Alyra wiped the sweat from her forehead with a rag and went back to the drills Claudine had shown her.

  The training hall lay silent at this hour, empty except for her. Each lunge and jump sent a sharp squeak from her soles across the polished wood, the sound climbing toward the vaulted ceiling where Orbisar’s light scattered painted swarms of demons.

  The far wall was a sheet of glass, opening onto the inner garden and the courtyard beyond. Sunveil trees shimmered there, their leaves catching the last traces of daylight.

  A few Novices passed outside now and then, robes brushing softly as they headed toward the dorms. Lately, they talked about little else but the Lantern Festival, set to take place in Rothmere’s main square. She had never heard of it back in her village in the jungle, yet here it seemed impossible to escape. This year, Novices were said to be allowed to attend, and the excitement barely fit inside their sleeves.

  Naturally, no one had asked whether she wanted to join them.

  Let them go. She was better off alone.

  Alyra cast a glance around the empty training hall. Staying late had become routine. Not because the drills demanded it, but because the silence put distance between her and Tanya, and that tight little circle of vipers. Every hour spent here was another excuse not to cross paths with them, another reason they had stopped pretending she belonged.

  One day, she would stand among the Orbisar Ascendants. Maybe she would even wear a Warden’s mantle, like Isabelle.

  Still, a couple of friends along the way would not have been such a burden.

  Where she came from, friendship had come easily. Brisa’s laugh, Mariel’s teasing grin… both flickered through her mind like candlelight before the wind snuffed them out. The rag in her hand stilled. A tightness climbed her throat, but she swallowed it down and drew a steady breath. Things would’ve been brighter here if they’d come with her.

  And now there was Derek. Two days before, Isabelle and Sierelith told her that his life was hanging by a thread. If he didn’t make it through the contamination, Isabelle would be all she had left. The thought hollowed her chest. Once again she was standing on the edge of losing everything, everyone.

  She gritted her teeth and steadied her stance. Strength, that was the only way forward. Strong enough to keep those she cared about from vanishing, one by one.

  Metal hinges groaned behind her.

  She turned.

  Faela stood framed by the open glass door to the outer garden, perfectly still. Then she pulled the door shut and approached, her eyes drifting past Alyra as if searching for something no one else could see.

  The cotton training uniform hung loosely on her, clean and untouched by sweat. Like always, it sat wrong on her frame, creased, uneven, as though she’d dressed without noticing. Strands of silver-white hair slipped over her shoulders in dull clumps. It was hard to imagine a brush had ever come near it.

  She’d tried talking to Faela more than once since that strange day—the day she’d mentioned Death energy—but every attempt had ended the same way: a few sharp words, then Faela turning her back and walking off. It had never felt like the right time.

  Alyra gave a small nod in greeting. Maybe now it was.

  Faela stopped a few steps away, still staring at nothing.

  “Hi,” Alyra said.

  Silence.

  She cleared her throat. “Do you… need something?”

  “Death energy,” Faela murmured, voice faint and hollow. “It’s inside me too.”

  Alyra’s fingers tightened around the rag. “You said that before. I have questions for you about it. Will you answer me this time?”

  No reaction. Not even a blink.

  The unease crawled up her spine, but curiosity pressed harder. “How did it happen? Did you touch a sphere, or—”

  “The Death Cult,” Faela interrupted, voice flat and distant.

  Alyra froze. “What do you mean? You met them?”

  Faela nodded once. “I belong to the Cult of the Dead. They raised me. I was an orphan and they took me in because of my affinity with Death energy.”

  Alyra’s pulse kicked up. Sierelith’s warning flashed through her mind. Could Faela be the infiltrator she’d spoken of? The confession felt too open, too easy. Maybe Faela knew Alyra couldn’t expose her without drawing suspicion to herself as well.

  “You mean you’re… not really an Orbisar Novice,” Alyra said, voice tightening. “You’re with the Cult?”

  Faela nodded again. “They did things to me… to keep me hidden. Things that hurt. But now they protect me. Only you know who I truly am. Here, they hate people like me. People like you.”

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  Alyra’s stomach twisted. Her hands balled into fists. “I don’t belong to the Cult.”

  “Not yet,” Faela whispered. “But it’s inevitable. Death energy is inside you.”

  “You’re wrong. Nothing about it is inevitable. I’ll bury that crawling thing inside me and become a real Orbisar Ascendant. And I don’t even have Death affinity.”

  Faela blinked. “You already know your affinity?”

  “Not for sure. But it looks like I’ve got Stone magic. So if you’re here because you think I’m like you, you can leave.”

  Faela tilted her head, that faint, unsettling smile flickering across her lips. “You don’t understand. Death affinity isn’t what the Cult seeks. Death does… something to our minds. I don’t have time to explain now. Just know this: we’re looking for someone who can command Death energy without being bound to it. Someone like you, Alyra. You’re special.”

  Alyra’s throat tightened. Heat rose in her chest, sharp and unfamiliar. No one in this school had ever called her that. To them, she was the outsider, the girl pulled from the jungle. Every success only earned her resentment, never respect.

  She forced out a breath and shook her head. “I don’t think I’m anything special.”

  Faela’s gaze finally locked on hers, pale as ice yet burning with a strange, feverish light. “You’re destined to be our guide, Alyra. You’re not of Death, but Death has chosen you all the same. Life and Death can both dwell within you. You’re the bridge. The one who will reunite Death with the other seven forces of Elyndra.”

  A shiver rippled through Alyra’s spine. She took a step back, goosebumps rising along her arms. “You’re starting to scare me, Faela.” Her eyes darted around the hall. Still empty. The yellow crystals glowed dimly along the walls, their light trembling against the glass panes. Outside, twilight had swallowed the garden. “If this is some kind of joke, I’m not laughing. I’m… I’m going straight to Instructor Claudine!”

  Faela’s gaze drifted again, unfocused. “No joke.”

  Alyra’s pulse hammered in her throat. Too many things didn’t make sense. “When we fought in front of Varom, why didn’t you use the Fulcrum Strike?”

  “You should have figured that out.” Faela’s voice turned quiet, almost pitying. “Any strike channeled through my chakras would’ve carried Death energy. Varom would’ve noticed. And maybe… it would’ve killed you.”

  Alyra’s brow tightened. “You’re an Ascendant?”

  Faela shook her head slightly, white hair brushing her cheeks. “We don’t use that word. But I hold the power of an Iron Rank Death sphere.”

  “Then why attack me like that? You looked like you were pulling your punches.”

  “I was trying to knock you out the ordinary way,” Faela said calmly. “If I’d succeeded, the match would’ve ended without either of us being exposed.”

  Alyra’s scowl deepened. “Your strikes were weak. Sloppy. But when you dragged me out of the hall, you were stronger. How does that make sense?”

  Faela tilted her head. “I can promise you I gave it my all both times. If I seemed weaker in the fight, maybe it’s because you were stronger. You were already tapping into your chakras, without even knowing it. As I said, you’re special. In more ways than you think.”

  Alyra’s gaze dropped to her hands. “When I used the Fulcrum Strike on you… I felt Death energy move. I felt it awaken.” Her throat tightened. “I thought I killed you.”

  Faela’s lips curved into a faint smile. “That would’ve been a blessing. I long for her cold embrace. But I have a mission, and she’ll have to wait. I simply absorbed your strike’s energy into my chakras. You were never close to killing me.”

  Alyra’s breath caught. “You can do that? Absorb your opponent’s attacks?”

  “Only if they’re powered by Death magic.”

  The pale-haired girl stood motionless, gaze drifting toward nothing. She’d said Death magic twisted their minds and Alyra could see it now in every vacant look, every half smile. Still, the Cult members she’d seen in Ebonshade hadn’t been like this. Maybe not everyone lost themselves the same way.

  Derek’s voice echoed faintly in her memory. He’d never seen the Cult as purely evil, not the way the Church did. They were people shaped by what they carried, not monsters. And this girl, an orphan like her, was just trying to find a place where she belonged.

  But this wasn’t the place she belonged to. Alyra let out a breath. “Listen. Go back to your Cultists and tell them you tried, but I refused. I’m not leaving Isabelle and Derek, or giving up on becoming an Ascendant.”

  Faela didn’t even blink. “My orders are to bring you to Ebonshade.”

  A jolt shot through Alyra’s chest. “You planning to drag me there?” She shifted into a fighting stance. “Because you won’t get far if you try.”

  Faela shook her head slowly. “We don’t want a prisoner. We want a guide. Dragging you back in chains would defeat the purpose.”

  Alyra eased her stance but kept her guard up. “Then I guess you’ll be staying at this school for a very, very long time, Faela. I’m not going anywhere with those creepy hooded friends of yours.”

  “Why stay here?” Faela asked, voice almost soft. “They don’t accept you, just as they don’t accept me. They’ll keep you at the edge of everything, sneering at your failures and resenting your victories.” She tilted her head. “Why suffer that? You owe them nothing.”

  “Yes, I do.” Alyra’s voice came sharper than she meant. “I owe Derek my life. They saved me. They gave me a place to belong.”

  “And this Derek you speak of, he doesn’t approve of you coming with us?” Faela’s tone stayed eerily calm. “If he truly cares for you, he shouldn’t stand in your way.”

  Alyra dropped her gaze. “Well, actually… he wouldn’t really be against it.”

  Faela’s lips curved, the faintest hint of a smile.

  Alyra’s hands balled into fists. “It’s me. I’m the one who doesn’t want to leave him. Especially now that he’s hurt. And I won’t leave Isabelle either. I owe her my life too.”

  “Isabelle…” Faela lifted her gaze toward the ceiling, eyes unfocused as if peering through the old frescoes. “The young Warden appointed by Uriela to guard the jungle. She knows of your condition?”

  “Of course.”

  Faela raised an eyebrow. “And she accepts you anyway? She hasn’t reported you?”

  Alyra’s fists tightened again. “Yes. She would never betray me.”

  Faela nodded slowly. “You see? You’ve even won over the Warden of Narkhara. Your fate is to be the bridge. Through you, the Cult could one day stop hiding, stop living beneath the Church’s heel.”

  Alyra crossed her arms. Enough. “No. Find someone else to pester.”

  Faela’s faint smile didn’t fade. “It won’t be me who torments you.” She spread her arms slightly, motioning toward the vast hall around them. “It will be this place. And when you’ve had enough, come find me. I’ll take you to where you truly belong.”

  The silver-haired girl turned and started back the way she’d come, each step measured, deliberate.

  Alyra watched her go until the glass door shut behind her, and even then, she kept staring until Faela’s shadow melted into the twilight beyond.

  A bridge. What nonsense. She was still fighting just to carve out a corner of the world where she could live in peace, and she hadn’t even managed that yet. She bent to pick up her rag and turned toward the showers.

  A tall figure in a flowing white gown stood before her. Blonde hair framed a face of composed strength, gray eyes fixed on her with quiet concern.

  “Isabelle?” Alyra’s voice came out small, caught between surprise and relief.

  “How are you?” the Warden asked gently. She inclined her head toward the glass door. “I saw you speaking with your friend and waited until she left.”

  Alyra frowned. “She’s not my friend.”

  “Oh? My apologies. Still, having friends here can make all the difference.”

  Alyra’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Looks like I’ll have to manage without.”

  Isabelle stepped closer and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I came to see how you were holding up. After the news about Derek, you seemed rather shaken.”

  “Not well… I just—” The words faltered as a lump rose in her throat. That cursed sphere, she’d been the one to hand it to him. The thing that was killing him now. He’d never hold it against her, but the weight of it pressed on her chest all the same. “I need to talk to him,” she managed. “The last time we spoke, it didn’t end well. I don’t want that to be the last time.”

  Isabelle nodded. “Very well. I’ll tell him.” Her expression softened, though guilt clouded her eyes. “But you must understand, it isn’t your fault. You didn’t know what that sphere was. You only followed my instructions. I alone am to blame for what happened to him, and to you.”

  A shiver ran through Alyra. She hugged her shoulders tight. “You weren’t the one who pressed that thing into his hand.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  Isabelle’s posture straightened, her jaw tightening. “Actually, I understand perfectly.” She exhaled softly. “I’ll tell Derek you wish to see him. He’s busy with Ithara, working on his armor and preparing for his next mission.” A faint smile crossed her lips. “But a break will do him good.”

  Alyra nodded. “Thank you.”

  Isabelle offered a small bow and turned to leave. She was nearly at the door when Alyra called out.

  “Isabelle!”

  The Warden turned, her brows lifting.

  “Will he make it?” Alyra asked.

  A calm smile spread across Isabelle’s face. “He is the Cashnar. The Messiah of Steel, sent to guide this land.” Her gaze softened, steady as sunlight through stained glass. “Not even Death itself can keep him from his destiny.”

  Alyra’s lips curved faintly. She nodded.

  Isabelle bowed once more and stepped through the door, her figure fading into the corridor’s golden light.

  Silence settled again over the training hall.

  So this was what it meant to be a Warden. Not just strength, but the courage to carry faith and hope even when everything else was falling apart.

  A tear traced down her cheek.

  One day, she would do the same.

  Faela could wait until the end of time. It didn’t matter. Alyra would never join the Cult.

  One day, she would become a Warden.