Taní tailed the siblings through the winding series of labyrinthine corridors. Countless rooms walled off via partitions made up a majority of the grand hall. Students idled in their slice of paradise, talking, playing, or sometimes napping. How he envied them…

After a Cycle-draining odyssey deserving of praise, they arrived at the northern end. A green-tinged gate barred entrance from an ivory-hewn storeroom. The dim lights reflected off the polished tile floor.

Canela swiped her Brand at the gate, dispelling the seal as Taní had the window. As the gate dissipated, a sudden wave of heat crashed into him, knocking the cool, crisp air from his lungs. He staggered to the side, reaching for his throat as the terrible maw of sun-burning fervor continued to sink its fang into him. Taní scratched at his throat, coughed, tried to abstain from breathing, and when the stifling humidity became too much for him, he coughed again.

It was just like when Eleanor had revealed D’Arcy’s Spine. The ungodly pressure. Its presence.

“Hey, easy there.” Çzar put a hand on his shoulder, though it weighed like a boulder. “Just take a deep breath.”

“I’m—” Taní wheezed. “Trying…”

“No, no. You need to breathe. Let your mind settle. You don’t need to keep fighting. Just relax. Think of what makes you happy. Then drift; drift until nothing else comes to you.”

As much as Taní wanted to yell at Çzar for his vague advice, he realized that wasting another ounce of his already diminishing oxygen supply would only kill him. So, he shoved the last two days out of his mind. He encountered difficulties dispelling thoughts of Jaster and Lavisa, but even those became null. All he saw was that starry corpse. So infinite and terrible. Its surface pocketed with half-remembered Wishes.

Slow, thoughtless, drifting. Without intending to, Taní focused on the pulse of his heart. He wasn’t certain how Flickering would help, but Danza claimed it had quelled many a Juneacão’s battle fatigue.

Then he felt a familiar tug. Ancient, powerful, yet gentle as it coaxed him from his mortal coil. Or whatever poetic drivel Danza would use to describe their forms.

Memories trickled into his mind like a gentle stream. The starry nights when they’d feasted upon fí odala, the long journeys between tourneys, and the boring afternoons spent washing their clothes in a river probably too dirty to clean. He’d loved every minute of it, even if it was nothing but a memory now.

There were moments when Taní doubted it all. The cruel squires, the unwelcoming Monasteries, the Lords, and Ladies that treated them as inferiors simply because they were Grazers. Not a day passed when their terrible memory didn’t hang in the back of his mind like tackle.

It left him feeling…lonely. Worse, it made him feel like choosing Danza as his Master had been a mistake. But what was the other choice? Withering away in some rundown shack because no one wanted to give him the opportunity to exist?

He just wanted to be a part of something greater than himself. But even though he wanted to throttle those squires for making him feel so conflicted, he couldn’t bring himself to. Like Danza said, the best they could do was dust themselves off and hit the road again.

The maw's grip on his throat weakened, and for a split second, an aura of pure befuddlement radiated from that detached presence. Before it could adapt, Taní drifted. The heat no more.

He straightened, felt his neck for signs of blood, and when he found none, flashed a grin at Çzar. “Thanks.”

“Yeah…” Çzar scratched his cheek. “I’m kinda surprised you caught on so quickly. Most kids just faint. Guess you aren’t stubborn.”

A sharp cough guided their attention to a shrine in the middle of a hall. Canela. “Are you two done having your moment? Grace ends in ten minutes.”

A ring of lights surrounded a shrine constructed of the same creamy stone as the Tower at Godsfield. The walls to either side of the shrine bulged outwards, their slotted facades marked with a static line at the center. The number zero.

Canela thrust her dagger into a slot about chest height, and the number soon transformed into two-thousand-and-fifty. The sting of a harpsichord resonated from the wall, playing an elaborate, though otherwise short-lived tune. She nodded and turned towards the shrine a moment later.

An ornate helm of ninth-century make sat upon a glowing pedestal. The large, almost cumbersome variety used for jousting. An elaborate collar of burning orange plumes adorned the polished metal, their feathery tips swaying as if caught upon an eternal gasp.

“Tanão…”

Taní’s heart skipped a beat. He glanced all around, and when he asked if either had called for him, they shot him a confused look. His gaze drifted back to the divine relic, and again, the voice came. Its tone betraying an innocent playfulness, like his aunts whenever they visited.

The shrine’s tantalizing radiance pulled him into a trance, his hand moving of its own accord. A blessing from their Creator, a Wish made manifest. He needed only to lay his hands on it, then maybe, It would grant his.

He came within inches of the seductive steel, his fingertips prepared to brush its pristine surface, but before he could lay claim to the cool treasure, Canela smacked the back of his hand with the blistering force of a tossed stone. A soundless screech parted his lips as he cradled his throbbing appendage, the backside brighter than a red moon.

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“Are you stupid?” Canela snarled. “Don’t you even remember what’ll happen if you touch it?”

Taní blew on his stinging hand, hurting too much to answer.

“Your hand will melt! Hear that? MELT. God, can you first-years go one second without causing yourself irreparable harm?”

Çzar shouldered up to Canela. “Sorry, kid. The things just for looking at. Only the champion’s allowed to wear it.” He sighed. “If only he could actually use it. Not that anyone else has any success Synthesizing with it.”

“Really?” Taní asked, putting his hand down.

“Yeah. God-relics are picky. If they weren’t, then everyone’d be walking around with enough power to wipe out an entire kingdom.”

“But you two seem to be doing fine. Can’t you use it?”

Çzar reached around his belt and flipped open a small leather pouch. It looked like a miniaturized Blood-Loader. Taní blinked. Wait, it was one. The pouch could only hold seven, though a small divide near the top revealed strips, cotton, and a transfusion device.

Çzar plucked a single, bubbling phial from his pouch, uncorked it, then—with an ostentatious flourish—swung the phial like a blade. The blood splashed in a great crimson arc.

Or it would’ve if it hadn’t instantaneously evaporated. Not a single drop tarnished the helm’s gleaming surface.

“No,” Çzar answered, his voice low and dangerous, “there’s a difference between Synthesis and aligning your state of mind. The former only allows you to withstand their presence.”

“Who discovered that?” Taní asked.

“Fadénix.”

“Then what was with the whole blood spilling thing?”

“It’s a safety measure to see if one’s truly Synthesized. Better that than melting your hand.” Çzar corked the empty phial and thrust it back into his pouch.

“So, is it heat?”

“No. It’s God’s presence. Burns you if you aren’t worthy. Scholars say it’s a pseudo-God’s Fire. Y’know, without the suffocating part. Just makes us kneel. That’s the Order part.”

“But…it burns,” Taní said, confused.

Czar let out a too-long sigh. “Kid, I don’t completely understand it either. It's a divine weapon. The thing's not supposed to make sense.”

As reluctant as Taní was to drop the topic, he realized it wasn’t his place to question the operations of a holy instrument.

He examined the relic all over, Canela and Çzar observing him all the while.

“What does it do?” Taní wondered.

“Only the Lord and Champion are allowed to know,” Canela answered.

“When can I meet them?”

“I’d suggest you not. They aren’t happy with you.”

Taní turned to her. “So? You weren’t either just a while ago.”

“And I still wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for my beloved’s forgiving nature,” she stated, her voice reflecting the haughtiness of nobility.

Çzar turned away, seemingly annoyed. Even then, Taní could spot the lightest hints of rose bushes staining his cheeks. “Please don’t call me that…”

“Anyway,” Canela continued, “you shouldn’t concern yourself with them. Their frustration will ebb eventually.”

Taní nodded. He spent the remainder of his time exploring the vault. Not that there was much. Just slots, a big shrine, and—

The scene flickered, replacing the distant darkness with a blacker-than-night haze. His nightmare gnawed upon the inky gloom, devouring the Firmament with a ravenous glee. Its boundless hunger mirrored in its blank eyes. With each jerk of its head, it tore into the world, spilling twinkling vapors of broken light that eradicated the space above.

Until suddenly, it paused. Even though it lacked true substance, the thing twisted, its sheer immensity coaxing an ear-splitting groan from the air. As if its mere existence taxed the very Firmament. Shadows blended with the mass, leaving only silence and an eye. An antediluvian, trembling eye.

It predated the heavens; the Cycles, yet it had never cared for either. Only him. As its freedom hinged entirely upon his compliance. One born of peace, not the mindless flaying of its accursed victims.

<<>>

<<>>

<<>>

“Something wrong?” came Canela’s voice.

Taní blinked. The shadow was gone. In its place was a dim shrine with a missing relic. Not wanting to appear crazy, he asked the first thing that came to mind.

“What’s that?”

“That? It’s the shrine Fadénix’s students commissioned for the ring. Her ring,” Canela answered.

“So, it’s real?”

“Maybe.”

Taní frowned at her. “What?”

“We’ve only a handful of legends to cling to, but they don’t point anywhere. Well, nowhere specific save the labyrinth, anyways.” She gestured to the floor.

“Labyrinth?”

“A series of ruins built beneath the academy,” Çzar added.

“You mean a tomb city?” Taní asked him.

“That’s what many would think, but it’s too big to be one. And too deep. There’re other theories, but you’ll come to learn them if you stick around long enough.”

The airy chime of an ethereal bell rang from the ceiling. Grace was over.

“Gotta go,” Taní said, heading for the threshold. “Thanks, by the way. It was fun talking.”

“Wait,” Canela nearly shouted.

Taní spun, curious to know what else they had to say. Çzar flashed his sister a confused grin as she pressed up against him. Her crimson-green eyes aimed at the floor. She reminded Taní of how shy little girls reacted when asked to speak to others.

Finally, she drew her gaze back up to meet his. Her dark cheeks tinged with a burgundy blush. “We’ve yet to introduce ourselves properly. My name’s Canela; Canela Darak d’Estravão.”

“And I’m Çzar Paré d’Estravão,” Çzar said with a half bow. “Glad we could finally meet, Tanão. Oh, and sorry about my sister. She's a bit of a bugger.”

Canela rolled her eyes.