Five days before mission departure…

  The next morning I’m able to leap out of bed. The ache around my stomach isn’t accompanied by stabbings, and since Scorius didn’t admonish me too badly for rejecting the last of his tincture, I won’t be taking it again.

  Finally, I can get back to my goals—find my brother, find Misty, ascend to stop the death toll in the sub-tier. Even if I don’t quite buy this Bane of Sile fear, Freedom’s Ire is the best chance I have at curtailing the war. First thing’s first… time to duel the jerk, Nalthir, to defend my rightful place in this mission.

  Taking a deep breath, the cabin no longer has that deathly musk, which means it was probably coming from my night sweats. Pine and incense wafts peacefully around the room in its stead. It’s refreshing.

  After stripping off the mage wraps and reapplying fresh ones, I rummage through the dresser for leathers in anticipation of my duel. Not sure what happened to my Elshard cuirass, but I’ll make it a priority to get it back… because one way or another, I’m returning to that Sanctum.

  Tying my shin guards and fitting into my boots, I feel like I’m prepping for battle ranks class again. It feels good.

  I take a minute to analyze myself in the looking glass. There’s more color in my face compared to yesterday. And with the pressure of warring dark, I beckon Boeru to crawl out of my shoulder in his ethereal blue-grey form.

  “Ready to make this Lacor prick eat sand?” I ask.

  “There are many like him in the afterlife, mortal.” Boe curls to my other ear. “They are the most joyful to incinerate.”

  I laugh at that. “Good. But remember, we need the prick alive.”

  “I think I’d rather us sniff our way through Lacor deaf, dumb, and blind than have his voice in my ear.”

  “Hm.” I look down at my arm, noticing the silhouette of blackness that I can now trace in my veins. “Do you feel any different since being granted iron rank?”

  “Yes, I no longer feel like I’m tethered to an insect.” He cackles.

  “Very funny, Boe.”

  “It’s clear more magi has been unlocked within you. Perhaps with training and time, the transcendent power you wield won’t have those dire effects.” Boe eyes the bandages peeking out of my leathers.

  I frown, causing Boe to growl.

  “Do not let fear rule you, mortal.” He breathes a flash of fire that ignites around my body, snapping me out of it. “You struck elites, ignoring the Elden barriers placed upon you. Perhaps I was chasing the wrong magic after all. Maybe the keys are already within our grasp.” His eyes glint in the looking glass.

  A jolt of adrenaline pumps through my veins as I recall the immense power of my bonds swirling inside me. Just by willing it, I could call out my entire roost and fly into battle.

  But the price…

  I clench my fist. I have to get a grip on my limits without suffering another strain of Arkitus. This will be a good test.

  Slapping the dresser top to psyche myself, I unsummon Boeru and head for the exit of my cabin in the next room.

  Once the fresh spring air reaches my face, I notice the spirit watching over me yesterday has gone. That small fiery mote that undoubtedly belonged to Casterban no longer guards me. Why?

  Has my father already departed for another mission?

  I head east, toward the spire, watching mages maintaining the frozen lightning bolts of black matter in the sky. I’m assuming there are barriers around them, or wards, like they used to detect intruders on the perimeter of Elshard.

  A citizen carrying food frowns at me as I pass. Of course, they think I’m going to infect their spearhead.

  I ignore the treatment and trek on. The slight, lingering pinch in my abdomen is nothing—like splinters. I can fight this prick.

  The Rivten Spire I was invited into yesterday blinks in unison from various bricks in its structure. Like a dormant beast, it lurks. Runes of all types are its eyes, constantly watching, protecting. It makes me wonder about the different types of trigger magi. Watchful wards in Elshard, traps laid by the Head Magus in the pillage event. Given that magi nearly killed all of us as we were wrapped in his freezing gales, I’d be content if they were only as strong.

  Peering at the half-built spires that I pass, I notice holes in between the brick and stone, probably purposely left open to build the runes in later. The constructionists must be following a blueprint of sorts—required spacing so the side effects of the runes don’t intersect. The library calls to me… I want to know everything about these forbidden practices. Just not today.

  I swing my gaze away from the giant structure, toward the boxy reinforced building behind it—the barracks—where Renesta waits outside in her spikey pauldrons and extensive shadowy cloak. Our eyes tether to each other. A past of secrets swirl behind her eyes, but she’s out in the open now.

  My mind races as I pace closer to the barracks. In Elshard, there would be high-ranking knights guarding a place like this. Here? It feels like the beginning of mythos history. The start of a militia. Or maybe even a kingdomonia.

  The level of fear in the Ire’s citizens gives credence to Elshard’s pride. Being spies takes a toll, I suppose. We can be found out at any moment. At least it’s not the dread of the sub-tier, though. There’s hope here, so long as I’m not being scowled at.

  I stop five feet from Renesta standing in front of the giant box door. We stare at one another, the wind blowing our hair.

  Just like in the Rivten library, thoughts of our past race through my mind. She was so mysterious in the beginning, then lustful, then… loyal.

  “Never got to thank you for saving Layla.” I raise my chin.

  “Nor I you for striking Efias Winbridge. His expression of disbelief will forever be etched in my memory. It’s what I hope the Ire will achieve again once we end the war-tier.”

  “Big dreams,” I say.

  “No better kind.” She smirks, glancing over her shoulder.

  “They’re in there already?”

  “Eagerly awaiting.” She lets the air linger between us. “For what it’s worth. I agree with you. Nalthir cannot lead us.”

  “I’m glad you haven’t lost it.” I smile.

  “Don’t underestimate him, Hale.”

  The dynamic between us is so different now. We used to gravitate toward one another whenever she wasn’t acting aloof. Now look. We’re five feet apart with no signs of pulling closer.

  I’m still attracted to her, of course. Those emerald eyes and full lips are as blissful as the tier one sun, but I question how much of her is genuine. Every one of her flirtatious actions could’ve just been a show to get me here for all I know.

  “Have you ever known me to take an opponent lightly?”

  She purses her lips. “You’ve changed since that moment.”

  “Which?”

  “The one where you made that grand declaration to rush head on into the battle of Elshard, summoning your dragons from thin air,” she says. “And now that you’re healing, I see that in you again. Nalthir—”

  “Is an alt-magic myth weaver, using a similar concoction to my uncle,” I cut her off. “Our old ring leader in Sivus—Aster—used a crimson-type affinity. Whenever Efias casted, however, his was a mix of purple and black. Not sure the significance, but Nalthir uses the same. Mythos leads me to believe he’s a combination user, like me. Warring dark mixed with alt-magic if I had to guess. What’s more, he alluded to being able to attack my spirits. The color of his whip lends truth to his claim, considering Efias’ sword slashes made Casterban’s spirits disperse to avoid getting hit.”

  She smirks and turns for the door. “I guess Scorius’ tincture didn’t cloud that head of yours too badly.”

  “Hey.” I step closer. “What are we now?”

  She shrugs one shoulder and shows her arm, igniting Boeru’s brand. “I’m your marked.” She then brightens the Freedom’s Ire wing. “And more.”

  I shake my head and follow her inside, where Jurso and Rogo are ogling a spread of variant colored Kyard crystals. They’re solidified and ready to be smelted into weapons, unlike freshly summoned raw ones.

  “Morning, Hale.” Jurso shoots up to his feet. “Look at these. They have Trou mountain Kyard rubies just lying around here. Wish I paid attention in forge class.” He scratches the back of his head.

  “You’re smelting one of those into my axe, or I’m smashing your head against it,” Rogo warns.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jurso waves him away. “If I could just use that enchanted hammer, maybe we can disperse the crystal over the edge of your axe. We’ll know if it worked by the new hue—”

  Renesta’s shadowy cloak whips for my attention, beckoning me to follow her deeper into the barracks. “We don’t share the benefit of Miria’s grandiose resources, or their population of specialized skills. However, our magi potency is higher than they can ever reach, because of him.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “My father?” I walk with her.

  “Casterban is of legend. My House Father, Trias, has been teaching me of his Elden mastery since I was barely a teenager. And now, to witness its effects as an adult is something truly special.”

  “So back in Elshard, you were always tapping into the sub-tier when we couldn’t find you,” I surmise.

  “And the dark ocean. There were plenty of the Ire down there. Though one must be careful when treading those waters… because they are ripe with sabotage.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I say, walking into a dusty arena touched by sunlight. “Casterban built this tier?”

  “Yes. And works very hard to keep it hidden. I’m not privy to all knowledge, but Trias shares all that he’s able,” she says, leading me over to an armory of enchanted weapons.

  It’s there in the corner I see them.

  Nalthir coerces slivers of alt-magic to run between his fingers, and Layla inspects a shield with a clear Kyard crystal embedded in a black canvas.

  “Smart,” I say to Lay a bit coldly. She should be at my side, not his. “Diamond-like Kyard stones are magic resistant, right? I could only imagine it would compound with your stances. Did your Lacor friend coach you on it?”

  Her brow furrows. “Not sure what you’re insinuating, but we’re all departing together in a few days.”

  I leave it alone for now and shift my attention to the chained daggers sprawled across a tilted wooden display. Mine isn’t among them. Neither is my magi-deflective sword—Spellglass.

  “These were recovered from a mix of high-tier castles, sub-tier dungeons, and sanctums on both sides of the aisle.” Renesta touches one of the blades. “I’ve trained with Lacor smelted steal before. They have different principles for forging—”

  I grab one and tie it around my fist, enjoying the feel of cold metal against skin. “The weight is off.”

  “Yes, they tend to favor off-loading the weight of chained daggers closer to the tip for more stabbing accuracy. Miria evenly distributes for close combat.”

  “Who are you?” I scoff at Ren.

  “One who had to remain quiet for many years.” She smiles, guiding me to a beaten-up wooden board with a faded bullseye hanging in the far corner. She gestures for me to have a go at it.

  As I swing the chain, I can feel every inch of difference in the craftsmanship. Then again, I’ll be forced to wield Lacor weaponry within five days’ time. Might as well start now.

  Fsshp!

  I bite the corner of the bullseye, way off for my standards. That distance is the difference between a neck and a belly. One strike offers the enemy a counterattack, one doesn’t.

  Signaling Ren to stand in the archway out of the path, I then rip the dagger free and catch the hilt in my hand.

  Feels so off. I swing the blade. Like it’s begging me to thrust instead of slice.

  Ren heads back toward the weapons, pulls the card associated with the blade, and slowly walks over as she reads it. “A dagger donated from Castle Anselm to Kilfore Sanctum. The previous wielder—Elero—was killed in a tier-up duel, reverting the dagger back to the sanctum. War-tutor Craxlo took this and many others on his escape to the side-tier.”

  “Donations, sanctums, war-tutors.” I shake my head. “Lacor sounds an awful lot like Miria, don’t you think? The old mythos tomes detailing us as one big realm once upon a time seem to have some truth to them.”

  “Soon you’ll be back to wondering why the tiers were created in the first place.”

  “Like I ever stopped.”

  She hums at that. “To your point, I do agree, it does seem like we were once a single realm. However, the cultural differences that have developed since are stark.”

  Fsshp!

  My next throw is closer to the bullseye. The pinch in my abdomen erupts into a shooting pain that makes me grab my side and wince. “Damn.”

  “Too much, too soon, maybe.” Renesta twists her lips.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The slow echo of Nalthir’s boots resound behind me. “Bold and foolish. Foolish and bold. We don’t have all day, Dragonborn.”

  “Right.” I whip the chain back and side-step, letting the dagger swing inches from his gut before I step on the chain.

  He flinches and scowls.

  “I think I’m ready.”

  He scowls again and stomps toward the arena. “You’d think he grew up as a Lacor growler.”

  “Their version of brutes,” Ren whispers.

  Layla falls in by my side as well.

  “What happened to Hitch? The one with the ugly beard,” I reference back to her boy toy in Elshard.

  “It kind of ended when he threw a javelin at my head.”

  “Miria loyalist, then.” I click my tongue sarcastically.

  “Mhm.” She smirks.

  “You know, Lay, you really couldn’t have worse taste in men,” I repeat, nodding to Nalthir.

  “Thought you were hot, once.” She tilts her head, and I notice Renesta tense at the joke. “Bring him down a peg, guide.”

  “Mm.”

  The air grows tense. I’m not at one hundred percent—not even close—but who’s ever ready, truly?

  Once I step on the arena, I drop the dagger to the floor, letting the dust kick up around me.

  My eyes tether to Nalthir as Ren and Layla back away.

  I hear Kyard stones rattle on the floor and the scurrying of Jurso’s feet as he and Rogo scramble to come watch.

  “This duel will be solely for the right to lead in our mission to Lacor’s Barrius Sanctum,” I declare. “If I win, you act as our guide and follow my order. If you win, I will act as your warrior and your eyes and ears in the warring dark ocean, following your order. In either instance, we will work as one.”

  “Hmph. If you don’t end up strangled and blue, Dragonborn.” He runs a hand through his hair and snaps his whip into existence. “Not all of us believe you to be the messiah. Just the son of greatness, not worthy of his father’s name.”

  “Do we have an agreement?” I ask.

  “We do.”

  “Are there any limitations you’d like to stipulate? No touching of your hair, perhaps?”

  My marked cackle at that, making Nalthir fume even more.

  “To death or surrender,” he proclaims loudly, snapping his whip again.

  “Very well.”

  “Remember, Hale. We kind of need him,” Renesta says.

  “Mm,” I consider. “Lay, if you’ll do the honors.”

  She hoists her shield up and walks over to the outer edge of the circle arena. “Duelers, ready.”

  I count the steps between us. About thirty. Unless I decide to open with a crippling lightning bolt from Dovesier, he has the advantage. When I first met him, he extended that whip high into the sky. And if my instincts are correct, he has dual-magi, alt and warring dark, like Efias.

  “Begin!” She slams her shield.

  As the dong resonates, Nalthir swings his whip into a rapid figure eight, where starburst flashes snap over and over.

  I know better than to stand still when alt-magic is at play. Thinking back to Efias’ invisible slices makes me dive forward into a somersault while letting my chained dagger fly.

  Snnp!

  A loud bang explodes behind me, sending Ren a step away from the arena edge.

  Then my vision is overwhelmed with more starbursts inches from my face—delayed strikes from his alt-magic whip. The bastard is bending reality as I know it.

  I’m forced into a side-flip to duck away from the barrage, and what’s worse, another sharp pain grips my insides.

  Ignore it. Ignore it all.

  I’m overwhelmed with a new sensation—iron rank advancement. Now that I’ve witnessed some of Nalthir’s attacks, the split in the air prickles my mind before it comes. Just like that silhouette of Scorius I witnessed in his chambers, I can sense the magic.

  Nalthir folds his arms, eyeing me with the most arrogant expression I’ve ever seen—eyes half-closed, steps slow and judging. He’s already attacked; I just haven’t felt it yet.

  Snnp!

  Snnp!

  I dodge the next delayed whip strike. I’m learning how his abilities work in real time. And after every one, my sense grows stronger.

  Against my instinct to impale him through the heart, I stand, ready to take the next delayed assault, pooling Boe’s fire into the Lacor dagger.

  “Do you feel it, mortal? The strength of an iron rank bond?” Boeru huffs in my ear.

  “I do.”

  Snnnp!

  Chrrr!

  I deflect the strike, causing the blue flame to snuff out the alt-magic with a hiss.

  Chrr!

  Chrr!

  I block two more aimed for my torso, canceling the magic. “Nice try reopening the wound.”

  My marked gasp in awe, leaving Nalthir sneering.

  “My turn.” I raise Kelfore from the sand, commanding him to manifest his tail into a blunt hammer instead of a spike.

  Nalthir drops his arrogant gait and falls into ready position.

  Whoosh!

  Kelfore’s massive tail swings, and Nalthir leaps in a more graceful manner than I would’ve anticipated. Doesn’t matter. He’s still wide open.

  Boom!

  Kelfore’s hammer-tail against the arena ledge shakes the entire barracks—loosening sawdust from the ceiling and distracting everyone.

  With two swings of my chain, I let the dagger loose underhand, guiding it toward Nalthir’s leg so not to mortally wound him.

  Chn!

  It deflects off an ethereal light purple barrier, and suddenly, all becomes clear. The arrogance. The willingness to step up to an awakened. It can be more than just an attack… He’s shielded.

  I whip the dagger back into my hand, noticing a familiar twinge from the battle of Elshard. Something I ignored then, but would be a fool to again. It’s not healing pain like in my abdomen… but something else. A tightening sensation around my spine, almost magical.

  Overuse of my bond?

  I glance at Kelfore roaring as I lend him more warring dark. He flaps his enormous wings, sending sand and dust flying in all directions—my marked covering their faces.

  Holding the tether with a clenched fist, I monitor the strain tightening down my back.

  So, this is what I have to watch for.

  Nalthir lashes his whip at Kelfore, but the dragon swipes his wing to block the blow.

  Tshh!

  A purple-glowing mark pulses where he was struck, but it’s an instant before the dragon flips, cracking his own whip with a hammer at the end of it.

  Boom!

  Nalthir dives.

  The ground rumbles.

  Sand lifts like a storm.

  And I reel Kelfore back into his dark cove in my mind, clenching my jaw as I measure my limits. The tightness fades from my back instantly, sending theories running through my mind. Do my limits make my body so weak that Arkitus can return? Is that what I have to watch for?

  I strut to where Nalthir’s coughing voice resounds.

  “Yield?” I ask, dangling the chain in one hand and dagger in the other.

  The pain and exhaustion sags down my body like weights, but I dare not show it.

  Surely, he realizes our power difference now.

  He glances at Layla, then back to me. “Never.” He Jumps to his feet and dashes away, reforming his whip.

  Now it’s my turn to be overconfident. I summon Risorgus as a feign, let Nalthir snap his whip around the dragon’s neck, before I absorb the dragon’s ice into my warring dark and send a wave of spikes clawing through the ground.

  In awe of how quickly I unsummoned my dragon and conjured an attack, Nalthir leaps again.

  “Close one,” I say, toying with him.

  “Hale…” Layla disapproves of my methods, but Ren seems to be excited by them.

  I’m not in the sub-tier anymore. I don’t have to plead and beg for the worst of us to see reason. Instead, I’ll show them.

  Summoning the top-half of Boeru to claw my shoulder and flap his powerful wing to lift me high, I stare down at the alt-mage. The light shining down on his face forces him to shield his eyes.

  In Elshard, we gained riches and clout from our actions. And we’ll do it again.

  “Show him,” Boe grumbles.

  I rip Boe’s essence like a flaming cloak and spin in my descent to crush him with the flames surrounding my body.

  Ffff!

  My flames fan out like an ignited hearth, and when I pinpoint Nalthir getting up from his roll, I loose the dagger.

  It’s going to be a direct hit.

  It’s going to hurt.

  My eyes go wide when he disappears before my eyes.

  Snnp!

  Before I can register his reformed presence at my back, his whip strangles my neck, burning it mercilessly.

  Short-range teleportation, and… Can he absorb magi too?

  It doesn’t matter. Dragon fire might as well be a warm bath for me.

  Taking the pulsing warring dark, I manifest my antagonistic bond, flashing an enormous shadow of Dovesier to loom over the entire barracks, before absorbing the lightning as my own.

  With a flex and a pulse, my body becomes lightning, incinerating the magic whip and sending a shockwave all the way into Nalthir’s fingertips.

  Try to absorb that one.

  He smashes hard into the arena edge, and thumps to the floor, spitting up blood.

  “It’s over,” I declare, letting the lightning sparks simmer around my arms and eyes, focusing closely on the relieved tension around my spine.

  My wound throbs harder, but I have to tell myself it’s just healing pains. Push on.

  The magical tension ebbs and flows down my back like a gauge.

  I’ve learned a lot in these short minutes.

  Layla curses under her breath as she hops over the arena ledge to make sure Nalthir is alright.

  I bore down on him curiously. In our entire year in Elshard, our ring leader—Aster—was only able to displace objects, never himself. Scorius on the other hand, teleported us all through the warring dark ocean.

  Is that what Nalthir just accomplished?

  Can I do it too?

  I feel nothing as Nalthir wipes his mouth and pushes Layla away. That was the whole point of this—knock the prick down a peg.

  He looks up at me with his defeated eyes, and I stare right back.

  “Welcome to the ranks.”