Gone were the gravestones that had melted into searing lava upon contact, and the macabre spectacle of corpses erupting from their graves to launch relentless attacks.

  Tee couldn’t help but think that their fourth test was by far the most peculiar, more deranged than any nightmare conjured in her sleep. Whoever orchestrated those trials possessed advanced technology—that much was undeniable. But that one, unlike the others, hadn’t been designed to measure speed or strength. No, that had been psychological warfare. It wasn’t about winning; it was about watching them unravel.

  She halted her frantic search through her belt pouches, exhaling in sharp frustration. Not even a scrap of cloth to press against her burns. Her fingertips hovered, hesitant, above her face. The skin there still radiated heat, every pulse of her heartbeat reverberating as a fresh sting. When she dared to brush her cheekbone, the pain shot like fire down to her jaw. She winced, withdrawing her hand as if scorched anew.

  A dull throb lived in her cheekbones, her forehead, even across the bridge of her nose—remnants of where the flames had licked her. Like her companions, wisps of smoke curled lazily from her hair. The acrid scent of char still clung to her nostrils, heavy and suffocating, and she imagined that no matter how long she washed, it would remain there, haunting her. She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked like death. Their appearances told the same story: five shadows dragged through hellfire, spit back into the world blackened and cracked.

  Even Miko, pristine Miko, looked undone. Her clothes bore ash stains and loose threads where the embers had eaten away at the fabric. Her hair—usually sleek, lustrous, immaculate—fell limp and tangled across her shoulders, streaked gray from soot. Yet, as Tee watched, Miko gathered it all with steady hands, weaving the strands into a neat plait. The gesture was delicate, precise, as though she could will order back into existence one braid at a time. Tee almost envied her for that composure.

  Kie, of course, had his nose buried in the fourth scroll. He hadn’t spared so much as a grunt toward his wounds. He stood with shoulders squared, the fragile parchment unfurled, his eyes devouring the patterns with a hawk’s intensity. Tee narrowed her gaze at the angle he held it. The designs were hidden from her view, and deliberately so. She knew it.

  “All the others were circles,” she muttered, shifting closer, her voice still rasped from smoke. “Always the same—shaded pairs, nothing more. So what’s different about this one?”

  If he heard her, he gave no sign. His lips moved faintly, as though he were sounding the shapes out under his breath, committing every line to memory. His hand twitched once, a small adjustment of grip to block her sight when she leaned too close. Tee rolled her eyes and gave up—for now.

  A few paces away, Saeda lowered herself onto brittle grass, her limbs stiff, shoulders hunched as though the very air weighed her down. She tugged at her boot, hissing sharply as she peeled it free. Beneath, an angry burn crawled up her shin, blistering and raw. Her face didn’t flinch—her pride wouldn’t allow it—but the trembling of her fingers betrayed her. She wrapped the wound with a strip of bandage, pulling it tight until her knuckles blanched. When she jammed the boot back on, she did so with a hiss between clenched teeth, then drew her knees close and rested her chin atop them. Her gaze fell to the ground, distant, her usual sharp retorts muted by exhaustion.

  Tee couldn’t blame her. Saeda was done with that place. Done with trials, with fire, with whatever twisted minds watched from unseen walls. Tee knew that look—the glare of someone who was counting the hours until she could walk away forever.

  The silence stretched. It wasn’t peaceful, not after what they’d endured. It was heavy, like ash settling over their tongues, pressing them quiet. Even the air seemed reluctant to stir. Somewhere in the distance, a low wind sighed through the trees, dragging charred leaves across the dirt.

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  Tee forced herself toward Kie again, breaking the oppressive quiet with muttered complaints about their accumulated points. The words felt hollow, yet Kie entertained them with the faintest quirk of his lip, a rare trace of humor breaking through his usually controlled mask. Their banter was subdued, low, like the exhausted laughter of survivors too tired to acknowledge how close they’d come to collapse.

  It was absurd, she thought. Absurd that they could find humor there, among the burns and the ash. Absurd that she could feel, beneath her fatigue, a flicker of pride. As if the pain itself had become a badge of proof that they hadn’t broken. That maybe, just maybe, they were stronger for it.

  Saeda lifted her head at their faint laughter and shook it once, disbelieving. To her, it must have seemed deranged—that they could joke about points when their bodies still smoked. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps they were mad. Or perhaps madness was the only way to endure.

  “I figured it out.”

  The voice snapped through the silence like a whip.

  Zod.

  He stood a few steps away, pacing as though unable to anchor his restless energy. His hands gestured wildly, sketching invisible diagrams in the air. His eyes darted from one of them to the next, pupils dilated, fervor radiating off him like heat.

  “Magic,” he announced, the word rolling from his tongue with the pride of revelation. “That’s how these things on these tests are possible.”

  All five heads turned toward him. Tee felt the sting in her temples instantly, the familiar ache of Zod’s voice drilling through her skull.

  Kie spoke before she could unleash her own retort. “Magic doesn’t exist.” His tone was sharp, clipped, his irritation unmistakable.

  Zod’s mouth stretched into a smile that bordered on manic. “What you mean is—it’s extinct. Magic became extinct because those who possessed it, the Vergants, nearly destroyed the world. They triggered the Second Apocalypse. They were hunted down, eradicated, erased. That’s why it’s taboo even to mention them.”

  Tee closed her eyes, massaging her forehead with ash-stained fingers. Of course. Of course it was that part of the day already—the Zod Theorizing Hour. Every word he spoke pressed harder against her temples, a constant pounding that made her wish she’d been left behind with the corpses.

  “I’ve done the research,” Zod continued, pacing in a tighter circle now, gesturing with both hands as though lecturing an unseen classroom. “Not just the public archives. The restricted databases too. The Vergants weren’t myths—they were real. They wielded power beyond imagination. But their arrogance brought ruin. Their art was outlawed. Their history buried. Magic didn’t disappear—it was stolen from us.”

  The words lingered like smoke, settling into the air around them. Tee, against her will, noticed the subtle shift in her teammates. Saeda’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists around her knees. Miko’s braiding slowed, her fingers pausing mid-loop. Even Kie, unshakable Kie, lowered the scroll half an inch, his eyes narrowing as though considering the possibility in spite of himself.

  “All wiped out, huh?” Saeda muttered, her voice low, threaded with a scorn that didn’t mask the flicker of curiosity beneath.

  Kie’s eyes flicked toward her, then back to the scroll. He let the silence stretch before he spoke, his tone quieter than usual. “No one knows for sure where Severin came from. There are theories. Speculation. But proof? No. Not about his origins. Not about his end.”

  “Yes,” Tee added, seizing on the thought to drag the conversation somewhere less unbearable. “Severin could’ve been from outer space, like the meteorite that started Apocalypse Prime. He could’ve been something alien entirely.”

  But Zod shook his head, his grin returning, sharper now. “Or—what if that’s the lie? What if Severin wasn’t from space at all? What if Severin was a Vergant? Just like Elder Caledor once hinted?”

  Tee’s stomach dropped, though she masked it with a scoff. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” she asked, arching a brow, her tone slicing with practiced derision.

  Before the tension could snap, another voice cut through—unexpected, sharp.

  “Hey, Zod,” Miko said, her braid now tied off neatly, her head tilting ever so slightly. “Is that why dying your entire head of hair isn’t a thing anymore? Some kind of Vergant stigma?”

  The question hung in the air, strange, out of place, pulling all eyes toward her.