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“Bashta. Already?” Petra joined Aidan in the stairway, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of anything.

“He probably used the transpoint like we did. Meaning the rest of his army is here, too.”

“But where’s here?” asked Petra. “Where is the altar? We’ve already scoured this place over and didn’t find shi—”

Another wave of quaking jarred rocks from the ceiling, forcing them to shelter in the arched staircase.

When the rumbling stopped, Aidan turned to see most of the ceiling tiles shattered below them. “That’s the second quake now. I doubt this place will take many more.”

“What is he even doing up there?” asked Petra.

Syra watched the bands of light surge through the metal veins in the walls, like the flickering of spidersilk.

The pulsing of light brings the rumbling…

“The shards,” said Syra, recalling the quake and aurora during the festival. “This happened before, when he placed the first shard. He must be adding the others to the altar.”

“So, that’s what, three now?” Petra scrambled to her feet and up the stairs.

“Wait,” Cassius grabbed her ankle. “You can’t just go barging in. We have no weapons, and no idea how to destroy it, especially now that Marrak’s here.”

“Well, we certainly can’t let him add the rest of them, now can we?”

She tugged her leg but he held firm, “We need a plan.”

“Break his face. Take the shards. That sounds like a plan.”

“He has magic. He’ll throw up a barrier before you even get to him. How do you—”

“I don’t know yet.” She yanked his hand away and dug something out of her pocket. “Hey Syra,” she tossed the gold hoop to her sister, “you have five floors to think of how to use this thing against him.”

***

The humming grew louder the higher they ascended, and Syra’s hands burned by the time they reached the gathering hall.

“Is it finished?” Petra asked when Syra stopped and released her hand.

“Almost. Now I need to concentrate.”

Her shimmering fingers pinched and pulled at the glowing glob of molten gold hovering between her hands. She worked surprisingly fast for one “unskilled in flameweaving”—rolling, flipping, and shaping the small wad into a rudimentary, but recognizable form. As its white heat dimmed, she drew out the thin legs of the thumbprint-sized spider.

"Now is it done?"

"No. So hush."

She flipped it belly-up. Forcing a slow and controlled breath, she extended a needle-thin barb of mana from her fingertip, carving tiny runes into its abdomen. With the last line completed, the runes glowed and her hands shook as she clamped them around the charm.

“You alright?” Aidan leaned in at her pained expression, but she drew away.

“I’m fine.” She gritted through her teeth as she forced as much mana into the charm as its gold could hold. “But this won’t last long—not against his squirming.”

The light finally faded and her body sagged. Her hands opened to reveal the golden spider solidified in her palm, the central rune for “Bind” pulsing faintly on its belly.

“I charged it as much as I could, but we’ll have to be very quick once it's on.” She looked up at the twins, “You sure you can handle it?”

Petra snickered, “Handle it? I look forward to it.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Alright then,” Syra gripped the charm and stared up the grand staircase at the aurora flickering from the entry hall, “here we go. Aidan?”

“On it.” He padded up the grand staircase until he reached the roots poking through the walls. Gripping them, he scouted the hall and the man gleaming under an archway of braided light. Woven within these strands, four shards shone like stars from the main arch of the entry hall. A fifth shimmered in his hand as he stood, unbothered, sketching runes into the crystal.

“Damn it,” he hushed, turning to Syra with a pale face, “he’s about to place the last shard.”

“So, how do we get in without him noticing?”

“I already have!” Marrak’s voice echoed from the entry hall.

She froze.

Shit. Come on, think! There has to be something around here.

Her eyes zipped around the walls of stone and metal and—

“Come,” he continued, “It’s not safe down there. The walls won’t hold after th—.”

Crack!

Marrak flew back as a violet bolt shot from a nearby root and struck him in the side.

“Go!” Syra commanded the twins, peeling her and Aidan’s hands from the root in the wall before dashing after them.

Petra and Cassius leapt up the stairs and rushed the fallen man. But the hall was large and his senses quick to return.

“So, this is how you want it, then?” He called, throwing up a red wall quicker than the twins could dodge. Their clothes and skin sizzled upon impact and they flew backward, tumbling across the broken floor.

“Cas! Petra!” Syra rushed to them but they waved her away.

“We’re fine.”

“Keep going.”

“Syra!” Marrak called, clutching his side.

She met her old mentor’s gaze with a glare as he rose from the floor. Her chest burned and she bit back the flickering image of Morin.

“Syra, please,” He stepped forward, but she raised her hand and he halted. “I thought you of all people would listen.”

“I did listen! I just don’t agree with you. With any of this!” She jabbed a finger at the glittering arch above, “This is not the answer!" Her eyes faded for a moment and her voice weakened, “You weren’t there. You didn’t see it—smell it. The fires…the bodies…the houses like gravestones. And yet, you want to bring that here? To burn their homes until they ‘see the light’ and finally agree with you?”

There was a sad seriousness to his voice this time, “If it makes them see those who have no home to burn, then yes.”

Her chest tightened as Piper and Willow's face flashed in her mind.

"I understand that," she said softer. "I want to fix things, too. But, I refuse to believe that this is the only option.”

Marrak only dropped his head, his voice faint and defeated, “I see. Then I have no more words for you. If you can’t hear them, then this is the only way they will.”

He gripped the last shard tight in his hand and widened his stance, feet firmly planted this time. His freehand raised to meet Syra, and red shimmered around it like ruby dust.

That pose.

She felt her body flinch. It was the same one—the one he taught her before going West. But this wasn’t the training grounds. Now, it was aimed at her.

She charged her hand, but it still shook. Even with a different face, that look of disappointment was the same.

“Please, Valen. I’m a healer—I don’t want to fight you.”

“Come now,” he snickered, “you are much more than that, Bronzed Valkyrie.”

No. I don’t want—

“Wars come and go,” Baba’s voice echoed in her mind, “Whether you want it or not.”

She clenched her jaw against her words.

Swordfighting's one thing, but to use your magic—your essence—to take another’s away? The image of Morin’s skin burning from within seized her gut. It taints you. Burns you.

But this is war. That voice poked its head out of its box, as if biding its time since her fight with him. No more running. No more hiding. You can’t hold back anymore.

She passed a glance at Cassius—at the hands burned by a brief touch of uncontrolled essence.

It wasn’t sorrow or love that her soulstone was leaking in Omei, though it certainly felt like it at the time. Grief indeed clouded the mind, but it also weakened the heart—weakened its resolve and its own bindings. Her fight with Morin proved that mana wasn’t completely finite. It wasn’t only drawn from the earth as Valen and the Council said. It could be shared. Channeled. Generated from within oneself. This was the burning in her chest. The burn that scared her into locking it away, because “too much too fast burns you out.” But when focused and regulated, like the bolts from Morin’s shocksticks, like the bolt she just used on Marrak, it was very much usable.

But I don’t know how long it’ll last—how long this body will last. What if I burn out too soon? What if it’s not enough?

Now’s the best time to find out, said the voice.

“Damn it...fine.”

She refocused on Marrak, reading his body like a tournament contestant. She drew a slow breath, unbridling the muscles she swore to never free. Her joints loosened. Her limbs flowered into place and her core tightened, like a well-aimed bow. Piece after piece, her spine straightened, and all channels opened wide for the surge of mana released from her core reservoir. Heat rushed through every vessel. Not searing heat like Petra's, but a deep buzzing that warmed and tingled every muscle. And then she reared back—legs primed and charm clamped in a fist.

“Now!”