Light and gravity returned along with a retching stomach and the sound of waves on sand.

“Ugh…where on Erd are we?” Syra heard Cassius say as she breathed through a wave of nausea.

Sounds like the sea. Are we back in Dairos? But why would Marrak come here? Shit. Did they make it through?

She squinted against the bright sky and white sand, but the smell of fish made her double-over.

“Easy, it’s alright. It’s just us.” Aidan steadied her with a caressing hand on her back. “At least for now.”

“For now?” asked Petra, squelching out a dry heave. “You mean they can follow us?”

“Aye.” Aidan winced as he raised a shaking and charred hand from the sand. Resting in his palm was a smudged and empty transpoint compact. “I grabbed this from one of the guards. Seems they all had one, so I can only assume they’re planning on meeting here. And soon.”

“But where is here?” asked Cassius, surveying the beachfront.

“It doesn’t smell like Dairos,” Syra said, leaning against Aidan to stand. “And those mountains, they’re way too close to be the Elders.”

Aidan went silent and scanned the green horizon. But his gaze always came back to the towering peaks on their left and the morning sun on their right.

“But they are the Elder Mountains,” he said to everyone’s surprise. “We’re just on the other side of them.” He pointed to the rising sun, “The eastern side.”

Syra scrunched her brow, “Wait, but that means we’re ever farther than Kiithran territory.”

Aidan nearly laughed, “Oh, indeed we are. And with the ocean to the south, there’s only one place that’d make sense: Dorrak.”

“Dorrak? As in the Dwarven city?”

“Mm-hm. That’s probably why this old transpoint is here, yet all you can see is sand and driftwood. Not even a small settlement. But, I suppose a century of storms can do that.”

“But what would Val—Marrak want in Dorrak? It’s all mud-and-ruins now. Why bring soldiers here?”

“It is plenty open and abandoned. And far from spying eyes,” Cassius said. “Remember what that soldier said back in Rozenfall? During the Black Thorn meeting? He mentioned something about ‘being ready to sail in a few days’. Maybe they were coming here.”

“Maybe,” said Syra. “But if they’re planning on attacking Altaira, why not camp in the fields outside the Outer Ring? They’re also pretty open and remote. Why make the trip all the way out here?”

Silence came again as their minds searched. But a green glint caught Aidan’s attention and his eyes went wide.

“The transpoint.”

“What about it?” asked Syra.

“He’s going to send soldiers through the transpoint.”

“But they’re sailing here. Why—”

“He’s not sending them here.” Aidan’s voice strained and Syra felt him stiffen next to her. “He’s sending them to the transpoint on the MainWay—directly to Altaira. They’ll be completely off-guard.” His eyes searched the beach. There were no signs of set-up, but if he strained, he could make out tiny dots on the horizon.

“Syra,” he pointed down the beach, “can you see those dots down there? What are they?”

“Dots?” Syra blinked against the glaring sand and sharpened her vision. “Mm, it’s too bright and too far to tell for sure, but…” She froze and broke her concentration, looking back at Aidan, “I highly doubt rocks wear cloaks.”

“Shit.” Aidan turned his attention to the sea. “‘A few days’ was a few days ago. They’ll be arriving anytime now.”

“I don’t see any sails,” said Syra, “and there’s an east wind, so hopefully it’ll slow them a little.”

“Either way, we need to leave.” Petra stood but wavered on her feet as her stomach churned again. “Damn these transpoints—they’re worse than boats, I swear.”

“And go where?” asked Cassius, steadying her. “We are way too far from Altaira to warn them.”

“Too far to walk maybe.”

Petra locked-on to Syra, “Change us back now. It’s the only way to get there before—”

“And who exactly are you?” A voice called from the greenery. With slow, cautious steps a bannerless soldier approached with readied sword and coin dangling.

Shit. Really? Now?

“That depends who’s asking,” Petra barked back at him.

But the soldier only hastened his steps with sword raised.

“Sorry!” Cassius said, stepping forward. “Sorry, please excuse her. It seems the transpoint has soured both her stomach and attitude.”

The soldier stopped and eyed their positioning to the crystal spear, “You took the transpoint, you say?”

“Aye,” Aidan held up his burnt hand. “We’re still recovering, unfortunately.”

“And how did you come upon that shard? This transpoint has not been used in ages, so what cause do you have to be here?”

“We could ask you the same thi—”

Cassius nudged Petra in the side.

At this the soldier only chuckled to himself as he passed them to confront Aidan, “Rancid, indeed.”

“The shard, sir?” Syra asked in a dainty tone.

“Yes, the transpoint shard that fits inside this compact.” He pointed to the metal ring in Aidan’s hand and paused in slight pity. “It seems you have little experience with transpoints? Else you would know to wear a glove.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Aidan, “this is our first time.”

“Is it? Then I’ll ask again, how did you come by this shard?”

“It was given to us.”

“Given to you? A rare shard like this? By whom?”

Aidan paused, but Syra’s voice hissed light and low. As if the word was steam that scorched her tongue.

“Marrak.”

The name froze the man in place, “Come again, miss?”

She spoke louder this time, bottling the storm inside, “The man’s name was Marrak. We heard about his mission in Misty Hollow and wanted to help, but…we unfortunately missed the boat in Crescent Bay. We were lucky to run into him on his way north…to Koth, I think it was? Anyway, he gave us this thing and said to ask someone with a bronze coin should we need any help.” With that she pointed to the coin hanging from his neck. “I’m assuming he meant you?”

The soldier paused for a moment, blinking down at the girl and her wild tale, then looked to Aidan

“Is this true?”

“Yes, sir, it is. Oh, right! Here…” With his good hand, he reached into a vest pocket and pulled out Fin’s necklace, letting the coin hang in front of the soldier’s face. “He gave us this, too.”

“I see.” The soldier sheathed his sword with a heavy sigh and waved them forward. “Alright, then. You’re a bit early, so we don’t have the camp set up yet. There is a stream not too far from here,” he pointed straight back into the trees, “just a ways into the forest at the base of that mountain. You'll need to get that hand cleaned up before it festers, but don’t go getting yourself lost or hurt—every able body helps the cause.”

“Thank you, sir!” Aidan and Syra dipped their heads and watched him trot off towards the camp.

“Thank Draco, he’s gone. Let’s go!” Petra spun on a heel to march into the forest.

“Wait,” said Syra, “I thought you wanted me to change you back.”

“I do. But not here. Not when we’re exposed like this. Let’s put some cover between us and then you can get our wings back.”

“And…if I can’t?”

“You can. But,” Petra stopped, jaw tight, “on the off-chance, Heartwood is north of here. Though, I really don’t want to go begging those leaf-lizards if I don’t have to. I already have to put up with Vernyll’s bragging enough as it is.”

***

They followed the stream into the foothills until the forest of thick trees thinned, and the valley of collapsed and buried buildings stretched out in a solemn greeting. At the mountain’s base, a young forest grew from the debris-covered city. Layers of rock and mud mired shack and spire alike, defacing any marble visible like shit on pearls. Even the banks of the stream tinged the air sour, and Syra caught Aidan’s hands as he knelt for a drink.

“Wait—don’t drink that!”

He startled and flailed to keep from tumbling in, “Why, what’s wrong?”

“It…smells wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

She closed her eyes to place the odor, “Like a sick cow.” She turned to the twins, “Like the pond by the shitpit—the one we could never swim in. That smell.”

“Damn it,” Aidan traced the stream up into the city’s burial mound. “It’s contaminated.”

Last night’s wine and the imposing noonday sun dried their mouths, and now their hike just got even longer.

He stood and craned his head towards the mountain, “We’ll have to go upstream.”

“It’s fine,” said Syra. “That gives us more distance from camp.”

“But it also means we’ll have to stay the night. People might come looking for us. And we’ll lose time to warn Altaira.”

“Then let’s get going. That hand needs clean water. And even then, it’ll probably scar. Even with my help.”

The bruised leaves she placed around his hand were already dry and flaking, and he would need proper salve if he were to regain normal sensation. This side of the mountain range was out of her comfort zone of expertise, so her eyes remained sharp and constantly searching the foliage throughout their hike.

Seeing her stern focus, Aidan brushed his good thumb lightly across the small scar on her jaw, making her jolt.

“I’ll be alright, but thank you,” he said with a soft chuckle.

She leaned her cheek into her hand but worry still plagued her eyes, “You can thank me when you can hold a sword properly. Until then, you’ll have to deal with smelling like tomato sauce.”

The headwaters were crowned by a large waterfall-fed pool just outside the city, and the party took shelter in the cave behind the falls. Aidan took the first watch, but even with the calming rush of water, the faces of Valen and Marrak kept Syra far from sleep.

She stared at the dimly lit floor of the cave, running a finger back and forth across the smooth stone. It was cold. Like the floor of the prison cell. She had been so relieved when Valen broke her out, but now regret stung worse than those shackles.

I should've just stayed there. Taken my banishment and went home. The shards were safe where they were. There was no real reason to collect them, only Marrak's plan.

She bit into her cheek.

The one I fell happily into. And now I've dragged everyone else into it.

Her eyes hovered over the silhouette by the falls, the moonlight catching silvered strands that hung over tensed shoulders.

He should be sparring with Remmel right now. Or hunched over his books and blueprints. Shit, even a department meeting would be better than here.

She thumbed the band ringing her finger and clawed at its stone as her throat closed up.

And Razira…she'd still have her papa if we didn't show up. Leti wouldn't have been arrested. And Tilly…

Her wet sniffle made Aidan’s silhouette turn and, after a brief pause, give his leg a pat.

“Hey, com'ere. You need to sleep.”

Syra crawled over to him, careful not to wake the twins, and placed her head on his thigh.

“That’s not happening,” she whispered. “Even with head-pats.”

But he stroked her hair anyway and her breathing eventually slowed back down.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hugging his leg.

“For what? Trusting in the man that raised you?” The hiss in his voice stung the air and made her flinch. But, she could tell its venom was aimed internally and she flipped over to see his own cheeks shaded red.

“I’ve known Valen longer than you. If anyone were to notice something, you’d think it’d be me. But I didn’t. Me. The person born and sworn to protect my city. I spent years fortifying our borders, only to hold him in such high regard that I was blind to what was on the inside. And here I thought I was being extra careful.” He grimaced and gave her shoulder a tight squeeze. “He fooled us all, Syra. So, there’s no need in being so hard on yourself.”

What he said was true. But, it didn’t settle the guilt rooted in her chest. She squirmed herself into his side and absently watched the floating leaves as they got carried off towards the ruins.

Gurn used the shards to make an altar, and then proceeded to wipe out an entire city. Now that Marrak has the shards, it’s likely he’ll do the same. But this time, to Altaira.

She imagined Altaira, with its towers and bridges and bazaars, all crumbled to rock and gravel. The streets overgrowing, and the bookshop sprouting trees that toppled the shelves and breached the skylight. All the work and stories of the people would be replaced by a simple, cautionary tale of a mad dragon and the foolish girl who helped him.

“We can’t let Marrak finish that altar,” Syra said, sitting herself up. “We can’t let Altaira turn into another Dorrak.”

“And we’re not going to. Marrak might have the stones, but he still needs the altar. If we can destroy the altar first—”

“But we don’t even know where the altar is. Let alone how to destroy it.”

“Not exactly. There is one possibility.”

“What?” Syra caught a twinkle in his eye.

“When you were working on the cure in Omei, I asked Sulaer to translate any accounts from Gurn’s attack.”

“Wait, that’s what you were talking about that whole time?

“Mostly. Well, that and the diagrams for their guardtowers. Heh, leave it to her to have them all labeled and categorized. She damn near talked my ear off.”

“I see. So, it really was her big books…”

“Pardon?”

“N-nothing. What did she say?”

“Oh, right. She said that Gurn made the altar to make himself invincible, but that didn’t apply to the altar itself. When he attacked, the other mages realized that attacking him was pointless, so they sent their best mage to destroy the altar.”

“And it worked?”

At this, his twinkle faded, “It did. But, it had a cost.”

“What…kind of cost?”

“The altar, it functions sort of like a generator—with the energy from one shard being passed to the next, and the next, and so on, each turn increasing in power. Similar to how the transpoints are powered. But this time, the central node is a living being.”

“And so all that power is transferred to them?”

“Exactly. And as you can imagine, that amount of energy is incredibly hard to disperse. Nearly impossible, even.”

“Nearly?”

Aidan nodded with a grim look, “I’m sure you’re aware that one of the key principles in alchemical engineering is equivalent force; you always get out what you put in, even if the forms are different. The altar is no different. To diffuse…to break a current that strong requires an energy force equally as strong.” His hand rose absently to his chest, “And we only know of one such source.”

Syra stared at his hand, at how it gently clawed at his sternum, and she was instantly back in Omei being cooed to sleep with the radiant prism warm in her hands.

“You…you can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“A soulstone? Aidan, that’s—”

“I know. I know, it’s a horrendous cost. But, it worked.”

Syra watched in silence as his fingers fidgeted with the ring on its chain. He had that far-off look again.

No…he can’t really be thinking about—

“Don’t you fucking dare.” She shot up and gripped the hem of his shirt, glaring at him.

“Syra—”

“No, absolutely not.”

“What choice do we have?”

“Don’t even start with that ‘choice’ bullshit.”

“Syra…” He sighed and looked away, “I made a promise. I made a promise to Ethan…and to myself. A promise to do whatever I could to protect my people.”

“And you still can.” She cupped his face and turned his eyes to hers. “Yes, they need you now, but they’ll also need you in the future. Like Piper, and Blyth. And didn’t you also promise Stahdler you’d tell your father about the glacier? You won’t be able to help them if you sacrifice yourself now.”

“And there’ll be no point for any of it if he makes the altar.”

“But—”

“You know I’m right. And I know you know I’m right. So, just…” he grabbed her hand tight, “let me do this. Let me avenge Ethan by fulfilling the promise I made to him.”

Syra only smiled at the absurdity, “No. I’m sorry. I want to support you and your promises, I do, but…I cannot just let you give your life away.”

“My life,” he moaned a laugh, “Syra, I have spent my whole life focused—obsessed—with protecting Altaira; my home. My family. Truly, what good would that life then be if I ran away now?”

“Finding another way is not running away!”

They both froze as rustling came from the cave, but relaxed when the snoring continued.

“And what about us, then?” she whimpered. “I thought…I thought you wanted me to stay.”

“What?”

His confused look sent cold fear gripping her chest.

Did…did he really forget? Did the wine really take his memory?

Tears blurred her vision as she pleaded up at him, “In Falorn, at the festival, you…you said you were happy being with me. You said you wanted me to stay—to come back home with you.”

He hesitated, allowing the mist in his mind to waft away. Syra’s eyes clung on, seeing the pained expression on his face.

And then, some color returned to his cheeks along with a small grin.

“I did say that, didn’t I? Heh, I must’ve been pretty looney to say it like that.”

“Then was it…was it just the moon talking?”

He shook his head and cupped her face in his hand, “No. No, I do want that. Truly and completely. But…I also want to honor my word, and protect the people I love.” He leaned over and rested his forehead against hers, “I want to protect the person I love.”

She flinched back in shock—albeit a happy shock—but no words came to her rescue this time. She could only study his face, where his eyes shone as firm and as clear as when he proposed. His brow wore the same faint lines—the only sign of his internal pleading—and her hands shook just as madly.

Silent tears spilled over and she dropped her head, clasping onto his hand. All tension left Aidan’s shoulders and he plastered a hard kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you for understanding.”

But she remained silent, soaking in the sensation of his warmth against her.

So, this is how it goes, huh?

She raised her face to his and took his cheeks into both hands, pulling him down until his lips were pressed tight against hers. His scent flooded her head and she felt him relax and lean in. And then her fingertips touched his temples. And the fog rushed in.

I’m sorry, but I’m way too selfish for that.

Aidan’s eyes shot open and he reared back, but her hands were firmly planted.

“No, wait…you can’t…” His head lolled but his eyes still flickered open as he fell into Syra’s arms. “Please…don’t…” And then he was out.

Syra laid him down and brushed the hair from his face, letting her fingers linger a moment, “I’m sorry, Aidan, but I’m taking this promise from you. And if that makes me a monster to you…then, that’s the kind of monster I will be.”

She tip-toed out of the cave, giving them all one last look.

I guess some things never change, do they?

Hopping over to the stream, she turned her gaze to the mountain and the ruins of Dorgan’s Keep scarring its face.

“It would have to be somewhere isolated. And big. And probably near a mana pool given the power he'll need,” she recalled what she said in Falorn.

And I can only think of one place.