. At this point I’d recommend waiting until morning before scaling. We’re about an hour out.” I point to the dark sky, noting the faint light seeping through the clouds is still bluish. Morning, it turns near white.

  “Morning,” he hoots. “Such a concept might be meaningful if we make it past the spire.” He lowers his gaze to lock eyes with mine. His variant-colored irises are frightening in natural light—as if his very essence is conflicting.

  His spirit strains him still.

  “We think the cold snap will be harsh at these heights,” I go on.

  “Hmm. I see.” He turns to the ledge, rubbing his chin. “It is a good point. Altitude affects temperature, doesn’t it? Information I wasn’t sure I’d ever need is easy to forget.” He nods, holding out his hand to test the winds. “Thank you. We will grant you one arrow as a return of good faith.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He smiles. “I had one of mine choose a bow with shadow-chained arrows enchanted within. The Danes weren’t shy about us having to climb our way out, so I strategized.”

  Damn, that’s brilliant.

  He has more tools than I do, and he knows how to use them.

  “Good move, Gen.”

  “Might’ve counted for nothing if you hadn’t pulled me.” He drops a hand on my shoulder, and as soon as he does, his head jerks to the floor. I feel it too—the touch ignited my warring dark, which makes me think Noctus and Boeru just took a swipe at one another without our knowing.

  Broggen growls past some pain, holding his head.

  “Noctus feels as I do about your little kinship.” Boeru bares his teeth.

  “We depart after the snap.” Gen straightens after the brief episode. “I’d use the chained arrow for your weakest.”

  We shake hands before going our separate ways, and for a second, I thought the magical pull might’ve sent us both flying. This bond rivalry is going to be a problem if we make it up alive.

  “How’d that go?” Jurso asks, tentatively walking up beside me.

  “Your idea just bought you a lifeline, Jurs.” I pat his shoulder. “We’re going to make it. All of us.”

  Using the last hour, I focus on listening intently to Renesta’s instruction. Spiking adrenaline riles the blood—which is easy to do at these heights. Just looking over the ledge makes my heart race. She’s right… among other catalysts, whenever I’m hyped up the force crisscrossing my forearms comes to life.

  “Does it matter that our shadows are faint in this light?” I ask.

  “No. I’ve pulled mine in darker circumstances. It helps to think of them not as a blockage of light, but as your intentions taking shape,” Renesta speaks calmly, her shadow stirring into a swirl at her back.

  She speaks of mythos—Dark Sands. I remember it well. There were no instructions on how to evoke the warring dark, but rather, what the magical potential was once manifested. That means either Renesta taught herself, or… her house father has been helping.

  “Once you have a firm grasp on the origin of your warring dark essence, concentrate on syphoning it through your body. It can connect to others, or to anything connected to you… including your shadow.”

  Thinking back to when I syphoned Grondus’ warring dark from him, I remember how natural the process was.

  “Finally,” Boeru snarls. “You give me something to work with.”

  Feeling the weight of the dragon flying through my body is a sensation only Broggen could understand. Powerful spirits live within both of us, we just have to harness them.

  My vision quivers while I try to push the essence down. The rumbling within me feels like a stampede coming closer. It’s all in my head, though. Counting the seconds of my inhale, then the seconds of my exhale, helps me concentrate on the raw energy swirling around my abdomen, then down my legs.

  “Rrh!” I’m knocked from concentration when a brute leaps for the first peg of the obstacle course.

  Four other non-brutes follow—another small alliance formed.

  The six of us exchange glances. Withholding information now would equal more death that I could prevent. They’re still my brothers and sisters, even if some of us tried to slay the others.

  “Hey!” I call, Boeru’s silhouette pulsing from my shoulders. “Wait until morning! Now is not the time to depart!”

  “Enough time’s passed, Dragonborn,” one of the thinner men calls back. “None of the others have fallen, so we’re going to chase them.”

  “Wait! The cold snap—”

  The man waves at me dismissively and focuses on following his allies up the grooves. One of the poor women in the middle is shaking, but there’s some words of encouragement helping her up.

  “C’mon, don’t look down!” the brute calls from the top. “Follow my lead. Up. Up.”

  Their voices soon fade with the wind, and I’m left staring. Nothing I can do for them now.

  Boeru’s torn wing retracts into my back, and my will to evoke the warring dark depletes with it. Maybe the climbers are right. Is there a safe point just out of sight? There’s no way any of us possess the strength to climb for that long. It’s been hours.

  Time is running out. Soon Broggen is going to give us his chained arrow that we’ll use for Jurso, and the rest will be up to fate. I’m strong now, at least. Hopefully Misty has enough of a shadow manifestation to hold herself, and the two brutes—Layla and Rogo—will catch the weak if they fall.

  Attempting to manifest shadows is over. The light shining through the clouds is fading to white.

  Wooossss!

  Frigid winds force everyone a step over, and the chill sends an automatic shiver down my spine. “No.”

  Wooooooooossss!

  We’re forced the other way abruptly, and I hear a crack somewhere far above me.

  “Ahhhhhh!”

  A bodiless scream makes me run around the wooden nest, and my breath hitches when I see the thin man fall past me. My eyes go to follow, then a sense of vertigo forces me to turn away. I glimpsed the expression on his face—a wide-mouthed frown, closed eyes, red cheeks. I’ll never forget it. Bridger Stelman. He slayed Seresa Vitram, and didn’t live the next day to talk about it.

  “You were right, Haledyn,” Broggen says, walking to the ledge to watch the body plummet. “Another soldier falls.”

  I say nothing. Trying to gauge Gen’s reaction is like studying the expression of a rock. The only thing I know is he’s been around death more than I have. He’s so comfortable with it. It’s eerie.

  “Help!”

  My neck cranes up, and I see now that the others left the poor fearful woman behind. She’s still frozen, about thirty feet above us.

  “Screw it, I’m going to help her down.” I grit my teeth.

  “The cold snap isn’t done, Hale.” Jurso grabs my arm.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Layla grabs the other. “There’s nothing you can do for her.”

  Woooooos!

  Another gust smacks us violently, causing the woman to lose her grip. She dangles, hanging onto a wooden inlet by three fingers.

  “Ahhhh!” Another body goes flying past us, nearly clipping the ledge as he tumbles to his death.

  “Gods.” Misty claps her hands over her mouth.

  Some of the brutes cackle as they lean over the ledge to better watch the man fall. I can’t believe how backward some of my siblings are. Vile creatures. At least Gen keeps his minions in order.

  “Help!” the woman’s voice cracks as her body sways overhead.

  I swing out of my friends’ grip and prepare to climb, but as soon as I do… her fingers snap away from the inlet.

  My heart falls into my stomach as I immortalize the panic in her flailing arms, kicking legs. She falls for eternity in my mind, thrashing in hopes to fight the inevitability of gravity. Two siblings beside me dive away as her body cracks down onto the wood, making the whole nest tremor.

  Misty yelps, about-facing sharply away, as do many of the others. Layla and I, however, remain with eyes forward in shock.

  I rush over to the broken body before me. It’s hard to remember her name from the duels. There were so many, and so much panic during them. Blood leaks from her mouth as she cries painful tears.

  “Healer!” I call desperately at the top of my lungs. “Relias, you bastard! Hear us!”

  Her leg is turned sideways, and one of her bottom teeth dangles in her mouth.

  “Can someone readjust her leg? Anyone among you practice healing?” I turn my head every which way, remembering that we aren’t house parents… we’re the “orphans.” The dumb, ignorant orphans.

  “It hurts.” She spits up more blood.

  Another gust of cold air makes the visual that much bleaker.

  Layla crouches at her feet, inspecting the leg, then looks up at me. When she shakes her head, it’s clear all is lost. I know it in my heart there’s nothing we can do for her. As much as I want to learn everything… here? I know nothing.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  She blinks in quick succession. I’m not sure if she can even see at this point, so I grab her hand.

  “Mm,” she moans pathetically. “Hurts.”

  “Tell me your name,” I beg.

  I want to remember it.

  “Jenny—” she coughs. “Jenny Tus’Bernard.”

  I nod, gripping her hand tighter.

  “Am I dying? I don’t want to.” Her eye twitches. “Can’t feel my leg.”

  It hurts to realize that those who fell… their pain is already over, while Jenny’s might linger for hours like this. I’ve seen what internal bleeding does. It could fill up the lungs and make one choke on their own life force.

  Have mercy.

  Then something hits me as a crowd gathers round. I’m giving up too easily. I haven’t checked everything. All we’ve been doing is looking up this whole time.

  Screw it.

  Gently letting Jenny’s head rest on the floor, I crawl to the ledge of the nest, clamping on with both hands while saying a silent prayer to my brother Kane as I force myself to deal with the heights. The view steals my breath for the umpteenth time today, making my arms shake in place. A fall at this height would be so far that I’d hope to die midair.

  Fight past it.

  I set my jaw and swing my head over the ledge to look at what’s below. It’s nothing. More of the same, windowless spire.

  Don’t give up.

  I get to my feet and sprint to the other side, ignoring the last of the cold snap. Again, I drop to my knees and grasp the ledge.

  “Hale, what the hell are you doing?” Layla’s voice comes closer behind me.

  Swinging my head over, I see it. A window with a faint cerulean-and-amber glow reflecting out of it. Maybe there’s an aura in there, or a Dane. Something or someone to help heal this poor woman. Send her to exile if they have to. She’s eighteen and a few months at most. Give her another chance.

  “Get Tristian,” I tell Layla.

  She looks at me like I have ten heads, but seeing my stone expression, she knows not to ask questions. Guide and guard.

  Unraveling the chain around my shoulder and unsheathing the dagger attached makes me realize what I’m about to attempt is crazy. Then again, so is assigning men and women to their deaths.

  “Admirable, mortal,” Boeru’s presence overwhelms my mind.

  “You’re not fighting me on this?” I loop the chain around one arm, testing its length.

  “You are finding your courage. I was worried I might have to bash the weakness out of you.”

  Tristian and Broggen come rushing at Layla’s heel.

  “What is it?” Gen narrows his eyes at me.

  “There’s a window below us, and by the looks of it, some magic inside. I want to use Tristian’s warring dark tethers to help me break open the window. Then I’ll swing her in.”

  “You’re insane.” Tristian folds his arms.

  “Look around you. This whole thing is insane.” I grab his shoulders. He smells like incense and hair product. How? We’ve literally been in a dungeon for the whole night. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  We all look over to Jurso cradled over Jenny.

  “Is she still breathing?” I ask.

  Jurso nods, checking her vitals, then gives a thumbs up.

  I turn back to Tristian. “Yes or no? I’m trying with or without you.”

  He looks to Gen. “It’d be a waste, Broggen. We’ll need my energy for the climb.”

  Gen rubs his chin, pacing, then looks to me. “If you find anything useful for our climb in there, we split it.”

  “Deal.” I spread my arms, begging him to give the approval and get this moving.

  Tristian scoffs and shuts his eyes, clenching his fist as the black ethereal ribbons from his duel with Layla spiral around him once more.

  “Can you tether them to my weapon?” I ask, backing up while swinging my string dagger in wide circles.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, give me a juiced-up path straight for that window.”

  The ribbons slither up his body to his hands—his control over them astounding. As they orbit his fists, he gets to his knees, looks over the ledge toward the window to gauge the path, and begins shooting his slivers in a triangular-lined path leading toward the window.

  In the meantime, I’m lining up my throw, still swinging the string in place.

  I can do this. I can fucking do this.

  When I hit the first sliver, the chain will pull straight down and hopefully the dagger will pierce right through the window.

  Tristian gets up and taps my free arm with his finger, leaving a smidge of his warring dark there. “You’re clear.”

  “Stand back.” I concentrate hard on threading the dagger right through the floating ribbon. I’m anxious that the force will drag me over, but I curtail the fear.

  “Hra!” I let it loose, and it whips as if tethered to a mill. It yanks me forward just as I hear the window crash to pieces, which would’ve launched me right over if Layla didn’t grab my arm. We both skid two paces up, my heartbeat in my throat. A quick nod tells her my thanks.

  “Stand back,” I yell, whipping my dagger back into my grasp, then make a run for the wounded woman.

  I scoop Jenny up as gently as I can, looking down on her as she winces. “I’m not letting you die here.”