Grondus’ grand act rings eternal. We’re all supposed to be siblings. Haven’t we suffered enough?

  His enchanted axe cracks the marble spire ten feet above us, sending the magical chain spiraling down like a snake from the spot he cut it. Jurso’s arms flail as he’s launched into free fall.

  This is it—the whole reason we embarked in ranks.

  Save him.

  “Renesta!” I shout.

  Her eyes glow white, hand clawing to evoke a manifested shadow to catch him.

  Pwoof!

  He sinks right past it, sending a puff of dust scattering all around. First defense failed.

  Layla grunts and swings to the left, catching a groove with her left hand, spinning so her back is against the spire and grasping Jurso’s arm with the other. The chain whips her face on the way down, reminding me of our punishments in House Kavoh.

  Hold, Lay!

  “Bastard, what the hell is wrong with you?” Misty seethes at Grondus.

  As Layla shakes off the wallop, her fingers claw to hold her and Jurso up, the momentum of his fall causing him to act as a pendulum headed right for me. Without thinking, I release my grip to duck out of harm’s way, catching myself two grooves below. The act riles me like I ingested a heap of spice.

  I’m shocked when Rogoshel leans over, catching Jurso’s leg to slow his swing. He’s not able to hold on, but it’s enough.

  Jurso hangs overhead, dangling in Layla’s grasp while Grondus cackles above us.

  “I told you I’d pay you back, Dragonborn.” He laughs louder.

  Judging by Layla’s gritted teeth and pained smile, she’s struggling to hold on.

  Shit.

  “Let him go. He’s only holding you back,” Grondus continues to taunt. “He’s weak.”

  His words ignite me.

  I rush back up like a storm, finding the grooves I fell past, not even worried about what’s below. Once I’m close enough, I press my shoulders under Jurso’s shoes, alleviating some of the weight.

  “Oh, fuck. Thanks guys,” Jurso’s voice is mostly air. He gathers himself and grabs a nearby groove with his free hand, giving Layla the relief to adjust her grip. Once we’re stable, we all glare at the brute.

  He could drop his axe and cut us down, or swing into another attack.

  “Look at his weapon, it’s lathered with warring dark,” Jurso says, still catching his breath. “Gen already taught him how to wield it.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Renesta’s irises still glowing white. Her lips curl into an angry frown, and as Grondus waits patiently for us to fall, I see his shadow behaving oddly. It’s forming up the marble, a pair of arms reaching out to headlock him from behind.

  Boof!

  Grondus slams the butt of his axe into the shadow, dispersing a burst of black essence in all directions, causing Renesta to fall momentarily limp.

  What the—

  “Rogo!” I point, and he catches her in his arm, holding strong like nothing happened at all.

  “Your little attuned tricks won’t work on the riderborn. Lord Gen has been paying close attention,” Grondus says. “He only thought I should send a warning, but after that attempt by your resident bitch, I think another body should do just fine as punishment.” His axe flares with warring dark, creating a hurricane around it that syphons into his mouth.

  It’s the same as when he charged me in the duel. His power is chaotic.

  He inhales, body convulsing like he’s sucked in too much air.

  My arm prickles too—my guess from when I syphoned his essence into mine—but I’m at a loss, having no idea what to do now that we have no lifelines and half of us are in vulnerable positions.

  “Dragonborn,” Grondus’ voice turns demonic, the warring dark accumulating into a white plasmatic stream in his mouth like a galaxy drawn in mythos.

  Just as the pulsating ball glows white, a shadowy half-body slithers around the spire from above. “Grondus,” the voice is whispery, and as the silhouette settles, I see it’s Tristian in shade form. So that’s what they look like. “Stand down and return to formation.”

  Even Tristian sounds militaristic. How the hell are they progressing so fast?

  “Noctus,” Boeru grumbles. “I fear his mark is evoking accelerants. His minions drip with his stench.”

  I’m too preoccupied to reply. We’ve all been holding idle for nearly a minute now. Misty’s arms are starting to quiver.

  Grondus bites down, sending black steam hissing through his mouth, dispersing his essence. “Touched by an angel again, Dragonborn.” He smiles angrily at me. “Sleep with one eye open, ‘cause I’ll have my way soon enough.” He kicks off our side of the spire—swinging on his chain—and climbs aggressively back to his group.

  We all exchange looks of disbelief while checking to make sure everyone’s okay. As terrifying and shocking as that was… we all made it. Ranks worked, though they’re all backward now. Jurso doesn’t have the strength to climb over Layla, so he has to stay directly above me, and Renesta is beside Rogo due to the awkward groove placement.

  “We’re out of order, but we can’t idle,” I shout. “Sprint to the next checkpoint. Let’s go.”

  Misty could buckle any second. And Jurso…

  His chest convulses every now and again from the Arkitus. Straining his body seems to be bringing on the attacks more frequently—which holds true for late-stage symptoms.

  It’s not all bad, though. My confidence in reflexes and strength has tripled since the incident with Grondus. The dragon’s spirit gave me instincts I never experienced in my life. What’s more, even with all the interruptions, we managed to outpace the strangling mist significantly. I’d guess we earned an hour or two of idle replenishment.

  “So you believe Noctus is behind Grondus’ actions? Is he in control of Broggen?” I say in my head, relaxing a bit now that the next cubby is in sight about two hundred feet up.

  Boeru’s silhouette talons clamp around my shoulder as his neck cranes around my head. “His untamed bond is scattering into his marked subjects like a jolt of lightning, coaxing them into chaos.”

  “We’re supposed to be on the same side,” I remind.

  “The Storm Lance is a war-torn creature. He built his squadron by weeding out the weak, always striving to reshape the afterlife with only the strong riding into battle. The others were to be imprisoned eternally. These are the principles that clash inside Broggen’s spirit.”

  “An inevitability, then?”

  Boeru huffs. “Just like your waning fear of heights.”

  I smirk at that. It’s true. Something about not falling for hours, nor getting tired after a massive stint… it’s making me fear the unending fall less.

  A collective sigh of relief comes once we make it into the next cove. It’s the same exact dimensions as the first, and the message on the right-most wall is as expected from Renesta’s “spying”—the strangling mist takes no prisoners.

  We take a load off silently, then ration out a small snack to replenish us alongside the aura. Next order of business is to set a threshold for when we’re going to depart the cove. Once the mist reaches a peculiarly shaped groove hundreds of feet beneath us, that’s when we exit. After a few hours, we conclude the mist is slowing, and we dare send Renesta as a shade to scout what awaits us. In the meantime, Jurso and I sit cross-legged opposite one another, with the others surrounding us.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I want to commend all of you,” I say. “Layla, Rogo, you’re both heroes.”

  “If I get my hands on Grondus, I’m going to crush his skull between my fists,” Rogo promises.

  Jurso reaches over and slaps Lay’s arm. “I’d give you a hug, but… I’m scared of you.” He laughs into a cough, and we all chuckle together.

  “Only twenty-nine days and change to go.” Misty pumps a fist into the air, and everyone groans. “What?”

  Boeru’s right about her—a burning fire that can’t be snuffed. She has all business to be miserable considering she has one of the weakest bodies, but her will may very well be the strongest.

  “Jurs. Anything in your house mythos that spoke to marks or bonds?” I ask, knowing it’s a shot in the dark.

  “Nothing. In the Eye of the Bridgelords, it was all high magic. All the other conflicting text…” he sighs. “They hid it on purpose, Hale.”

  “Yeah. Well, after seeing Grondus activate the enchantment on his axe, it made me realize we’re already far behind. Gen uses his time in the coves to train. Come to think of it, he handpicked his crew from the pit of shame precisely because they’d be hungry for redemption. The man is on a mission. We need to be too.”

  The others nod at me.

  “Let’s go over what we learned.” I look to the others. “Broggen evokes the warring dark in weaponry, and can evoke magical abilities and even hidden weapons within the enchanted steel. We knew this from the duels. But now we know that enchanted steel can dissolve Renesta’s shadow ability. The blow seemed to deplete Renesta instantly.”

  “I’d wager it’s because of the caliber of weapons.” Jurso draws his bow and places it on his lap. “These are straight from mythos drawings. All of them. Evoking whatever’s hidden inside probably increased the potency of Grondus’ magic.”

  “Right. Renesta’s shadows are considered low-form, basic warring dark abilities,” I consider.

  “It’s more than any of us have.” Layla looks at her dirtied hands.

  “Speak for yourself.” Misty activates her mark on her own.

  “A nightlight, great.” Rogo grunts. “Remind me why we’re hauling around this child again?”

  “I’m older than you!” Misty leans over and shoves him.

  I knock on the floor to get their attention. “What if it’s our tempered blood that activates new levels of the warring dark? Relias said that House Kavoh contains the blood of punishment—”

  “I’m not beating you to a pulp when we have a tower to climb.” Layla folds her arms.

  “I’d take you up on that, Dragonborn.” Rogo grins. “Let’s see how tough that new body of yours really is.”

  “House Valor—” A thought smacks me in the face. “Blood of extreme acts. What Grondus did was pretty extreme if you ask me…”

  “Are you thinking Gen’s sending his people to bolster his own magic?” Jurso asks.

  “If it would help propel him higher, why not?” Misty replies. “He’s all sorts of weird, that guy.”

  “Grondus is of your house, Jurs.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Blood of divine balance, right? What in hell could possibly be balanced about him?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know how it applies, Hale. I really don’t. Been thinking about it since the Dane revealed it.”

  “Think—”

  We all jump back when Renesta pops up behind me.

  “Creepy ass woman.” Rogo releases the grip on his axe.

  “Jurso, search your mind.” Renesta’s eyes still flicker with the white glow of the warring dark. “House Father often challenged our spirits, assigning two opposing jobs at minimum. Boiling and cooling our blood on every whim. I’m able to pull shadows from switching temperaments. House Father… he…”

  She trails off, and I’m too curious of what she found to follow up.

  “What’d you see above us?”

  She blinks away her thought. “Wind whips.”

  “Pardon?” Jurso tilts his head.

  “The Danes?” Layla tenses.

  “Just a few hundred feet up, we’re going to be propelled further than my shade could’ve even traveled. It looks to be a stable magic that’s part of the course.”

  A weight lifts off my chest. Had no idea I was being suffocated by a bear this whole time, but the prospect of a shortcut is the best thing we could’ve hoped for.

  “Hell yes!” Misty cheers. “Wait. But what if we fly off?”

  “I saw those hard lines that Relias accumulated around the edges of his wind sphere. I think we’ll be enclosed once we’re pulled in. The force was immense.”

  “Did you see any of the others?” I ask.

  “No. They’re all far away in either direction, I’d suspect.”

  That comment twists my heart a bit. Jenny and Horo. I wonder what happened to them. Now’s not the time.

  “Guys. The truth awaits us beyond the sky.”

  ***

  For the rest of the day, we hypothesize how far the wind whip would propel us. Judging by the length of the journey—according to the Danes—we would still have a long way to go even after a shortcut like that. Then again, the Sept, our house parents, the entire world has been a group of unreliable narrators for as long as I’ve been alive.

  Insects under a scope.

  Well, whatever awaits us, at least we’ll be fully rested.

  I imagine Broggen waiting at the foot of the wind whip when he sent Grondus to murder Jurso. It was a shit move, even if he did order his assassin back. He thinks like a general of old mythos, protecting his turf, gaining allies, and ultimately… punishing those who oppose. It makes me question whether it’s really Noctus who’s molding him this way, or perhaps the message not to trust in that first cove. Either way, when we meet again, it won’t be on good terms.

  It’s deep into the night now. Everyone sleeps except for me and Lay. I should be too, truthfully, but my new body doesn’t seem to need as much rest as before.

  Lay sits at the cove entrance, one leg dangling into open air and an arm over her bent knee. She stares unendingly at the slowly encroaching mist far below us. “Never thought we’d touch the sky while being whipped in our cabin, huh, Hale?”

  “Nope. Thought the Sept dungeon was the end of the road for us. I had a smidge of faith, though.”

  She hoots. “I wouldn’t count our hatchlings yet.” Her eyes skim to my face, then over my body. Can’t tell if it’s interest or just plain curiosity. “It’s so strange to see you like this. When I look at you, I know it’s you, but it’s like my mind is playing tricks on me.”

  I slap my muscular legs to test their strength. “This is what I would’ve been without Arkitus, according to Boeru.”

  “This is what you are without Arkitus,” she assures. “It looks good on you.”

  A smirk flashes on my face.

  “Quick work back there against Grondus,” I say.

  She nods. “All that training in the stables… it counted for something at least. My reflexes are lightning. Yours are too. You saved my ass by taking the weight off.”

  “That’s one of about a thousand I-owe-yous.”

  She snorts, looking bashfully away from me. “My guide might not need his guard much longer.”

  My insides fold into a frown. Why would she say that? “Never, Lay.”

  “I’m barren of the warring dark,” she admits the obvious.

  “We’re just getting started,” I say. “Anything is possible.”

  She shakes her head. “Something tells me our chance at it was down there at the broken Seal.”

  “Those are just awakenings, Lay. Renesta and Tristian got their attunements well before any of that. And you’ll get yours after, at our second house.”

  She pushes her lips to one side.

  I scooch over and grab her hand. “Lay… we’re going to figure this out. We have a whole world to explore.”

  She huffs. “Wish I had your optimism. You heard the Danes. We’re at war up there.” She shrugs. “Maybe this is the safest place for people like us. Maybe that’s why our parents ‘sacrificed’ us in the first place.”

  “To get endlessly whipped and beaten? Don’t think so, my dear,” I emulate House Mother’s voice.

  She holds back a laugh. “Go get some sleep, Hale. You’re delirious.”

  ***

  The next morning, I jolt awake to freezing winds prickling my arms. Cold snap. Gods, it’s been hours! The mist! I lunge forward, getting my wits about me. To my surprise, the mist remains steady in the same spot as where I left it before shutting my eyes.

  Nothing is ever what is seems.

  I note Renesta sitting cross-legged in the corner with white-glowing eyes, in some meditative trance. She’s so breathtakingly gorgeous it’s distracting. The way her lips slightly pucker as she dives into her dark practices, her smooth skin radiating with magic. She still holds back from us. Does she wade through the afterlife in Boeru’s stables?

  Should she even be trusted?

  Thinking back to her failed shadow… Jurso could’ve died. And to think that could’ve been intentional…

  No. She warned us that it’d be near impossible to pull a rival shadow on a whim. Even though she did it in battle. I should stop questioning myself and instead take stake in Boeru’s judgement. He agreed to mark her, and even if he is confined in my body, he’s a thousand-year-old dragon with a warrior’s judgement.

  As we all check our weapons and tie our food sacks closed, I can tell the crew is still shaken from yesterday. What if Broggen’s minions are waiting at the other end of that wind whip to cut us down?

  I sweep my gaze past all of them. “He would’ve sent the full crew to sabotage us if he meant to,” I say. “We’ll deal with Broggen Lor’fyre when we make it past the sky.”

  “We’re with you, Dragonborn.” Misty punches her chest, mouth still full of flavored bread.

  “Guys, the mist, incoming.” Layla clenches her teeth. I notice circles under her eyes. She took the full shift last night? Why? She was supposed to exchange with Rogo a few hours out.

  “Must be the cold snap that activated it.” Jurso straps his bow and tugs on the sash to make sure it’s secure.

  “Probably so people don’t linger too long in the coves,” Misty says. “It’s tempting with a food source for a month. The Danes’ poison is doing us a favor. A nice kick in the ass to get moving.”

  I’m worried about Layla. She’s disturbed about being left out of the awakening. It’s hitting her now that she almost fell to her death.

  “Hey.” I tug on her shield. “Remember, you crushed Tristian, and he’s attuned. You’re the one badass who doesn’t need the warring dark.”

  She offers a pained smile. “I’ll be fine, Hale.”

  Renesta returns right on time, blinking away the glow in her eyes. “Still no sign of the others. We’re the last in this section.”

  She’s withholding.

  “Paranoia leads the king to madness,” Boeru assures. “In the Battle of Brent, King Riston Balrog rode Bright Scales—the largest of us dragons—against his own legion to cleanse his forces. For him, it started with a whispering idea in his ear as well.”

  I sigh. Maybe he’s right. I’m going to practice the ways of House Sivus, and try to balance my thoughts.

  “Ready?” I call.

  The first pull out of the cove doesn’t get easier, especially now that there’s no chain for Jurso. Once we exit the aura’s circumference, Arkitus has free rein to cough him into a coma.

  Stay positive…

  As soon as I peer down, hope sucks out of my lungs. The mist is rising insanely fast. Jurso’s right. The cold snap activated it.

  “Climb!” I shout with ferocity.

  Minutes pass, and I notice a fluid rhythm developing. It reminds me of striking drills under Layla’s tutelage. At first, we were all wobbly and incoherent. But over time, it became a dance. Now here we are again, able to swing and reach higher than Misty should be able to.

  Another look down shows the mist encroaching like a formless beast opening its enormous mouth. It hugs the spire like it’s swallowing it whole.

  “Climb!” I shout again, telling Jurso to fight past the pain.

  “I see it,” Renesta says. “The entrance is a hundred feet out.”

  Squinting, I make out the white wisps rushing above us. This is it.

  Jurso reaches the threshold first. He waits, not daring to look down. I do, though, and the mist is about fifty feet under us.

  “Brace yourself,” Boeru warns. “An intense magic riles above you.”

  “And poison climbs from below,” I say inwardly, gritting my teeth.

  “Go, Jurs. To the other side!” I shout above me. “We’ll be right behind you.”