The purple glow of Harbour’s lanterns bled through the windows, onto the pages Val scanned with so much scrutiny, she hardly noticed the tint. In the hotel’s higher-floored suite, she rested her upper back evenly against the headboard of Otis’ massive bed, squinting past the gleam of Aster’s pending notifications.

In lieu of joining the others in their meditation session, she thought it wise to review all there was about the ores they had originally intended to harvest. Pictures occupied the majority of the pages, with informative tidbits underneath in a digestible, bullet-point style.

Her attention lingered on a cream-coloured rock—Radiate Ore. In an almost ironic nature, the light-based material used in light fixtures across the country existed in places infested in the necrotic essence just as much as it did in positive areas. However, what made her spine freeze in place was not the paradox of such reality, but instead the italicized words beneath.

They were present on every page, more a fun fact about things ranging from the legends behind their existence to the surprising uses they found in prosaic life. Yet, in a manner contrary to its equivalents, a chilling message resided on the tea-stained pages.

According to the book, spectrals haunted the Radiate Ores of the Dark Mineshaft. No one knew which type to accredit the myth to simply because adventurers hardly lived to identify them. Spectrals were incorporeal bodies of intelligence that often rendered blades harmless and were considered the hardest subcategories of aether creatures to beat by far. Should we tempt fate?

Seven months ago, she would’ve snorted at the sidenote and moved on. Here she was, though, a mage solely due to pursuing a cure that many considered non-existent—a fable, rather than a facet of truthful information. Why treat this differently?

“I’m too tired for this.”

Caro’s remark cracked the heavy concentration amidst the stilled mages on the bare floor. Thankfully, the sentiment was largely shared by the four, and they went on to stretch out their breathing techniques. They found a comfort zone in the areas around the flat, be it the sofa, the rocking chair on the carpeted space near the window panes, and the kitchen’s countertop.

Val scooted over, giving ample room for Caro to crash onto the mattress, and it sank against her weight. The Striker rolled herself into a blanket burrito, cloaked, snug, and warm.

“Say,” Val began, curiously watching Jesal rub the bridge of his nose as he set his eyewear and a half-drained remnant on the marble counter. “What’s up with your glasses? You didn’t have a healer fix your eyes before it was too late?”

As casual as her tone was, the procedure’s cost existed out of the price range for everyone except the Twenty.

He paused, bleary-eyed, pointing to himself in surprise.

“Yes, you,” Caro snorted, shaking her head on the patterned pillow. “Duh.”

“That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it,” he scratched the back of his head. “It’s to restrain my element.”

“Your gravity looks plenty fine to me,” Otis mentioned from the fridge, throwing his haphazard sandwich of cheese, olives, tomatoes, and spice into his mouth.

“It’s Amplification that’s giving me problems,” he corrected. “Accidently amplified my cab straight into a store once. Then, as if that wasn’t enough for one week, I amplified the television while trying out a spell, waking up my baby niece.” A shiver ran through his body. “My sister wanted to shred me alive.”

“Your glasses?” Lenson asked quietly, tying her light hair into a comfortable bun and holding her knees close in the rocking chair. Silence answered her, the slack jaws around the room, the surprised squawk of the half-asleep duellist rising from under the blankets, and one very much choking Otis far too occupied computing the event.

Lenson joined a conversation—willingly, at that.

While she might not have said anything more, the baby smirk growing on her lips and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes showed just how great of a kick she got out of their reactions.

Jesal cleared his throat. “It nullifies my magic, the Amplification aspect part anyways. No clue how it works, though.”

“O-oh,” Val got out, the tail ends of her shock finally dwindling. She knew her eyes shone when she glanced at him. “Could I grab a look at them?”

He tilted his head. “What for?”

“To study it,” Caro interjected, adjusting the broad bonnet protecting her crimson curls. “She’s a geek for any and all enchantment-related things. Like, to the max.”

Val gave her friend a playful shove in retaliation, and Caro slipped a lazy smile her way, the blankets rising as she shrugged her shoulders.

“It is time for a debrief.”

Nightingale, the owner of the new voice, shrugged off his coat, oblivious to how swiftly the friendly atmosphere died. In the presence of Hammer Squad, he managed to open—and close, might she add—the door in utter silence, sneaking up on the group for a reason only he could explain.

“I’ll start first,” he volunteered, lowering himself to the hardwood floor to sit cross-legged at the feet of Jesal’s bedframe. “What we did during the encounter with the thieves was—”

“Necessary,” Jesal cut in, resting either elbow on his knees. “You understand that, don’t you, Ekon?”

Nightingale cocked his head upward, the vein running underneath his jaw visible. “If we question leadership at every point in time, we cannot continue forward.”

“The same is true of the opposite,” Jesal challenged. “Ill-received commands aren’t going to be taken with smiles. We’ll add in our suggestions, and decide as one.”

Nightingale let the idea stew, granting the squad a begrudging nod a heartbeat later. “Do we agree to move the plans for metals to the last day? Path Ore, thanks to our little encounter, will be seeing traffic that I’d like to avoid, if possible.”

He earned several snorts and nods in agreement. The mere mention of traffic glazed over the eyes of everyone present. You would think in the constraints of one of the grimmest rifts on the Copper rung, people wouldn’t have the time of day to care about the latest. You would think, who would notice—or be interested in—whether or not six teens survived an encounter with notorious loot chasers?

Wrong and wrong.

Word of mouth had spread the deed before Hammer Squad finished their rerouted plans for the day. On their return, whispers had trailed their steps past the crowd of hundreds outside Basecamp, and wide berths were given even inside the walls, resulting in an isolation that somehow felt good-natured. We probably weren’t their first pick.

“Speaking of ores,” Val chipped in, “I don’t think we should harvest Radiate Ores, not with the risk it poses.”

“What risks?” Nightingale asked.

“There’s a chance that spectrals may, or may not attack us if we try to. A higher chance.”

“Isn’t that par the course for most aspects of a dive?” he countered.

“Yes, well…” Val cast a glance at the thick book on the nearby nightstand, cringing at the thought of proceeding along with the information. Could it even be called that? She said it herself—the notes beneath existed separately from the need-to-know sections. “Nevermind.”

“Doesn’t hurt to speak your mind,” Caro mumbled, well on her way to falling asleep.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Val added.

“Ores will be a mission for the seventh day then,” he stated, giving her a noticeable gap for a rebuttal. In fact, a look around the suite informed her they all waited for an elaboration, keen on hearing the second half of her explanation. She nodded for Nightingale to continue, keeping the myths and legends wholly—and rightfully—to herself.

“Moving on, we need to talk about our position…”

Val zoned out his usual complaints about their rigid movement, a small frown taking form on her face. Why couldn’t she shake off the icky feeling in her gut?

----------------------------------------

First Halo of Ciazel,

City of Atera,

The Dark Mineshaft (Copper-Rung Labyrinth)

-Five days later-

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It happened faster than any of them could register.

Caro could practically see the Diving Points in her account as Nightingale stuffed the last and final Radiate Ore inside Jesal’s bulging luggage. All there was left to do was to vacate the dreadful-smelling depths of Darkshaft and report their harvests at HQ.

Yet, as she was reminded over and over again in the ring’s confines, victory’s satisfaction—more than not, in recent days—didn’t last. One second she was involved in a pleasant discussion on the best methods to stack a character in LIE and the next, Lenson’s “Incoming!” sent chills down her spine.

Light fizzled in her eyes as she activated Vague View and her mouth cracked open in fearful disbelief. What looked like elongated souls floated like sheets on a windy day, aimlessly swirling in the air. Orbs that rivalled abysses in profundity stared at them, mouths agape in a silent scream that widened by the second.

And there were dozens, all reorientating their direction toward the six frozen Novices.

“Talismans,” Val reminded, and the directive snapped Caro out of her daze. Hammer Squad threw everything in their arsenals at the wave, utilizing Otis’ positive element, burning through tens of elixirs, and scrolls. Not a dent in their numbers that did. Soon, priorities shifted from winning to tactfully retreating—and when they discovered the spectrals’ uncanny ability to find them wherever they travelled—to survive.

“We have to drop the Radiate Ores,” Val demanded, scrambling through Jesal’s luggage.

“It’s not in order,” Jesal grimaced. “It’ll take a few minutes to sort through and dump the correct ones.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Caro added from her vigil point, in the epicentre of where the paths forked.

“Leave the entire bag,” Lenson’s voice carried across the narrow tunnel.

Nightingale frowned. “It’s been a week. We don’t have another day to harvest a different batch. We drop them, we might as well drop the mission!”

“Then so be it,” Jesal said, raising his eyebrows in silent warning. Little more could be said, not after the discussion diving into who and how the decisions were settled.

And that, quite simply, was that.

Caro shoved the memory to the far ends of her mind. Instead, she observed her best friend, how she hugged the side of the cavern walls while they waited for their little ass-hat to scout the tunnels, and frowned. I’m gonna have to be the bad guy, aren’t I?

She had the privilege to know Val both before and after the life-exploding event that had been Deduction Day. Simply put, there was a war raging within the metal mage, perhaps unbeknownst to herself.

Val’s ability to stand up to challenges, blank face and all, never ceased to amaze her. Snarky side comments, dismissive gestures, working to the bone to provide for her siblings—it didn’t matter. An excited glint sparked in her eyes and she’d get right to cracking the puzzle or defeating the chimera in her way.

The one thing she struggled to come to terms with, though, was that doubting voice every human learned to ignore. Caro thought it a phase, or even a place of strength to always fact-check your every idea.

Not anymore.

It was one thing to duck out of a verbal confrontation in fear of someone poking at your insecurity. Everyone did that. It was another thing entirely to outright omit knowledge vital not only to the success of a mission, but to leaving Dark Mineshaft alive.

Thirty minutes after practically forfeting the mission, Val manhandled her into a corner and cracked open a book the size of a small cushion. Seconds away from questioning the sanity of her friend, she had pointed to the cursive print on the page, the words denoting the precise circumstance Hammer Squad scarcely escaped from.

“Why didn’t you mention this?” Caro had asked under her breath.

“I tried to, but…” Val sighed. “It’s supposed to be a legend, no?”

“A legend that made you more prepared,” she replied. “There’s a reason you saw this. It wouldn’t kill you to say it out loud.”

Val’s lips dipped downwards, and she shut the encyclopedia, stalking on ahead to assume a position adjacent to Otis. The memory of the swift exchange once again solidified her previous assumptions. The bad guy it is.

Her distrust in herself bordered on crippling heights, and didn’t appear to be levelling out anytime soon. Once the first day of university hits, bringing its stress and fresh troubles and foreign bars to reach, it might spike upwards.

Bradley let Val in on the matter, Caro’s been doing her damn best to tell her, and even Winsford’s joined along for the ride. Maybe the time for nudges was long since gone.

Maybe it was time for a shove.

----------------------------------------

Val sifted her calloused fingers through her hair, sighing as she caught sight of their luggage. The beast parts hung on Otis' luggage, the energy cores overfilled their packs, and the metals…

Well, there were none of them so to speak. Not a single one, and the fact spelled defeat as their first mission. Dwelling on the dim matter blinded Val to her surroundings, and only until Caro’s toned physique blocked her vision did she note any movement.

Her almond-brown eyes carried a seriousness to them, and it put Val on far more alert than she’d been the entire trip. “What’s wrong? You look like someone broke your favourite gaming headphones.”

Caro moved her limbs to a comfortable position and Val winced at the loud cracks and clicks of her adjusting armour, ever thankful for Jesal’s auxiliary tech. “I’m going to say this with all the love and respect a best friend can have, aight?”

Val’s eyebrows pinched together. “You’re scaring me.”

“No.” Caro’s tone sharpened with the word alone. “You’re scaring me. We’ve given you the space, we’ve given you the years. I know healing doesn’t have a timeline. Truth is, I don’t think you believe there’s anything wrong to fix. That’s… that’s damaging.”

“What exactly is damaging?” Caro wanted to beat around the bush, whereas Val didn’t have the grace to play that game, not after seven days of high-alert rift diving. “And who’s we?”

“Me, Bradley, my parents—your parents. This started long before their absence, and it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere. You’re hesitating, Val. Always. That’s all well and fine when you know it, and I’m sure you do. Only this is becoming an unconscious thing—a habit. That’s not okay, not when your teammates’ fate—and yours!—rely on it.”

“You say this as if you’re coasting.” The words spilled out of Val’s mouth before her brain could stop them. Awkward glances bounced off the Strikers—mainly from Otis and Jesal. Yet, that did little to slow down the need to defend herself and, more importantly, to poke at a pattern that had been harrying Val’s conscious.

“Well, are you?” she prodded, and Caro's stony expression cracked a bit at the shift in attention. “You’re going to the duelist centers a lot lately. I mean yeah, you’re winning and that’s what most see. But, there’s always that need to do more, to prove yourself. To who, though, Caro? You’re not the girl people gossip about anymore. No one’s saying ‘Carrie needs a carry’ in the halls.”

Her friend’s nose flared at that.

“Chill out,” Val said, taking a line from her friend’s book. “Ease off the gas. Your winning streak isn’t all that matters. Your loss against Rhodes isn’t all that matters. You know this, so what’s got you so desperate?”

“So she can talk back,” Caro muttered almost to herself, tilting her head backwards. “That was a 180 I did not see coming. Still avoiding answering my question, though.”

“What are you—” Val outright flinched when Caro’s attention returned to her. Gone was the gentleness in her countenance, leaving behind a person who wanted to get hammer their point straight across as acutely as possible.

She didn’t fail to deliver.

“You’re a coward, Valory Efron.”

Val blinked at the sudden change in direction, her eyes narrowing into slits. “The last thing I am is a coward.”

“Right, and that’s the frustrating part. You’re one of the bravest people I know. You’re brave for your brothers, brave for your friends and incredibly brave for your mother, Val. But you’re never brave enough for the one person you need to be the most.”

Caro jabbed a finger on Val’s shoulder. “You. It happened before the Initiation, it happened for years before the trials, and I’m positive it’s happened at least once more I’m not aware of.”

The depths of which her friend understood her were nearly alarming, because it had occurred. Moments before she claimed Aster, she’d wanted to pass on the million-dollar-worth piece of machinery to someone else, crazy as it appeared currently.

“It doesn’t affect you much when you have people to talk it out with, people to convince you that your doubt is very much baseless. The thing is, Val, we won’t always be there when you need us. Especially when you keep it locked up like you did just now—and look, this time it did cost you.”

In hindsight, the decision would’ve counted as her worst and still, it was Fiona and Winsford who snapped her out of it.

“So grow a damn spine already,” Caro pushed off the ground to stand. “There are only so many punches you can take without a backbone, and you’re running out of lives.”

Val winced. “Wait, Ca—”

“Lenson, I’m standing guard!” she yelled midstride, and the support vacated the position without a complaint, giving the magma mage a pat of understanding on her back in passing. She made it a point to post herself outside the area silencer’s domain, ending the conversation on her part.

Val didn’t have a chance to calibrate the weight behind the sentiments traded, frowning at Jesal’s unprompted approach. “I have a good feeling what I witnessed was a super rare thing, right?” he grinned, and her frown leveled up into a glare. “Good, good. No tears mean no harm, and no harm means—”

“Don’t even finish that statement,” she cut in.

“I won’t,” he chuckled, groaning as he moved to take a seat beside her. “I realize I know Caro for all of three weeks, but I think it’s safe to assume that she went easy on you, there.”

“Okay,” Val spoke, unsure of what else to say in the moment.

“While she could’ve certainly framed it nicer… she’s right, honestly,” he went on, and Val turned in his direction to display the surprise on her face. “You're an inquisitive soul, Valory, and people like you have ideas. Good ideas. It’s criminal to keep that to yourself, whatever they may be.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s not a compliment, Val. It’s the truth,” he smiled. “ Now, Caro—she means well, alright? And to be fair, a little backbone won’t harm things.”

“Not you too,” she muttered, earning a dry laugh in response. “Thanks,” she said more assuredly, appreciating his attempt to cheer her up when, in some part, her inaction caused their disaster. His smile only grew, and Val gleaned a trace of familiarity in his features. “Are all Anchors so… stabilizing?”

He rubbed his chin. “It’s kinda in the job description.”

“Really, Jesal?”

“I couldn’t resist.”