Alyra stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a cloud of steam. Her body throbbed from head to toe, each muscle screaming after the day’s drills.

  Endurance runs, combat forms, breakfalls, defensive stances, both standard and chakra-enhanced.

  Her mind was just as beaten as her body.

  A few weeks ago, a session like this would have crushed her. Now, somehow, she managed to stay on her feet. Barely.

  Her body no longer gave out the way it used to, the pain settling into something almost familiar, like a weight she’d finally learned to carry.

  Shifting chakra energy still took too long to be useful in a fight, but the control was coming. Slow, steady progress. One day, she’d master it.

  The training hall was silent now, the echo of her footsteps swallowed by the steam drifting from the showers. Everyone else had already left for the Lantern Vigil in Rothmere.

  No one had bothered asking if she wanted to join them. Of course they hadn’t.

  The thought of wandering into the crowd alone, or worse, with Faela, hadn’t exactly sounded appealing anyway.

  She tossed the damp towel onto the wooden bench and pulled on the plain cotton clothes every student wore inside the school grounds. Each motion was slow and deliberate, her sore limbs trembling at the effort.

  Breaks had become a forgotten luxury. Varom was always there, looming behind her, his eyes sharp and unblinking, ready to bark a correction or snap his wand across her shoulder the moment she faltered.

  It hadn’t done her any favors with the others.

  Varom didn’t care. To him, she and Faela were projects. Experiments to dissect, test subjects who happened to breathe.

  Tanya had stopped coming to their extra lessons. Alyra doubted she ever would again. Whatever friendship they’d had was gone, replaced by the kind of silence that only rivalry could carve.

  She bent down, slid her feet into her soft leather shoes, and tied the laces.

  “Hey,” a man’s voice said. “You don’t happen to have anything fancier to wear than… that?”

  Alyra spun around.

  Derek leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin cutting through his stubble.

  Her heart kicked hard in her chest before she even understood why. She was already moving, half barefoot, muscles protesting with every step.

  Derek turned as she collided with him, her face pressed against his chest. The scent hit her all at once: leather, that faint metallic tang from his damaged armor’s coolant, and something oddly floral she couldn’t name.

  He hesitated, then gave her a clumsy pat on the shoulder. “Uh, wow. Hey…” He cleared his throat. “It’s only been a few days since I saw you. Didn’t think I’d get this kind of welcome.”

  She didn’t move. The warmth beneath her cheek, the solid weight of him. It was the first thing in days that didn’t feel like a test. No eyes watching. No orders. Just him.

  His hands came to rest on her shoulders, steady but careful, easing her back. “You done?”

  A nod was all she managed. Something slid down her cheek. She brushed at it and found her fingertips damp.

  Derek frowned. “I came to drag you out of here, but if you’re gonna start bawling, maybe we skip it. We’re not going to a damn funeral.”

  Her breath caught. “Out? You mean with you?”

  “Yeah… unless you’ve already got someone else to go with.” He glanced around the empty showers, where the only sound was the faint drip of a leaky faucet somewhere.

  Was this really happening? It felt unreal, like she’d stepped into someone else’s dream.

  He looked back at her and chuckled. “There we go, finally a smile. I’ve seen the locals setting up streamers, stalls, and these… Neolithic-looking musical contraptions.” He scratched the back of his head. “Apparently there’s some kind of festival. Ithara swears it’s not one of those grim burn-the-witch or hang-the-heretic deals, so I figured I’d take you out tonight. If you’re up for it.”

  Her head snapped up. “Me? Yes, absolutely, right now!”

  He rubbed his beard, amused. “Not much for fashion myself, but maybe put on your second shoe first?”

  Alyra blinked, then looked down. Heat flared in her cheeks. “Oh, right… sorry!”

  She dashed to the bench, grabbed the other shoe, and struggled with the laces. They slipped twice before she finally got them tied, hands trembling.

  Derek was here. He was taking her out to the Lantern Vigil of Orbisar, no less. The others had whispered about solemn choirs, lanterns floating in the night, and music that filled the streets. Dancing, singing, food. A real celebration.

  She’d never been to one before, and she sure hadn’t expected her first to happen in the middle of training.

  “Hey,” Derek said. “You got any idea what this festival’s about? Ithara was elbows-deep in NOVA with the Repair Bots and only grunted at me.”

  Alyra straightened, a shy grin tugging at her lips. “I’ve never been, but I overheard the others. They light lanterns, there are choirs… then music, dancing, and food.”

  Derek raised an eyebrow. “So you overheard them. But they don’t talk to you?”

  Her smile faltered. She gave a small shake of her head.

  “Figures,” Derek muttered, disappointment pulling at his features. “Schools are the same on every damn planet, huh?”

  “You didn’t have friends in school either?”

  He nodded once. “Yeah, but that was my choice. They were idiots.”

  Alyra crossed her arms and frowned. “Mine are idiots too.”

  He shot her a look. “Hey, don’t copy me. Being alone isn’t exactly a win. Means no one to drag you to festivals.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. Being alone sucked.

  They started toward the gym’s exit. Outside, the sunset burned deep red over the jungle, birds slicing through the sky with bright, shrill cries.

  The sounds of the city reached them. Wagon wheels creaking, laughter echoing, footsteps clattering over the cobblestones as the festival came alive.

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  Derek walked beside her at a pace slower than she’d ever seen from him, hands buried in his pockets, gaze fixed somewhere distant.

  “So. We’ve established your classmates suck.” He glanced at her sideways. “What about the teachers?”

  “They’re strict, but skilled. I’m learning a lot.”

  He eyed her, skeptical. “They treating you okay?”

  She nodded quickly. “Varom’s taken me under his wing. He keeps a close eye on me.”

  They reached the gate. The guards straightened at once; one hurried to open it.

  Derek tipped them a casual nod and kept walking. “Uh-huh… and that’s supposed to be a good thing?” His brow creased. “I’d have hated having a teacher breathing down my neck all the time.”

  “It’s a great honor to be mentored by Varom,” Alyra said. “Isabelle was his student for a long time too. They even trained together outside regular hours.”

  “So Isabelle was the teacher’s pet, huh?” Derek rubbed his chin. “Yeah, that tracks. Not surprised at all.”

  A burst of laughter drew her attention. A group of kids darted past, barefoot and quick, weaving between the crowd.

  From the opposite side of the street, a wooden cart rolled to a stop, its bed stacked high with lanterns wrapped in straw. The thin man pulling it grinned and handed one to the nearest child.

  The boy clutched it like treasure and bolted off, the others chasing after him through the glowing dust of sunset.

  “Lanterns, huh?” Derek said. “Don’t know why, but I expected something a little… flashier.”

  Alyra smiled at him. He looked like his usual self—though maybe a little more at ease. Almost… peaceful.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You?”

  “I asked first.”

  “I’m the Messiah. You wanna outrank me?”

  She frowned. “Come on… seriously. How are you?”

  He exhaled, the humor slipping from his face. “I know Sierelith told you that Death Magic thing got into me. Like an idiot, I touched it with my bare hand, and now it’s… changing me.”

  Her stomach tightened. “Changing how?”

  “For starters, it’s making me… what’s the word? Numb to death. Basically a psychopath.”

  She frowned. “Psycho… what?”

  He waved a hand. “Never mind. You wouldn’t get it.”

  A tight knot formed in her chest. “Will you die?”

  He shrugged. “Everyone dies.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Derek’s gaze shifted toward the lanterns swaying in the breeze. “According to Tunga, it’ll kill me eventually. But before that, it’ll try to make me kill other people. There’s a reason they call it Death Magic, and no, it’s not just marketing.”

  Why did he always use such strange words for everything? “How long do you have?”

  He stopped and set a hand on her shoulder. “Listen. This thing isn’t gonna decide when or how I go. I’ve found a place—under the Citadel—where I might get some answers. I’m gonna figure out the truth behind those damn spheres, like I promised, and help free you all from them.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t care about the spheres. They’ve always been here and always will be. I don’t want you to go.”

  He let his hand fall, a frown carving lines into his face. “You’re wrong to think that way. They won’t be around forever.”

  “And neither will you…” she murmured.

  He spread his arms, a bitter smile flickering across his lips. “The universe finally got tired of me. Maybe this time I’ll get some peace.”

  Alyra lowered her gaze. None of that mattered to her. That calm she’d seen in him, it wasn’t peace. It was surrender.

  “Listen,” Derek said.

  She looked up.

  “Isabelle told me you think it was your fault. That’s bullshit. After years of religious brainwashing, when Isabelle—the Warden herself—gave you an order, you couldn’t have done anything but obey. The only ones responsible for what happened are them.”

  But it had been her hand, the one that carried the sphere to him. Her hand. Nothing could ever erase that. Talking about it wouldn’t change a thing. At least now she knew he wasn’t angry with her. That was something. Too little, but something.

  She nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek, warm against the evening breeze. She didn’t stop it. “Okay.”

  Derek brushed it away with his thumb. “We’re at a festival. No long faces, alright?”

  Alyra tried to smile, but it came out wrong. A stiff pull at the corner of her mouth.

  Twilight had melted into night. Along Rothmere’s outer walls, the first lanterns flickered to life, a glowing chain wrapping the city in gold and holding the jungle’s darkness at bay.

  People filled the streets, lanterns in hand, drifting toward the city center, the same way they were heading.

  “Let’s change the subject,” Derek said with a sigh. “How are things with the Cult? Did you find the infiltrator at the school?”

  “Yes… her name’s Faela. She’s a student.”

  Derek blinked. “Huh. Nice work. What’s she like?”

  Alyra lifted a shoulder. “A little strange, but… fine. She wants me to join them.”

  He tilted his head. “And what’d you tell her?”

  “I told her no.”

  “Got it. But you didn’t report her, did you?”

  She shook her head.

  Derek crossed his arms. “Hmm. Maybe think that over.”

  “That’s pretty much what she said, too.”

  He smirked. “Us weirdos tend to think alike.”

  She shook her head. “You’re nothing like her. She always seems… somewhere else. Staring off into space, moving her fingers like she’s counting things.”

  Derek raised a brow. “I’ve met stranger. And with the other girls? Still that bad?”

  Alyra kicked a pebble down the road. “Feels like it. I guess I’m gifted somehow, and now they’re jealous.”

  Derek’s jaw dropped in mock shock. He clapped her on the shoulder. “Ha! Gifted! Knew you’d show them. Badass Alyra! You remind me of me at your age.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Sure. They eventually moved me to a school for gifted kids.”

  He smiled faintly, the energy in his voice dipping for just a second. “That’s where I met Yuki.”

  Alyra’s smile dimmed a little. “There’s no school like that here, unfortunately. I’m stuck with those vipers.”

  Derek rubbed his beard, thinking. “You said Isabelle was Varom’s protégé too, right? Have you talked to her about it?”

  She shook her head.

  “You should. Ask how she survived it. Her advice’s probably waaaay better than mine.”

  “I will.”

  Or she would, once she actually got the chance to talk to her. Isabelle was knee-deep in some mess with the head of the Inquisition at the Citadel and a bag of coins.

  The stone streets shimmered with warm, flickering light. Every doorway held a lantern painted with Orbisar’s runes, their glow dancing across the cobbles.

  They stepped into Rothmere’s main square. Around the statue of the Cashnar, hundreds of lanterns formed a wide circle, and even the Cathedral of Orbisar gleamed beneath white banners strung from its balconies.

  The air smelled of burning resin and hot wax. A group of children, guided by a priest, sang in bright, clear voices that echoed through the square.

  The crowd pressed closer to the cathedral steps, all eyes turned toward the grand doors. Waiting.

  “Uh…” Derek muttered. “I was expecting a party. Looks more like we’re about to sit through another Uriela sermon.”

  “Wait,” Alyra said. “It’s not a sermon. The High Priestess just gives her blessing. The festival can’t start without it.”

  Derek crossed his arms. “You’re telling me that politician won’t sneak in a single speech? Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  The great doors swung open, pushed by two members of the Sacred Guard in full dress. Warhammers gleamed at their belts, and the golden sun of Orbisar shone across their blue and white uniforms.

  Uriela emerged from the cathedral and began her slow descent down the marble steps.

  The crowd fell silent. A few children whimpered until their parents hushed them.

  She wore a flowing white gown, gold embroidery glinting at the hem and along her wide sleeves. An ivory cloak shimmered in the lantern light, held in place by a crimson belt lined with rune-etched seals that chimed softly as she moved.

  Her white hair framed her face like strands of silver, caught beneath a thin golden circlet. In one hand she carried a long staff crowned with stones glowing in the seven colors of Orbisar’s spheres. Her eyes—icy blue and sharp as glass—swept over the crowd.

  Alyra’s chest tightened. She lowered her gaze.

  “Citizens of Rothmere! Faithful of the Church of Orbisar!” Uriela’s voice carried clear and commanding across the square.

  Derek rolled his eyes.

  Alyra jabbed him with her elbow.

  He glared back, muttering under his breath.

  “Once again, we gather to celebrate the Day of Lanterns,” Uriela declared. “The day when the lanterns’ light shines along Rothmere’s walls, a circle of protection — the very light of Orbisar itself.”

  “Damn it,” Derek muttered under his breath. “Knew I was getting a sermon…”

  If he didn’t shut up, they were going to get in trouble. Alyra jabbed him in the ribs again.

  “Hey, easy with the elbows,” Derek grumbled. “I liked you better back in the jungle—quiet and traumatized.”

  “This year,” the High Priestess declared, “a Bronze-level sphere streaked across Rothmere’s sky, a rare event that gravely threatened our safety. A sign of the Cashnar’s coming!”

  The crowd stirred, murmurs rippling outward. Dozens of eyes turned toward Derek.

  Even without the NOVA, people were beginning to recognize him.

  “And it was the Cashnar himself, here in the flesh among us, who defeated the threat of the Bronze sphere.”

  Uriela’s gaze found him. Calm, deliberate, piercing. A heartbeat later, every other pair of eyes followed hers.

  “Oh, hell…” Derek muttered.

  Alyra looked from Uriela to Derek, her pulse quickening. What was happening?

  “I see the Cashnar has granted us the great honor of attending the opening of the festivities,” Uriela said, her accent sharp and deliberate. “I now ask him to honor us with his blessing. Please, step forward.”

  Derek exhaled hard and began to move, shoulders slouched, hands still buried in his pockets.

  The crowd split before him, whispers trailing after like ripples on water.

  Alyra followed a few steps, then stopped. The crowd closed around her, bodies pressing in from every side. Lantern light flickered across her face as she searched for a glimpse of him.

  Derek stopped before Uriela.

  “This year’s Lantern Vigil belongs to the one who made it possible — the one who saved Rothmere… the Messiah of Steel!”

  A roar rose from the square. Chants burst out in waves, echoing off the cathedral walls.

  “Messiah of Steel! Messiah of Steel!”

  Alyra joined in, her voice lost among the hundreds. He’d saved them all. Uriela was right to honor him.

  So why did he always look at her like she was the enemy?

  Derek opened his mouth to speak, and something cracked against his forehead.

  He staggered back, eyes wide, then hit the ground hard.

  “Derek!” Alyra screamed, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  A man pushed through the crowd. Thin, ragged, skin darkened by sun and grime, hair tied back in a greasy knot. His hand shook as he raised a stone, already looking ready to throw again. “I will not allow this man — this false prophet — to defile the sacred Lantern Vigil!” he shouted, spit flying with every word.

  Uriela lifted her hand. A line of Sacred Guards surged forward, warhammers gleaming in the lanternlight.

  The man froze, then dropped the stone and raised his empty hands.

  The guards formed a ring around Derek, who lay on the stones clutching his head. Blood streaked his temple and pooled beneath him, dark and wet in the firelight.

  Alyra shoved at the people around her, trying to reach him. The crowd surged for a better view, pressing her back instead.

  “Derek!” she cried, but the noise drowned her voice completely.

  How could this happen here? This was supposed to be a night of peace, of unity.

  Then a shout broke through the chaos. “He’s getting up!”

  Alyra tried to see, but the wall of shoulders and heads in front of her made it impossible.

  “Move!” a voice barked.

  It was Derek, but it didn’t sound like him. The tone was warped, furious… unhinged.

  Two Sacred Guards stepped aside, and Derek shoved past them, forcing his way through the crowd. His face, streaked with blood, was twisted in rage.

  “Where is he?” he roared, eyes sweeping the square.

  And then she saw them. His eyes.

  Something was wrong. They were black. Just like Faela’s had been during their fight before Varom.

  The man who’d thrown the rock went pale and staggered back.

  In a blur, Derek was on him. The stranger hit the ground, and Derek followed, hands clamping around his throat, teeth bared in a feral snarl.

  He growled like a wild beast, fingers digging deeper and deeper into the man’s neck like claws sinking into flesh.

  And those eyes… black as a demon’s.

  Alyra screamed — once, twice — until her voice tore from her throat.