“Ah-ah-ah,” Testament began, halting as he raised his hoof-like hands. They hung for a moment in surrender, each bearing four keratinous fingers that, one by one, began to fold inward, leaving a pair of digits that pointed up. Far above the field of ash — just past the ring of purple flames that licked the sky — a cloud of mist coalesced into numbers, counting down from 999. “Your time is short,” the wraith continued, Phantom’s voice overlapped by a woman’s hissing whispers and a low, guttural whine. “We don’t recommend wasting it. Every second coun—”
Kon blew into his harmonica, casting three airrows of silver light through Testament’s chest. Velvet dust splattered behind him, crashing into the encroaching fire and causing it to surge brightly. Although the attack stopped the wraith from speaking mid-sentence, he didn’t seem the least bit hurt. His stride was unhindered and smile persistent as he marched along with the flames.
“How rude,” Testament scoffed, shaking his head. “Ten seconds wasted already. A tenth of a minute, in case you can’t do simple math. Almost two-tenths now that you’ve listened to us say all this.”
Kon blew harder, the chord loud and his aim precise. Five airrows peppered the wraith’s face, scattering fur and flesh into mist. A sixth airrow flew slightly off course, grazing one of the horns on his brow and lighting dark sparks in the air. On impact, Testament’s expression flickered between annoyance and discomfort. His infuriating grin returned as his face reformed.
“Okay, we get it. No more talking. Just pretend like we’re not here.”
“You saw that, right?” Kon asked Ora, deliberately talking over the wraith as he abruptly faced the giantess.
“My fae did,” she rumbled. Her expression was still hidden, the hood of her cloak weighed down by the pink glob on her head. “A wraith’s horns are the conduit of their infernal magics. If you want to kill one, that’s where you aim. You might want to use a less pathetic weapon, though.”
“Uh. Excuse us?” Testament called out. “That isn’t what we meant by ‘just pretend like we’re not—’”
“—Good to know,” Kon said loudly, letting his harmonica rest upon his chest. “Do you want this?” he asked, pointing his ruby spear in her direction. His free hand reached for the flute on his hip.
“Hellllo?” Testament tried. “You two can hear us, right?”
“Nah,” Ora said, waving the spear away without looking. “I have something better.”
The giantess ripped her fae off her hood, then plunged an entire arm into his pink flesh, disappearing all the way up to her shoulder. She removed it slowly to reveal a matching pauldron, vambrace, and gauntlet, each painted cerulean, the last twice as wide as her fae. The gauntlet seemed to require significant effort to remove, as well as the giant club in her grasp. The weapon appeared to be fashioned from the trunk of a fallen tree, most of it still covered in bark, with rigid metal studs poking out from the cracks. As soon as the club was free, it collapsed into the ground quickly, throwing up a plume of ash. By the way Ora held it, the weapon must have weighed a ton.
“Wow,” Kon uttered in exasperation. “I’m glad you’re fighting on my side.”
“That’s enough!” Testament shouted. A powerful gust of wind accompanied the three wailing voices. It swept Kon away easily, tearing his flute out of his hand and burying it within a dune of ash. In spite of the blast, Ora and her club remained steady, though her cloak did billow and her hood fell, uncovering her rigid grimace and stern glare.
“I’m not fighting on your side,” the giantess barked. “The only side I fight on is my own. If that means I have to smash a wraith into pieces, then so be it. But if your plan doesn’t pan out, I won’t hesitate to throw you into that fire. You got that, old man?”
“Now that’s better!” Testament exclaimed. “Come and try it. Smash us into pieces,” he repeated in a mocking impression of Ora’s gruff voice. The wraith even used his wide, stubby fingers to draw quotes in the air. “The sooner that you see what happens, the sooner this farce can end.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Ora sighed, lifting her club with both hands and resting it on her unprotected shoulder, her fae pressed flat between them, perhaps for comfort. “One of the few useful things Baor taught me was to look out for myself.”
“So you’d throw Lili into the fire?” Kon asked, kicking the dune of ash in search of his flute. Failing to find it, he bent down and began digging around. He could almost feel the weight of Ora’s glare on his back while she answered with silence.
“Sun forsake us,” huffed Testament. “Have one hundred seconds passed by already? I guess it’s true what people say. Time does fly when you’re shooting the breeze. Hey chatterboxes! That means you have less than nine minutes left. Are you finally going to do something, Ora? Or is it true what people say about you too? All bark and no bite!”
Growling, Ora broke into a sprint, dropping and dragging her massive club behind her, stomping up a cloud of ash to obscure her reckless charge toward the laughing wraith. Kon would have been intimidated, yet Testament’s merry gait remained intact, the sinister grin on his face unflinching.
In seconds, Ora was upon him. She used the momentum of her run to spin, lifting the club with all her strength to create a furious whirlwind of ash and mist. Testament’s body dissipated with the attack, though his four horns were propelled upward and carried away by violet winds. They flew in each cardinal direction and crashed into the ring of fire. Dark smoke drifted from the impacts, coalescing into distinct silhouettes.
Four Testaments stepped from the flames, a single horn adorning their heads. “Do you understand now?” the wraiths asked, their echoing voices laughing in unison. “It’s pointless to try fighting us. Your time would be better spent fighting each other. You know, Ora, we heard Kon talk about getting out and forgetting about this place. Why don’t you go on and put him out of his misery?”
The giantess panted where she halted, leaning into her club for balance. Her eyes darted between Kon’s wrinkled expression and the walking Testaments. She’d poured a lot of strength through her amulet when she’d extinguished the meteor, and now signs of physical exhaustion were beginning to appear. Slouched posture, half-lidded eyes — even the tension on her blunt cheeks had loosened, her lips sagging into a frown. Sighing, Ora tilted her head, as if on the verge of giving in.
“‘Humans are inherently selfish,’” the wraiths commented. “That’s what your father always told you, wasn’t it, Ora? When it comes to life and death, your kind would do anything to preserve themselves above others. Trusting someone else to protect you can only end with profound disappointment and your untimely demise.”
The girl shivered, the words appearing to shake her very core. Her cold blue eyes shimmered like two frozen ponds cast in ringlight. They eventually settled on Kon.
“Don’t listen to him. This is exactly what wraiths do. Put us in seemingly impossible situations and manipulate us to do their bidding. If they say we can’t fight back, it’s because we can and they're afraid of what may happen should we refuse. Trust me, Ora. I’m speaking from personal experience!”
The giantess breathed deeply, almost teetering on her feet. Her gaze was empty and unfocused, internally lost in thought.
“You're not going to listen to a stranger, are you?” the Testaments asked. “If Baor was here, what do you think he would say?”
Ora closed her eyes and shook her head, unable or unwilling to answer.
“Oh!” a single wraith yelled, drawing Kon’s sharp glare. “We have a better idea! Why don’t we ask the man himself?”
Ora’s eyes snapped open and found the speaker. Behind him, the apparition of an imperious giant manifested, dressed in a regal purple-and-gray military uniform, his head covered in a curly mane of pitch black hair.
Baor’s ghost opened his mouth but didn’t speak words. A resounding boom echoed from his lungs instead, his entire body erupting with bright violet light. Both only lasted for a moment. With a clap of the wraith’s hands, they faded into shadows and silence, leaving nothing more than a cruel memory.
“Ah, that’s right. We forgot there’s nothing left of your father. His entire soul was eradicated in that blast, wasn’t it?”
The giantess bared her teeth as a vein bulged on her cliff-like brow.
“Her brother’s soul, too!” another wraith howled. “What was his name again?”
“Rab,” a third intoned, his arm sweeping out beside him, summoning the ghost of a large boy. Not a giant, but something between; a half-folk and a half- brother. The boom from his lungs was louder, the blooming light brighter. “Poof.” The wraiths chuckled as Rab vanished too.
Ora took in a deep breath, then spent it to scream, raising her club onto her shoulder. A long, throaty growled accompanied her abrupt charge for the nearest Testament. Despite the great weight of her weapon, the giantess reached him quickly, lashing out and dashing his upper body into mist, annihilating the length of his jaw while narrowly missing the horn on his brow. White as bone, it blurred into a streak as it soared into the purple flames. A new wraith stepped into the field in seconds.
The Testament closest to Kon tsked. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” he taunted. “You should worry more about yourself, Kon. Even Rin agrees!”
Kon spun, his fists clenching and heart pounding as he watched a small boy stumble out of the flames. The ghost’s face was too round, its eyes too innocent, and stomach too pudgy. Rin was more lithe and severe; a spitting image of their father, as Kir always said. This illusion… It was more like a mockery of a young Kon than a recreation of his brother. Wrong enough to almost make seeing it easier.
Yet when the ghost wailed, lifeless spiritfire bleeding from every pore and orifice, shivers ran down Kon’s spine all the same. It sprinted toward him with a devious smile on its face, its arms opening wide, as if eager to embrace him in a hug. Kon wouldn’t give it the chance.
Beside him, his fae softly pounded like a drum, casting a wave of silver light into the dune of ash and blowing it away. Among the pallid dust, his flute’s lip plate sparkled with a magical light that beckoned for his hand. He pulled his instrument from the ash and blew its barrel clean, using his long nails to remove the dust caked underneath its foot joints.
Kon tested each key by firing two discordant chords at the ghost, the silver blades of light flying slightly off-center. A third musical blade tore the illusion in half, reducing it to dissipating mist. But before the cloud could vanish, Kon cast a fourth toward the skeletal figure beyond it. He could see the wraith’s grin widen as his arm thrust out. A gust of violet wind met the sheen of magic, deflecting it into the flames to be devoured.
By the sound of it, Ora was in the midst of her own battle, the air whooshing as she flailed her club madly, yelling in frustration each time she failed to crush her opponent’s horn. Surprisingly, none of the Testaments fought back, only stepping aside and striking out defensively. Twelve voices laughed as they buffeted the giantess’s tantric assault.
“You cannot defeat us,” the illusions recited. “Stop wasting your time and give in.”
Kon silenced the nearest Testament with a sharp triplet. He cast each blade at different angles, forcing his target to run left and sweep both arms right. Before the blast of violet wind could knock them off course, Kon’s fae soared ahead, her metallic shell glinting as one blade rebounded off her, maneuvering it around the gust. The razor-thin slice of silver light split the wraith straight down its center, cleanly severing its horn in two.
Rather than dissipate into mist, each half of Testament’s body stayed whole and stumbled apart, landing and remaining upright by balancing on their respective knees. The encroaching inferno consumed them quickly, darkness smoking and recollecting. A pair of slimmer wraiths stepped into the field with half a horn on top of their heads.
“You’ve heard of the mythological hydra, haven’t you?” one of the twins asked.
“Cut off one head and two more will grow in its place,” the other answered.
“Just a mere fantasy, of course, but you’ll find our sorcery works on similar principles.”
“There is no defeating us. But you can still defeat her.”
“You’ll never convince me,” Kon declared, taking a step back. “If anyone’s wasting time, it’s you, Phantom.” At that, the wraiths laughed.
“Indeed,” one said, still walking and smiling.
“It’s about time you realized it,” the other replied, giggling proudly at his terrible pun.
Kon dropped his arms and looked toward the sky. 569, 568, 567… Despite his many attacks, none of the wraiths attempted to strike back. Considering how easily the ghost boy had perished, it was becoming clear that, even in this form, Phantom could do no real harm. Instead, he was delaying them with psychological warfare.
Kon spun toward the rampaging giantess, his voice rising to call her off. “Ora!” he began, his confidence faltering as he watched her opponent freeze. Her great club kept swinging over their heads, a downward strike aimed straight for Testament’s elongated brow. He was too late.
The sound of the fragmenting horn and the girl’s victorious scream evoked dread instead of joy. Testament’s body dissipated into mist, a dozen bone white shards plunging into the ring of fire, their shadows blooming into twelve emaciated wraiths. Sixteen monsters approached with the encroaching flames, forty-eight voices echoing from their collective grins.
“You two should listen more,” the Testaments began, giggling and walking in step. “Look how much time you’ve wasted! Four minutes spent breaking the literal rules, and all you have to show for it is becoming vastly outnumbered. You should be grateful we haven’t struck back.”
“Does he always talk this much?” yelled Kon.
“Unfortunately,” Ora panted, her fist-sized knuckles bright white, holding onto her immense club, its end resting in a deep crater of ash. “Never useful. Always infuriating.”
Kon sighed. “One day in and I’m already sick of him.”
The wraiths moaned, the sound grinding Kon’s nerves into dust. “You know we can hear everything you’re saying, right? There’s no reason to be mean.”
Kon dispelled the four nearest Testaments with a fluttering quadruplet, his fae amplifying the notes and aiming the swift blades of luminescence, deliberately missing their horns to stop the wraiths from multiplying further. He backpedaled toward the meteor as the flames moved closer.
“It seems your plan has failed,” the monsters remarked. “Just give up, Kon. Both of you escaping was never an option. It’s time you choose the survivor of this challenge. Yourself or Ora? You have five minutes left to decide.”
With a loud grunt, the giantess heaved her club out of the crater and settled it on her shoulder, her stern glare finding Kon’s grimace. “What’s it going to be?” she asked, her voice haggard and breath haphazard. “Easy. Or less easy?”
“Neither!” Kon answered. “We’re not done yet.”
His fae chimed a bright duplet, igniting sparks that echoed Testament’s lie. ‘Escaping was never an option.’
“There is a way for us to get out, Ora, we just need to find it.”
“Not true,” the wraiths insisted. “You can trust our every word.”
“See?” Kon asked, sweeping his arm dramatically. “Lying.”
Ora nodded, shifting to push her club inside her fae and remove her glacier- shaped crystal. “That’s just fire, right? Maybe I can create a path with water.”
“Again, that’s not going to work!” the Testaments shouted. “We promise you two, there is no way through.”
Ora bellowed in interruption, whipping out an arm and casting a wave of glittering water from her aquamarine amulet. It swept the nearest Testaments back, their bodies dispersing into mist before colliding with the inferno. On contact, the water evaporated instantly, becoming hissing steam. Ash stirred across the fields as the wind quickly shifted, the hot air rising, leaving pallid gray dust to trickle back down like snow. The ring of fire raged brighter and pressed on.
“It’s no good,” Ora grunted, shaking her head and glowering at Kon. “Any other bright ideas?”
“I hesitate to call it bright,” he began, watching the cloud of steam drift up to the numbers in the sky. “But I do have one more idea.” Kon turned and clambered up the seemingly metallic hunk of ringrock, its surface colder than ice, making him shiver with a touch. “Come here!” he called to the giantess, meeting her stern glare, then glancing at Jona’s billowing cloak. Fortunately, Ora listened, grumbling to herself as he made room for her on top of the meteor.
Ora loomed over him and grunted. “What now?”
“I hate to ask for my peace offering back, but I’m going to need it.”
“You’re kidding,” the giantess scoffed. She raised her fist and unfolded a single finger, as if threatening to flick him off their perch.
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“I’m not,” Kon replied gently. “Phantom told the truth when he said we can’t get through. Nothing is stopping us from going up, however. I once saw Lafer and Vigor use steam to lift a balloon into the air and fly. I’m certain we can do the same, but we need to act fast.”
Ora frowned, then began removing the cloak, dropping the balled up mass in Kon’s hands. “It’s too hot anyway,” she grumbled quietly, her massive arms drenched in sweat.
“Thank you,” he replied, stepping to the edge of the meteor and laying the cloak across it. He traded his flute for his spear, channeled heat into its ruby point to carefully separate the layer of fur from the leathers, tied its sleeves into knots, then snapped off pieces of his glass spear to thread a rectangular canopy at its back. All they had to do was lift opposite ends of the cloak’s torn front. Kon grasped one side, then pointed Ora to the other. “We need to hold it above our heads and create an updraft. Keep your amulet close and get ready to make steam.”
“There’s no way this can lift us,” she sneered, refusing to grab the makeshift balloon.
“What’s the harm in trying? Can you please just try to believe?”
Ora relented, obeying reluctantly. Holding on tightly, Kon backed closer to the meteor’s edge, pulling the huge cloak open to let it breathe. His fae hummed loudly above the pile of fur while Kon struck his weapon against the meteor’s jagged surface, alighting fiery sparks. The white pelts burst into flame, its embers stoked by golden sparks of magic. His fae’s music guided the bitter smoke into the billowing leathers. It was enough to give their balloon shape, but not enough to carry them off their feet.
Ora cast a pitiful wave of luminescent water into the nearing inferno, but the rising steam was much too far to have any effect. “What did I say?” she grumbled impatiently. “This plan is stupid.” She barely even gave it a chance.
Before Kon could ask her to try again, forty-eight distorted voices began wailing. “We agree completely! We never took you for the type to take orders, Ora. Now you just look like a fool! Listen, we’ll even make this easier for you. Throw Kon to us and we’ll drag him into the flames ourselves!”
“Shut up!” the giantess bellowed, spraying a geyser of sparkling water from the amulet in her free hand, launching several wraiths back. Nearly half of the walking Testaments were cast into the ring of fire, each surrounded by great plumes of curling steam. A powerful gust stirred around the shrinking field of gray ash, the air current shifting.
This time, Kon’s fae soared around the field and sang an uplifting melody, gathering the wind and ferrying it to their balloon, elevating it and forcing him to rise on his toes. “What did I say?” he repeated, smiling as he met Ora’s angry glare. “We can do this if we work together.”
“No you can’t!” the remaining Testaments declared loudly, compensating for the absence of their still-manifesting peers. In spite of their protests, none of them acted. It had become increasingly clear they were nothing but noisy observers. “We will not let you leave so easily. Believe us when we say this venture is pointless.”
“They’re just words,” Kon assured her. “Only empty puffs of air.”
Ora’s fae squeezed into her fist through the gaps of her fingers, molding around the aquamarine amulet and pushing her palm open. His pink flesh glowed brightly, filling the crystal with light and casting a shining wave into the reforming wraiths. Together, they sustained the surge of water long enough to walk around the meteor’s circumference, creating more steam for Kon’s fae to gather, flying around the shrinking field at the speed of sound. Still, the giantess remained planted. Their weights were too imbalanced.
“What did we say?” each Testament echoed. “Though our intentions may be nefarious, the last thing we are is dishonest.”
“The last thing they are,” Kon echoed. “The wraiths are veiling an admission with faulty denial. We are close, Ora. We just need to figure out how to balance the balloon out!”
Gritting her teeth, she glowered at the pink glob in her hand, wordlessly commanding him to separate from the amulet, then crawl along the edge of the cloak. As the slime moved, the leathers shifted with him, as if the fae was as heavy as his Seer. He reached Kon’s hand, then carefully molded around his clenched fist. The feeling of his skin vanished immediately. Even so, their combined weight appeared to be equal to Ora’s. The giantess created more steam, allowing Kon’s fae to soar around and collect it with her magical accompaniment, then guide it into their makeshift balloon. Finally, the both of them rose. Ora’s feet kicked freely beneath her. Her aquamarine amulet grew dimmer.
“We need a constant uplift!” Kon shouted. “I know you’re tired, but we can’t rest now! Just keep it up a little bit longer!”
The giantess panted, her stifled breaths resembling an exasperated laugh. She cast another stream of water, half as large, bright, and swift as the last, but continuously sustained nonetheless. With the help of Kon’s singing fae, a near endless supply of humid steam drifted up between them. It was impossible to see how much time they had left, but at the rate they were rising, they would clear the ring of flames long before its flickering tongues could lick their feet.
“Ah-ah-ah!” the Testaments began, raising their hoof-like hands, crouching low, and bounding into the air. They launched up individually, howling loudly as they swiped at the student’s ankles. Ora managed to rebuff each wraith that tried to grab her with a quick stomp on their head, yet a chain of four managed to latch themselves to Kon, almost dislocating his leg as they fought to tug him down. An ominous smile crept across each of their elongated snouts. “You’re not going anywhere.”
In his free hand, Kon held the last of Jona’s ruby spear, barely the size of a dagger. He quickly stabbed it between the first Testament’s demonic eyes, its ruby bright with searing light, filling the wraith’s face like a lantern. Kon twisted the weapon until the illusion dissipated into mist, the three hanging from its feet wailing as they fell into the shrinking field. Others had gathered on top of the meteor, then began climbing each other’s shoulders, forming a ladder with their bodies. One by one, the wraiths scaled their brethren. The darkening silhouettes moved eerily quick and coordinated.
“Keep singing!” Kon screamed over the raging wall of flames. It was so close now, crackling loudly to overpower his fae. He pulled the speartip back and held in a deep breath, the orb of lutestrings flying higher, taking position behind his hand. In seconds, enough Testaments would be stacked to grab him again, their collective strength easily capable of pulling him to the ground. He could not let them get any closer.
“Now!” he shouted, aiming the remnants of his spear and throwing it straight down, the weapon carried with the explosive force of his booming fae. The ruby whistled loudly as it cut a radiant line through the air, tearing the stacked wraiths in half. Another eruption of hissing steam overpowered their wailing voices, elevating their balloon higher. A moment later, Ora and him were drifting across the misty sky, their arena far below them.
“Did we make it?” the giantess gasped heavily.
“I think so,” Kon answered, peering in her direction and spotting the nearing stage. Beyond her, the scarlet moon hung above the raised platform, surrounded by a massive forest that displayed all four seasons. A stretch of budding trees, another blooming with green leaves, the next swathed in burning foliage, and theirs marked with barren branches. A gentle breeze sent their balloon drifting toward the center of the labyrinth. Headmaster Nise was nowhere to be seen, and no one else seemed to arrive yet.
Without more hot air to keep them elevated, Kon and Ora swiftly descended. Both let go of their balloon as they landed on their feet, the leather cloak dissolving into mist that formed a word in the air. ‘Congratulations.’
Ora’s fae let go of Kon’s hand, the pink slime denting the stage as he landed heavily. Bent over and cradling his sore arm, he looked up into the giantess’s icy gaze and smiled. “I knew we could do it,” he breathed in relief. “Thank you for the help, Ora. If you ask me, we make a pretty good team.”
At that, she glowered, her brow furrowing with annoyance. “Well I didn’t ask you. I only wanted to prove the abomination wrong. Don’t expect it to happen again.”
“Alright,” Kon sighed, dismissing the sentiment by frantically waving his good hand. “Even so, thank you.” The giantess had helped more than he’d expected. More than he even hoped.
“Whatever,” Ora grunted, crossing her arms and turning away to face the expanse of blooming trees, opposite their barren forest. She was likely expecting Lili to arrive at any moment.
Instead, dirt crunched from the path that led into the budding woods. Kon’s fae soared over to investigate, ringing like a bell to hasten the approaching footsteps.
The stocky twin, Rej, shambled into the open, the gold trousers of his uniform dirty and tattered, the right side of his green tunic soaked with dark blood. His left eye was black and swollen shut, his nose broken, and cheeks flushed. In spite of clearly being in pain, he wore a smile, revealing multiple teeth shattered or missing.
Grit’s particulates floated carefully beside him, manifesting into the slender girl of marble sand. She looked just as rough, her body scuffed and littered with gaps. Unlike her Seer, the fae looked back, wearing a deep frown. Both halted at the base of the stage, the boy too haggard to pull himself up.
Kon walked over to greet them. “Wilm didn’t make it,” he realized out loud. Kon squatted to lower his center of gravity, reached out for Rej’s outstretched hand with the arm that wasn’t sore, then used his legs to pull the boy up. Instead of thanking Kon, Rej sat down on the stage and panted, his fae reconstituting behind him and bending down to stroke his short, salt-and-pepper hair.
“No he didn’t,” Grit replied sadly. “Phantom gave us no other choice. I had to carve Rugged into pieces.”
“Test…ament,” Rej corrected between heavy breaths.
“He pretended to be a wraith,” Grit began to explain, only to be cut off by Kon’s knowing grin.
“Ora and I dealt with it too. Were you two surrounded by a shrinking ring of fire?”
Rej’s eyes went wide as Grit shook her head. “The land was crumbling around us, though lava stirred at the bottom of the widening chasm. A sacrifice was needed to restore the earth and move forward.”
Kon frowned, looking around and realizing a cloud of mist had not gathered to congratulate them. “Testament told you that, didn’t he?” The fae nodded, her Seer’s grin faltering beneath Kon’s sullen glare. “You should never trust a wraith.”
Rej sighed heavily, the effort making him grasp his bleeding in pain. “So we failed?” he grunted.
“I’m afraid so!” declared an infuriating voice. Phantom clapped as he walked out from the budding treeline. “Before you blame me, point your fingers at the Headmaster. Missing his class this evening was his prize to give. I didn’t make the rules. I just enforce them.”
Rej swept a hand in the sorcerer’s direction, casting Grit’s particulates at him and tearing his skeletal figure into ribbons of mist. The ribbons twisted into the word ‘LOSER’ before fading away.
“I should have known,” Rej groaned, laying on his back and smacking his brow. His fae reappeared over his head, her arms crossed, eyes squinted, and lip pouted. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop to listen.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Grit sniffed, sitting cross-legged, then scratching his head. “Save it for Wilm and Rugged.”
“I will.” Rej shut his eyes. With his breathing finally under control, his body went limp and relaxed.
Kon left the boy to rest. While Ora stood near the blooming forest, he moved over to the expanse of fiery canopies. A third of a league in, an immense cloud of dark smoke blanketed the sky. The season of Burn wasn’t known for its colorful foliage alone. Wildfires often ravaged the driest environments, some naturally caused by raging storms, others sparked by a roaming clan of Carrion. There was no doubt in Kon’s mind that Morus and Dowen were there now.
“You still here, Phantom?” he asked, stepping up to the edge of the stage.
“Of course,” the sorcerer replied, stepping out of the shadows beyond the treeline, his skeletal hands splayed and raised in surrender. “Let me guess. You want to take your anger out on me too?”
Kon snorted. “Want to? Not really. You’re not worth the effort. I just have a question. What’s stopping me from walking back into the labyrinth?”
Phantom opened his mouth, dramatically pausing to stroke his chin. “Hmm. I suppose nothing, other than common sense. If you don’t make it back here, then your victory will be forfeited. Don’t you want to rest?”
Kon refused to dignify the sorcerer with a response. Instead, he jumped off the ledge, bending his knees as he landed in the dirt, then rising to stride away.
“Where are you going?” Grit yelled at his back.
He looked, discovering Rej had turned to watch him depart. Even Ora was staring at him in her peripherals, her arms still crossed and body facing the blooming trees.
“I can’t just sit and wait!” Kon shouted, facing ahead as he marched straight through Phantom, dispelling his illusory silhouette into mist. “I’m going to see if I can help the boys!” His fae echoed his voice as she flew to join him.
No one tried to stop them.
𝄐
Morus counted the seconds.
787, 788, 799… Eight minutes now that Dowen had wasted trying to snatch the adamant key from the finger-tailed ape’s grasp. His belongings were locked in a miniature version of their elevator, his fae imprisoned within the small cage’s prismatic bars. Stubborn as always, Dowen refused to leave without his stuff, even knowing he would later get them back.
Phantom — or Testament, as he preferred in his Apostle form — sat on top of the cage, laughing as he watched the desperate young rogue chase his greedy pet around. Morus and Dowen were stuck in the burning ruins of a slaughtered flock’s encampment, its egg-shaped nests lit up like bonfires, the roads between them guarded by Carrion with bloodstained axes. The boys had less than two minutes before the savages finally charged, and both of them were still unarmed.
It would be so easy for Morus to vanish and sneak away. His fae didn’t want to let him, but it was still an option. For now, he picked up rocks and tried to distract the green-furred ape.
The fae plucked them out of the air with his free tails and launched them back twice as fast. Morus’ fae unfolded herself from his body, her blurry veil spreading out to catch them. She trembled in pain as the rocks nearly broke through her, their momentum arrested and falling instead.
“No more of that,” he muttered, recalling his fae to gently embrace her. The sentiment was enough to soften her pain.
Dowen yelped abruptly, drawing Morus’ gaze. The boy clutched his face as a jagged rock tumbled under his feet. “Stop trying to help me!” he yelled, his voice boiling with anger. “You only make things worse!”
The ape slid to a halt and joined in Testament’s laughter. “He’s not wrong!” the wraith yelled. Three distinct voices overlapping, consisting of the man that had become Phantom, the memory of his fae Mirage, and the wraith that had forged their imperfect pact. They said all three minds lived within possessed Seers, their very essences twisted into an inseparable knot. “Why don’t you just run and hide like you always do, Morus?” the illusory abomination continued. “We all know that’s what you’re best at, and you’re so very close to the end.”
He’s probably right, he thought, slouching where he stood and disappearing slowly. Not caring either way, Dowen quickly resumed his chase.
“Don’t listen to him!” a familiar voice bellowed from afar. Sparks of magic twinkled in the sky as Kon ran down a path between the flaming nests. Not an illusion, Morus realized, his back straightening the moment he saw the man. In the end, Kon had actually come to find them. Unfortunately, that meant walking into danger.
The savage guarding his path spun quickly and swung their axe, its rusty blade aimed for Kon’s face. The man ducked under the weapon and struck back in one fluid motion, sweeping the Carrion’s right leg back while pushing against his opposite shoulder. His enemy lost his balance, easily crumpling into the dirt. Dazed and disarmed, Kon stomped on the savage’s chest hard, dispelling him into mist.
“Kon!” Testament greeted. “Welcome to Round Two!”
The remaining savages cawed loudly, summoning more of their clan from the shadows. Two answered down the path behind Kon, three more stepping across the encampment’s center while others filled their place. Five in total surrounded Kon, not attacking, but keeping him in place.
“Alas,” Testament continued, “our friends don’t want any interference. This is between their clan and the children.”
“Lamest plotline ever!” Morus interrupted, inciting several glares and Kon’s grin. “They’re mad because Dowen killed their Seer and some friends! But they’re not even real, so why should anyone care?”
In response, every Carrion howled, the simian fae — or Spirit, Morus supposed, though it looked just as boring and unimpressive as before — hollering a call of mourning with them.
Dowen used the distraction to lunge for its tail. The ape was too agile, but the boy was close, forcing it to veer its path toward Morus.
“You can do this!” Kon’s voice rang out with confidence. Golden sparks of magic bolstered them with courage, and Dowen sped up. Meanwhile, Morus remained utterly still.
Everyone blinked in confusion when Morus vanished before their eyes, his fae’s own magic obscuring their memories. Unfortunately for his allies, the effect was all-inclusive, unable to be concentrated onto any specific person. Testament frowned while counting the students with his fingers. The ape continued sprinting toward him, ignorant of his existence. Dowen was too careless to notice. For some odd reason, tears formed in Kon’s eyes, as if he could somehow recognize the loss.
Do my parents cry every time we do this? Or do they just move on with their lives, distracted enough by their own burdens?
His fae couldn’t answer. If she moved, the ape would see Morus. Instead, he held his breath and waited. 932, 933, 934… In the back of his mind, he’d continued his counting. They barely had any time.
Morus focused on the ape’s feet, measuring their placement and the pace of his strides. No matter how fast Dowen ran, the ape was slightly faster, his tails curling and snapping at the boy’s hands like whips. Toying with him. Kon watched too, his flute in his hands, though his lips were pursed uncertainly. Whatever he was planning, the man seemed wary, occasionally eying the savages around him; perhaps fearing how they would retaliate.
Thank you for coming, thought Morus, but you don’t need to worry. Kon’s presence was enough. We can do this alone.
Less than a meter from the green-furred ape, Morus leaped for its legs. His fae unraveled around him into ghostly ribbons, grabbing the spirit’s wrists and dragging them down to the ground. Stronger than either of them, the ape broke free and wrapped Morus’ neck with his arms as they tumbled. Morus and his fae could do nothing but go limp, eventually getting pinned down.
Dowen reacted swiftly, his reflexes making him dive, snatch the adamant key mid-air, and roll over his shoulders and rise back onto his feet. He spun and sprinted for the cage, unlocking it in seconds. Once free, the rogue’s gold-fingered fae dashed across the encampment, collecting weapons from the Carrion’s grasps and piling them up at her Seer’s feet. Of course, Dowen spent his time inspecting his stuff instead of saving Morus’ life.
Kon, however, acted quickly. A radiant blade of music cut through the air, removing the ape’s howling face. Morus gasped for air as he rolled away from the dissolving illusion. Mist lingered around him, dark and heavy, obscuring his view of the hooting savages. Their voices grew louder as they prepared themselves to charge.
Kon silenced the five savages around him with a sharp quintuplet. “Come this way!” he shouted, inspiring Morus to rise and run toward his voice.
As soon as he was free of the mist, he glanced back to find Dowen still filling his unstrapped backsack. Among the dark smoke that blanketed the sky, bright violet numbers flashed as they changed. 997, 998, 999… Testament joined in the Carrion’s rising screams. Standing on top of the prismatic cage, the wraith raised the amethyst cube in his hands.
“Ah-ah-ah! Your time is up! No one is going anywhe—”
Kon cut their professor off by severing his head. The wraith immediately became mist, the amethyst cube vanishing with him. “Hurry, Dowen!” he shouted. “The end is close!”
To Morus’ surprise, Dowen listened without complaint. Together, they met the man and began sprinting. Beyond the flaming nests and burning trees, the scarlet moon was hanging low, illuminating a distant stage. Dark silhouettes waited atop it, a few hands raising and waving.
They had finally made it.
𝅘𝅥
It was an entirely different feeling when the elevator moved up. Despite his gut sinking with the motion, Kon was relieved. His fellow students were all with him, their wounds all vanished and their joy restored. Both Rej and Gaj were smiling again, proud that they both defeated their opponents, even though they both technically failed the last challenge. In the end, only Kon, Ora, Morus, and Dowen reached the end by using teamwork, yet even Lili seemed grateful to be united with her friends.
The Headmaster’s afterword had commended Kon for his intuition, integrity, and initiative, though the attention was embarrassing enough that he’d rather forget about that too. Wilm and Rugged both praised him, while Gaj and Lili groaned in annoyance, insisting they would never learn to work together, and how the whole labyrinth was rigged. For them, the lesson remained unlearned. Kon would need to find another way to teach them.
Still, Lili’s pointed gaze felt a little softer. Though Ora barely looked at him, her glares seemed warmer. Kon often caught Dowen smiling in his direction.
“You okay?” asked a small voice. Kon almost forgot the boy was standing next to him, but he was starting to get used to Morus’ unseen intrusions.
“I am,” he said, grinning widely. His fae brightly chimed beside him. “I feel good, actually. Determined. You?”
“I’m okay,” Morus lied unconvincingly. “Really, I just wanted to thank you again.”
At least that was the truth. Kon pat his back softly, making the boy’s faded uniform blur with color. As Morus looked up to him, he caught a faint glimpse of the smile on his face. The boy seemed happy just knowing someone cared.
The labyrinth was finally behind him. So much had happened that Kon felt like he’d been trapped in there for days, yet in reality, the illusion had occupied them for three hours. As grueling as their morning had been, the Westwind Academy students weren’t yet halfway done with their day. After Phantom’s class came Hazen’s. Then lunch, Kon’s music lesson, Meditation, and Soldiery. He wasn’t even counting Wilm’s evening training session or Morus’ tutoring, and all-in-all, that was just Kon’s first day of training. Three long weeks of this still loomed ahead of him.
And yet, the elevator moving up really was an entirely different feeling. When Kon had descended into the misty abyss, he had been terrified. Now, he felt victorious. Powerful, too, like with his fae and other Seers beside him, he could accomplish every one of his dreams. No matter how daunting the future seemed, he was determined to see his Seer training through.
Then, finally, Kon would be ready to face his Fate.