It’s been months of wrangling three dragons in search for Sefene. Like reining wild hounds in the sub-tier, they all follow their own scents, to no avail. Since the bondings, I’ve been wondering about their leashes and testing them. What does it mean to be bonded? Who holds control? Turns out I can force them to my side just by willing it—all except Boeru, that is. I’ve done it before, just like when I consumed Dovesier’s lightning, but that’s ultimately not the kind of dragon spirit tamer I want to be.

  It’s supposed to be up to me to guide them, but without Boe at my side, it’s all just noise.

  “I have her scent over the onyx mountain!” Kelfore roars and beats his wings without a second thought.

  “Boe had circled it for an entire month,” I internally call back. “Every nook and cranny has been sniffed out, Kel. The task will only make you as grumpy as the Torn Wing!”

  He scoffs at me and does what he pleases.

  “It’s worth a second look if it means no more idling in the darkness, mortal,” Risorgus chuffs over my shoulder, then kicks off in the opposite direction. “I’ll take the white spire. Our puritan sister always loved defying the ways of our roost. High and mighty wench.”

  I’ve gotten glimpses of them going their separate ways in the red dawn, only to return empty-handed. Dovesier cackles at their misfortune, waiting with a snapping maw for his brother Boe to return. The lightning wielder is a real dick. Sometimes when he goes too far, I tighten my fist—forcing his neck to curl and muscles to tighten—just to remind him who’s in control.

  Nightly, every time the three dragons rendezvous after failed attempts, I’ve taken turns harnessing their powers. Each one begs a different sensation to activate. Dovesier is all anger and destruction. Kelfore’s altering manifestations require imagination. I have to believe I’m holding a hammer, and flow the warring dark through one arm to make it so. The alterations only work on enchanted steel, I’ve found. Attempting to shift other weaponry resulted in cracked hilts and warped blades. I tossed them to the forger’s pile to avoid any questions from my marked.

  Last week I discovered Dove’s lightning pairs strikingly well with Kelfore’s weapon manifestations. Shoving that kind of energy into the outer edges of my chained dagger makes me feel mightier than Broggen could ever be. But again… I can’t reveal this power. Otherwise I risk a tutor finding me out, or worse—more cadet death.

  Then there’s Risorgus’ ice gales. Turning a cone of air to heavy winds is oddly satisfying. All I have to do is think of death to activate it. Not the deed of killing, per se, but the morbidity of what comes after. Izfael’s limp corpse. The remains of a nasty challenge in the arena. The tales of mythos. It all works to summon Risorgus’ frigidness. I’m also realizing that marinating in those thoughts takes a dark toll. The nights I use it become difficult to sleep. So what else is there to do but research mythos?

  Pairing warring dark with elemental high magic has warping effects. The power feels more potent than other cadets’ wielding similar elements.

  All of this power is a last resort, though.

  Now here I am in Battle Riders class with Tutor Mathis, when the entire first-year cadet body is summoned to the Big Wing. Layla and I exchange a look of dismay. What happened now? Another ten deaths from overzealous House Valor? Or maybe an intra-house backstabbing. Ever since the Call to Arms announcement, it seems like the cadets have never been happier to eat one another—all in hopes to make a name for themselves.

  My marked are no exception. We’ve been challenging and hustling to break glass rank, gathering all the prerequisites to ascend at the Call to Arms event. There’s still a month and change to go. We’ll see.

  “What now, Hale?” Lay hops off her gryphon and nudges me.

  “Not sure, but Mathis looks jittery. Must be something big.” I nod toward him whistling and pointing to the ground, demanding the rest of the cadets land.

  “I repeat! To the Big Wing auditorium. Single file! Chain your mounts and move.” Mathis claps.

  “Another batch maybe?” Lay asks.

  “Too late in the year, I think. Most likely another incident.”

  “And here I thought your trial would be the craziest thing I’d see all year.”

  “Yeah. Opened the flood gates with that one, didn’t I?”

  “No remorse for defending yourself. Head up, guide.” She smacks my shoulder.

  Once we’re all gathered, we trek over the grass, clasping our capes over our cuirasses for extra warmth. I wouldn’t mind a fiery exhale from Boeru right about now.

  I’ve been brandishing his brothers in my mind’s eye in hopes to call him back. Sefene is a lost cause. We come up empty-handed after every attempt.

  “Boe, you made a vow to stick by my side. We can chase Sefene together. We can find Elden together,” I call to him. “It’s time to calm this Shade’s Milk storm Scorius ignited. It’s a false cause!”

  We step onto the stone pathway leading toward the sanctum, where open archways overhead do little to block the winds. The sculpted warrior jutting out over the door always earns a glance, until the alt-magic works to bellow open the double doors, splashing a furnace of heat that makes us all groan with relief.

  Curchrt.

  We’re closed in, shaking off the last chills of winter. The sound of our own footsteps echoes around the wide halls as we make turns toward the auditorium. Commotion breathes to life in the distance. We’re late to the party.

  “Too much chatter for a death roll,” I say.

  “Perhaps a big challenge,” Lay replies.

  “We’ve heard the horn from outside before. Unless it froze over.”

  Lay cackles. “Don’t be such a wuss. It’s not that cold out.”

  We enter the vast arena to an unruly sight—the four house lords sit in raised, Elden-constructed thrones in the center arena, each facing a different section of the crowd. Sand whips around underfoot for effect, and almost every cadet in the stands is whispering to one another guessing what the hell is going on.

  Mathis leads us to our seats. We greet the others closest to us as I search for my other marked. Jurso is with his bliss prominence class seated across the way. Rogo and Renesta should be in shadow defense. And Misty should be in weapons forging with Jenny.

  Boom!

  The auditorium doors shut.

  “You have all grown too comfortable.” Baenar slams the butt of his scythe to the floor, commanding his throne to twist on its crackling branches so he can address the entirety of the crowd. “Building a base within your house is not meant for sound sleep!”

  Mistress Asentres of Rhylock slaps the arms of her throne. “Now you will suffer what it means to be upended at a moment’s notice… by the hands of your fellow cadets!”

  “You have just won a grand battle.” Lordess Rayne of Kavoh crosses one leg over the other. “And now is the time to pillage.”

  “Gather into your battle rank squads and choose a house other than your own to ransack,” Karloth says. “We do hope you prepared well for invaders and safeguarded your belongings… because there will be no penalty for theft.”

  My blood runs cold. All of the treasure we inherited from Izfael—our plans for distribution—is swept from under us.

  Lay and I exchange a glance.

  “The hell is the point of governance if they’re just going to strike through the laws anyway?” Lay punches the ledge.

  I grit my teeth. “To show the brittleness of society during wartime. The mid-tiers retain order, but what if Lacor actually pierces the veil? Our laws would be thrown to the wind too.”

  “Shit!” Lay punches again. “I wanted that reforius armor!”

  “Relax. All of the items are in my secret chamber. Outsiders shouldn’t—” I stop myself.

  “What?” Lay furrows her brow.

  “Broggen knows. And anyone else Drydon may have told about it,” I realize.

  “Servants will be available for capture,” Baenar laughs. “And loot will be fair game.”

  I curse at the reiteration, having half a mind to stay behind just to defend our keep.

  “If there is any harm done to non-participants—servants, staff, and the like—the offenders will be tried and executed, if found guilty.” Baenar smiles.

  “Hale, I don’t like that look,” Lay says.

  “We don’t know the ramifications of not participating.”

  “I see some of you are hesitant,” Lordess Rayne says leisurely, as if reading my mind. “Let me assure you, refusing to partake in the pillage will earn you fifty demerits and effectively send most of you back to your very first day.”

  “Now we do.” Lay gestures to the arena.

  “It’s not just us who have an incentive to sit back.” I narrow my eyes. “War is messy. We need to make allies to defend one another’s stuff. Quickly.”

  “Or we can make a run for Valor and steal all of Gen’s weapons,” Lay says. “He’ll be forced to train with new enchanted steel, which would give us an advantage in Call to Arms.”

  It’s a good thought. A tempting one.

  “If we don’t manage to strike a deal, that’s exactly what we’ll do.” I rub my chin, looking to the floor. “By playing defense, we’ll essentially be spilling blood against our house lords’ wishes.”

  “There will be blood anyway, Hale. Just look around.”

  It’s true. The cadets are more riled than I’ve ever seen them. A chance for a fresh start is appealing to half of the first years, after all. That means competition for the prized loot will be violent.

  “Today the other three houses are your enemy,” Karloth says. “They murdered your comrades in battle, and you, in turn, defeated them. Remember that as you sift through their treasure. Second through fifth years will be off sanctum for the event, and their items will be magically guarded.”

  The cadets roar like they’ve been given spice.

  “This is getting out of hand,” I say.

  “As intended, I think.” Lay pulls out her shield.

  “Okay, you gather the others and meet at the south entrance. We’ll be closest to Valor and Kavoh from that vantage point, and furthest from Sivus. I’ll try to make amends with Fiora—see if I can strike up a deal.”

  “That changeling might play us, Hale.”

  “What choice do we have, gossip queen? I’m all ears.”

  Fists pump around me. The smell of burnt hair tells me some of the cadets at my back just came from Harsh Conditions class. It’s all the more demoralizing.

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  “Hm. I’d say go with the seederborn. Misunderstood, if you ask me, and in dire need of friends.”

  I nod. “She can root in front of our door and act as additional defense. But I’m not sure she’s won anything worth defending?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Lay raises her eyebrows.

  “Let the pillage begin!”

  “Okay, Lay, break!” I climb over the stands as I make a rush for the seederborn trying to exit her row. A thick arm blocks my path, but I duck it and elbow the brute’s side for good measure. Hearing “dragonborn” at my back doesn’t stop me.

  I hop onto Mistress Asantres’ section, feeling her eyes on me as I scramble to Mal, the seederborn, with hair down to her legs and skin fairer than snow. I’m forced to shoulder past high-society mages with ridiculous mustaches and worse attitudes. I feel a hand on my shoulder, which I command Dove to spark. The response causes curses at my back, but I’m already gone with eyes on the prize.

  The poor woman is being knocked from every angle. She holds her shoulder as she’s nearly bowled over, and just as I reach her row… only five feet away… a dark figure drops in front of me. It arises with two distorted faces—one on the back of his head. The one facing me has a black spiral for an eye and a drooping set of purple lips on one side.

  Elrick, the ghoulborn of batch thirty-one.

  “You seem to have a curious destination.”

  “Am I talking to Elrick or Gracken Tie?” I ask.

  “We are one and the same.” He draws a dagger dripping with liquid warring dark.

  “I’m not here to fight you… or harm her,” I say, looking around at the madhouse of cadets rushing through the exit. “I’m just seeing if we can come to an arrangement.”

  Elrick peers over his shoulder to Mal, who steps up behind him.

  “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

  “It didn’t start out that way.” Mal’s silvery voice somehow pierces the crowd. “But this sanctum can be cruel. And us bonded needed to stick together.”

  “Wish Gen saw it that way,” I say.

  Elrick cackles into a snarl. “That riderborn will eat the sharp end of my dagger before my time here is up.”

  “Yeah, I figured you’d feel that way after the challenge a month ago,” I say.

  “Had no choice but to fight a Valor prodigy.”

  I glance again at the exit.

  “What do you want from us?” Mal asks.

  “Protection in House Sivus. Izfael’s quarters on the far end of the western most cadet quadrant. There’ll be all sorts of personalities trying to get in. In exchange, I’ll protect yours.”

  Elrick folds his arms, laughing. His long, ghoulish tongue slithers out to lick the dripping dark liquid at the edge of his blade. “We’d be defending a cove of treasure, while you have to protect one measly sword I won. Mal doesn’t have much other than what she earned from forging class. No deal.”

  “Alright.” I go to leave in a frantic search for someone else of value.

  “Hey,” Elrick calls.

  “Hm?” I turn.

  “There might be something worth our protection,” he says.

  “Not really the time for guessing games.”

  “I want Gen’s harpoon. The one he won that day he challenged me. Steal it, and we’ll do our part. You cool with that, Mal?”

  “You owe me a weapon, then,” Mal tells Elrick.

  “’Course.” Elrick turns to me. “Well?”

  “Deal.”

  ***

  Charging into House Valor alongside a thousand cadets is a surreal feeling. Already mages are hurling fire, ice, and ichor at the mighty crown insignia centered on the building. The ground shakes at my feet from brutes sending shockwaves through the manicured pathways and upending months of servant work.

  I don’t like it one bit.

  Even if it’s in the spirit of the pillage, we shouldn’t be ransacking anything.

  “One rule! Don’t hurt the servants!” a brute ahead of me shouts. “Everything else? Burn it to the ground!”

  I’ve never seen high society mesh with sub-tier so well before. They cheer alongside one another as if they actually spilled blood on the battlefield.

  “Do you think Gen will have defenders?” Jurso asks.

  “He’s a strategic mind. I’m sure he planned something,” I say.

  “The ghoulborn and seeder are both runts,” Rogo snarls. “How the hell are they going to protect our quarters?”

  “You’ve seen them in the arena. Mal alone can plant herself as an immovable tree. And Elrick is chaos incarnate,” Lay says. “Put the two together? We’ll have a bloody mess at our doorstep.”

  “Wish we could just defend our own gods-damn base,” Misty hisses.

  “Think of this as an opportunity to see how another house operates,” I say as we approach. “It’s not like Baenar is welcoming us over every day.”

  As we step into the main hall, pyramids of obsidian rock are bashed and shattered, waterfalls trickling from the top spray like river rapids. There’s a heaviness to the space that I’ve felt before… shades watching us from all around.

  One cadet pulls the crown insignia from the top of the center wall and brandishes it like a barbarian.

  How quickly we can devolve into madness.

  “Let’s be systematic about this,” I say. “Elrick suggested Gen’s quarters is on the rear east wing, in a similar position as our own. I’ve only been in auditoriums in House Valor. Any of you know where the quarters are?”

  Lay raises her hand, and for some reason, I’m taken aback.

  “I’ll lead. This way.”

  The next corridor is full of cadets on the walls, pulling down sacred armor that’s clearly for show.

  “You going for souvenirs or loot, softy?” Rogo laughs at a mage on his way through.

  The smell of rich-burning wood is soiled by the dust of displaced sculptures. Hallways grow foggy and the ground constantly shakes from brutish quakes in other rooms. The muffled laughter from beyond the walls must mean another overthrown priceless fixture. I wonder if all the houses are being treated like this, or if Valor garners a special kind of hate. In hindsight, alt-magic traps would’ve been useful. Sure, we have security, but an actual deterrent like a triggered red-magi prison would’ve been nice.

  Narrowing my eyes, I realize Gen might’ve thought of this already, and his traps would be twice as lethal as mine.

  We pass an untapped room of shimmering weaponry, where high-society cadets practically salivate to get through. They punch and cast at an invisible barrier to no avail, and I swear I hear a shade laugh from above me.

  “So many watchers.” Renesta cocks her head, pinpointing what I can’t see.

  “C’mon,” Lay eggs us.

  As we sprint to the next corridor with pristine black-marble walls and golden molding of swirly design, the noise rebounding from the next turn becomes overwhelming. It’s as if half the sanctum body is stuffed in the next hall.

  Lay slows down to a tentative walk and draws her shield, begging me to pull my dagger. When we turn the corner, all is lost.

  Hundreds of cadets try to shove past stationary brutes to enter into each individual quarters. But the brutes are top notch, high society. The House Valor cadets must’ve known this was coming… just like Broggen’s house father used to bend the rules for him.

  “Cheating bastards.” Jurso punches the wall. “Now what?”

  I turn to Misty. “How’s that wind whip coming?”

  “Shoddy.” She digs the points of her blades into the floor and wipes her hands, surrendering to the hopeless turmoil in front of us.

  I realize that the brutes are backed by mage barriers. The flashing amber lights after every angry cadet’s attack hints that maybe the spells won’t hold. Doesn’t matter though. Time is running out. The house lords could sound the horn at any second, and we’d come up empty-handed. Just my luck Head Magus would likely designate us as Elrick’s servants for the breached deal.

  Can’t have that.

  “Misty. It’s do or die. Manifest the whip.”

  “Hale…”

  “Think back to the Sept dungeon, how easily Relias manhandled us without lifting a finger. We only need a fraction of that strength to get through this,” I say.

  “It’s not stable. I have more bruises from that than I do skirmishes,” Misty says.

  “Where’s that warrior spirit?” I beat my chest. “You been hanging out with softy bliss over there?”

  “Ohh!” Rogo laughs heartily, and Jurso rolls his eyes.

  My gaze doesn’t waver. I’m challenging the most zealous of my marked.

  Her expression changes. The fire in her comes out.

  “Alright, Dragonborn, you want it? I’m freakin’ doing it.” She shoves Rogo and Lay aside, then gives Jurso a kiss on the cheek. “Move over, bitches.” She crashes her blades together, generating wind from her calves and cycling them around her torso. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  “Whoosh!” Misty shouts as she spins and swipes a wind whip that bounces back and forth between the walls, high over the cadets’ heads.

  “We’ll black out before we reach the other side. No offense, hun.” Jurso grimaces.

  “I’m not going first.” Rogo folds his arms.

  Without saying a word, I step to the front of the crowd, thinking of the riches we’ve inherited and the promises made.

  “Hale?” Lay says.

  “In war, we’re going to need allies, and we’re going to have to keep our word.” I look ahead to the screaming crowd, then leap into the corner of the whip.

  I’m immediately pulled with such force, I wonder if she was the one who conjured the whip up to the sanctum. I shoulder hard against the first wall before I’m pulled violently to the second. My warring dark activates, giving me that sensation of slow-moving time, giving me a chance to react.

  I flip to push off the next wall with my feet, and do the same again, until I’m far enough past the crowd to break out of the whip and land with a somersault.

  There’s no way to see or hear my friends, but I can only hope leading by example will kickstart their courage. My head is swimming from being jostled though.

  Shhew!

  Misty flips down from the whip, landing upright and taking a few steps to slow herself. “Hey!”

  I grab her shoulders to reorient her. “Good job!”

  “Yeah! Go me!”

  My eyes widen when I see Layla barreling side to side. “Ahk!” I grab Misty and cradle her to one side, making way for Lay’s slamming boots. She catches herself before crashing into the wall.

  “Ugh. Dislike.”

  Jurso flips off, light on his feet. “You made your guard a cave woman of old mythos. Good job, Hale.”

  Renesta shadow snaps leisurely past the crowd, picking dirt out of her nails as she saunters forward.

  “Of course.” Jurso pretends to flip his hair, mimicking the dark princess.

  “Ahh!” Rogo smashes hard between walls before the wind whip dissipates entirely. He gets up holding his head, only inches away from the cadet farthest from the door everyone’s trying to enter. “Shoddy is an understatement, you little shit.” He lunges for Misty, who playfully slaps him.

  “I did it though, bitch.”

  “Hardly.” Rogo massages his temples.

  “C’mon, Gen’s chamber has to be down the next hall.” Lay leads the way.

  “Yeah but, why isn’t anyone going this way?” I wonder aloud.

  As soon as we make the turn, I see it—a faint sheen distorting the concrete door up ahead.

  “It’s trapped. Back off,” I warn Lay. We all scan it from top to bottom.

  “Bliss.” Jurso touches it. “Iron rank or higher.”

  “That all but confirms it.” Renesta puts her hands on her hips. “Valor cadets knew.”

  “Isn’t that against Head Magus’ orders? It was the same way for the first challenge.” Lay slaps the barrier with her shield.

  “Renesta, can you snap past that?” I ask.

  “Of course.” She sends her shade promptly to the other side, staring at me before she snaps.

  I grab her wrist. “Don’t. We have no idea what’s beyond that—”

  “You said it yourself. They could blow the horn at any second.” Ren snaps away.

  Fssht!

  She’s on the other side of the see-through barrier in a flash, winking at me before turning for the door I can only assume is Gen’s quarters.

  Suddenly, the barrier becomes cold to the touch, and Renesta’s movements slow to a complete stop.

  “Ren, snap back! Now!” I yell.

  It’s too late.

  She’s stuck in place, shadow and all.

  “Oh shit.” Jurso punches the barrier. “That’s high-level magi, Hale. Maybe even diamond rank. Look at the walls—they’re already crystalized.”

  “Head Magus,” I seethe. “He coated House Valor to protect it.”

  “How the hell do you know that? It could be any of the tutors,” Rogo growls.

  I can’t tell them Kelfore analyzed the signature. “A strong hunch.” I turn to Lay. “Quick. Sage stance.”

  She shakes her head. “The magic is stationary. Sage only works on bliss streams. I need moon stance. Step aside.”

  “Hang on, Ren!” Misty calls.

  My heart falls into my stomach. There’s no way Layla can break through that many ranks.

  Boom!

  She stomps wide with her shield planted firmly in front of her, making the entire barrier blink.

  “It’s not enough,” Rogo growls.

  “Hale.” Jurso points.

  Renesta’s frozen body starts to vibrate, draining whatever blood is left from my face.

  “Layla! Again.”

  Boom!

  A hairline crack strips down the barrier like brittle ice, only to reform completely. The reverse magic is taking a lot out of Lay… I can see it. But if we don’t do something, Ren’s going to die.

  Head Magus always promised he’d have the last laugh. But not like this…

  “Dove, Riso, Kel… do something!” I call to my dragons, but deep down I already know… bliss and ice aren’t elements they can counteract. Their somber huffing tells the truth of it.

  This can’t be happening. I punch the barrier.

  Boom!

  Layla shouts as she performs moon stance again, fighting the destructive force of a high-rank spell. She shouts while holding the reverse magic—this time the hairline crack branching all the way down to the floor.

  “Rrrruh!” She falls to her knees, and the crack stays.

  I shoulder it, filtering warring dark into it to try and pry it open. Even if I made it in, what can I do?

  The dragons can withstand the cold at least. They’d be able to rescue her—

  “Step aside,” Rogo says, biting down on a spice pill. “In class, they put us against many mages because they’re a brute’s weakness. But sometimes, when there’s a crack in their spells… Prominent showed us a way to exploit them. They call them…” he raises his axe high overhead. “Magic breakers!” He slams the axe down and the split barrier dissipates from the seams.

  “The hell?” Lay is in shock.

  “It’s not anti-magi like you. Trust me, it’s the first thing I asked.” Rogo shrugs one shoulder as he steps through. “It’s just straight-up brute force.”

  “He may be a jerkoff,” Jurso says, “but he’s a badass jerkoff.”

  “Oh shit!” Misty covers her face as diamond-rank gales draw us in.

  I ignite the warring dark to cover my skin, but the pressure is too powerful beyond my understanding. Lay performs an anti-mage stance for ice but freezes mid-motion. Misty is stuck with her arms over her face. Jurso tries to keep bliss warmth on his chest but is immediately frozen over. We’ve unleashed Head Magus’ icy hell.

  Rogo, with all his brute strength stomping to rescue Ren… freezes last before me.

  The winds are death.

  Kelfore’s sense is right—Head Magus meant to kill whoever got this far.

  I feel my blood slowing, my veins constricting, the blackness shrinking my vision to nothingness. I’ve experienced this before. Though it’s slower and less jarring than last time, it’s the same. Death. The fading pulse of my heartbeat drumming through my ears reminds me of inevitability. Watching my friends all stopping cold beside me leaves no room for question.

  There’s no time for remorse or fear in these last moments.

  Only desperation. Clinging onto the last morsels of life, internalizing what could have been.

  There’s something more harrowing about this second death… because now, there’s lost potential. Nonetheless, I’m proud—proud to—

  My hand claws in front of me, encased in ice. My thoughts slow to a stop…

  “I’ve abandoned you long enough, mortal.”

  Fssshh!

  Fire. Blindingly blue fire pulses out of me like a storm. Ice melts instantly, undermining ranks and thawing my marked back to life.

  Boeru forms majestically in front of Gen’s door. “I have searched high and low for someone dear to me… to no avail. And in doing so, made a fool of myself.” He swoops his massive wing, splashing Foren’s residue over the wall. “I have taken a sacred oath, and will return to your bond if you’ll have me, mortal.”

  I smile. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

  ***

  Returning to the sanctum with Gen’s legendary harpoon in hand, I know I’ve just created an enemy for life. Some friends too, though. Mal and Elrick smile wide as they nod in my direction, all but confirming my treasure remains intact in my quarters.

  Thank the gods. A favorable outcome after some horrid near-death experiences.

  House Valor is corrupt with power. Head Magus wants them to ascend when the war is over. He must have close ties with Baenar.

  So much still to uncover.

  Gen scowls at me as I walk past him and his brutes. I’ve never seen him so inwardly furious.

  Well, serves him right for messing with us on the way up to the sanctum. I’m sick of being played. I’ll take them all on with my roost of dragons. It was a rough reunion with the spirit brothers—bickering, snarling, and whatnot—but dragons have their own way of settling their rivalries, for which I’m thankful. Now with Boeru reunited at my side?

  No one will stop us.