“Why are you wearing that white scarf?” Marshall asked. “Is your intention to slander the reputation of the Black Sons until your death?”

  Micah regarded him with a cool gaze, his clear blade glistening in the moonlight. Their bodies flashed as well, both donned in glass armor. Shadows swirled about behind the thin plates, seeming to encourage the inevitable battle.

  “Inaccurate,” Micah replied, lowering his sword. “To malign the cause was never my intent. You should know this.”

  “I know what I see. You are a traitor and enemy of Carnel.”

  “What is an enemy of Carnel but that person who seeks to hinder its finest interests? The Moon Eye Child was to be killed, despite the king’s orders not to end her life. I heard the words from Daniel Riser’s own mouth.”

  “You mistake your place yet again,” Marshall replied furiously. “Such matters are not our decisions to make. The governor gave you an order, and you disobeyed. The Black Sons do not disobey!”

  Micah sniffed. “Because we are slaves to whim. But no longer for me.”

  “I am no slave,” he growled.

  “Why are you so angry?”

  Marshall’s visible eyebrow furrowed, but he didn’t reply, so Micah continued.

  “Why are you displaying such emotion? Were you taught to do this? Did the governor order you to become angry?”

  Still no response but a glare.

  Micah pointed at him. “You are angry because the shackles binding us to slavery are not absolute. I have come to realize since the day Charlotte set me free that even the seals placed around our hearts can’t contain everything within. They have weaknesses which can be exploited.”

  “What are you talking about? What seals?”

  Micah suddenly whipped his arm forward, and Marshall jumped back by reflex, braced for an attack. But Micah plunged his sword into the ground, snapping off a long piece of glass.

  “Inquisitive,” he said, repeating the process a second time. Two long shards of glass now stuck out from the ground before him while his sword reformed. He looked at his former comrade. “Is your question yet another exercised freedom without permission? First anger, and now this? Is it your responsibility as a Black Son to ask questions about things you don’t understand… things that matter little to what is currently at stake? I can answer that for you – no, it is not, but you are curious. Some part of you can’t help it.”

  Marshall looked away, eye full of frustrating questions to which he had no answers. “You are trying to confuse me,” he said.

  “Incorrect… I simply know the truth, for I have been set free. A Black Son is created, forced into service in youth. Our memories and emotions are sealed away by a potent curse meant to control us forever. Using the ancient power called Heartbreaker, Charlotte Goodsteel broke this seal the night I guarded her, and that is why I fled. Riser ordered me to end my own life, fearing I might inadvertently reveal his underhanded plan against the king’s order, but my freed heart wouldn’t suffer it.” He lifted a hand. “If you can’t accept what I am saying, then explain why we are so different from other people. Why we cannot fathom concepts so ingrained into others, such as love and courage. And I would wager my life that you can’t remember anything about yourself from before you were ten years old.”

  “Stop it,” Marshall said, swiping his blade through the air. “Enough of this. I have my order, and I will carry it out. Tonight, you die!”

  He burst forward, sword bourn fast.

  Micah whispered a quick incantation, and shadowy sinews exploded from his back, stretching up and over his head like distorted wings. The misshapen hands took hold of the two pieces of glass in the ground, and lifted them to cross before him.

  Marshall hesitated for but a moment, but continued to attack. Micah parried with his own sword, glass shattering to a thousand pieces, but the shadow hands countered, attacking Marshall together. He dodged, quick and sure, footwork swift as a lark to flight, and attacked again. Micah blocked with a renewed blade, then advanced on his foe, using three swords to attack in harmonious succession.

  Shards of razor-sharp glass rained around them in a continuous torrent, and the din of their shattering filled their hearing. But despite Marshall’s rapid assault, Micah wasn’t threatened. Glad provided Micah an uninterrupted supply of swords. The shadow hands worked in timely precision: attacking, discarding the broken pieces, and breaking off a new piece from Glad. Marshall never relented, attacking in a furious onslaught, but Micah slowly advanced on him. Their fight went on for several minutes, spreading across the whole field as they turned and parried, lunged and countered, each soldier attacking with all their might.

  But the three swords slowly gained leverage over the one. Micah hewed a purposed path and backed Marshall into a corner of rocks he eyed from the beginning. In the right moment, he backed away in a half-step, then lunged with all three swords. Backed against the rocks, he hoped to pin him. But Marshall was too quick. Just before the blades triplicate could skewer him, he leapt high into the air, landing on one of the large rocks.

  They stared each other down, breathing heavily but focused.

  “You need three swords to hold me back,” Marshall said. “It is a wonder you are considered my superior.”

  “Your logic is errant,” Micah replied. “Three swords assure three times the attack and safety of one, thus increasing the chances of victory three times – you use hypothetical situations to support a flawed conclusion. Or am I wrong in the tally of injuries? You have sustained several, while I have but one.”

  Marshall slowly replaced his sword in its sheath, looking down at him with a deadly gaze. “This was simply preparation. In your arrogance, you unwittingly created your own resting place.” He spread out both of his arms. “Do you know what this place is?”

  “White Turtle Hill is its name,” Micah replied.

  “It is now. But it used to be called Queen’s Prominence… many years ago. The ancient hero Queen Violet of Avalon once saved the Twin Cities from a calamity that threatened to swallow the cities whole. They honored her act with a great monument that stood watch over Castor and Pollux for several hundred years. Twelve carved pillars surrounding a holy white statue of Violet herself, bathed in glory.

  “But the monument was destroyed when two legendary warriors of the District Era clashed on this very hill, smashing it in the process. Around us now lie the marble ruins of that once-grand memorial.”

  “You speak of Jerjory Eight, the Bootmage.”

  Marshall nodded. “The same. Master Eight defeated Alice Waterlight in an epic battle, bringing her to justice for traitorous actions against Carnel.” He produced a Life Stone and two Element Stones. “It is fitting, then, that we should fight here, don’t you agree? Justice will be dealt to the traitor this night.”

  “Your skills are found wanting,” Micah said. “You are no Eight.”

  “No, but the results will be the same, for Master Eight had little time to prepare for Waterlight, but I have been preparing a strategy to defeat you in battle for two years, and you have done everything I expected.” He raised his crystals high into the air. “Let us prove who is the strongest of the Black Sons.”

  A swift wind cut through the field, making Micah step back. An abrupt buzzing met his ears, droning like a swarm of insects. He looked around in shock as the millions of tiny glass shards from their fight lifted off the ground to float in mid-air. And with a flick of Marshall’s wrist, the shards began to collect, forming thousands of bees. A dull red glow flickered within each of their glass bodies, shimmering through flitting wings.

  Micah’s mind churned in abrupt warning. Never had he expected such a thing – the whole hill was covered in tiny red lights, and each insect’s sight seemed trained on him. He looked up at Marshall, who folded his arms.

  “You never stood a chance,” he said. “Kill him.”

  The buzzing exploded, and the bees closed in. Micah dashed out of the rock cluster. The bees collected into thick waves and surrounded him, pouring over in a crystalline waterfall. He ducked and shot across the field, taking cover from rock to rock, but they cut him off at each turn, clogging every direction. Several stings pierced his skin. They were everywhere now.

  A rush of ominous wind swept by him. More bees appeared, forming a funnel above him that twisted and swirled like a red tornado. The buzzing grew to deafening heights. Micah realized running wouldn’t get him anywhere. The only way to defend himself was to attack. He reached to his jacket, quickly producing a thin glass plate. The transparent square given to him by his former master churned a vivid green glow. He could only hope Coral gave him the plates for the very reason he now needed them.

  The tempest of bees grew louder, buzzing angrily, and the swarm jettisoned to the ground. Micah drew his sword, flipped the Alinda Plate into the air, and struck it with all his might.

  A blast of wind tore through the countryside in a concentrated stream, pouring from the glass. Micah braced himself, barely able to keep from being knocked over by the sudden torrential winds. Hurricane forces scattered the bees, dashing them against rocks or blasting them skyward. The plate stayed floating in the air, cracked but not broken. Winds discharged from the glass without ceasing, seeming to increase in force. Micah actually began to lift off the ground, and he planted his sword to keep from getting snatched up.

  He raised a hand to shield his face as he looked about, searching for Marshall through the debris. Far away, a powerful light caught his attention. On the same rock, his enemy stood, arm raised to protect himself from the screaming surge, but still aground. Floating in the palm of his other hand was the light, pinpoint but far more intense than any star in the sky. It pulsed, sending waves of radiance into the surrounding storm.

  What is that?

  Suddenly, the winds ceased. The howls were replaced with far off storms, as thunder’s last gasp before the calm. The Alinda Plate fell, shattering, its glow lost. Micah picked up his sword and gauged his surroundings. The bees regrouped around Marshall, now a quarter of their former number.

  But the light in Marshall’s hand grew brighter still, seeming to increase in size. He directed his hand, and the bees collected, ready to pursue Micah again. He then raised his other arm. The small light floating in his palm began to rise into the air, with another horde of bees surrounding it in a protective sphere.

  Micah reached for another plate as the bees drew near, but then he stopped.

  This isn’t a real attack, which can only mean it’s a front. The bees aren’t Kalem’s real weapon. He’s stalling. Whatever he just let go of is his real trump card, but he must need time. I have to destroy it.

  A familiar howl met his ears in that moment, and he looked up into the sky in triumph. Cal came flying, blue wings a flurry. His tail flicked as he zoomed by, letting go of two items, long and black. Micah caught the bow and quiver, and Cal returned to hover beside him.

  “Just in time,” Micah said.

  “You expect anything different after all these years?” he replied with a smirk.

  Micah slung the empty quiver over his shoulder and extended the bow. The black weapon was nearly as long as Micah was tall, with seven ancient symbols carved into smooth wood. A green radiance emanated from the quiver, and the arm of a human skeleton, crystalline and jade, reached out of it. Its hand outstretched as if to embrace the moonlight, and an arrow materialized in the palm, made of glass tinted a shade of green deeper than the bones. The limb offered Micah the arrow. He took it, armed the bow, and let it fly.

  The arrow whistled through the air with a shriek, loud and otherworldly. It ripped into the cloud of bees, scattering them to the wind. Marshall jumped just as the arrow impaled the rock on which he stood. He anticipated an explosion, but there was barely an impact. The arrow remained lodged deep into the rock, not shattered as he had expected the glass to do, but still idle.

  “Is that all you can muster, Champlain?” he shouted. The glow high above him increased every second. The shining light had grown several feet wide.

  Another skeletal arm reached out of Micah’s quiver, offering him a new arrow. He took it and aimed it at the light, firing. Marshall quickly produced an Element Stone, flicking his hand.

  “Erident Mirror!” he shouted.

  A glass plate materialized in the path of the arrow. It struck with a violent crash, but the plate did not break. Marshall flicked his crystal again. The arrow discharged back to Micah, faster than before. He sidestepped it, and the arrow hurtled into another rock, splitting it nearly in two.

  “Cal,” Micah said, pointing at the rapidly growing star. “Destroy that thing, whatever it is. I’ll keep Marshall busy.” He burst forward while Cal took to the sky again.

  The bees focused in on the Murr, chasing him while staying between him and the sphere. He flew loops in and around the growing sphere, trying to find an opening, but the insect swarm wouldn’t allow it. Up close, Cal could see the form of the object. Smooth and slightly oblong in shape, it seemed to be some sort of egg. But it was growing at such an alarming rate, he had no idea when it would stop or what could possible hatch from it.

  If it gets any larger, it won’t matter. I have to do something now!

  He mustered up the strength in his wings and blasted through a line of glass insects, scattering them. They swarmed around him, driving their stingers into his flesh, but he ignored the pain. With a growl, he slammed into the hard object, which was now the size of a house. A crack erupted along the surface, but Cal didn’t stay long enough to watch. He skipped off the egg and tore through the horde of bees again, escaping to a safe distance. He picked glass stingers from his body with his mouth while keeping an eye on the still-growing monstrosity.

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  He grimaced. That’s no egg… it’s a chrysalis. I know what it is now. Micah must be told before it’s too late.

  Before he could do anything else, however, a tremendous roar issued from somewhere behind the milky surface of the cocoon. Micah and Marshall stopped in their swordfight to look up. A terrific new light blazed from the immense object, and the crack Cal created expanded with an ear-splitting clap.

  Marshall tsked, looking back at Micah. “Your helper may have prevented its full growth, but it will be enough to deal with you!”

  The beast emerged with another roar, shaking off the cocoon with a sweep of its immense wings. Six massive legs stretched, and bushy antennae extended out with the four wings to blot out the moon’s light. Micah watched on, stunned, as the goliath insect took to the skies. It’s black and purple body seemed to pulse with energy, and an overpowering pollen took hold of his senses. Razor sharp teeth gnashed behind wooly jowls as it drifted behind Marshall, ready for his first command.

  “The Felonous Moth of Ashtoken,” Micah whispered.

  Marshall smirked. “Are you surprised I had the chrysalis all along?”

  “I wasn’t aware anyone had it.” Micah settled himself down, mind racing. “So, you devised an entire strategy just to defeat me in battle. And from your body language, I can tell you are reveling in your success. So again I ask: for what purpose?”

  Marshall’s eye narrowed, but he didn’t reply.

  Micah pointed at him. “I asked you a question, Marshall Kalem. Who gave you the order to excogitate this strategy against me? As a Black Son, you had no reason or purpose for doing such a thing. How could you have even fathomed we would ever meet in battle?”

  Marshall’s glare amplified. His hands made tight fists as he grappled with a matter he had obviously never considered. “I… I don’t know,” he finally said.

  “It’s pride!” Micah swept his sword through the air. “Deep down, the pride of a warrior seeps through the seal around your heart. Pride in one’s own talent and accomplishments. It’s a human trait, and you are human. Despite your directive as a Black Son, you have an unrealized desire to defeat me, because you want to be recognized as the best. Tell me I’m wrong!”

  Marshall’s body froze in place, but his eye shifted wildly as Micah’s words crashed through his mind. The struggle seemed to assault his whole body, but he shook his head with a grunt.

  “STOP IT!” he shouted. He pointed down at Micah. “Destroy him! Destroy him now!”

  The Felonous Moth roared again and dove upon Marshall’s command. Micah quickly armed his bow, pointing it skyward, but Marshall lunged, forcing him to retreat. Micah dashed away as fast as he could, but the Moth was quickly upon him. The shadow loomed, blanketing him in the doom of its presence.

  The moth slammed into the ground. The earth shook from the force, sending waves of dirt in a wide arc. Marshall smirked in victory, but the smile faded when the ground around his giant servant shifted.

  Micah pulled himself from piles of soil and rocks. He had just barely missed being crushed. The moth must have sensed he was alive, because its wings beat in a flurry. It rose into the air again, turning to locate him. The compound eyes of a hundred colors quickly focused in. Micah grimaced as the beast readied for another attack.

  The body of the monster suddenly snapped back. It lurched, screeching in pain.

  Cal’s tail was wrapped around one of the antennae. He pulled with all his might, twisting and jerking. The beast thrashed, eyes growing red with rage. It shook Cal away, who immediately retreated as the glass bees took to pursuing him again.

  Marshall grew livid. “Forget that pest! Focus on Champlain!”

  But the moth ignored him, its chops frothing with psychotic wrath. It blasted after Cal, snapping and snarling.

  Marshall was about to shout again, but Micah let another arrow fly. Marshall leapt out of the way, just avoiding being impaled. The green projectile pierced yet another rock, embedded deep into the white slab. Micah fired again, and Marshall dodged. He drew his sword and charged, intent to stay out of long-range fire. Micah slung his bow over his back and drew Gladius.

  The three weapons met in a wild discharge of sparks. Micah attacked with his twin swords, forcing a defensive. He had to end this now before the summoned creature could return. But Marshall’s flawless technique kept even two swords at bay. His superior strength forced Micah to abandon patience and attack with unpredictable tactic. Eventually, it seemed to do the trick, for Marshall lost grip of his footwork, stumbling after one rapid-fire melee. Micah lunged, and Marshall crouched and jumped high into the air to avoid it.

  Micah leaped after him, thrusting both swords in a double strike. Marshall swept both away with his weapon, but Micah dropped one of his swords and snatched his arm, pinning it against his chest. He drew his other sword across to chop him down, but Marshall blocked it with his other arm. Seeing his opening, Micah twisted his body, smashing his leg down across Marshall’s body. He hurtled back to the ground, slamming into the earth. Micah fell after him, sword ready to drive him through.

  Marshall quickly recovered, flipping over and crouching along the ground. He produced two Element Stones, shouting, “Shell of the Dark One!”

  Water erupted from the tips, freezing in midair. A glass shield materialized over him, and a dozen glass spikes burst from the surface of the umbrella, ready to intercept Micah and impale him. Just before Micah landed, Cal zoomed in, catching him with his tail and carrying him away.

  Micah rearmed his bow and fired. Two whistling arrows, one after the other, sliced by Marshall as he fled the aerial attack. Cal dropped Micah and zoomed upward. The moth rushed between them, snapping viciously and just missing devouring them whole. It pursued Cal with renewed rage, churning its wings faster than ever.

  Micah shot after Marshall, catching him off-guard in a rapid strike. His opportunity had come, and he lunged under an awkward attack to cleave his sword across Marshall’s chest. The force destroyed his armor, shattering it to pieces and sending him reeling against a boulder. Micah quickly drew his bow, a skeleton arm produced an arrow, and he aimed it at Marshall’s exposed chest. Marshall gasped, raising his arms, but unable to recover. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard the twang of the bow. A single mistake had cost him his life.

  But no impact came.

  He opened his eyes. Micah’s bow was aimed into the sky. Marshall looked up to see a vivid green arrow shoot through the night. In the distance, his moth summon was almost upon a besieged Murr. The cat-like creature was struggling to get away, exhausted and nearly ready to give up. But before the monster insect could swallow him up, Micah’s arrow struck it square in the thorax. The beast screeched and raged, flailing in place. It tried to keep afloat, but the hit must have been fatal, for the great insect’s wings flickered. It grunted, dizzily looping in the sky. Red eyes faded, and with a final dying scream, the moth crashed to the ground. The earth rattled, and a plume of dust exploded in the distance.

  He… saved the Murr?

  Marshall quickly drew a dagger and flicked it at Micah. He used his bow to cast it away, but Marshall used the chance to dash forward, sword drawn fast. He plunged it through with a yell. Micah jumped aside, but not before Marshall cut another deep gash, this time into his side.

  They retreated a safe distance, heaving and clutching to their wounds.

  “You…” Marshall rasped. “You saved the Murr… why? You had me in your sights.”

  Micah didn’t quite understand it either. “It was… instinct,” he replied, wincing from the cut. “Cal is my friend.”

  “Friend?” The word seemed to offend his deepest inclinations. “What are you saying? That’s… that’s…”

  “Ridiculous,” Micah finished. “I know. Yet, it’s true. He is my friend, and so is Charlotte Goodsteel. Which is why I won’t let you take her. Besides…” He drew his bow, producing another arrow and aiming it. His eyes narrowed. “I still have you in my sights.”

  He let the arrow fly. The glass projectile screamed past Marshall, embedding into a boulder behind him. It didn’t come close to hitting him.

  Marshall sniffed in contempt. “Your aim leaves something to be desired.”

  “On the contrary…” Micah raised his arm. “I seem to be a deadeye.”

  A violent green light suddenly surrounded Marshall in a halo, forcing him to shield his eyes. Seven arms sprouted from Micah’s empty quiver, bones writhing like eels over his head. The skeleton arms expanded, and more green bones issued from the sack, floating out in different directions. Marshall watched in alarm as they drifted to seven distinct spots to surround him in a perfect circle. The bones then formed themselves into full skeletons, completed by jade skulls with rutilant eyes. A red “X” emblazoned on each of their foreheads in that moment, and a hard sting suddenly enveloped Marshall’s chest.

  “What is this?” Marshall said. He tried to step back, but to his shock, he found he couldn’t move!

  “What is this?” he shouted in panic. “What have you done?”

  His eyes searched frantically, but his body was frozen in place. The seven skeletons each reached out to a nearby boulder and grasped something. Long and thin, embedded into the rock.

  A glass arrow.

  Marshall gasped, looking back at Micah, who stared at him with all the calm in the world. Seven arrows in seven distinct spots. The entire time, he had been firing arrows not to hit him, but to form a seal!

  Micah held up his bow as Cal limped to his side. “The Stain,” he said. “A cursed bow meant to contain and destroy the enemy. Didn’t you learn anything during our six years fighting side by side? Nothing I do in battle is without purpose. Your error has killed you.”

  The skeletons drew up the arrows like swords and advanced on Marshall, smiling demonic grins. He struggled against his invisible bonds for a moment before relenting, knowing his fate was sealed. He was going to die.

  Something stirred in his chest in that moment. Watching Micah, an unexplainable sting rose up, filling him with a desire he could only describe as “black.” Despite being ten years older, Marshall had indeed watched his brother-in-arms. Since the day the young boy joined the Black Sons, he had observed, listened, studied. Micah Champlain was a genius beyond compare – there was no denying it. And in the short span of six years, he had come to both loath and admire him. But why?

  Marshall closed his eyes. It was because he wanted to be like him. For some reason, in this place and time… of all places and times… Marshall knew it to be true. What Micah had told him was correct. Something inside had wanted more… wanted recognition from peers… wanted success. He had wanted to beat Micah and claim victory.

  For the sole sake of a concept called pride.

  He opened his eyes again, finding Micah’s gaze once more. As the shadows of the immense skeletons towered over him and raised their weapons, Marshall found himself wishing for the independence Micah Champlain now enjoyed, whatever it was. He found himself wishing… to be free.

  The skeletons plunged the arrows into his body.

  He gasped. Eyes drooped. Breathing hitched.

  The skeletons faded to nether, green lights sucking into Micah’s quiver and disappearing. Marshall’s feeble attempt to remain standing failed, and his arrow-riddled body collapsed. Gasping through gritted teeth, his body writhed for a moment before becoming still.

  Micah and Cal slowly limped forward. The far away noise of glass bees raining to the ground could be heard. The fight was over.

  The sounds of quick footsteps approached, and Micah turned to see Charlotte and John Halifax scrambling up the hill. They arrived heaving and sweaty.

  “Good. You’re both here,” Micah said.

  When Charlotte’s eyes fell on Marshall, she gasped in horror, bringing her hands to her face. It was as if the whole world was being destroyed right in front of her.

  “No…” she whispered. She shook her head, and tears sprang to her eyes. “No, no no… NO!”

  Her scream carried to the farthest corners of the field. In that moment, a violent tremble shook the whole hill as Charlotte’s eye exploded with purple fire, consuming her face in its light. The ground quaked so heavily, Micah could barely remain standing. Enormous winds picked up without warning, greater even than from his Alinda Plate, and the white boulders throughout the entire area sucked out of the ground, swirling and shifting in a tremendous tornado.

  “What’s happening?” John shouted over the near-deafening roar.

  “It’s Charlotte!” Cal shouted back. “She’s awakened another power!”

  Micah somehow made his way to John, grabbing him and pulling him out of the way of an oncoming projectile. Cal latched onto Micah with his tail, wings churning to maneuver in the torrent, but failing.

  Micah shielded his face with his arm to watch Charlotte, chills running through his body. It can’t be…

  But his disbelief vanished when the rocks began to build themselves before their very eyes. Rock after rock crashed together with ear-splitting collisions. Sculpted by invisible hands, they collected to form an immense statue of a beautiful woman holding a sword in one hand and a key in the other. Twelve towering columns surrounded her, carved with intricate designs. Cracks thinned and disappeared, sealing up in reverse.

  Micah grimaced. Charlotte has truly activated the Sealed Eye of Taurus. This shouldn’t be possible. It’s supposed to be so hard to trace, let alone activate, few people on the planet even know Restoration once existed. Yet, she’s achieved the first level without any training whatsoever! How is she doing this?

  “Oh my… can you believe this?” John said in awe, trembling. “Can you believe this, my boy? Are you seeing what I’m seeing… are you seeing… it’s Queen’s Prominence! That’s Queen Violet, my boy!”

  His wonder stunned him into near stupor, but Micah focused. Just yards away, Marshall Kalem rose by some unseen force and stood. A hollow look filled his eye, but it slowly began to regain clarity, fluttering in confusion. The seven arrows floated around him, and wounds closed up and disappeared, his clothes clean and unblemished. And without looking, Micah sensed his own wounds and torn clothes were mending as well. Everything was being Restored.

  In a sudden spasm, Charlotte collapsed.

  The clamorous winds dispersed, and light disappeared, leaving a field without its turtles, but an ancient monument of magnificent design instead. Micah crouched and exploded, making a beeline for Marshall. Before his foe could do anything, Micah was on him, kicking his legs out from underneath and catching him by the neck as he fell.

  Marshall shouted, struggling to recover, but Micah turned his body and locked his head in his arm. He drew his sword and quickly brought it to Marshall’s neck, ready to slit his throat.

  “NO!”

  The scream was so desperate, a lash cut straight to Micah’s heart. He looked up to find Charlotte on her feet again, heaving in exhaustion. Tears streamed down her face, and the waning crescent of her right eye glowed even brighter than before.

  “Charlotte, this has to be done,” he said.

  “No more!” she pleaded. “You have a choice now, Micah. You can spare him. Please, I’m begging you. No more death! I can’t take it anymore.”

  Her pitiful expression made his chest lurch in an excruciating manner. Even still, he was torn. “How can I?” he asked. “If I don’t kill him, he’ll keep coming for us. He won’t ever stop. It’s his purpose in life!”

  A sudden calm came over Charlotte. Her back straightened as she wiped her tears.

  “Not anymore.”

  She raised her hand. The light in her eye shifted as it split down the middle, half black, half white with a square pupil.

  “Heartbreaker!” she shouted.

  Darkness enveloped her. And then, he was there in the void. Small and alone, just as Micah had been that fateful night in the castle which now seemed so long ago.

  Marshall blinked and looked around. “Where am I?” he asked.

  Charlotte didn’t reply. She approached and reached her hands to his chest. They sank inside, and she pulled them apart like spreading the curtains of a window. A wide gap opened in Marshall’s chest, utterly dark.

  He gasped upon sight of it, but she didn’t let him move, so he shouted. “What are you doing? What is this?”

  There, deep in the recesses of the dark space, she found it.

  Marshall Kalem’s heart.

  The glowing sphere never failed to render her breathless. A person’s heart appeared to her as a small, clear orb with a never-dying light inside. Too hot to touch, she still could approach it as long as she didn’t get too close. She had looked at many hearts before, and found that the stronger the person was, the hotter the orb felt.

  Micah’s had been nearly unbearable.

  Marshall’s heart was blistering as well, though, bright as a Life Stone’s finest light. But she bore the discomfort of looking at it, and in little time, she found what she was looking for. A thin cord, like barbed copper wire, revolved around the ball. She immediately reached out with both hands and took hold of it, careful to avoid the sharp points. Despite the heat, the wire was cool to the touch.

  She pulled her hands apart with all her might, and the cord snapped in two pieces.

  A flurry of sudden images flashed before Charlotte’s eyes in that moment, startling her. A boy crying in a field. Fire, ash, smoke. Men and women slaughtered all around him, littering streets of white and blue. A shattered lamp. A blood-soaked necklace. A black dagger. Wailing, shouting, screaming!

  Marshall’s scream filled the whole field, and Charlotte was wrenched from his heart. She returned to her conscience so forcefully, her body was thrust into Micah’s waiting arms. Marshall collapsed.

  Micah held her close, kneeling so she could lie down. She buried her face in his neck and cried as much as she was able. The fatigue set in like a dropped shutter, and her eyes hurt so much, she wanted to pass out from the pain. Even so, she mustered her strength to look up at him. He met her gaze.

  “Now he can make his own choices, just like you,” she whispered.

  As if a switch had been flicked, heavy rain began to fall, biting cold. A thunderclap issued in the far distance. Micah drew her closer into his arms, overflowing with wonder as he looked into her now fallow blue eyes. They were so innocent. She was looking at him with the hope of a child, and he found himself wishing to fulfill her any desire.

  “What would you have me do, Charlotte?” he asked in a quiet voice, squeezing his eyes shut. “What purpose can I serve?”

  She stroked his face. “No more killing, Micah. That’s all I can ask from you when you do so much for me already. It’s the only thing I want. No more pain. No more death. I don’t want to see anyone else die. You’ve protected me until now, but if you’ll let me, can I ask you for this, too?”

  He nodded without hesitation. “Okay. No more killing. You have my word.”

  “See? You’re a good man.”

  She slipped into a deep sleep. Micah wrapped her in a blanket Cal produced. His mind whirled with confusing new concepts as he looked upon Marshall’s unconscious form. Regret, guilt… mercy. He barely understood any of these things, but he wanted to know more.

  He gently picked Charlotte up as John Halifax approached.

  “I don’t know what to say,” John said gravely. “You understated your circumstances. This is far too much for anyone, least of all a dear young lady like her.”

  Micah looked southeast, where the highest snow-capped points of the Mosaic Mountains just peeked over the treetops. “Maybe it’s as you said, John,” he replied. Despite now being soaked to the bone, a pleasant warmth filled his chest. “Maybe that’s why she found me.”

  “I don’t think there’s any ‘maybe’ about it.”

  He turned back to John. “Let us go to your master, Lord Kyba of Canis. I think it’s high time we got some real answers.”