The sun hung low in the hazy sky, painting the shattered arches of the Academy with a warm glow reminding me of ruins I’d read about in history books back home on Earth. Half of the Academy looked like ruins. It was insane to me just how much damage 12 Magebloods caused. And for what reason? Just to intimidate us?
It had been three days since the battle under the academy—three days since I last saw Hopsander’s body vanish with Lotrick. And three days since Noah lay down his arms—literally—and sank into a coma from the stinger.
I stood by his bedside in the infirmary wing. The walls were scorched from the Mageblood’s earlier assault, the floor was still littered with debris, and half of the supplies were broken. Still, the Cinders had salvaged enough to cobble together a makeshift hospital area, where the injured were treated in rows of narrow, creaking cots. Noah had the far corner—isolated more for others’ safety than his. Nobody knew if he could wake up again.
The boy on the bed wasn’t quite the younger brother I remembered. First of all, he was now about as old as I was when we saw each other last. His face was older. More worn with time and life.
—What had that second soul put you through little brother, I wondered.
His Pale cheeks were streaked by fading lines of dried blood. His hair was in ragged patches from where he’d torn at his scalp. His arms—that I severed in the final clash—were now bandaged stumps. I felt something twist inside me each time I saw him like this: a swirl of pity, anger, and dim hope that the real Noah was still somewhere inside that shell.
—‘We’ll save him, Erik.’
Fern’s voice in my head sounded gentle, even tired. He’d returned to sharing my body soon after the fight. Our extraordinary separation was feeling like a dream.
“I know,” I whispered, gaze drifting over to the battered door. A guard stood there—one of the newly arrived cinders. He saluted when he saw me noticing him. No doubt the Cinders worried Noah might lash out again, even in his sleep.
I tore my eyes from my brother’s unconscious form and left the infirmary. Down the hall, half-collapsed walls opened onto the courtyard. Charred spires of wood jutted from the ground where the Magebloods had torn through the Academy. The mages…the monarchy… My hands curled into fists at the thought.
Lucile Spiderbane, the Cinder in charge of the Third Battalion, the one responsible for putting Noah in a coma, and my savior, had broken the news this morning: the monarchy had branded all Cinders—especially those from the Academy of Ash—as terrorists and enemies of His Majesty, Marduk Suncrest.
Messengers wearing the monarchy’s crest had even tried to cross Baldred’s Barrier, only to be repelled by the barrier itself. Rumor was they’d come bearing arrest orders for every last one of us. Thankfully, the magic of the Pillar kept us safe for now.
“Terrorists,” I muttered under my breath. We’d just defended ourselves from an invasion that cost Hopsander his life, yet we were the criminals. Typical.
Dry winter dirt crunched under my boots as I stepped outside, where the sky glowed a dusky orange. Everything felt surreal—like we were sitting on the edge of an abyss. War was coming, but for now, the battered remains of the Academy stood quiet, caught in the hush before a storm.
I took a shaky breath, letting the evening air fill my lungs. He’s in there, somewhere, I reminded myself, thinking of Noah. And I will get him back—even if the whole monarchy stands in our way.
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I made my way around the crumbled remains of what used to be our main courtyard, navigating shattered columns and broken flagstones. Despite the havoc, there were small signs of life—Cinders hauling debris, patching walls, working in makeshift teams to restore something of the Academy’s former shape.
Halfway across the courtyard, I spotted Laska with a few senior staff. Major Philip and Waelid stood alongside her, all of them talking intently over a spread of yellowing maps.
“Erik,” Laska called when she saw me. “I was about to send someone to fetch you.”
She looked exhausted—bandages wrapped her shoulder, and her braids were loose from lack of grooming. The Headmaster was injured in the assault and so Laska was nominated by the staff to run things alongside Lucile. She may have looked drained, but the fire in her gaze hadn’t dimmed a bit.
“What’s going on?” I asked, stepping closer.
Major Philip pursed his lips. “Lotrick is what’s going on,” he said gruffly. “We just got word from a guard post across the land bridge in Ash. He knocked out every Cinder left to guard the captured Magebloods, then teleported them all out of there.” He slammed a fist on the table. “Every single one. Gone.”
My stomach lurched. So they all escaped…
“But he left Noah,” I said.
“He did leave Noah, we still have the Magelord for negotiations,” Laska said gently resting a hand on the major’s shoulder. “I gotta say the Landaluce boy’s teleportation is on an entirely different level from anything I have seen in the field. The things Magebloods can do with the life force of something—” She paused, grief flickering in her eyes. “Or someone.”
I knew she was thinking of Hopsander’s body. “So he’s used that power to get them all out— the black-hooded man, the elven girl, Carlyle… Rosie, too?” I asked quietly, remembering the mageblood who once grew up alongside Fern.
Waelid nodded. “He left a note. It was addressed to you but, seeing as all our lives depended on information we took the liberty to open it.” Waelid gave an annoying smile that I rolled my eyes at. “The note we found said he was ‘only buying us time.’ And that the monarchy’s forces are massing outside Baldred’s Barrier.”
That meant an imminent siege—or worse. “Did he say anything else?”
“Just that.” Laska slid a scrap of parchment across the map. The writing glowed faintly with runic residue:
Fern,
I got rid of all the PillarDust enchanted Cloaks. You are safe from Magebloods, for now. I can’t stall forever. The monarchy is coming for you—sooner than you think. Prepare or flee—either way, you’ll need more power.
—Lotrick
I exhaled, eyes flicking over the note a second time. “He wanted to give us a warning, at least.”
Major Philip scoffed. “A ‘warning’ that doesn’t help us fix a monarchy that wants our heads.” He jabbed a finger at a large map pinned with nails. “They’ve declared us terrorists, and if we’re caught outside this tower, we’re done. And if they come inside this tower, we’re done.”
An uneasy pause followed. Laska’s lips thinned. “Which is why Commander Spiderbane decided on a fallback plan. She and her forces are reclaiming what’s left of the City of Dust on the second floor of the Pillar. She’s calling it a new settlement: City of Ash.”
A flicker of interest nudged my exhaustion aside. “What about the Town of Ash?”
“We are moving them inside the Pillar. Keep them closer to us for protection. Also, she wants a proper stronghold to stage the war from,” Waelid said. “Somewhere the monarchy’s magic can’t easily breach. She’ll move in her Cinder legion, plus any survivors who can’t hold out here in the Academy.”
I mulled that over, glancing at the battered walls around us. “And the Academy itself?”
Philip tapped the map. “We’ll keep the Academy at the pillar’s base and resume classes, but the town’s ruins and the house dorms out beyond the Academy perimeter will no longer be accessed by students. Instead, they will serve as a forward operations post to monitor for the Magebloods invasion. Lucile believes we can even push into higher floors in the Pilar for resources—maybe find weapons strong enough to match monarchy magic.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The mention of “higher floors” stirred something in my chest. “So we’re still planning an expedition past the Fourth Floor?”
Waelid nodded. “All the Cinders who arrived from abroad were heading here to help with that in the first place. The fact that they came in time to put down the Magelord was only a lucky coincidence.”
I snorted. “I’m not so sure about that,” I mumbled.
“They came to see how far the tower can be pushed—and whether it holds artifacts that’ll turn the tide of war.”
I forced a steadying breath. “Right. Then we prepare for a possible assault while climbing the tower and continuing schooling. Not too much right?” I gave a forced smile to them.
Laska picked up the note again, then stuffed it into her pocket. “We also have a missing student. Luna—Lunafreya. She vanished after the fighting. We lost track of her in the chaos.” She glanced at me, concern etched across her brow. “I suspect she’ll turn up soon, but keep an eye out.”
I bit my lip, remembering Luna’s true origin. She wanted to kill Noah, he supposedly killed her and brought about the end of the world in her previous eight lifetimes. She is partly the reason I was so adamant about having multiple guards twenty-four hours of the day guarding the hospital floor Noah was on. I wouldn’t put it past her to kill him. What would be her reason not to? A promise we made?
“If anyone can take care of themselves in a crisis, it’s her,” I said. “But, I’ll gather a few and we’ll look for her.”
Laska and Major Philip nodded and then all became quiet. Each of them became lost in their thoughts. A hush settled, heavy with the knowledge that everything had changed—buildings and rooms destroyed, friends dead, and now an entire monarchy branding us criminals.
“Alright,” Laska finally murmured. “Let’s keep handling the wounded, get the Academy stable. Then… we’ll rally at the next courtyard meeting to discuss expansions to the City of Dust.”
“And the monarchy?” I asked.
She exhaled. “We buy time until we can push forward. If they want to treat us like monsters, we’ll show them that real monsters fight back. For now, we have the Magelord as our hostage. He will be a huge bargaining chip.”
None of us assumed it would be easy. But as I stared at the scorched walls, I realized we had no choice but to get up and keep moving. Either we vanish or we protect each other. There was no middle ground anymore.
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Two more days passed, and the Academy’s courtyard was finally clear enough to hold a proper gathering. The sun hung low, and winter was creeping down the mountainside. Snow would be on the Academy grounds any day now. Everyone who could stand—and many who could barely—made their way to the makeshift pyre at the courtyard’s center.
Word had spread that we’d honor Hopsander tonight. Even though we no longer had his body—Lotrick had taken it in that twisted teleportation—Laska insisted we honor him with whatever symbolic farewell we could manage. A single, heavy cloak bearing Hopsander’s family insignia lay folded on the pyre: a simple circle stitched with an amphibian crest.
Flickers of flame lit the evening air, casting wavering shadows over the gathered crowd. Students, teachers, and returning Cinders, each wore an expression of solemn resolve. Even the wind seemed hushed, reluctant to disturb the moment.
Laska stood at the forefront, her bandages partially hidden by a dark cloak. When she spoke, her voice carried a trembling strength. “We don’t have our Captain—our teacher—our friend—to bury. But that doesn’t mean we can’t say goodbye.”
She pressed a torch to the wooden pyre, and the flames spread in gentle waves. Whispers and sobs echoed in the courtyard. A few professors bowed their heads, tears rolling down their cheeks. Fan clutched Waelid’s arm, face streaked with sorrow. Sora and Rinka both held their face in their hands crying the same way as twins do. Lucius tried to act tough but a small droplet rolled down his cheek. Zenobia leaned against Tevin’s broad shoulder and Mel, Silas, and Ruriel all bowed their heads avoiding eye contact. Vahim, Amani, and Habr gave thanks in their way and performed a quick ceremonious dance.
I swallowed hard, stepping up to place a small carved frog figurine at the base of the pyre. I’d spent the last day carving it in memory of Hopsander—a tiny token of gratitude for the man who looked out for me more than once. “Thank you,” I whispered.
The flames licked up the cloak’s edges, dancing in the twilight.
—‘He would want us to stand strong,’ Fern murmured.
Once the pyre burned steadily, Laska signaled for everyone to gather in a loose circle. Faces that had once belonged to different houses—Anu, Enlil, Nin—stood shoulder to shoulder.
“We lost more than one good soul, we lost many. One hundred and thirteen staff, students, and residents from the town of Ash,” Laska said, voice raw with emotion. “And while we grieve, we also learn. The petty lines dividing us—House rivalries, blood-cutting sorting rites were illusions, designed to temper us. To test our unity when everything else fell away.”
A ripple of murmurs. Some nodded, others blinked in surprise.
Laska lifted her chin. “From this day on, there are no Houses in the Academy of Ash. We stand as one team—one family. We are the Children of Cinder now because Cinders grow and we never truly die. We burn, we falter—but when stoked together, we blaze brighter than any threat cast upon us.”
A quiet wave of applause spread around the circle. Sora, Mel, Lucius, and the rest of my classmates exchanged glances of relief. Part of me felt oddly validated—like the dividing lines had been a burden I didn’t fully realize until now.
“Our new base will be in the City of Dust,” Laska continued, “but we’ll keep the Academy at Baldred’s Pillar as a training ground. This is Hopsander’s legacy. He wanted us to be free. Now we honor that wish.”
One professor, still nursing a bandaged leg, spoke up. “What about the monarchy labeling us terrorists? We can’t just stand here and wait.”
Major Philip scowled. “Spiderbane is establishing a foothold at Dust. We’ll hold off any invasion as long as we can. And if they do breach Baldred’s Barrier… well, they’ll find we’re not so easily crushed.”
A grim nod passed among the gathered. The flames crackled behind Laska, sending sparks into the twilight sky, like tiny stars drifting on the wind.
I caught Waelid’s eye and felt a stirring of pride. We were bruised, battered, and down a hero—but standing together.
Laska stepped forward, voice softening. “For Hopsander—who taught us to face our fears. For all we’ve lost. And for all we have yet to protect.” She raised her torch high. “We fight on.”
The roar of voices that followed held no trace of houses or ranks—just a single, unified cry of defiance and camaraderie. And as the fire’s sparks danced upward, I could almost feel a presence above us—Hopsander’s spirit, watching from beyond, proud of the cinders he’d left behind.
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The next day, I made my way to the upper levels of the Academy to Professor Pestil’s classroom. His room was unaffected and was still the clean laboratory-like room I remembered from my first week at the Academy.
He was waiting for me behind a warped wooden table piled high with notes. Bandages wrapped his left arm, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. If the war with the monarchy had drained everyone, it had practically devoured Pestil’s usual vigor.
“Erik.” He gave a quick, dry nod as I stepped inside, his gaze flicking to the tail behind me. “And, I suppose, Fern is in there too.”
—‘Right here,’ Fern’s voice said in my mind.
“Yeah,” I answered, resting a hand against my serpent tail as though it were natural. “You, uh, said you found something?”
Pestil blew out a weary breath. “Found, no. Re-discovered, maybe.” He motioned for me to sit on a bench across from him. “I’ve spent the last two days digging through old records—what few we have. Most references to the Twin-Soul phenomenon were lost centuries ago. What remains reads more like a myth than fact.”
I lowered myself onto the bench, feeling a twinge in my bruised ribs. “So… you don’t have a definitive answer.”
“Not exactly.” Pestil lifted a parchment page from one of his piles. Half its text was in an archaic script, the rest in spidery translations. “But here”—he tapped a passage—“it speaks of two souls sharing a single body, combining powers in ‘symbiotic unity.’ When pushed to a certain threshold, the second soul can manifest externally—sometimes even wielding formidable magic.”
My pulse quickened. “So…that’s like…exactly what happened then! You’re saying what Fern did… is documented?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Pestil replied. “The texts call it ‘spectral conjuration,’ though most established mage-scholars dismissed it as occult nonsense—untestable, they said.” He sighed, setting the parchment down. “Erik, when you and Fern separated, you did something no living soul has seen in centuries. If you’d asked me last week, I’d have insisted it was impossible.”
—‘Guess we took the impossible route,’ Fern murmured.
A small smile tugged at my lips. “So… can we do it again? Will it hurt us?”
“That’s the rub,” Pestil said, raking a hand through his thinning hair. “The old texts warn that forcing a spectral conjuration too often may lead to permanent dissonance. In plain terms, you risk damaging the link between your souls… or even your minds. You could lose each other altogether.”
I swallowed, fingers tightening over my thigh. “But if we mastered it, it could be a huge advantage.”
Pestil nodded. “Precisely. In a war against Magebloods, being able to call on a second soul’s physical presence, an immensely powerful one at that is—well, it could tip the scales, if you don’t break yourselves in the process.”
A brief silence fell.
—‘We’ll be careful,’ Fern whispered. ‘But we can’t ignore it, Erik. The monarchy’s not going to fight fair.’
I inclined my head, heart thudding. “We can’t run from it, Pestil. If this is who we are, we have to embrace it… carefully, but fully.”
Pestil’s face softened. “Then I’ll support you however I can. I’ve already asked for any references to Twin-Souls from our traveling cinder units. Someone might have an old journal or pass down an oral tale.” He paused, pursing his lips. “In the meantime, do not attempt another full separation unless you absolutely must. Promise me.”
I exhaled, exchanging a mental nod with Fern. “We promise.”
Leaning back, Pestil swept a pile of notes aside, revealing a small map of Baldred’s Pillar. “I wish we had more time for research. But with the monarchy breathing down our necks and Lucile’s new push for the Fourth Floor… Well, we’re all juggling chaos.” He tapped the map. “If you do go on the expedition, gather any runic fragments or references to arcane soulcraft you find. It might be our best chance to refine this power.”
I rose from the bench, wincing at a twinge of pain in my hip. “We’ll keep our eyes open.”
Stepping away, I realized just how exhausted Pestil looked. He was doing everything he could—just like the rest of us. War was on the horizon, threatening to consume everyone, and we were grasping at fragile bits of knowledge to stay ahead.
“Thank you,” I said softly. “For believing in us.”
His lips twitched in a half-smile. “I’m not sure I do. But I’m willing to be proven wrong.”
I let out a quiet huff of laughter and made my way toward the door. As I crossed the threshold, the torches guttered, sending strange shadows dancing along the walls. Outside, the corridor opened onto the partial light of day. Fan, Waelid, and my classmates were likely gathering for training—there was no rest for the Children of Cinder.
“Ready, Fern?” I murmured inwardly.
—‘Always, partner.’
We stepped out into the ruins to meet our classmates.
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I emerged onto the open plains outside Baldred’s Pillar to find my classmates waiting—Sora, Mel, Lucius, Rinka, Zenobia, Tevin, Ruriel, Silas, Amani, Vahim, Habr, Waelid, and even Fan tagged along. They all wore the new Cinder emblem on their uniforms: a single flame rising from a broken sword.
“Time to test those new grapple gauntlets Silas designed,” Waelid announced, his wings stirring a faint breeze. “The old outside stairs wrap around the first and second floors. Let’s see who’s still got the guts to climb.”
Fan gave a sly smile. “You are not included in this race Mr. Chapter Master, flying infusions don’t count.”
They all laughed. We were tired, and bruised, but alive. Fern’s presence jumped in my mind like he was ready to use the gauntlet. A few days ago, we were battered into the ground, drenched in fear and blood. Now we stood with a new purpose, a ragtag band molded by suffering and resolve.
I glanced at the tower. Its ancient stone rose high into the sky, each floor a mystery of magic and monsters. Above, clouds glowed with the promise of dawn.
I stretched and tightened my gauntlet. “Ready?”
Silas grinned. “As we’ll ever be.”
“Can we get on with it?” Mel said before shooting her grapple lineup. “Jeeze!” Then she pressed the retract button and she launched high into the air climbing the pillar.
The rest of us laughed and fired our grapple lines, metal hooks latching onto carved ledges. The cables pulled tight. The gears whined and whizzed and worked perfectly. The wind rushed past my face as I soared.
And so we rose, defiant in a world hell-bent on crushing us, the have-nots. Together, we were Cinders—flickering but unquenchable. If the monarchy thought they could extinguish our flame, they’d soon learn:
A single spark, when fed by countless hands, can become an inferno.
BOOK ONE END