For a long while, Kon wandered in peace. With his fae scouting the corridors ahead and Ora marching proudly behind him, he finally had the chance to breathe. No terrifying challenges, no horrible lessons. Just a quiet journey with the thoughts in his head.

He found himself comforted by the giantess’s heavy footsteps, no matter how much distance was between them. Though Ora wasn’t technically following him, she did follow his tracks in the snow. That counted enough as a victory to lighten the burden of his steps. Even when cold, sore, and tired, Kon actually felt hopeful. Like if he could succeed in uniting the young Seers of Westwind, he could someday unite his family too. Ora accepting the cloak and his guidance felt like a big step in the right direction. With time, effort, and a ton of apologies, he was certain he could earn the same trust from Jrana.

I love you so much, he thought, dabbing tears from his eyes with the frosted cuffs of his uniform. Wherever you are, I hope you know I haven’t given up on us. You, me, and Kinjra... we’ll be together again. A happy family.

Kon had to believe. If he didn’t, he would surely lose the last of his strength.

And so he wandered, wondering about his wife, daughter, best friend, and flock. In the end, Jrana had not followed through on her threat of taking Kinjra away, which meant she was holding on to hope too. So long as they continued traveling with the Pale Hawks, he was certain Gul, Cres, and the others would help to keep that hope alive. Kon could not fail them.

Our world isn’t over, he told himself, buoying his advance with forced confidence. Even with a war on the horizon, we will create happy memories again.

Kon refused to let his sadness consume him, thinking instead about the best days of his life. Rin and him playing keepaway until the sun went down, and Kir singing her energetic boys lullabies until they fell asleep. Gul and him competing for the attention of his mother, teacher, and classmates, then later splitting off on their own to travel and bring music to the world. The first time hearing Jrana sing at a concert in the Wallowing Shores, and years after that chance meeting, hearing the first breaths of their baby girl. More than a decade of raising their daughter together, sharing countless memories of love, joy, understanding, and acceptance, their relationship unbreakable in spite of the many challenges they faced.

‘Hatred doesn’t create heroes,’ he found himself remembering; a quote from A Heavenly Purpose, the Fated King’s manifesto and biography. ‘Only happiness can bring out the best out of humanity. Hatred simply turns us into the very things we hate.’ Kon couldn’t agree more. Happiness was the only cause worth fighting for.

Unfortunately, the nature of happiness was its ephemerality. Coming and going like gusts of wind, or ebbing and flowing like waves against a beach. Up and down like a chest taking a breath, he thought, turning a corner and discovering a hulking monstrosity of fur slumped over and whimpering. The poor beast must have manifested after his fae already passed. Come back here, he told her. As quickly as you can.

Kon approached the suffering creature — a minnoth, he realized — recognizing it from Kinjra’s 7th Nameday, when Jrana and him had taken her to a menagerie in one of the roosts that bordered the Frigid Wing. Their daughter had wanted them to buy a picture of her riding on the back of the fattened beast, only for Jrana to swiftly drag them out, informing them in detail how the minnoth had been stolen from its home by evil men. Wingfolk treated the creatures like they were sacred, gently raising them as pets and herd animals, while heartless entrepreneurs hunted and captured them, harvesting their ivory tusks, shaggy fur, and abundant meat, occasionally snatching and domesticating them to march in parades. Just thinking about it made Kon feel sick.

This poor minnoth had definitely been attacked by evil men. Its legs were hobbled to keep it from walking, the fur bloody and jutting with shattered bone, and its prehensile trunk was bludgeoned and stomped until it was flat and limp, barely able to drink from the melted snow. The spiraling tusks that should have adorned its face were sawn off, and its mouth gaped open in hunger, its already large underside bloating from starvation. Glazed and delirious, its pupils honed in on him, visibly vibrating as they failed to focus.

Kon couldn’t help himself. He turned away and retched.

“Move,” grunted Ora. While taking in the scene and losing his breakfast, the giantess had managed to sneak up on him. He obeyed quickly, spitting the bits of food from his mouth, then washing it out with fresh snow.

Ora didn’t even look at him, just walked by and kneeled in front of the starving minnoth, one arm hugging its stomach, the other hand stroking the length of its face. “Shh,” she whispered harmonically, her voice uncharacteristically soothing. “It’s okay, girl. Everything is going to be okay.”

Kon swallowed, uncertain where to look.

“I bet you’re hungry,” Ora cooed, patting the minnoth’s side. “Just give me one moment. I have a treat.”

Rising, she turned and stepped toward Kon, casting him in her shadow. Her gaze barely grazed past him, as if purposely ignoring his presence. She plucked her pink glob of a fae off her shoulder, held him in the palm of one hand, then probed the tongue-like flesh, reaching in and retrieving a sourpear pie, still uneaten and steaming. Without a word, the fist-sized fae slid up her arm while she held out both hands — one proffering the fruit-filled pastry, the other empty and reaching for his spear.

Though he would have preferred her to have asked for help, Kon nodded, trading the items and greeting his fae. The glittering orb met him above the minnoth’s head, where he crouched down and fed the strangely-warm pie into her mouth. Together, he and his fae hummed a soft lullaby into the minnoth’s ears, easing her pain as she chewed slowly, her breaths finally relaxing as she relished the taste.

Ora knelt down beside him, one arm patting the minnoth’s stomach while her other hand clutched the spear behind her back. Kon lowered his voice and slowed the tempo of his mother’s lullaby, staring into the minnoth’s eyes as they gently fluttered to sleep. “Everything is going to be okay,” he whispered, softly petting its ears. “Rest well, sweet beast.”

Ora slipped the weapon into the minnoth's chest like it was butter. It only took a moment. Instant and painless, the hulking creature sagged in death.

Kon turned and scrambled to his feet. His stomach roiled, but there was nothing left inside for it to loose, leaving him bent over and gagging. Ora remained kneeling, still petting the corpse’s shaggy fur until it dissipated into mist. Even then, the giantess didn’t rise to her feet.

Upon composing himself, Kon spun. “Are you okay?”

Ora grunted, her fists clenching where they fell in the snow, the ruby spear shining brightly. “What do you think?” she growled angrily.

Sighing, he began to walk away.

“Wait.”

Kon waited, his fae floating beside him, humming and warming his face.

Ora pushed herself upright, clearing her throat with a deep rumble. “Your spear,” she muttered. Kon looked and took it, bowing gratefully while he basked in the ruby’s pleasant glow.

The giantess didn’t seem to appreciate the gesture, drawing the hood of her cloak and pushing her way past him, leaving him to follow in her footprints. For minutes, they managed to walk together in silence. Ora didn’t turn, grunt, or growl a word to stop him, even when she paused at a y-shaped intersection.

“That leads to a dead-end,” he broached, prompting the giantess to halt at the rightmost corridor. “My fae knows the way. Can we take the lead?”

“Whatever,” Ora barked, crossing her arms and staring. She didn’t resume moving until Kon began marching away. Still, she walked near him, which helped more than he could tell her. After witnessing so many deaths, he was glad to have company among the snow, mist, and silence.

“Are you hungry?” Ora barked, her tone back to being aggressive. While it sounded like she was mocking him for his weak stomach, the disgusted grimace on her face told a different story, like asking the question left a rancid taste in her mouth.

“I could eat,” he said, forcing a chuckle as he faced ahead. “I wish lunch was sooner. I don’t know how I’ll survive another class after this.”

After a few seconds of rustling, Ora cleared her throat again, drawing his eyes to a second pie in her hands. Kon had never asked what the others did with the last four sourpears, but now it seemed the giantess had stuffed them all in her fae. Perhaps by magic, their warmth was preserved in a near-perfect state. Near, not perfect, because of one fact.

Not wanting to seem rude, Kon slowed and took it, suppressing a cringe as he felt the fae’s saliva on the crust. He dabbed it with his sleeve, turned to see Ora glowering, then reluctantly took a small bite. Not the worst, he thought as he chewed. No strange flavors or textures, and the sourpear pulp was less potent when cooked. Though still too sweet for his tastes, the bread settled pleasantly in his empty stomach. Kon took a larger bite and swallowed, letting his gizzard do most of the work. “Thank you,” he tried, receiving nothing more than a glum look. “I assume your fae’s magic keeps it fresh?”

Grunting, she waved him to face ahead.

Kon relented and marched on in silence, slowly finishing his pie as his fae led them around tight corners and down thawing corridors. Ora waited until he wiped his hands of crumbs before finally speaking up.

“So,” she began, pausing to drink in a powerful breath. “What do you know about him?”

Kon almost looked back in surprise. Instead, he raised his head and hastened his steps. By the pain grating her deep voice, he didn’t need to ask to know who she was referring to. Her father, Baor; the former Headmaster of Northmount Academy.

“Just his name, position, and about the tragic explosion that claimed his life, caused by one of his student’s reckless arrogance.”

Ora snorted like he’d just recited a terrible joke. “Well you heard wrong,” she grumbled. “Headmaster Baor shares more blame than Rab. It’s his fault that his son was so desperate to prove himself.”

Kon nearly tripped, his chest suddenly feeling heavy. “I’m sorry, Ora,” he mumbled, regaining his balance and steadying his march. “I didn’t know he was your brother.”

“Most people don’t for a reason. You better keep it to yourself.”

“Of course,” Kon said, hiding his wide grin and taking longer strides. “Your trust is safe with me.”

Ora sniffed, her hood falling heavily as she nodded. “You had a brother too?”

“Yeah. His name was Rin, and he was also becoming a Seer. He was nine years old when a wraith possessed him. I watched him turn and torture our mother until she died.”

“How morbid,” she grumbled.

“...Yeah.” There really was nothing more to say than that.

Ora seemed to agree, letting their conversation drift. Leaving them alone with the sound of wind blowing and snow crunching beneath their feet. Quiet, they turned into another corridor. As sad as the moment was, it was almost too calm. He knew the Forest was nearing — the next section of the labyrinth that lay between him and the stage in the center. It was just a matter of time until another challenge reared its ugly head.

“Your fae’s magic… it can soothe pain?”

Kon nodded. “That and other things. I’m really sorry about whatever she did on the day we met.”

Ora sighed, her fists opening and closing repeatedly, knuckles popping with each iteration. “She didn’t do much,” the giantess admitted, her voice hushed and strained. “Just made me listen. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t tune you out.”

“That doesn’t change anything. You were right, Ora. It was wrong of us to use magic on you. You have every right to be angry with me.”

Her knuckles stopped popping as her arms fell against her sides. “It’s fine. I’m not mad anymore. Just forget about it.”

Kon nodded, clenching his own fists. “Consider it forgotten. If I can help it, I’ll forget about everything that’s happened in this Sun-forsaken labyrinth, too. Is Phantom’s class always this bad?”

“Not really,” Ora muttered. “Normally his copies instruct us in zones of our own, or pit us against each other in a picturesque arena. The old man is to blame for this horrible elaborate mess. I have a few choice words for him when I reach the end.”

Encountering the suffering minnoth seemed to have affected her too. Even if it was an illusion, the moment felt real enough to shake Kon’s entire core. He had a few choice words for the Headmaster too.

“I blame you too,” began Ora, her tone irate. “If you didn’t come here, none of this would be happening. The old man always tries to impress new students on their first day.”

“Believe me, a part of me wishes I never came. The last thing I wanted was for Fate to take me away from my wife and daughter. I’m a father, a musician, and a teacher, not a soldier capable of fighting in a world-ending war. Even knowing we only have four years left to prepare, I don’t know how the Headmaster can excuse the brutality of all this.”

Ora grunted. He tried giving a bit of himself away in hopes of inspiring her to share a little of the same. Instead, the comment seemed to close her off, their conversation gone as quickly as it started.

Kon focused onward and embraced the silence. The scarlet moon’s bloody light shined brighter, seemingly melting the snow below it. Twisted roots began to sprout from cracks in the ground, each leading down a long corridor into a large maze of immense black trees, their branches barbed and barren of leaves.

He froze, halting long enough for Ora to pass him. Unafraid, she stalked into the ‘Forest,’ just tall enough to smack the violet breeze that traced the word in the air. “You’re not afraid, are you?” she chuckled, not looking back.

Kon shook his head and hurried after her, his fae and spear huddled close. Though both hummed with warmth, neither stopped the shivers running down his spine. “I’m not afraid, just instinctually reluctant to enter a dead forest. Flockfolk recognize them as a bad omen, the land tainted by a fallen meteor or wandering wraith. We should be careful, Ora.”

The giantess laughed in his face. “You’re thinking too much. Phantom just likes his ominous scenery. It’s a surprise we haven’t seen any ghosts yet.”

At the mention, a hundred whispering voices stirred around them, heralding the arrival of translucent silhouettes between the trees. All wandering, laying, or crying, each suffering in their own ways, muttering helplessly. Unable to make out their hushed words, Kon shut his eyes and opened his fae’s senses. Each ghost wailed the same thing.

“Wraith,” he repeated aloud, halting and scanning the dusklit landscape for unnatural shadows. Ora continued striding away, unhindered by his worried voice. “Where are you going?” he called out at her back.

“To do our job,” she grumbled. “Seers live to kill wraiths.”

Clutching his flute and spear tightly, Kon and his fae hurried to catch up. As much as he despised the idea of becoming a killer, Phantom and Ora were both right. It was a Seer’s duty to survive long enough to fight Tairn’s malevolent invaders. Naturally, their defeat would mean the Seers’ triumph. It made sense for wraiths to haunt the forest surrounding the labyrinth’s center. At least this time he didn’t have to face it alone.

Alongside Ora, Kon wandered into the misty darkness, wondering how his fellow students were faring and hoping to find them soon.

𝄐

Morus screamed into the colorful forest, panting as he ran up a lone hill in the small clearing. “Dowen!” he shouted, barely able to see through the vibrant leaves of reds and golds that drifted on violet winds. Where shadows lingered, mist curled in silence, filling the spaces between the dusklit trees. “Where did you go!”

Morus had only looked away for two seconds when Dowen vanished. No sounds, no footprints… just gone. He peered down the wood’s every weaving path, combing their canopies for any sign of motion, yet every path was empty, every canopy still.

“That was a real neat trick!” he insisted. “But seriously, Dowen! You can come out now!”

Shadows moved between the trees. At first, Morus assumed the pale faces looking at him were mere ghosts; harmless mirages put here to scare him, like the apparition of Kon. But when human bodies stepped into the clearing, revealing mostly bare skin caked in hardened mud, he and his fae trembled in fear.

Carrion, he thought, his limbs limp and feet frozen. After witnessing the savages ambush his carriage to Westwind Academy, the heartless kinkillers had inspired nightmares for countless weeks. More horrible than any created by the mushmen, and lasting longer than seasons.

“Dowen?” he pleaded, barely able to open his lips. “Leuk?” he whimpered, recalling the day he begged and shook his unconscious escort. Unlike then, Morus had no allies to slap awake. Dowen was gone— probably taken. Leaving him alone to face the six Carrion savages that slowly enclosed his hill, brandishing their rusty, serrated weapons. There was only one thing he could do.

Morus held in a deep breath, his body disappearing as he remained perfectly still. Vanish, he thought desperately, watching the muddy savages blink at his fading presence. You can do it, he encouraged his fae. Make them forget I ever existed.

All six Carrion straightened, backed away, then glanced between each other in confusion. “We should return to Yid,” one snarled. “Her fae captured a young Seer to feast on.” Without another word, the cannibals gathered and departed, disappearing down the shadiest path.

Morus let his breath go when he stopped hearing the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs. He drank another in hungrily, wiping the sweat leaking from his brow. “That’s never worked so quickly,” he whispered gratefully. “Well done my friend.”

His fae trembled around him, the feeling off-rhythm to show her wariness. Although effective, she hated using her magic to hide people’s memories of his existence. He could feel the way it hurt her, like she was suffocating his very life. It was the only reason he hadn’t named her Vanish, as tempting as the name was. Though obvious, both worried that the repercussions could prove too costly.

Let’s go, he thought, carrying on with the momentum of her gentle shove against his back. Morus stumbled down the hill toward the savages, his movements slow and deliberate, his footsteps silenced by his fae. Dowen had been captured. Morus could do nothing else but follow.

Real Carrion wouldn’t speak so directly or leave obvious trails, yet these illusions seemed excessively stupid, making them more like a mockery of the true monsters. They’re only here to scare us, he told himself. They couldn’t harm us if they tried. His fae caressed his face gently, assuring him of his safety.

“Okay,” he mumbled. “It’s time to focus.” Clenching his fae and his fists, Morus mustered his courage.

While trailing the savages from afar, he gazed around to memorize the branching trails of misty darkness. If things took a turn for the worst, he needed to have an escape route planned out. Unfortunately, the forest shifted every time he turned his head. Leaves stirred amidst the shadows, changing the scenery wherever they passed. Only the scarlet moon’s light showed the way to the labyrinth’s center.

Against his better judgment, Morus walked the other direction, intentionally searching for danger. It would be so easy to run for the metaphorical finish line and leave Dowen to be pretend-devoured, but if their roles were reversed, he hoped the boy would put himself at risk to help him.

Never leave a sibling-in-arms behind, he quoted. According to Armsmaster Topek, there were few duties greater. Seers had to protect their peers. The Shallow Prince would insist friendships were prone to sinking in the most dramatic fashions, but he eventually learned how to put other people before himself. Even a simple man like Kon went out of his way to help strangers. The least Morus could do was try and be brave.

Eventually, the sound of Carrion laughter slowed Morus to a crawl. The dark path between the burntide trees opened up into another clearing, larger than the last. Hugging one bough and peeking around it, he discovered the six cannibals kneeling in front of a bald woman with a pale face, her entire body draped in dirty, short-furred leathers.

Behind her, Dowen hung upside down from the gnarled branches of a giant tree, a rope fastened around his ankles, another binding his arms to his back. His backpack lay on the ground underneath him, his many treasures strewn about for the savages to pick up and inspect. Above them all, a hulking simian creature with ten finger-like tails stood atop the bough, its fur dark green and skin a dim shade of gold. It took a moment for Morus to realize the gleaming talons clutched by one tail was Dowen’s fae. The Carrion Seer had managed to capture her too.

What can I do? he wondered, eyes darting as he remained still and invisible, unwilling to act until he found a solution. For this to be a challenge, there had to be a way for him to win. Morus just needed to look hard enough.

“Hey idiot!” Dowen shouted, nearly making him startle. Not talking to me, but one of the savages. The boy’s eyes were focused on the amethyst cube held in their muddy hands. “I wouldn’t mess with that if I were you. That right there is animized crystal, charged with immense power. If you’re not a Seer it could blow up and kill us all.”

Morus nearly laughed at the blatant lie. Still, the savages appeared to believe him, including the Seer and her fae. The hulking simian dropped from the giant tree’s canopy to snatch the cube with another of his tails, holding it out between him and the woman, both observing it with obvious intent.

He couldn’t believe it. Dowen had actually stolen a crystal out of Professor Meir’s hands. There was no way he would get away with this one. And yet, the scene didn’t suddenly dissolve for the Headmaster to stomp in and give the boy a lecture.

With breath held, Morus watched the Carrion Seer grasp the cube greedily.

“How does it work?” she asked.

“Ha! As if I’d spill the Fated King’s secrets!”

One of her fae’s tails whipped out, slapping Dowen back and forth across his cheeks.

“You hit like a girl!” he laughed. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to become a traitor!”

Another tail lashed out to grab the diamond-pommeled dagger from a pair of muddy hands, quickly pressing its tip against Dowen’s stomach.

“That’s much better. Quick thinking, Apeface.”

The fae inched the blade into his skin, drawing a single droplet of blood.

“Don’t,” the woman sneered. “We need him alive.”

Bowing, the simian drew back the blade, giving Dowen the space to breathe. “Alright. If you promise to spare me, I’ll tell you anything you want. Nothing I own is worth more than my life.”

“I feel the same,” she said, shaking the cube between them. “Especially now that I own this. Explain quickly, child.”

“Well, for starters, you may want to walk away from me. When you open up the power stone’s potential, everything cast in its light will be strengthened greatly. I expect you don’t want me to escape until after you’re done. Yeah?”

Power stone? Morus thought. She can’t seriously believe this nonsense.

“Yes,” the woman hissed. “Hurry, or we’ll leave you strung up and bound.”

Dowen flailed his body, swinging in her direction and blowing a raspberry. “I’m being nice by warning you at all. The least you can show me is a little respect!”

Groaning, the woman marched away, flicking a wrist for the six Carrion savages to follow. Her simian fae hung back to threaten Dowen by stroking his throat with the dagger’s flat edge, then stalked off, clutching the boy’s fae and weapon behind him.

Morus stirred where he stood, nearly burying his face in his palms. There’s no way, he thought. A real Seer couldn’t be this stupid. He knew Phantom always based his characters off memories from his life, but Morus didn’t recognize Yid or her weird finger-tailed ape. The fact the fae didn’t have a card in Overseer led him to believe the sorcerer was actually experimenting. Phantom clearly wasn’t the creative type.

After a moment, Morus could barely see their eight silhouettes in the distant end of the clearing. “What now?” the Carrion Seer shouted, her desire for power apparently trumping common sense.

“You need to connect your soul to the crystal! You know how to do that, right?”

“Of course I do!” she barked angrily. “Don’t try to trick me, boy. A power stone of this size must require a special technique!”

“You’re right,” Dowen whimpered, turning his head and hiding his widened grin. “I’m sorry! I’m just a little scared, and all the blood is rushing to my head. Everything feels so loopy I can hardly think straight!”

“Enough excuses, boy! Stop wasting my time or suffer a long, drawn-out, and agonizing death!”

“Just give me a second,” he pleaded. Like a proper actor, real tears poured from his eyes.

“Stop whining and I’ll give you two!”

Morus shifted into a more comfortable position, generally curious to see Dowen’s plan unfold. The boy took a moment to wink in his direction, making him startle, his loud intake of breath thankfully muted by his fae.

“Okay! I’m ready! I recommend you stand in the middle of your friends, since your body will act as a beacon for the power!”

The silhouettes adjusted. Morus could see the gilded talons of Dowen’s fae glittering in the simian’s large shadow, seemingly relaxing in his tail’s grip. In truth, she was surely preparing.

“You’ll need to place the cube on top of your head! You know the phrase ‘eyes are the windows to our souls’? That’s because the vast majority of our self is contained in our brains! The shorter and larger the route of power, the quicker and more potent it will be!”

About this, Dowen wasn’t exactly lying. What the Carrion Seer was too dim to to understand was that longer routes were necessary for a reason. The shortest fuses often created the largest explosions.

“It’s not working!”

“I know, I know! You haven’t formed the connection yet! Close your eyes and take a few breaths. Empty your mind until it feels like a cup, then imagine that cup filling up with liquid light. One it’s filled to the brim, think of up as down and down as up, then tip the cup over. You need it to pour it all into the cube!”

Madness, thought Morus. Absolute madness.

With the help of his fae, Morus hugged the tree tighter, looking away just in time to miss the world-bending implosion, as an immense well of gravity erupted from the amethyst cube. In the span of a second, thousands of leaves scattered into the air, the force uprooting many of the surrounding trees, including the one Morus clutched for his illusory life. The entire trunk flew into the clearing, falling quickly as the gravity’s source diminished and dragging a deep furrow in the dirt.

Dowen’s tree, despite its size and proximity, was only dragged halfway out. When Morus wasn’t looking, the boy had somehow climbed into its branches to cradle his body amongst its strongest offshoots. Numerous red scratches marred his otherwise unblemished face while a cut on his brow bled over one eye. Perhaps delirious from shock, he giggled like a lunatic.

“You still alive, Morus? Where did you go?”

“I’m right here!” he groaned, rolling over the fallen tree and landing on his feet. “You’re literally insane. You stole amethyst?”

“Yup!” Dowen exclaimed, jumping down from his perch. “That was so sick! Not nearly as bloody as I thought it would be, but thrilling. Better than roof trotting and cliff diving for sure.”

Morus ran over crumpled branches and leaves toward the boy, wishing for the courage to slap the reckless smirk off his face. “You don’t get it, do you? Professor Meir is going to kill you. What in Fate’s Name were you planning on doing with that?”

Dowen scoffed at his attitude, crossing his arms defensively. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything. I just thought it was pretty. I figured I’d use it as a paper weight. Where did it go, anyway?” he asked, striding off toward the eye of the implosion. A large cloud of illusory mist drifted over the crater, no doubt composed of the Carrion’s bodies, thankfully leaving no gore to be found.

No cube either, Morus quickly realized. No dagger, nor fae.

Dowen froze, his arms limb by his sides. “Girl?” he asked meekly. “Where did you go?” As soon as the question left his lips, he spun to face the scarlet moon in the distance. His fists clenched at his sides as he abruptly marched away.

“Where are you going?” shouted Morus. “Aren’t you going to look for your things?”

“There’s no point,” Dowen growled. “Phantom confiscated everything with that explosion.”

“Everything?” asked Morus, scrambling up a fallen tree to catch up. The boy moved faster to stay out of his reach, not looking back, but nodding. It didn’t seem like he wanted to talk or be seen. For Dowen’s sake, he slowed down to give him space. If his fae had been taken from him, Morus would be upset too.

No more games, he thought, gazing at the crimson moon through gaps in the canopies. It’s time to end this nightmare.

𝅘𝅥

Alongside Ora, Kon peered into the raging spiritfire. Beyond a bright treeline, luminescent slashes of silver flame lashed out angrily, turning everything it touched into ash. A boulder-sized meteor lay at the heart of the infernal field, constantly erupting with flashes of gray light that sucked the warmth from the air, making it even colder than when he’d walked through the blizzard. Every sound the pair made was consumed quickly, the girl’s voice barely strong enough to reach his ears.

“So,” she began, her blunt face much less brave than before. “You killed a wraith, right?”

“Not really,” he said loudly, his fae sparkling beside him to strengthen his voice. “I did hurt it, but Vigor killed it. Not that it even matters. The wraith isn’t here. Our top priority needs to be extinguishing this meteor. Any ideas?”

Ora frowned, her loose braids of black hair tumbling with her shaking head. “My fae holds water too, but he doesn’t nearly have enough stored to put this out. Can’t we just walk back and find a way around it?”

“If we do, it’s only going to keep spreading. We have to do something. It’s part of a Seer’s job too.”

“Well I’m stumped,” Ora grunted, crossing her massive arms and striding away. “If you’re as smart as you act, you figure it out.”

Kon sighed and followed after her, occasionally glancing back at the deathly inferno’s slow encroachment. “I don’t suppose your fae has anything made out of aquamarine inside him. Does he?”

Ora froze, her throat rumbling cautiously. “What if he did?”

“Well, in that case, we might be able to figure something out.”

Sighing, the giantess ripped her fae off her shoulder and plunged a hand into his tongue-like flesh, retrieving an ornate amulet. No metal framing, no attached necklace, just a glacier-shaped hunk of crystal with slight, intricate carvings that refracted light, making it shine like cerulean ice.

“Is that real?” Kon asked, exasperated. “Or did you just happen to find it?”

“It’s real. Don’t even think about asking more. How can it help?”

That was too big of a coincidence. Kon had to assume Phantom knew she had it, like he knew about his brother. That, or the Headmaster had told him. Lucid and him know everything, he thought, recalling the sorcerer’s taunting voice.

Phantom had said it just to nettle him, and now that it rang in his own head, he immediately worried about Kinjra. He can’t know, he insisted, leading Ora back toward the fire. He would have done something otherwise.

Burying his thoughts, he looked up at the giantess beside him. “Earlier, when you turned off the blizzard… did I see your fae store the moonstone’s power?”

“It was just an illusion, but he consumed a lot from Phantom’s mist. Why?”

She really doesn’t know, he realized, despite just having had a class on crystech. “Aquamarine produces water; the more anima, the more it pours. Can you try having your fae channel his stored anima into the crystal? If you cup your hands around him just right, you’ll be able to project a stream of pure water— at least, theoretically.”

To Kon’s surprise, Ora nodded and obeyed without a grunt or complaint. She raised her massive arms forward, her fae’s tongue-like flesh molding around the crystal in the palms of her hands. His pink skin brightened as light began to bleed from his pores, the aquamarine carving in his lipless mouth surging with magic. Glittering water surged forth like a geyser, splattering into the spiritfire. As if alive, the colorless inferno wailed and retreated, growing taller as Ora pushed her way toward the meteor.

“Be careful!” Kon shouted, sending his fae to help them. The sparkling orb sang a bright melody of encouragement to bolster their strength. In minutes, Ora was standing on top of the extinguished rock, surrounded by a field of ash and a ring of barren trees. She panted with exhaustion, having used some of her own anima to fuel the last surge. Still, she didn’t slump or slouch.

“Easy,” she huffed. After a moment, she nearly stumbled, forcing her to leap and land in the ash. Clouds of it puffed into the air, making her cough as she waved both hands in her face. Her fae groaned as she flailed him, stuck to her hand like a wad of roostfolk gum.

“I doubt the real thing is that easy,” he said, keeping his voice gentle to make it seem less like a lecture. “From my experience, spiritfire is more alive than that. You’re lucky it didn’t lash at your back."

“Well it didn’t,” Ora sneered, turning around and drawing the cloak’s furry hood. “Enough talking. The wraith needs to be around here somewhere. I swear I can feel it watching.”

Kon peered at the sky through the gnarled branches. The scarlet moon was both large and close enough to cover half the starless night. Are we really that close to the end? he wondered, shutting his eyes and listening, hearing nothing but their breaths and a vast quiet. Kon opened himself to his fae’s senses, only hearing more of the same.

“You’re right,” he said, spinning and searching the silence for its source. “Something is near, but I can’t tell where.”

“Look,” Ora said, not pointing a finger or specifying. Kon stared into the darkness between the trees, finding purple mist rising and whipping around like tongues of flame. It spread quickly, glowing and hissing as velvet fire enveloped the surrounding treeline.

“That’s because I’m everywhere,” a discordant voice echoed behind him, familiar but distorted. Kon and Ora spun, finding a lithe figure striding from the purple flame. A crown of four horns sprouted from its brow, its face long and snouted, with slender limbs that bent in the opposite direction. Kon was reminded of the Apostle he’d seen in the Headmaster’s office, but this one looked starved, its deep blue fur pulled taut against its skeleton.

Oh.

“What’s the meaning of this, Phantom? That is you, isn’t it?”

The inhuman illusion laughed. “In this form, we prefer the name Testament. Now you two must face our test.”

Kon swallowed, clenching his fist. “Speak true and speak plainly, Phantom. I’m tired of playing these games.”

“Games?” The sorcerer actually chuckled, his voice overlapped with a woman's hushed moan and a inhuman, guttural whine. “Now that you mention it, we are fond of games. It’s always fun to see the triumph of winners.”

The purple mist flashed brighter, becoming actual fire. It consumed the trees and began to slowly inch closer, a great wall of dark flame that reached tall enough to drown out the scarlet moon overhead.

“Tell us,” barked Ora. “What’s the game, Testament? How do we win?”

‘Testament’ laughed again, the purple fire writhing with his voice as it kept creeping closer. “In this game, there is no we, and like in most games, there can only be a winner if someone loses. The rules are simple. If you touch the fire, you die. Only the survivor will pass. So I ask you both, who do you think the victor will be? Ora the berserker, or Kon the bard?”

“Well, we refuse,” Kon cut in, answering for the both of them. “It’s our duty as Seers to protect each other. We’re not going to fight each other just because you tell us to.”

“But you will,” ‘Testament’ chuckled. “Isn’t that right, Ora?”

Knuckles popped as the giantess clenched her fists.

“You can’t be serious,” he exclaimed, turning and bending to gaze up at her face. “You would turn on me that quickly?”

Ora shrugged, her hood still drawn to hide her eyes. “He was bound to make us fight eventually,” she began, her voice rumbling with annoyance. “Are you going to make this easy for me, or slightly less easy?”

Kon stepped out of her reach, her long arms capable of grasping him from a meter away. Perhaps out of respect, she didn’t swing at him like she would often threaten, patiently waiting for his answer, even as her fists opened and closed again and again. “I’m not going to fight you,” he insisted. “But I’m not going to jump in the fire, either. There has to be another way.”

“Well I’m stumped,” she barked like before, the emphasis intentional. “I don’t see any other options. I’ll give you a minute before I throw you in myself.”

The wraithlike sorcerer howled at the remark. “This is what I like to see! Are you going to let her, Kon?” To his dismay, ‘Testament’ hadn’t left after presenting the challenge, instead choosing to remain as a present spectator. There has to be another way, he thought, his gaze fixated on four-horned wraith.

His fae chimed brightly, lighting sparks in the air to illuminate Kon's forming smile. “I won’t fight you, Ora. But I will fight him. Are you willing to help?”

The giantess remained silent. Her fae lay on top of her hood, weighing it down to keep her entire face covered. Loose braids of dark hair barely lowered with the slight tilt of her head.

Together, the students turned to face their demonic professor.