“I need to find someone I can trust before you disappear again,” I say to Boeru the next morning as I sift through servant oaths at my desk. “Or did you already leave?”

  I’m feeling infinitely better since my Shade’s Milk hangover apparently wore off. But mentally? Scorius rattled my brain with his aggressive approach yesterday. I used to think him as my biggest ally in a sea of war-hungry tutors. Now I guess Karloth is my protector.

  A part of me wants to turn in every scent doused in Lacor filth—Scorius, Drydon, the highest among them—but I’m still not sure Miria is the right choice. Mythos paints them as horrible, power-hungry snobs, even in their own texts.

  I do love Elshard though, for all it’s given me.

  “Every moment I linger is one further from Sefene’s scent,” Boeru growls.

  “Ah, so you are still here,” I beam.

  “You’ll never find our sister, foolish half-wing,” Dovesier grumbles under Boeru’s talon.

  “Quiet!” Boeru shouts so loud I have to hold my ears.

  “Batch thirty-one of orphans is expected to show tonight. I’m hoping Relias is among them. Do you recall if his scent is clean?” I ask.

  “The smell of the wicked Danes is nearly impossible to discern when they’re in crowds,” Boeru says.

  “Well if you could stick around until tonight, that would be much appreciated.”

  “Since you asked nicely.” Boeru whips Dovesier tumbling through the air in my mind. “You’ve made a real mess of our bond, mortal. Dovesier’s temper is hot and cold. And he despises you.”

  “All the more power for me to exhume,” I say, pulling sparks straight from Dove’s essence to show Boeru how far I’ve come.

  “Careful, mortal. You do not yet know what you wield.”

  My jaw tightens at that. Thinking of the storm I summoned still makes me shudder. Tyrios’ murderous glare reduced to ash moments before his sword could reach me, Izfael’s quivering hand and horrid scream… they’ll haunt me for a long time, I think.

  I pull up the next oath to distract myself. Hermox Filip—two years of service to Izfael in exchange for fifteen transferable credits and a donated spear from Chayref. Judging by the youth in the man’s face, I expect he’s a first year, like me.

  If Izfael could dole out that many credits to a servant, I’m kind of afraid to see how many credits are now in my possession. I’ll have to take stock of not only that, but the endless amounts of glowing weapons piled up at the foot of my bed.

  So much to think about…

  “Boe. You heard the Head Magus. There was some kind of incident with batch twenty-nine and thirty. And thirty-one has two awakened—”

  Boeru chuffs and turns his back on me.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I put down my quill and shut my eyes so I can better sense him.

  “Hm. Hm. Hm.” Dovesier cackles as he circles overhead in my mind. “My runt brother opened the floodgates for a vicious enemy.”

  My brow furrows. “Boe?”

  “Gracken Tie—a ghoul who will stop at nothing to consume life—used my gate to drink the tempered blood of your brothers and sisters.” A hint of remorse saddens Boe’s voice.

  My eyes widen. “But he latched onto one, according to Foren…”

  “Indeed. It is troubling,” Boeru says. “And exactly what these tutors will want to unleash unto the war-tier. The havoc he will cause for Elshard, however, will be legendary.”

  I bite my lip. “And the seederborn? I’ve read of those—bonds with the grove. And here I wasn’t sure greens existed in the afterlife.”

  “Do not underestimate the power of the grove, mortal. They may be immobile, but their powers branch in unsuspecting ways,” Boe says.

  “So cryptic.” I pull the next oath. Mara Day’s shocks me. She offered her whole tenure at Elshard for a chance to ascend to war-tier beside Izfael. No way he would honor that. She’s a glass servant. She was being strung along.

  Gods, that one will have to be renegotiated.

  I suppose she could ascend with me…

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  My chamber door thumps.

  “Dragonborn! Sorry to disturb you, but Aster is at the front entrance,” a muffled voice comes through.

  “Alright, coming.” I tighten my robes and unlatch the door. As I walk through the layers of my chambers, Layla and Jurso fall in line at my heel.

  “What do you think he wants?” Lay asks.

  “Probably just came to congratulate us.” Jurso fixes his collar.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” I say, noticing the red film activated around the front mahogany door. “Aster?”

  “Yes.”

  The servants insist on holding the handles, so I nod for them to swing open the doors, revealing an annoyed-looking ring leader with a well-known cadet behind him.

  “Adjusting well, I see,” Aster greets. Is that envy in his voice? Or disdain? Can’t tell. “Not bad for someone who reduced our house wealth to glass in an instant.”

  Vigil limps in front, scoffing at Aster’s comment. “This cadet is murderous. Sent from the hells itself.”

  I shake my head. “You were there, Vigil. What would you have done in my place? Accept a knife in the back?”

  “I could’ve healed that. He only needed your blood,” Vigil seethes.

  “You know that’s not true. He meant for me to die,” I recount.

  “Yet here you stand.” He shoulders past me, only for Layla to stomp in his way.

  “Reason for the visit?” I ask Aster.

  “Vigil has items that belong to him in here,” Aster says coolly. “I’ll trace the ownership with my magi, then we will be out of your hair… if you’ll have us.”

  Wow, even the ring leader has to technically request access. This must be difficult for him since, only months ago, he was guiding me to the shittiest quarters in Sivus.

  A small group of cadets march down the hall, and the one leading them with warring dark wafting off his shoulders makes my throat run dry.

  “Gen?” I say. “Who let you into our house?”

  “He has proper visitation,” Aster says.

  “Here to see what all the fuss is about.” He eyes the door frame, then peeks inside.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, motioning to Jurso. “You nearly ended one of our most valuable marked before he could even get started. First impressions matter, brother.”

  The brutes at his back look infinitely more menacing than mine, but those old fear tactics hold no power any longer.

  “Not to mention, you almost killed Layla in the arena. Need I go on?” I hold my ground when Gen and his goons stop beside Aster.

  “All fair game, Haledyn. These are times of war—where only the strongest survive. No need to be sour about it. House Valor reveres our rivalry.”

  “Soon it may fade to the wayside,” I say cryptically. “Keep your eyes open tonight.”

  Everyone on the wrong side of my door side-eyes one another. I’m not sure why I’m hinting at what’s coming tonight with batch thirty-one, but if Foren really wanted it to remain a secret, he would’ve kept an ice ring around my mouth.

  “Ahem. I have treasury deeds to attend to, Haledyn. Do you mind?” Aster says, motioning if he may go in.

  I share a look with Lay, asking her to escort them without saying anything.

  “They are up to something, mortal. You should accompany them.” Boeru twists his long neck to eye them.

  “It’s the lot in front of me that I’m worried about. Aster has done nothing but protect me, even if he is a bit pissy.”

  “Servants. Hmph. I never pegged you as a slaver.” Gen nods to one of the women in robes scurrying by. “Perhaps you took your mythos readings a bit too literally.”

  “No one is here against their will,” I say.

  “The king rises to power, and assumes authority.” Gen’s chest crisscrosses with warring dark. “Perhaps you belong in House Valor beside me after all.”

  “I’m good with balance, thanks,” I say.

  He nods for his brutes to take a walk, which makes Jurso look up at me.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him.

  Gen grunts. “Are you afraid I’ll challenge your precious dragonborn?” He eyes Jurso. “And take him from you forever?”

  “That’s the least of my worries,” Jurso replies. “I just don’t want to sweep up more ash when he’s done with you.”

  I fight not to grimace. It’s a good burn, I’m not doubting that. But is that what I’m becoming? A threat to my peers?

  Gen has nothing to say back as Jurso struts away from me.

  “Vigil has ill intentions,” Gen speaks low. “Surely you sense it.”

  “I trust in Layla—”

  “A barren? She can hardly detect when I have a dark knife to her neck,” Gen sneers.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Did you take this long walk just to warn me of something I already know?” I ask.

  “How’d you do it?” He narrows his eyes at me, cowl swaying in the wind his dark creates. “How’d you surpass your own rank? The magic is too deep, even for me.”

  “It was kill or be killed, Gen. Two steels meant to murder me for trespassing. I just… used my bond to strike back.”

  “When you impaled me back in the arena… I felt it then, too. There was a flash of power that overwhelmed mine, even though it shouldn’t have been the case. I’m stronger, faster, more attuned by miles. Yet, for an instant, I felt a darkness that made even the Storm Lance quaver.”

  “That’s the power of bonding with a dragon,” I say. “There’s nothing common about it.”

  “Hmph. Don’t let your riches get to your head, Haledyn.”

  “Nor you with your elite house.” I hold my ground.

  Gen eyes my quarters, then averts his gaze back to me. “For the record, I believe you did the sanctum a favor. Izfael was only gunning for power. Nothing more.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “It’s different. I will command legions for the realm, lead them into battle as I was meant to. You… I’m not so sure. But him? He would’ve had his army kiss his feet as he bathed in gold. There is no honor in that.”

  “Hm,” I consider his words.

  “Take care of yourself, Haledyn, until the day I challenge you.” He offers his hand.

  Parts of me want to spit in his palm for all the hell he’s caused me up to this point. But my marked all still breathe, and we’re better for his gods-damn challenges. I meet his hand, and our warring dark competes.

  What he doesn’t know is that I have the might of two dragons swirling inside me, so with a quick pulse I send his warring dark spiraling away from his body to hide inside his weapon, where it belongs. I let go with a smirk.

  You can’t hurt me anymore, Lor’fyre.

  I hear footsteps at my back.

  “Two wands and a bliss-enhanced belt,” Layla says to me.

  I nod as Vigil and Aster walk past me.

  “Apologies for the intrusion,” Aster says, giving me his back.

  I sigh, not enjoying the elevated politics Izfael’s death brings.

  As the doors shut and the invaders leave, I beckon Tess. “Find a steel-rank alt-magic user, and have them sweep for any wards Aster may have planted.”

  “Paranoid much?” Misty puckers her lips.

  “I’m with Hale, fuck those high-society brats,” Rogo growls. “They’re always going to try to pull one over on us.”

  “It’s a good move,” Lay says. “Aster tried his best not to linger, but I saw it. His eyes blinked red multiple times. Whether he was inspecting Hale’s wards or planting new ones, we need to know.”

  That’s my girl.

  ***

  Night comes quickly. And as expected, assistants are rummaging around House Sivus to call an emergency meeting at the Sharp Wing in Elshard. Batch thirty-one arrives. And two more awakened with them.

  “Boe. You said Gracken Tie—the ghoul of the afterlife—swallowed two batches whole. Do you have no remorse for opening the gate?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “It’s not like I ate them, mortal,” he sneers. “Is this what you hold me hostage for? To guilt a dragon into oblivion?”

  “Maybe.” I smile.

  “Besides, if Gracken consumed them, they were not worthy warriors.”

  “Sounds like someone’s rationalizing to me.” I fold my arms at the front of my quarters, waiting for everyone inside to get ready. Marked and servants alike. I have to stop thinking of them as that, just as much as they have to stop bowing every chance they get.

  Gen’s wrong about me—I’m not turning into some high-society jerkoff. I won’t.

  “The first of the batch ascends! Everyone, to the sanctum!” a voice comes and goes on the other side of my door.

  “You heard the man!” I clap. “Let’s go, everyone. Rogo’s last? Really? Who would’ve thought a hot shower and some coin for clothes would’ve made him the prissiest of this house?”

  The others laugh.

  Rogo comes out with a pair of fresh boots, his mighty orange-tipped axe, and multicolored braid freshly styled.

  “About time, princess,” Jurso dares, and Rogo bares his teeth at him.

  “All ready?” I peek around to make sure all are here. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  Leaving the lavish quarters, I feel the key’s pull as we break away from the ward. It’s good to have a large crew at my back. I think of Battle Formations class, what it would be like to actually march head-on into battle. The summoned scenarios are terrifying, it’s true. But I imagine being in the fray of war is something else entirely.

  One step closer to you, Kane. One giant gods-damn step.

  The sanctum is full of chatter. Cadets of all years roll in with their most threatening weapons and lavish armor to intimidate the newcomers. It reminds me of my first day all over again. I thought they all hated me for being from the sub-tier, but now I’m starting to realize it’s just a Rite of Ascension. You have to earn your keep here. In the arena, in the air as a rider, as a scribe, a forger. No matter the path, recognition comes for those who want it.

  I gather with my marked and crew, where cadets literally part for me to get front row to the roped-off section. “Dragonborn,” they whisper while patting my back. Layla shrugs them off, as does Rogo, while Jurso cackles, enjoying the royal treatment.

  Once we get to the front, I see it’s true—two sub-tier orphans made it from the wind whip up through the portal.

  Renesta squeezes past Jurso to gain my other ear. “Remember when we cuddled in the coves?” she whispers, nearly activating an echo where I stand.

  “Maybe that was your shade doing it when I wasn’t looking, but I don’t recall,” I flirt back.

  Once the chortling dies down, she turns serious. “It’s been different down there in the barns. Our house mothers and fathers are shamed for marching two whole batches straight to their deaths. Miria worries for the future.”

  “They’ll have us,” I say.

  “To spit into the war machine, yes. I wonder what happens when they win?” she says.

  “Surely your house father knows,” I throw right back.

  “Hm.”

  Head Magus and the house lords line up like they did on our first night, judging harshly those who fly through. It’s like an upside-down laundry shoot spitting orphans instead of clothes. Those gods-damn high-society brats barking and shouting like it’s no big deal. Let’s see them climb an impossible spire.

  “Look for signs of Relias,” I say to Layla, checking the section where he popped up last.

  “What for?”

  “It’ll be good to know if we’re moving in the right direction,” I say.

  “Will do.”

  Another orphan flails as he’s launched high in the air. The cadets roar until the Head Magus holds up his hand. He’s short of patience tonight, because he knows what’s coming—and this lanky woman with a belt full of daggers ain’t it.

  Hints of budding warring dark on the newest ascendants look so harmless now. I’ve seen fires the size of phoenixes, and bridges of black mist. Still, there’s a rawness about them. They just fought to the death to get here. I wonder if they know what happened to the last two batches too. That’d surely add another element of fear.

  Four more come, names announced. Boos and cheers mix to make indiscernible noise, and still no sign of Relias.

  “What are you all antsy for?” I ask Layla.

  “I should be practicing my stances.” She fidgets.

  “You’re as fluid as the warriors who invented them,” I say.

  “I have to be better. It’s my only chance to be useful.”

  I wish she’d stop saying that.

  Whoosh!

  The sconces all flicker as a demon with two faces curls like a bat midair.

  Madam Rayne holds up a staff, creating a wall of enchanted air that the demon smacks into, causing him to claw uselessly until he flips onto his feet at the last second. The sconce flames reorient, and the sanctum goes silent.

  All we hear is the panting of the ghoulborn. Cadets take a step back in terror. One forked tongue hangs out the back of his head like a bad ponytail. Fangs drip with saliva—both sets of them. He’s nothing like Kane’s form in the Shade’s Milk echo. This poor soul has been completely consumed.

  Or so I thought.

  Chatter fills the room when both faces implode to reveal what’s lying beneath—a man with long hair falls onto his backside. Deep age lines make me think he’s as old as the war-tutors, but his body is young like ours. Tears flow down his disturbed face. This man knows torment. Is this what Kane goes through?

  He wipes them away quickly and stands.

  “Petan Elrick. We’ve been expecting you.” Head Magus paces haughtily, shooing him to stand in line with the others from batch thirty-one.

  More orphans blast through the portal, but all eyes remain on the ghoulborn twitching in his own corner. The house lords are already bickering about him. Who will win the trade?

  “Hale.” Lay taps me on the shoulder, then nods to the pillars on the far side of the hall.

  He’s there. Relias. Although every part of me wants to stay and see what this seederborn awakening is all about, I have to respect Boeru’s time. I asked him for a favor, and this is it.

  I push away from the crowd, offering my fist to those asking for a pound, accepting all the pats on the arm and back. My name whispers even now, in the face of new bonds.

  Pushing past all the bodies is easy when they part as soon as they realize who I am, and so I find myself ducking so as not to draw attention away from the ceremony.

  “Nose out, Boe,” I request as I approach the Dane.

  He looms ominously in the shadow of an archway, only his silver diadem glimmering from outside light.

  “Haledyn Winbridge.” Relias retreats deeper into the archway as I approach. “Whispers tell of intensive milestones for our prime awakened.”

  “Who’s your source?” I joke, and he hoots.

  “My, my, who would’ve thought one dragon’s soul would evoke so much potential. Four awakened in one year.”

  “At what cost, though?”

  Relias narrows his eyes at me. “It seems the whispers do not only flow one way. Impressive, Haledyn.”

  “Is it true? Two whole batches of orphans, dead?” I ask.

  “The cracked Seal nearly swallowed a Dane as well. The event was none like we’d ever experienced. Even the oldest of us. Something stirs in the afterlife. Something terrible and beyond our comprehension. Hmph. I’ve already said too much.”

  “He’s clean, mortal,” Boeru chuffs in my ear. “The stench of tampering with realms, of course, but that is every Dane. He has no mixed scents or concealed tidings. This one is true to the realm… for whatever it’s worth.”

  I fight not to react. Boeru no longer seems sold on my ascendance. Does he still doubt our path to Elden? A stray thought hits me—did Scorius try to set us apart? Not just for an antagonistic bond… but to foil Miria’s chances of winning?

  “Master Dane,” I say, feeling more at ease now that Boeru cleared him. “You fought in the war-tier.”

  “At great lengths.” He touches the bandages beneath his cloak. “I bleed still for Miria.”

  “Permission to ask something potentially treasonous,” I say.

  His white-glowing eyes squint. “I’ve been dealing with tempered blood for some years now. It would be considered abnormal to follow your Rite of Ascension without doubt. You’ve been lied to your whole life, after all.”

  I dip my head, looking back at the crowd cheering, then back to the Dane. “How do you know you fight for the right side?”

  “Hm. It is difficult from your perspective, I imagine. My journey started in the great city of Stelfar in tier three, where order and magi reign supreme. Such beauty can only come from intensive practices handed down through the generations. Even when I fell from grace and dove into the mysteries of the warring dark, my foundations were still bright. Then when you fight in the war-tier, that’s when you know for sure who the enemy is. Savages. Lacor may as well be all ghouls for the methods they practice.”

  My brow furrows. It’s hard to see his reasoning. I was marched to a dungeon to die.

  “Listen, Haledyn. We may have been forced into a similar darkness in order to compete. But for those who rise, they get to see the tiers of worth on the way up. Has this sanctum not grown to be your home?”

  He’s right. I do love this sanctum. For all its harshness and its war protocols, I have a chance here to grow powerful and find my brother.

  “Besides. Have you read the endless mythos this sanctum keeps?”

  “Ad nauseam,” I say.

  “Well then, you well know we have no shortage of snobs, but Lacor is a kingdomonia built on lust.”

  “Mm.” I pace opposite him.

  “The beauty of Miria, is you get to stand behind whomever you think most fit to lead once the war is over,” Relias says.

  “Seems more like we are being led to that spot.”

  “You’ve been here for less than half a year, and yet you have changed into something else entirely. That is the power of Miria. You will learn to love its process, and if nothing else, at least respect it.”

  “And what of my brother, Kane? Did he learn that great lesson?”

  Flashes of his angry, ghoul-ridden face and unstoppable power in the dark ocean plague me all over again.

  “Kane is a lieutenant of the most esteemed squadron of the west flank. He is one of few who keep the light alive. One of my proudest awakenings, next to you.”

  Hope fills my body.

  “A word to the wise, Haledyn. Lacor plagues this sanctum as well as Worcrux. We fear infiltration is their next gambit—to cripple us from the inside. Though we cannot detect their whereabouts, we can keep watchful eyes to thwart them.”

  My skin grows cold on the spot. I have so much knowledge of who may be against the sanctum, but I can’t bring myself to turn them in. Not yet.

  “This is not a first year’s concern, however. You must grow strong, and let us veterans do our part. Know that the awakened are the Sept’s pride, even if that may deviate with the Head Magus’ views.”

  “What do you mean, Master Dane?”

  “We have been summoned to investigate late Izfael’s Seal. I have a sneaking suspicion our findings will be used against you if a trial is ever to come to fruition.

  “It is better you hear it from me, so you know you’re not alone. For Miria, Dragonborn.”

  Shit.

  “Hm. Hm. They will discover your tear into the afterlife, foolish child.” Dovesier cackles.

  “Now, let’s get you back to the rite so you don’t miss our newest pride. The seederborn is yet another rare find. Until we meet again.” He nudges me out of the dark archway and back into the open.

  The seederborn comes after minutes of me finding my way back to the front row—a woman no larger than Misty shoots out of the portal and lands with closed eyes. Her breathing is deep and relaxed. Warring dark swirls around her and periodically solidifies into a tree-like covering. How… bizarre.

  I’ve read about them in Izfael’s harbored tomes. Their mythos is frightening, if I’m being honest. That covering can grow to the height of the sanctum and swat riders out of the sky. Seeders are said to be the greatest anti-air defense a kingdomonia can ask for. Is that what this woman will grow up to be?

  Another tool for war…

  As batch thirty-one stands uncomfortably on the cold ground, most of whom thought they’d probably die just minutes before, I can’t help but want to assist them. My quarters has plenty of room. But would that stunt their progress? I don’t know the right answer.

  As we’re guided to the next section of the hall, where the quadrants separated by house symbols are sculpted into the floor, I’m surrounded by hisses and boos from our high-society cadets. It’s just a hazing, I tell myself.

  Foren’s scribe announces each orphan’s name, their proclivities, addiction to spice. It was all a blur on my first day here. Then I focus on the house lords negotiating for the two awakened—neither of which started in House Sivus. Karloth is as quiet as a lamb during these events. He doesn’t bicker, or allow himself to be goaded by Baenar nor Asentres. Not sure if I should be flattered or worried. Is our house in disarray because of my actions? Or is he that much more confident in what he has?

  Time will tell.