A canvas of light shimmered on the wall near Sether. It flashed white, then bled into greens, browns, and faint blues, forming a vivid, living landscape.

  Ingenious! Just like how Gideom used to write on wind, Emery had transmitted the map using light.

  Squinting, he compared the layout with his memory of Troqua’s surroundings. Drawings of carts inched across a black road that ran through the forest, twisting erratically, curving left and right, making loops and circling back on itself.

  Why was the path so inefficient? Was it to avoid elexii? Or was it enchanted? Some kind of spatial sorcery that reshaped the terrain or hid magical portals?

  As stealthily as he could, he checked his pocket for the map he’d torn from Lyonel’s book. Gone. It must be in that bag at the opposite end of the wagon along with the rest of his belongings. He wouldn’t be able to record the Road.

  He would have to learn the light-map, with all its twists and turns.

  “Look at this coalbrain,” a warden chuckled. “He’s trying to memorize the map!”

  “Don’t forget to count the laps!” another added with a smirk. “They’re the most important part.”

  Laps? Skye frowned, staring harder at the drawn loops. More laughter followed, and his concentration wavered. Why are they letting me see this?

  The only answer that made sense was that they didn’t care.

  There were over two thousand wardens in Troqua, and that number hadn’t fluctuated much in years. It was unfathomable that throughout the centuries, all of them had been loyal, incorruptible supporters of the duke. If even one had betrayed the secret, the map would’ve surfaced.

  Yet it never had for centuries.

  It changes!

  Sether had asked for today’s road, meaning it was different every time.

  “You’ve puzzled it out, haven’t you?” said a warden with a hooked mustache, munching on an apple. “Congrats. You’ve thrown your life away for nothing.”

  Skye closed his jaw and blinked. That’s why no one had ever uncovered the Duke’s Road. All the efforts, time, resources, and lives spent to discover it had been for naught.

  On one hand, Skye was furious at the sheer cruelty of it. On the other, he was admittedly impressed with the diabolical genius of the dukes who’d kept this ploy hidden for centuries. No one could discover the route by scouting the land. The only way was to understand or steal the method the dukes used to find it anew each day.

  “You’re leading us through a geoxii’s growing grounds,” Sether said, pointing at a brown patch on the map where the black road cut through.

  “Only its outskirts. There’s no other way,” Emery answered. “It’s the best available path today.”

  Skye’s breath caught again. A growing grounds! He was about to pass through one of the legendary glades where earth elexii gathered to devour stone and increase their mass. His eyes darted to the glowing dots scattered across the map. Some were brown, others red, gray, dark green, or blue. He wondered what they all signified.

  “Don’t stray from the route. Keep your guards up. And inform the others to check for stowaways.” Emery instructed.

  Another beep sounded, and Emery’s voice was gone.

  “What now?” a warden asked.

  “Necro,” Sether cursed. “That piece of filth Emery wouldn’t dare take us through growing grounds if Akunai were here.”

  He rubbed his face, cursing under his breath. “All right, listen up.” He clapped. “We’re splitting into two teams of eight. One with me, the other with Genma.” He placed a hand on the barrel-like warden’s shoulder. “You all know the drill. Harass from a distance, keep them off the caravan. And do not under any circumstances engage them directly.”

  “Yes, sir,” the wardens replied as one.

  They’re sallying out?! Skye stared in disbelief. As the side doors opened and the wind rushed in, his heart skipped a beat. They’re sooting brave!

  ”Sooting insane is what they are,” Redeyes said, peeking outside.

  Sether and Genma called names, assigning members to each team, leaving out the two guarding Skye.

  “Why am I staying?” Ficar protested.

  “You’re watching the brat,” Sether replied. “You wanted to keep him alive, now he’s your responsibility. If he does anything to hinder our mission, I’m holding you accountable.”

  Ficar’s grip tightened around his spear. His jaw clenched. “Yes, sir.”

  Across the wagon, Genma fiddled with the array of sonolars mounted on the wall, relaying orders to the other carriages. Meanwhile, the wardens lined up at the doors.

  “Everyone ready?” Sether shouted above the rushing wind. “Move out!”

  With that, the wardens leaped from the carriage, soaring on jets of wind, or gliding atop slabs of moving earth.

  Skye’s breath was stolen, watching in disbelief as they charged ahead, joined by more wardens from the trailing wagons.

  “They left!” he shouted in shock. “Are they crazy? Will they really fight the geoxii?”

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  “Keep quiet,” Tybur warned, slamming a door shut. He was a pale youth, with green eyes, a patchy beard, and short brown hair.

  “There won’t be any fighting,” Ficar said, closing the other door. “They’ll just distract and lead them away so we can cross safely. Tybur, help me prepare the medical supplies.”

  Together, the two wardens retrieved boxes from under the seats and began setting them on the cabinets.

  Unable to contain his excitement, Skye jumped onto the nearest bench and opened the little window hatch to peek outside. With the threat of death momentarily lifted, he could finally appreciate the forest for its beauty. It rushed past, interwoven hands of leaves and wood, and the sky above was vast, tinged with dusk’s orange and purple hues.

  “Get down! What do you think you’re doing?” Tybur shouted, reaching for his astrum.

  “Please, I just want to see!” Skye pleaded. “I promise I won’t cause any trouble.”

  “Leave him be,” Ficar said, organizing rolls of gauze and vials of disinfectant.

  “Genma said-“

  “I said leave him be,” Ficar cut in, glaring. “I’ll handle Genma.”

  Grateful for the opportunity, Skye turned to the forest. More wardens rushed by, riding an icy board that skimmed fast across the ground. He watched them in awe until they vanished behind the trees. He’d often dreamed of leaving Troqua, ideally with a team of his choosing, but traveling with the wardens was fine too, even though they wanted to kill him. Their bravery and willingness to risk their lives on these runs were downright impressive.

  “Why did you come here, kid?” Ficar asked, focused on his work.

  “I wanted to see the outside world,” Skye replied truthfully. “Thank you, by the way… for saving me.”

  “I didn’t save you,” Ficar said. “Only delayed the inevitable.”

  Skye tugged at the tether of his bell and found it still heavy. Dismayed, he turned his attention to the map. If the projection was accurate, they’d enter the growing grounds shortly, marked as a copper clearing filled with clusters of flashing brown spots.

  “What are the blinking dots?” Skye asked.

  “What do you think?” Ficar replied.

  Skye frowned. The colored markers varied in density across the map, except for the large patch the black line cut through. If he had to guess, he’d say they were elexii, and the road was laid each day to avoid them. But that was too preposterous an idea.

  “You can track elexii?” he whispered, then gasped. “Void below! That’s how you discover the road each day! You locate and navigate around them! But how? How do you find them?”

  “That’s enough!” Tybur snapped. The young warden had been pacing for a while, ignoring Ficar’s requests for help. “One more word and I’ll stuff you back in that cabinet, lock it, and throw out the key.”

  Still grinning, Skye turned to the map. Getting back into the cabinet had been his goal, but this was too exciting to miss. From outside, faint thumps, cracks, and bangs filtered in through the trees. Weren’t the wardens supposed to avoid the elexii?

  An explosion rocked the forest.

  The shockwave toppled trees and rattled the carriage. Skye stumbled back, but he was at the window a second later. As the trees thinned, a broad field opened into view of mounded dirt, rocky totems, and a battle raging across the glade.

  Of slabs of stone and round rocks their bodies were made. Some had large fists like hammers, others had sharp arms like blades. Their forms were vastly different. Some were bulky, others small. Some walked on two legs, some on four, and some didn’t walk at all. Instead, the rocks forming their bodies floated, not touching the ground or one another, leaving Skye to wonder how they didn’t fall.

  One looked like a massive mushroom. Another was a careening cairn. And a third looked like a tumulus twister around which sand and gravel churned. Most wore patches of moss and grass and flowers, but some opted to remain bald. Some carried bushes on their heads, and one giant on its back a whole maple tree it hauled.

  The skulls they wore were of every shape and size. Some had antlers, some had tusks, and others had many holes for eyes. They wore them all over their bodies like medals showcasing their skills. For the more skulls each geoxos had, the more it had kills.

  Amid the roars of the petrous beasts, and the endless bursts and crashes, the wardens’ shouts barely cut through, cursing and barking orders.

  They darted between the monsters, firing bolts of every type—searing, freezing, electrifying, or gusting. The geoxii hurled boulders and shards back, and even flung their own smaller kin, who tore off limbs midair to launch as projectiles.

  Skye clung to the window’s wooden edge, his heart racing. These monsters were invulnerable. They could be weakened, impaired, but never truly killed.

  This battle was hopeless.

  “They’re fighting!” Skye shouted. “Weren’t they supposed to stay away?”

  Tybur ran to peek through a nearby hatch. Flying above the growing grounds, a warden was struck by a stony spike through the shoulder. He tumbled toward the earth but caught himself at the last moment with a burst of wind. Skye gasped as a massive geoxos with a pyramidal head charged at the falling warden, shattering a tree that dared stand in its way. Another warden intervened, conjuring massive tentacles of water that wrapped around the monster, holding it back. The geoxos thrashed, spinning with unhindered joints, until the tentacles splattered and splashed. As it turned again to the wounded warden, a fireball struck the skull that crowned its pyramid, toppling the creature sideways. Then, the scene was blocked by a curtain of trees.

  “Rosh was injured!” Tybur said anxiously. “We should retreat.” He dashed to the driver’s cabin. “I’ll tell Rustom to turn us back to the city.”

  “You’d do no such thing,” Ficar said coolly. “Wardens are expected to be injured. This battle is just a normal occurrence during runs. We won’t trivialize their sacrifices by running away.”

  Tybur’s dread melted into shame, and he dropped onto a bench, defeated.

  Skye gulped. He craned his neck out the window, wanting to see more of the skirmish, needing to know what had happened to the injured warden, and strangely, hoping he survived.

  “Are we team wardens now?” Redeyes mocked.

  We’re team ‘kill elexii’, Skye replied. I’m cheering for whoever’s fighting them.

  Skye had spent the past month daydreaming of ways to punish the traitorous wardens. He hated their scheming, cruelty, and readiness to dispatch anyone who broke their twisted rules. But now that he’d witnessed them bleeding to deliver food, medicine, and vital supplies to the city, he understood why everyone believed them to be heroes.

  “Relax, Tybur,” Ficar said from behind. “They’ll return before you know it.”

  Tybur tapped his foot nervously, fists clenched white. “Will all of them return?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Ficar replied, arraying water canteens. “Everyone fighting out there is willing to give their everything. Hopes, dreams, future. Those are meaningless concepts for us. We are the lifeline of Troqua. We die so others may live.”

  “We die so others may live,” Tybur repeated solemnly.

  “You’ve nothing to worry about,” Ficar added. “Not today at least. Wardens aren’t expected to fight before their third run.”

  “That’s my problem!” Tybur exclaimed, reclining and clutching his head. “This is my second run, and I don’t believe I’ll be ready to go out there and-and fight those things next week! Just whenever I think about it, my mouth dries up, and I sweat like a hog. Look!” He held out his trembling, soaked hand.

  “You can request driving duty,” Ficar said. “As windriders, we always have that option.”

  “If I wanted to work as a glorified chauffeur, I would spit polish some baron’s gems till he hired me as his driver.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Tybur sighed. “Because I wanted to be on the receiving side of the applause. I wanted to be the hero who fights monsters and charms all the girls. I’ve been busting my back for this sigil, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure I belong.”

  “Then quit,” Ficar said nonchalantly.

  Tybur recoiled. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Heroism is the death of the self,” Ficar said. “You don’t become a hero for yourself, but for others. If you want to keep this sigil, to deserve it, cast away your illusions of grandeur, your desires for reward, and your life. Otherwise, go home and polish gems.”

  Tybur gaped as if he’d been slapped. A second later, something thudded overhead. The two wardens rushed to open the sliding doors, while Skye retreated to his corner.