A wry grin answered her paling face. Her feet stumbled back, but his hands were faster. She felt the barrier first—its sharp sting radiating down her arm—and then all she saw was red. Not golden and fractalized like hers. It oozed and wriggled like a dome of lava worms. Thick and cloudy, but translucent enough to watch Valen’s face peer into their warming prison.

"Valen?" Aidan called, unsettled by the group of nords surrounding them. "What is this?"

But Valen's eyes remained locked on Syra.

"What are you doing?" Syra pleaded through the barrier, stepping as close to him as its heat allowed. "We need to—"

"Your job is done, Syra." His voice barely reached her over the crackling of the wall, but a faint sadness stung his brow. "Now, it's my turn."

"'Your turn'? Your turn for what? What are you even talking about?"

She searched his face, but only found the same resolute eyes that stared over her untouched cup of tea. Steady eyes tinged with regret, but red like the leaves of the old maple by the academy pond. Their maple, with its treat-filled hidey hole, and that one root just flat enough to hold two mugs of cider. The one that held the promise of cake and stories.

"I'm sorry, little one," he said, offering her a weak grin, "but I won't be able to keep our lunch date—though I was truly looking forward to it."

"But why?" Syra cried up at him. "Just tell me what's going on, and I'm sure we can figure something out!"

A soft chuckle escaped Valen's hard-pressed lips, "You really are like him, you know?"

"Huh? Like who? Who's hi—"

And then she saw it. The light shimmering just beneath the skin around his eyes. Wavering as it expanded in slow ripples across his face, making his outline glow. A glow she was all too familiar with.

He's...he's shifting!

Her stomach dropped as Valen's brow widened and protruded over narrowing eyes. His cheeks sharpened. His skin coated itself in warm bronze. His chest and shoulders broadened, filling out his shirt until its fabric stretched in complaint, and his jaw lost its gentle curve to a squared ridge of bone. Even his grin twisted into a thin smirk—one that brought memories of pungent steam, voices echoing off metal, a large hand caressing her ear, and red eyes. His eyes. And now they stared down at her again as Valen's face was swallowed up by his.

No. No, it’s not. You’re not…

"Marrak, you twisted little twadwaddle!" Petra railed a fist against the wall but yanked it back as the heat bit into it. "You used us!"

She blinked against his wavering image beyond the wall, but his face remained the same.

No...Valen, you can’t really be…

She staggered back. Heat left her skin. Her chest tightened and the cold void in her gut grew, taking her breath with it.

“Valen? W-what is this? This…this is a trick, right? For the exam?” She forced a smile but he only shook his head.

“No trick, this time.”

“B-but you’re…you’re my…you’re supposed to be…”

“I was your mentor. That was never false. But, like you, I also had my secrets.”

“Secrets? So, Petra's right? You're...you're him? You're Marrak? The Black Thorn leader? The one who...who killed my—"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"B-but you…you took me in! Taught me magic—your magic! You gave me your old room…your earring…your—" She grabbed at the braid that wasn't there, "You gave me your name. Are you saying that all this time…all those late nights, the dinners, the dance lessons, the trips to Rivenia’s, the stories by the tree—our tree! Was that…was all that a lie?”

“Of course not!” Marrak faltered forward, but was quick to bridle himself. “Not completely.”

“‘Not completely’ my ass!” Aidan squared him up across the barrier. “I’ve known you since teething. And Father even longer. And Ethan—” He froze, color draining as his mouth hung open. “Fuck…Ethan…you…that means that you’re the one that…” His whole body began to shake, and red returned in a blaze across his face. “Are you saying you planned this from the start? That Ethan was just a pawn that served its purpose?”

“Mark me, Aidan!” A pained snarl peeked from behind his calm mask. “He was as noble as they come, and I took no joy in his death. But he also understood that the council needed to be jarred from their stupor. Eth—”

“Don’t you dare say his name!” He clawed at his hilt with a glare that might have sliced the barrier itself.

Marrak snapped his mouth shut and lowered his head while the prince stood as a shaking mass of rage and regret.

“So that’s it? I’m just a pawn to you, then?” Syra barked up at him through a tightening throat. “Just like Ethan? Just like Papa? Just some pet you can coddle then toss when inconvenient?”

“No! Not at all.” He stepped closer to the barrier and peered down at her with softened eyes.

“Syra, listen. My time and affections were spent honestly and fully. Neither my praise nor critique were ever false. Did I choose to apprentice you because I knew your history? Yes. Because who else would understand a growing wyrmling's needs, let alone keep their secret? It’s true: I raised you to be clever, and strong, and resilient because I knew what was coming—what you would have to do—”

“I didn’t ‘have to do’ anything! You made that decision for me!”

At this he faltered, “I gave you a choice, remember?”

“With a shitty ultimatum! Had I known your plan from the start, I would have chosen differently.”

“But would you have? Really? Being faced with exile with no one in your corner?”

“Let me guess, you planned that, too?” Aidan sneered at him.

But Marrak stepped back with a truly pained expression, “No. No, that was quite the opposite of what I wanted.” He held the two in his vision and pointed between them, “This. This is what I wanted: a union to build a new alliance. One that could stand up to the council, to question them, challenge them, show them the problems that they’re so willfully blind to!”

“And by ‘council’ you really mean my father, right?”

Marrak sighed, “Yes. Unfortunately, his personal darkness hinders him from seeing much light anywhere else. And it’s only gotten worse with Syra’s banishment. But I do not blame him, Aidan. He would leave the darkness if he could. But, he is in no state to govern—you know this. And his council members—not all, but many—are preoccupied with their own agendas. Something needed to be done to wake them up. To…shove their faces into the miring they’ve allowed to build. Syra, Aidan…I’m doing this for them. Not just the Black Thorn but the people they represent. I’m trying to help. I want to help—”

“By inciting a war? By...killing my brother and their father, and who knows how many others? By promising to kill more if people support you?” Aidan's voice cracked as he backed away and unsheathed his sword. “Damn it, Val—Marrak. We agree on many things—I could even support you in your goal to ‘wake up the council’—but this? We just left the bloody battlefield! And you want to bring it home? I can’t…no, this is not the way it’s done.”

Marrak’s eyes dulled as the spark of hope faded, “Oh, Aidan. How many times have I told you that the ideal way isn’t always the best way?”

Aidan scoffed, “You’ve also said that nothing in life is ever ideal.” He raised his sword, the glow around its edges growing as he drew it back. “I might not know what the best way is, but I certainly know that this way—your way—is the wrong way!”

In an arc of light his sword slashed down, slicing through the barrier. Red sparks exploded in a shockwave of dust and wind, throwing all off their feet.

The dust still hung when Syra heard Aidan calling through the ringing in her ears.

“This way!” He called, tugging her up by her arm.

She couldn’t see Marrak or the others, but she could hear the scuffling of two long-leggers running beside her.

“Cas…Petra…I’m so sorr—”

“Now is not the time for that,” said Petra, keeping an eye on the shadows growing behind them. “Shit, they’re right behind us!”

As they broke through the cloud, guards riding frosthoof flanked around them.

“Bashta!” Cassius spotted the ridge up ahead, “They’re going to cut us off!”

But as they neared the ravine and the guards closed in, a shriek came quick and loud from the sky. With a brilliant flash, a cloud of flames erupted from the arrow implanted in the ground between them, sending everyone off their feet and saddles.

“Shit.”

“What on Erd was that?”

“No idea. Is everyone alright?”

The party checked themselves over and Syra squinted through the smoke towards the arrow’s release point.

Leti?

Her breath caught at the sight of a crumpled nordess stamping her flaming hand into the dirt.

That arrow…did you just—

“Syra, let's go!”

The twins grabbed her up as Aidan fiddled with something in his hands. But her gaze clung to the small figure swarmed by guards, and the approaching mage looming ever closer.

“They're still coming!” Petra pulled the siblings together as the bootsteps rushed in. “Hurry up with that thing!”

Aidan tore his attention from his hands and used that voice, “Syra! Wall, now!”

Her hands shot up. Like a puppet on tightened strings. The barrier flashed and crackled, and cries of surprise and frustration surrounded them.

“Everyone, hold onto me!” Aidan called as he looped an arm around Syra’s. A ratcheting sound brought a loud crack and a burst of light spiraling around them. The flash of heat turned suddenly cold, and filled her with an empty weightlessness.

"Shit, they're fading!" said one nord as he broke through the splintering barrier.

"Leave them!" Marrak called, staring directly at Syra through the shrinking vortex. "We know where they're going."

And then all went black, as if the world was sucked into a pinhole in the sky.