The Sept invites those worthy to walk towards the barracks under their dais, while the rest are left to rot. Hearing the groans of my siblings fade behind me leaves a pit in my belly. But I must trek on, to find whatever truth the world holds.

  We approach tentatively—my spirit-marked siblings flanking me close. I’m hesitant, obviously, considering there could be a black hole of dark magic waiting to drink our blood next.

  No one is trusting of the Danes after the ride they put us through.

  Reliving the first murdered brother—Asmen Seck of House Rhylock, reluctantly slain by Renesta Fowler—sends a mortal shiver down my spine. The ones that followed hurt a little less, I’m ashamed to admit, but I do my best to run the reel of their names through my head, matching face or some quality I recall about them. Awkward shaves, odd scars, bloody teeth. Even the spicing brutes deserve to be remembered.

  As we cross into the barracks for the second time torches exhale to life inside, illuminating the pristine weapon racks we perused before fighting to the death. My heart thumps as I relive the fear…

  No. This time is different.

  I’m calmed by Boeru’s confident dragon spirit.

  He wouldn’t have latched onto me if he thought I’d die so soon. At least, I hope.

  “Thirty-six contenders have earned their Rite of Ascension,” the center Dane’s bodiless voice echoes around us. “Although five of you should wither with your exiled brothers and sisters, the spirit wielders have granted you grace you do not deserve. My advice? Do not waste it.”

  I glance over my shoulder at Jurso and offer my fist to bump his—letting him know that he does belong here, by my side.

  Hovnami, his opponent in the arena, isn’t so pleased about it though. Nami the Merciful she dubbed herself, only to be tossed angrily into the pit of shame. Now that Broggen gave her redemption as his last pick, she seems determined never to show mercy again.

  Can’t blame her, honestly. She thought she was doing the right thing. And in the hours that followed, she must’ve been cursing herself to live a life of exile.

  It’s been a wild ride… from the spiral steps to the victory dais. First I thought I’d have to plead for my life. Turns out, I just had to die in order to live again, like a phoenix of mythos. Now I have a dragon’s spirit pumping blood through healthy veins, a bonded crew—whatever that means—and I’m about to chase real truth in the tiered faction of Miria.

  “You will each be granted one weapon to take on your journey to second house. Choose wisely.”

  “Oh man, are you kidding? The Sept’s literally giving us kindomonia gold,” Misty beams. “Look at this one. If mythos serves me right, it’s enchanted dystone steel.”

  “You’re too excited,” Jurso whispers, pushing the blade down so she stops ogling it. “All this means is that we’ll be forced to use them again. Do you have the memory of a blackwater fish?”

  She flips her hair at him. “It’s called memory blocking. You should try it sometime, tiny.”

  “It would be useful if we were out of danger, but something tells me we are not. And who the hell are you calling tiny?”

  She cackles.

  “Perhaps we’ll be able to defend one another this time, rather than watch on helplessly,” I say.

  “Helplessly? On the contrary, brother. Your vocals saved my life.” Jurso pats my back, heading toward the bow section. “Might as well choose archery, since it brought me luck.”

  “Does that mean I should shy away from my string dagger, since, you know, it got me killed?”

  “The Danes got you killed, Dragonborn, as did your worthy blood.” Renesta arcs an eyebrow while browsing the sword selection.

  As we all gravitate toward our original weapons—which have been restocked—I’m careful to keep an eye on my biggest rival—Broggen Lor’fyre. The man has an ability to break out an entire enchanted arsenal from one weapon, for gods’ sake. And now he has an unstable spirit to help him wield them.

  I’d be lying if I wasn’t concerned.

  “Boeru, how do you feel about my weapon of choice?” I hold up the pristine chain and blue-tinted blade.

  “You wield it well, for a hatchling.”

  “Not cool.”

  “You might have prevailed, had your Arkitus not kicked in.” A puff of blue smoke clouds my vision. “Not the first time you’ve swung a blade.”

  “It’s pretty much all I did back home, outside of reading mythos,” I say. “Figured it’d be a good weapon when I learn how to summon and ride you.”

  “Oh?” The dragon’s silhouette peels out of my shoulder, his gigantic maw circling to stare at me with his one crystal-blue eye. “You claim to know how this bond will carry out?”

  I shrug. “Advancements in warring dark speak to shadow-forming. I figure with the right training, I’ll be able to manifest you into something tangible, like what I witnessed in your gateway.”

  “Ambitious,” Boeru snarls, rewinding into my body.

  “I can’t tell if you’re taunting me or what,” I snarl right back at him. “Are you holding out on me, Torn Wing?”

  “It was a thousand years ago that I soared in your plain. We dragons don’t have the memory of elephants, unfortunately. Especially after the whirlwinds of death pass through a mind.”

  “Fair enough.” I stuff the dagger back into the sheath across my shoulder and drape the chain in its special holster diagonally across my chest. It fits better now, considering I have pectoral muscles for the first time in my life.

  “Dragonborn,” Renesta’s soothing voice snaps me from my mind.

  “What happened to calling me Haledyn?” I ask.

  “This happened.” She evokes the mark on her arm effortlessly, something even I don’t know how to do with the Torn Wing literally living inside me.

  “Let’s compromise. Call me Hale.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  I notice the epic fire-spreading handguard of her sword peeking from her back. “Looks like we’re all pretty comfortable with our weapons of choice.”

  “We all survived with them. There is a sense of superstition attached, I suppose.”

  “Yeah. I guess I’m a sucker for punishment.” I unsheathe the chained blade and swing it once into my grasp. “Do you feel different since the mark?”

  “Yes. Closer to the afterlife, like when I visit as a shade.”

  I look both ways to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. “Hm. Wonder if that’s what an awakening does—tethers us closer to death. Can’t help but wonder if there are drawbacks to what we’re evoking here.”

  “Utilizing my attunement has always made me less grounded, Haledyn. Something to keep in mind as we progress.”

  “Hm.”

  Keeping the rival spirit-marked in my periphery, I grab her arm and walk her discretely over to a hidden dagger rack. The touch of skin-on-skin makes my entire body tingle, but I push the feeling down like Arkitus reflux.

  She glances at me with a perplexed expression—a little taken aback by my move.

  “What’s your read on the other attuned?” I ask.

  “Unfortunately, mine is third to Lor’fyre and Siegfried.”

  “Can you sense whether they are shades?” I narrow my eyes, thinking back to Tristian calling Rogo’s name even though they’re from different houses.

  “There is no clarity on the traits they possess.” She shrugs. “Only the warring dark they called upon in battle.”

  “I’m hoping once we’re out of here, you’ll use your talents to find out a bit more.”

  She doesn’t respond this time, which is better than last when she refused to spy on Broggen. Now that we’re a bonded team, there’s a sense of comradery between us. I’ll let it simmer for now.

  “Careful, mortal. If your heart beats any faster, it may erupt,” Boeru snickers.

  “Shut up.”

  A bulky arm reaches around both of our shoulders. “Am I interrupting?” Layla leans in, the smell of metallic amplified now that the three of us are closed in.

  “You are not,” Renesta assures, and I deflate slightly.

  “Good, because I need to borrow my guide if you don’t mind.” She pats Renesta once, making her whole body vibrate.

  “Of course.” She flips her hair and edges off to the side.

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  “What’s up, Lay?” My heart rate slows a bit, making the dragon cackle again in my mind. I really need to learn to block him out during these embarrassing moments.

  Before she says anything, I notice she hasn’t chosen a weapon. That’s right, she was able to bring two out to her duel—sword and shield—which sort of come as a pair.

  “The shield will be heavier,” I say, and her expression immediately lightens, because we essentially read each other’s mind. “But if we’re all bite and no block, we’ll all be sliced bloody.”

  “You’re assuming some kind of group activity.” She squints one eye.

  “The Danes are the ones who encouraged me and Broggen to mark others. They also hinted more than once about fighting a war, building an army. There will be a cooperative activity, I know it. This was a trial to weed out the weak.”

  As soon as I say the last line, my chest tightens. I was part of the weak. Layla wanted me to surrender to exile. It still bothers me that she had no faith in me from the start.

  Can’t hold it against her, though. I literally died.

  “Bring the shield and sword over here.” I nod to the section of bulky weapons. “Let’s have a look.”

  She struts over to the high-end rack and tests the sword in her grip. The way her muscles flex in between the dried wounds is intimidating—lines over lines of definition. There were times at House Kavoh I thought she was a different species than me. Now I get it, though. Having strong lungs… it makes me want to do push-ups until I’m blue in the face.

  It’s like she was born with a dragon’s spirit.

  She hoists the massive shield and sword while strutting up to me. I get an inkling of what Tristian must’ve felt coming face-to-face with her. Truth is, she’s more frightening than any of those wielding magic, maybe except Broggen.

  “Give them here,” I say, yanking the sword. Gripping it gives me a whole new appreciation for this new body. I can wield it if I had to. I then hold my hand out for the shield. My arm nearly falls when she hooks the strap over me and let’s go of the weight. Gods-damn heavy.

  She laughs when I fight to hold it up.

  “It would weigh you down,” I grimace. “We don’t know how long we’re climbing.”

  “A good training exercise then. I’m game for it.” She folds her arms.

  “I guess you could always toss it in the worst case.” I test the weight of the shield, getting used to it.

  I have to think deeper now, though. It’s not just about strength or endurance.

  Parts of mythos are real. The warring dark cycles all around us. The future value of both of these weapons is completely unknown. Same as my dagger. Boeru may have commended me, but he doesn’t know either, because he’s limited in the mortal realm too.

  There’s only one in here who has any grasp on enchantments.

  “Wait here,” I say, turning toward the hunched man in a cowl surrounded by brutes. They don’t scare me anymore, even though they could still pummel my face in. I guess dying once has something to do with it.

  Grondus eyes me angrily as I pace up to them, as does Hovnami, but they reluctantly turn to let me pass. Pressure zooms around my forearms, crisscrossing to tell me the warring dark is active. Do I still have Grondus’ essence within me? I essentially syphoned it from him when I took him down—at least, that’s what it looked like. Not sure what that means, or why. But answers are coming… I can feel it.

  “A word, Broggen?” I stare at his back as he analyzes a platinum-hilted sword with a sapphire fastened within it.

  “Dragonborn.” He lifts the blade into the candlelight. “Now that it appears we will be within each other’s company for the time being, call me Gen.” He turns to the brutes beside me. “Give us space. We will resume the selection momentarily.” He nods for the others to leave.

  He’s exactly what the Danes are looking for. An army commander in the making.

  “Need your advice, since you seem practiced in weapon enchants.” I hold up Layla’s options, giving him both.

  “Noctus riles in him, even now,” Boeru huffs as Gen tests the weight of the weapons. “Stab him in the neck and be done with it.”

  I scoff at Boeru, hoping that’s a joke.

  Broggen hands the sword back to me first, then bows his head while holding the shield. Shadowy essence traces the lion face, making the eyes and the teeth shine. He smirks.

  “What?” I ask.

  “There’s a sword in here with twice the essence than the one you’re holding. This shield is your answer. Forged with fine attunement, and empowered by many battles. I fear I may be handing you the weapon that ends me.” He unhooks the shield and holds it up for me to take.

  “Or perhaps saves you.” I hoist it, reminding him it’s a defender first and foremost, then unhook it so the point can rest on the ground while I fold my arms over the top. Judging his words carefully. Not only does he seem to be truthful, but also… “You seem less pained in here.”

  “It’s a barracks, Haledyn,” he says as if it’s obvious, touching sword hilts. “Relishing in the hidden depths of weaponry was my favorite pastime in House Valor. It’d help me forget—” His head hunches slightly, the wisps of dark energy bouncing off his shoulders.

  Shit. I’m losing him.

  “Hey.” I put an arm on his shoulder that he quickly shrugs off. “Maybe I can help you stabilize your bond. We can learn together.”

  “Do not offer him aid,” Boeru is appalled. “He is our enemy.”

  “No. Noctus is our enemy. Gen can be an ally, if we play our cards right.”

  Boeru huffs again. “I’m beginning to think you like to play with dragon fire.”

  “You cannot. House Father made sure of it.” He pulls his cowl tighter around him. “My blood is tempered in an irreparable way, Haledyn. I will only taint yours.” He grimaces and turns sharply the other way.

  “Did you have mythos on blood?” I ask.

  “Enough.” Gen swipes his hand. “I answered your question. Be gone.”

  My hearing rings like it did the first time he dismissed me. Pressure builds quickly between my ears, making it feel like the two of us are opposite magnets, destined to have space between us.

  I won’t give up, though. He was willing to talk twice, and willing to help. Not all of Gen is trouble.

  “Satisfied?” Boeru’s voice drips with sarcasm as I yank the shield away and shoulder past the brutes waiting around the sword rack.

  Layla looks at me, one hand wrapped around the bulky weapon rack. “Well?”

  I drop the shield and let it fall into her grasp. “Turns out this thing isn’t just a heavy piece of junk. There’s a powerful sword enchanted into it.”

  Layla shrugs and tosses it onto her back. “Does nothing for me. I’m not attuned, remember?”

  “Something tells me that won’t be forever.” I wink at her. “If a brute like Grondus can wield the warring dark, I have a feeling you will too.”

  She shoves me. “You putting me in the same category, guide?”

  I barely move, but I experience momentary vertigo as if I flew down the hall. Guess my mind hasn’t adjusted to this new body yet. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “So, it’s settled then?” She smacks the enchanted titanium on her back.

  “I don’t approve because of the weight, but if you can handle it, yeah. Much more valuable than that sword, according to Gen.”

  “Gen?”

  “Broggen.”

  “Oh, you’re on buddy terms now.”

  I shrug. “Should’ve asked him about this before he fell into another episode.”

  Unsheathing the blue-tinted dagger reveals a more vibrant shine than a lot of the other weapons around me, as does the untarnished chain connected to its base. Both are cool to the touch. Frosty, even, making me wonder if there’s high magic embedded into it.

  “Looks like a fine choice to me.” Layla arcs an eyebrow. “You almost had him the first time,” she whispers.

  I know what she’s doing—trying to make up for not believing in me. It’ll take more than that to make up for it though.

  “Make your final selection. You have one minute,” the center Dane’s unmistakable voice echoes throughout the barracks, leaving higher volumes of chatter to break out around me.

  Most of the others chose their weapons already. Jurso’s set on a short golden bow that matches his dirty blond hair. It’s a tad smaller than the one he picked for dueling, which I think is a good move, considering he really didn’t wield it too well.

  Rogoshel claims a crimson-painted axe with diamond-like edges. It matches half his braid, and makes his arms look like sculptures. He’s a barbarian of old mythos.

  The others seem pleased with their choices too. Oddly, they’re gathering around Layla and I. It warms my belly to see it. That’s all I really wanted on the way down the spiral steps in the first place. A sense of comradery.

  “Strong energy tethers this roost.” Boeru nods as they assemble. “Protect them well, mortal.”

  Adrenaline lights like a match in my chest. His spirit is like a drug sometimes.

  “Proceed to the barracks end, beyond the racks. Follow the torches.”

  The equipped siblings exchange looks before doing as they’re told. My group lines up in the middle of the pack, wondering what awaits us on the other end of that dungeon wall. There’s a crease in the middle of it.

  Drrnnnn.

  The wall shakes open slowly, blinding me with the scent of fresh bread seeping through the crack. Circular displays reveal themselves on either side, stacked with various flavored rations packaged with thin ribbons and compact sacks dangling on a coat rack on either side.

  “Pack for a thirty-day journey. Be conscious of weight, density, and perishability. You have two minutes.”

  Everyone’s eyes light up in a grand scramble. There’s space enough for everyone to spread out. Even so, some decide to clutter around raspberry flavored gold-locks bread, which I’ve only had once in my life. House Mother brought it after Layla’s particularly nasty lashing, when she earned her facial scar. Guess she felt bad afterward.

  Reliving the memory loosens the disappointment I have for her lack of faith in me. She didn’t have to share that epic rare treat, but she did, and dared anyone else to ask her.

  I grab one of the cloth sacks and start filling my bag with various berry-scented breads. I’m no healer or health-watcher, but I know enough to stay alive. Heart berries have sustenance even though they taste like raw shit. Protein-infused, starch, minerals.

  The Danes are tempting us with the good stuff, but that’s only good for a treat now. They’d perish in five days, easy. As I rush by the crowded stands, I grab one gold-locks and shove it in my mouth. Tastes like heaven. Those bastards even weaved in some cinnamon sugar.

  I don’t have to tell Jurso, Misty, or Renesta how to pack smart. They already know. But everyone else? I almost want to yank Layla by the hair to get her away from honey-dew flavored bread. It’ll get soggy in a day.

  “Dane’s didn’t say anything about not eating now,” I tell Misty with my mouth full. “Best stuff your face when you’re done packing.”

  “Mmph!” she replies by shoving some in her mouth.

  “One minute,” the center Dane bellows.

  Boom!

  A wooden display quakes, and four brutes jump back. Trying to glimpse in between them, I notice Gen pointing angrily away from the good flavors. Guess he knows the brutes are being idiotic food addicts right now, with only seconds left.

  All of his minions scatter, and all of mine line up with full, complete sacks.

  Wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. These aren’t my minions. They’re people I shared my mark with. That’s all.

  “I sense trepidation about the others looking up to you,” Boeru says, his voice bouncing in both ears. “They respect the power I’ve bestowed upon you. Do not shy away.”

  I adjust my jaw listening to the dragon’s words. Losing a fight doesn’t quite make me feel entitled to lead a squadron.

  “Mm. I recall what it was to be inadequate.” Boeru’s monstrous wing flaps in my mind.

  “Hey!”

  “I suppose it cannot be helped. Hear me, mortal. Yes, I granted you health—reversing the stains of Arkitus on your lungs, and fulfilling your physical potential. However, you are the one who tapped into the warring dark to ultimately best the barbarian in battle. Do not forget it.”

  I run my tongue over my teeth.

  “Time has elapsed. Proceed to the end of the aisle.”

  We all have crumbs and smiles on our faces. It can’t be helped. Food does something to replenish the soul. Even I forgot that I’m sharing a room with hardened murderers for a second.

  All of our smiles drop once the next room opens. It’s poorly lit with that same cerulean glow as the arena, a familiar Dane standing at the center with his hands behind his back. I’ve had dreams of death before, with reapers of old mythos judging our life choices. The man in front of us is one and the same. The dark cloak looks finely spun up close. Maybe even royal.

  What kind of creature is hiding under there?

  We enter hesitantly, lining the curved wall, making room for one another. The gentle aroma of flavored rations fades as another section of the damp dungeon seeks to overwhelm our senses. It’s humid, and muggy, and reeks of old water.

  I can’t imagine why we’d be dragged in here next. Low gray-brick ceiling, no seams outside of the door we just walked through.

  Thrum!

  The door whips shut behind us, and magical torches ignite to life all around.

  “You going to tell us campfire stories now, Master Dane?” one of the cocky brutes says before taking a ration out of his sack and stuffing it in his mouth.

  I’m grateful for the idiot, because he just stole the room’s attention and broke the ice. But with a twist of the Dane’s wrist, he lifts the double-sided axe off of the brute’s back and swings it, stopping an inch from his throat.

  The warring dark activates around my forearms, responding to the danger. I wish I knew what to do or what it meant.

  “This is no time for jests, Blaken Ward.” The Dane turns his back on the brute, still holding the axe a steady inch from chopping his head off.

  The crumbs from Blaken’s mouth spill over the edge as he takes shortened breaths, eyeing the blade.

  “For now begins your second life.”