Despite the southern latitude, the mountain air chilled the sweat on her skin and she paused to rest outside the yawning mouth of the “Great Hall”. No longer did the Elder Guardians stand watch from their carved thrones, for the towering stone doors were the first to fall. Now, only the shattered scar above the columned entrance shone, glinting in the moonlight like the central gem on a stolen crown. And she stood, panting and immobilized by both fear and awe, on the ledge between that haggard mouth and the ghostly ruins below. As if the monstrous cave had breathed death upon the city, withering it instantly and tainting it with a curse not even a century could lift. Even the buildings looked like unearthed skeletons in the moonlight.

She shook herself from the scene and approached the cave, steeling herself for what might lie inside.

I know Marrak didn’t follow us through the transpoint, but who knows what other tricks he has.

But the inside of the hall surprised her. Where the light could reach, plants grew and bloomed like trimmed hedges. The cracks in the walls and columns were sealed with gold, and the floor had even been swept. She gave an internal nod of approval, but abruptly stopped as her eyes landed on a strip of sketchings on the far wall.

It can’t…

The moonlight barely reached the stretch of stone near the floor, but the shapes were clear. Scribbled in fading charcoal, the images of two wyrmlings—one black, the other white—chased, flew, and performed magic together.

It is—it’s the same. These…these are the drawings from Mother’s memories.

Her fingers traced her mother’s image, but as they grazed the sooty marking a spark shot her hand away.

A protection spell? She chuckled. Marrak, you sentimental little shit. You’re here all right. And I bet the altar is, too.

But as she stood, her gaze lingered over the collage of playing wyrmlings and scoffed to herself.

You really think mother would approve of all this? Some best friend you are.

She flinched as the image of Nelly's confused and worried face flashed in her mind, and she bit into her cheek.

Not that I'm much better.

She left the drawings alone and proceeded into the main hallway. It branched to the left and right, with a grand staircase leading down to the crystal-lit gathering hall below and even more rooms branching further still.

It’s so big! The altar could be anywhere.

She sharpened her eyes against the darkness to see rows of doors down both hallways, but the air from the right smelled…warmer, with the faint trace of leaf and parchment.

Right it is, then.

Some of the walls were crumbled, but the debris had been mostly cleared and she explored any room that remained accessible. The scent grew stronger with another left turn and brought her to a room with a freshly-cleaned door lined with pale light.

She froze.

Shit. Is he here already?

She held her breath, staring at the white light filtering through the cracks around the door.

Doesn’t matter if he is. I’m going.

She clenched her teeth and charged a hand, throwing the door open.

She charged inside, but was only greeted by a room furnished with a simple bed and study. The scent was identical, and filled her head with memories of blanket-wrapped winters, burnt fingers and poorly woven glass, and gentle hands guiding hers to braid black strands of hair. Her chest tightened and her legs buckled.

Damn it!

She clawed at the door frame and chomped down on her hand to keep the scream inside.

Damn you! Why’d you have to do this?

Her wisp of a wail echoed off the walls, as if the stones themselves weeped.

We were…I thought we were…but no, we weren’t actually…

She heaved herself up and shuffled to the bed. There, she imagined a snoozing Valen, dark strands loose on his pillow and eyes ringed from either a long meeting or a night filled with her questioning. If his cheeks were full, it was always the latter.

She knelt down and pulled the quilt to her nose. This sob was not quiet, and she threw herself across the bed, clutching the bedding against her mouth as her chest heaved.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! If you were as happy as you said, then why did you do this? Why did you go and mess it all up? We could’ve worked together! No Kesh Raza. No Black Thorn. No war. Just us, and Aidan. Even Nelly and the others would have helped! Shit, the whole Academy could’ve helped—could’ve gone back to their hometowns and asked what needed fixing. We could’ve—

She choked back a sob and wiped her face dry until her breath steadied.

We could’ve found another way.

As she rose back to her feet, the thudding of footsteps made her freeze.

Shit, is that him? No…no there’s more than one. Did he bring soldiers with him?

She charged her hand again and aimed her ear towards the grumbling in the hallway.

“For Draco-sake, watch where you’re going!”

The hushed curses loosed her breath, but her head still hung.

“You’re supposed to be asleep!” she called.

“Syra? Syra, where are you?” Cassius and Aidan called back.

“Down this way. Take a right, then left.”

She met the flurry of footsteps with pained annoyance as they swarmed in on her. Petra was first in line, but Cassius charged past her.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, jabbing a finger into the darkness. “You just up and left? Again? I told you never to do that to us—to me—ever again!” He grabbed her shoulders and bore down on her, “Lord, what were you thinking?”

Syra only glanced over to Aidan, “I had my reasons. Good reasons.”

“Are you shitting me right now?” His eyes burned as bright as his flame and she couldn’t look at him straight. “Look at me, Syra! Why on Erd would you think going after the altar on your own would ever be a ‘good reason’?”

“Because it’s my fault…” she whimpered under breath.

“Excuse me, what?”

“I said, it’s my fault! She ripped herself away, "It's my fault, so let me fix it, damn it!”

His mouth wagged. He knew his sister to be a bit self-blaming, but this was ridiculous.

“How is this in any way your fault? You didn’t ask Valen to betray us, did you? Or conspire alongside him to build his altar?”

“No, but…”

“She did give Valen the shards tho—”

“Shut it or suck it, Petra.” He glared over his shoulder and she snapped her mouth shut in surprise at his sudden harsh tone.

“Look. You have done nothing but try your best on a mission that was given to you—to us! This is in no way your f—”

“But I left the clan. I agreed to the whole thing. I believed him and dragged all of you into this!”

Petra snorted, “You didn’t drag me anywhere.”

“She’s right,” said Aidan. “We all made our own choice.”

“Granted, I didn’t trust him to begin with,” Petra added.

“Still not helping.”

“Did Aidan even tell you how he plans on fixing it?” She stared at Aidan in both apology and resolve. “What it costs to destroy the altar?”

The twins looked at Aidan and his shoulders drooped.

“Tell them, Aidan. So I can make my point.”

Aidan begrudgingly explained the workings of the altar and the need for a soulstone in order to destroy it. To which neither twin accepted well.

“You have to do what?” Petra asked.

“But…that’ll kill you.”

“Exactly,” said Syra, eyes fixed on the floor.

Cassius looked between her and Aidan and his eyes went wide, “Is that why you left on your own? You put Aidan to sleep so you could destroy the altar instead of him?”

She nodded and Cassius flailed his arms.

“Oh, no. Not happening! None—and I mean it, none of us are doing that. We’ll just have to find another way.”

“There is no other way,” said Aidan. “Even the Tal haven’t been able to figure one out.”

“And who told you this, huh? Sulaer?”

“Cas, don’t.”

Aidan raised a brow, “Yes, but why does that matter?”

“I thought she was devoted to finding the cure for the disease.”

“She’s an archmage, Cas; she’s involved in a lot of things.”

“Including cuddling up to the human prince?”

“Cuddling up? Cas, that is not what we—she’s engaged to Wyn for Erd’s sake. Where is this even coming from?”

“Cas, I said stop.” Syra buried her face into his chest, pushing him back. “It’s fine now. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Oh, yes it does. I thought I could forget about it, but you were ready to give your life for his, so I want to know what was so important that he’d leave you alone for weeks, yet spend that time book clubbing with a stranger.”

“I just told you, she’s engage—”

“But does that really matter? We both know engagement means shit to you.”

Smack!

The slap across Cassius’ cheek echoed down the stoney halls, leaving them all in stunned silence and Syra red-faced.

“I-I’m sorry, I…” she patted his offended cheek, but he pulled away, debating between rage and confusion. “It’s not his fault, Cas, it’s mine. I misunderstood. I jumped to conclusions. She was only helping him—helping us.”

“Damn it, I know that.” Cassius mumbled and massaged his cheek.

“Then why are you—”

“Because you were heartbroken before we even got to Omei. Sulaer just made it worse. Way worse.”

“It wasn’t that ba—”

“You cut your own stone out!”

“You did what?” gasped Aidan and Petra.

But she waved them off, “I was being stupid.”

Aidan stepped towards her, “But you could’ve—”

“I know! Fuck, I know. Like I said, I was being stupid. Angry, jealous, and stupid.”

“Syra…” Aidan’s eyes clung to her distant face as he reached out, “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” she lowered his hands, “I get it now. But, that brings me back to the point I was originally trying to make.”

She looked dead into her sibling’s eyes, “The only way to destroy the altar is to use a soulstone. And I’m the only one who can access theirs. So, the answer is crystal clear.”

“Would you just shut up already?” Petra snapped with a surprising whimper. “You’re not funny!” Her face was red, but not with anger—with stubborn tears that fought a clenching jaw. “None of you are making any sense! None of this makes any sense!”

“Oh, Petra…” Syra reached for her sister, but was quickly shooed away.

“No! I’m sick of your sweetass hero talk. I’m Vayguard, and I’m saying we go to Heartwood and ask Alder for another way.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Vernyll can lick my vent if he thinks he can hold this over me. Plus, it was Alder who gave Father that stupid stone in the first place. He owes us an explanation.”

“Alder did?” Syra paused, recalling that night she first took the stone from Papa.

“Alder said it's enchanted and that Marrak will try his best to get it.”

“Oh right…he did mention Alder didn’t he? You said it was north of here?”

But Aidan took her hand and shook his head, “Heartwood is days from here. We don’t have time. Unless you can think of someone else who might know something about—”

Aidan stopped as his eyes followed Syra’s gaze to the mirror on the other side of the room. “Wait. You think she’d know?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Who would know?” asked Petra.

“Baba,” the couple said together.

“Oh, right. But she’s all the way in Renguard.”

“You got a bridgespell for that?” asked Cassius.

“No.” She stared at the mirror with its glowing white growprism, zeroing in on the flowerbud growing atop its framing. “But I think we could set-up a meeting.”

She and Aidan approached the mirror, both scanning the flowerbud with sharp eyes.

“You think it's dead?” Aidan asked.

“No,” Syra said, feeling the drooping leaves with careful fingers. “Dehydrated maybe, but that doesn't matter if its conduit's dead. Even then, we'd need Marrak to activate it.”

“Not necessarily,” Aidan said, grabbing her full attention. “Whenever father ran late for a meeting, he'd give me his ring to get things started. Maybe it just needs to sense its owner. Like how morakii are imprinted.”

“That's a great idea,” said Petra, “but I don't smell a shitpit anywhere and I very much doubt Marrak's into human jewelry.”

Syra stiffened, “No, but Valen was.”

She grabbed the hoop from her ear and held it to the withering bud. With a twitch, light flickered until the bud glowed a pale red and unfurled, sending rays of light pulsing down the threads around the mirror. .

“Well, look at that—it actually worked!” Petra beamed in surprise.

But Cassius remained cautious, “That’s great, but are you sure it’s Baba we’re contacting?”

“Who else could it be?” asked Petra.

“Whoever answered last,” said Aidan.

Static flashed from the mirror followed by garbled cursing.

“Hello? Who's that? I can barely see you,” said the voice from across the mirror.

“Baba?” Syra spoke into the flickering image.

“Yes, who's asking? Vesna, is that you? I told you, Leon didn’t learn that from me.”

The image cleared to reveal an upside-down Baba.

“Why is she upside-down?” asked Cassius.

“I don’t know. Baba—Baba, you're upside-down.”

“Oh, Syra dear, it’s you!”

“Yes, Baba but you're—”

“Oh my, what a surprise! Hold on, old Spidey got herself turned around again.” Her thumbprint filled the mirror and slowly the image righted itself. “There, is that better?”

“Yes, thank—”

“I can't see you very well, though—it's quite dark.”

“Yes, we’re in a cave at the moment and need your help with something.”

“Oh, then why didn't you say so? What do you need? And…where are you?”

Syra became eerily still, and her voice rumbled upon answering, “We're in Dorgan’s Keep.”

All cheer left and took the color from Baba’s cheeks.

“So tell me, Baba…why are you answering Marrak’s mirror?”

Baba’s gaze dropped but no words came out. So, Syra pried some more.

“Answer me, Baba. Has Marrak been contacting you?”

“No,” Baba shook her head but did not meet Syra’s eyes. “Not recently.”

Syra raised a brow, “Not recently?”

“Well, he and your mother used to play there. So, of course I would check on them from time to time and—”

“Ugh, enough with the wordplay!” Syra rolled her eyes. “Has Valen been contacting you? From here? As in, did you know?”

“Know what, dear?” She had that damn smile again. The one that obviously hid something.

Syra’s lip pulled back in a faint snarl, “Did you know that Valen was actually Marrak in disguise?”

With that, Baba let her mask slip off and offered a solemn nod, “Yes. I warned him not to, but—”

“You actually knew?” The breath left Syra lungs as if gut-punched by a frosthand, “This whole fucking time?”

“Syra—”

“You knew and you just let us follow his orders like good little soldiers? Just...following right along—yes sir, no sir, what next, sir” she raised her earring with shaking fingers, "thank you, sir!", and threw it into the blackness where even the clink of its fall was lost.

“Why?” She forced a slow breath and reached absently for the phantom pearl at her chest. “He stole Mother's essence, Baba. Ripped it from her tree and sealed it in one of those damn stones. I didn't even know he could perform animancy.”

“He can't.”

The flatness in Baba’s voice startled her, “B-but, I saw it! I saw her. Mother's essence was stored in the last shard and—”

“He didn't seal her, Syra, because I did.”

Syra froze, “What?”

Baba could only sigh as remorse filled her voice, “You three weren't the only ones left behind when she died, you know. She was my student, and my friend. I’ve lived a long time and she...she was the closest thing I ever had to a daughter, so—”

“But she was our mother! Our actual mother! You can't just steal her away!”

At this, the cold age shone in Baba’s eyes, “I'm an animancer, Syra. I've woven more lives than years you have lived. Do you honestly think I'd let her go so easily?”

“You had no right.”

“You're right, I didn't. But we were grieving, Syra. Even your father took to that pearl like a suckling babe.”

“Don't you dare bring Papa into this! He's not your excuse. How could you even think—”

“And were you thinking clearly when Rigel died and you up and left home for years without any notice? Did you even stop to think how that might affect them?”

Baba pointed at the twins, but they had nothing but glares for her.

“You’re right,” Syra said, glancing at Cassius, “I didn’t think. But I was a child. I had a mission! A mission, by the way, that you started.”

“Oh, I didn't start it, dearie. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Well, it's ending with Marrak on a warpath. And you're damn well going to help fix it.”

But Baba shook her head, “Not much I can do now—the pieces are already moving. Plus,” her fingers grazed her forehead as her gaze seemed to watch elsewhere, “wars come and go, Syra. Whether you want it or not. Whether you fight it or not. Tides come in, and storms break. Each time reveals our worst, but also forces us forward—like the butterfly that must escape the prison of its own making. You're too young to see it now, but sometimes it's actually for the be—”

“Bashta!” This time the curse came from Cassius as he shoved his face into the mirror. “So, you’re just going to let it happen? Just going to let people die, and plead, and mourn? All for what? The possibility of progress? Or some twisted sense of validation?”

Baba said nothing.

“And what about those children? Rain, Piper, Willow, and the others? You can’t possibly think this won’t affect them, too.”

“Oh, it will,” she snapped. “It always does. That’s why I’m training them to take care of themselves.”

“Surviving and living are two different things, Baba. You must know that by now. So, why are you condemning them to struggle when you can do something to fix it now? Do you truly think this will make them stronger?”

Baba paused and acknowledged his point, her mind chewing on the situation.

“You said you warned him,” Cassius said in a calmer tone. “Back in Edgewood, you said that ‘gold light casts long shadows’, so you must know his plan isn’t the best route. Even if you’re not fighting beside him, you can’t just sit back and watch. There is no neutral party here. And, honestly Baba, do you really think Mother would agree to this?”

Baba’s eyes flashed and they all steeled themselves for a whiplashing. But the spark flickered out and their blue faded to a mournful gray. She remained silent for quite a while, staring off into nothing, until Petra’s fidgeting brought her back.

“No,” Baba said finally. “No, she wouldn’t have.”

The group released their breath and Cassius beseeched the woman in the mirror with a humble grin.

“I’m not asking you to fight him. But we need to know how to stop him—how to destroy the altar before he finishes it.”

“And how to change us back,” Petra chimed in.

“Yes, and that, too.”

Baba sighed and massaged her temples, “So, you’re saying he already has all the shards?”

“Yes,” said Syra, weakly. “He took them.”

“Damn,” the cursed escaped her lips, “I really didn’t think he’d go that far. Alright, fine. But we’ll have to work quickly.” She squinted into the mirror and pointed to the row of books on the small bookshelf by the bed. “The form-binding spells should be in the green-and-gold one over there—the one with the braided vines. Should be around page 131, if I recall correctly.”

“‘Page 131’?” Syra snickered and pulled the book from the shelf. “You certainly know your textbooks.”

“As I should,” an air of pride graced her voice, “I wrote it.”

“What? Seriously?” Syra ran her fingers across the name that graced an entire section of the Academy’s library. “Nimbaba Nimbimbillow…wait! As in Nimbaba?”

She looked back at the mirror to see Baba chuckling to herself.

“I am many things, remember? But that was a lifetime ago, so I’d appreciate the discretion.”

Syra leafed through the pages, but its contents were brand new to her and its cover unfamiliar, “Wait…this book, I never saw this one in the library before.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t.” Baba's bright tone flattened. “It’s like I said, watered-down. It's easy to control tool-use, but true magic like this comes from within. The Council didn’t like that, or the idea of mages turning people into…well, not people. So, they excluded my…more advanced workings. Anyway!” She waved the topic away, “Did you find the spell? The backweave is described right behind it.”

“Umm…yes! Yes, it’s right here!” Her smile dropped as she analyzed the slew of strokes and busy notation, “Oh my. That’s a lot more involved than I imagined.” She gave Petra an embarrassed grin, “I’m kind of glad I didn’t try this on you—you might have ended up an actual lizard.”

“Let me see.” Petra tugged the book over and quickly scrunched her face, “Ew. You can read all that?”

“Yes, but I’ll need some time to understand all the details.”

“We can go look for the altar while you work it out.” Aidan gave Baba a stern look, “I’m assuming you’re going to help her, correct? Laby Nimbaba?”

Baba sneered, “Don’t call me that. And yes, of course.”

She shooed them away, but Syra grabbed Cassius’ leg.

“Wait, Cas! As you look, see if you can sense anything. The altar needs a strong power source, so you should be able to pick up some kind of manaflow the closer you get to it.”

“Got it. We’ll come right back if we find anything.”

With the room quiet, Syra turned her attention to the scribbles on the pages in front of her.

This isn’t just a regular shapechange spell. She traced the border of runes circling the thumbprint icon. Their spelltages did look like this, but… Her nail scratched at the two additional rune-circles that tied into the border like extra knots.

“Hey, Baba? These extra loops—‘support’ and ‘bind’—are they a type of specification?”

“Yes. One supports the spell itself, the other limits what the subject can do after the change.”

“But Valen’s didn’t have these specifications.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that. Transforming such a large and powerful subject would require a great level of regulation. The notation is most likely wound within the initial instructions since these sections aren’t technically expressed.”

“‘Aren’t technically expressed’? What does that even mean? Isn’t the entire spell expressed if it’s activated? Why even include it then?”

“I told you: regulation. For instance, neither Petra nor Cassius can shift back. Yet, you can because you likely don’t include any limitations in your spell. You also have complete access to your magic and have even retained some of your senses,” she tapped her nose, “all because the spell’s bindings are very minimal. The opposite can also be true, where magic and even memory can be completely sealed away. Though, those are almost always the most complicated with enough knots to make you dizzy.”

“I’m already dizzy,” Syra moaned and set the book down to massage her forehead.

Baba chuckled at the young mage, “Are you really complaining? And here I thought you wanted to improve your magic.”

“I do. But not under this kind of pressure.”

“But that’s what makes one great, Syra. Be it from the outside, or from yourself, the pressure to be better is what drives you forward. That’s what kept your mother going—her promise to herself to be better every day. Even if just a little bit. Even if she failed, it was still one more try.”

One more try, huh? Was it that one last try that got her killed? On that lonely island far from home, what was she even trying to do?

“About Mother…just how well did you actually know her?”

“Like I said, she was like a daughter to me.”

Syra scoffed, “That doesn’t mean much. Valen was like a father to me, and look what happened.”

Baba sighed with downcast eyes, “Both your mother and Marrak are…well, they’re a bit complicated. Their relationship even more so.”

“But they were friends, right? That’s what Mother showed me.”

“Yes, they were extremely close—like siblings, despite being of different clans. Too close, as it turned out.”

“What do you mean, ‘too close’?”

Baba pointed to her ring finger, “You know exactly what I mean.”

Syra faltered, “What? No…no she couldn’t. She and Papa—”

“This was before Rigel. And you’re right, she couldn’t. Clan blood just isn’t compatible, and that’s what broke her. It broke both of them.” Sorrow and awe mingled on her face. “Marrak gave up his position as Vayguard to be with her—was even labeled as a traitor by his clan. But in the end, she cut their bond and chose your father. And even then, after she died, he was in a constant state of either disinterest or dissatisfaction. That is, until you showed up.”

“Me?”

“Oh, yes. He had always complained about how poorly run the kingdom was. And he tried to help, he did. But, when he told me that he’d found you, and that you were to be his ward and apprentice…I don’t know, he just lit up. Like something had snapped in him. He took his work and the state of things to heart. Threw his entire self into making this world just a little better. Much of that being for you, if I had to guess. So, I suppose in his own way, he really did see you as a daughter.”

“Take care of her.” Her mother’s voice brought the memory of the ravine, and the river, and that lonely island. “Please, there’s no one else…you have to watch over her—there’s no one else to teach her.”

He did, Mother. He taught me well, but…

“But that still doesn’t excuse him from lying to me this whole time. Or what he’s doing now.” Syra threw her head back and stared at the crystals glittering like stars on the stoney ceiling. Like the ones in her old den. The ones she would stare at with Papa. “Or what he did.”

“No, I suppose not.” Baba hung her head and watched those familiar green eyes glisten over. “But at least you know his reason. And that can be closure enough.”

Syra gave her head a hard shake and picked the book back up, refocusing, “Doesn't matter. I can’t change any of that now. So, could you please explain what this curly squiggle means?”

A few hours later, Petra returned in a huff.

“Did you find it?” asked Syra.

“No, but we certainly found something.”

“Alright, let’s go. Baba—”

“I know. I’ll let Razilah and Vesna know to get prepared.”

“Good. Oh! And, if you can manage to contact him, please let King Rogan know about the attack? They’ll be using the MainWay transpoint and can be surrounded if caught early.”

Baba nodded with a small grin, “I will give it a try.”

“Thank you, Baba.”

Petra led Syra down into the depths of the keep where the hallways became indistinguishable from mining shafts. As they neared a glowing chamber, the air became thick with mana and the crystals shone brighter along the walls.

“We’re definitely getting closer,” said Syra.

“Just wait until you see what’s inside.”

Petra brought her inside the chamber where the boys stood in front of a blooming tri-colored crystal that pulsed and hummed, buzzing the air around it. It looked to be growing from beneath the floor, and its five faceted spears nearly filled the room.

“It’s a kesh raza!” Syra said, running up to it.

“Wait, be careful!” Cas warned as she neared the crystal. “Even my skin is burning being around this thing.”

She stopped and raised her hands towards the prism. The heat tingled her skin, even from this distance. Like the giant bonfire in the plaza where the air itself would scorch skin that got too close.

“I’ll be alright—-I won’t touch it.”

In the light of the stone, she saw thin lines of gold and silver webbing out from around its base and runes carved into the stone floor. Upon closer inspection, she even made out the tiny gaps where shards had been chiseled out.

“This must be what Gurn used to power the altar. But then, where is the altar? It’d have to be close by to draw power in, right?”

“Shit, the lines!” said Aidan.

“What?”

“The metal lines—they’re conduits.” Aidan followed the trail of metal inlays back into the hallway. “They go all the way back to the surface! We must’ve missed the altar somewhere.”

“Could it be hidden somewhere?” asked Cassius. “Like the secret door in Falorn?”

“Does it matter?” Petra asked, making them all stop in bewilderment. “If we can break these lines, then the altar will have no power to start up, right?”

She grabbed a heavy stone and raised it to slam into the floor, but Aidan rushed her.

“Wait, stop!”

She stumbled forward, dropping the stone. As it hit the golden line, it sparked and smoked and popped until it flew across the room in pieces.

“What the fuck was that?” Petra pointed at the scattered gravel.

Aidan knelt with a tempered hand held over the line. It was warm and buzzed just like the kesh raza.

“It’s live. The altar’s already been activated.” He gave a forlorn look to Syra, “We can’t destroy it this way.”

“But how? He only had one shard to begin with, right?”

“That’s probably all he needed to get the current going. The others are just…amplifiers.”

“Well…then let’s just smash the whole damn thing and be done with it,” Petra said.

“Did you not just see what happened to that stone?” asked Cassius. “I doubt even Syra could handle that much mana all at once.”

“He’s right, I can feel it. I’d burn right out.”

“Maybe in your human form, you would. Did you ever think that the reason you burn up is because that human body can’t handle it?”

“No, but—”

“Have you even tried weaving as a dragon?”

“She was in hiding, Petra,” Aidan said. “She couldn’t—”

“Yes, I have.”

Aidan faltered in shock, “When?”

“Out west, during the war.”

“But I was with you the whole time.”

“No, not the whole time.” She tapped her temple, “Not when you were sleeping at least.”

“Wait, did you—” he recalled being trapped in the Vayguard’s lair but then strangely blacking out. The whole squad had thought it dragon trickery, but now…

He gawked at Syra, “That was you? In the lair, you knocked us out?”

“Erdenir refused to speak to any human, but I couldn’t have you see me either. It was the best option at the time.”

“We were helpless! We could’ve been killed!”

“But you weren’t. I made sure of that.”

“Seriously, Syra? Were you ever going to tell me that, either? I can’t believe you’d—” He stilled himself with a huff and pointed a stern finger, “We’re going to seriously discuss our honesty policy later.”

Syra just gave him a big grin, “If it keeps you alive, I’ll take whatever earlashing you have.”

Aidan rolled his eyes but smiled as well, “Smartass.”

“Alright,” Petra said with a clap, “so how are we going to break the altar again?”

“We follow these lines. They should lead straight to the—”

A sudden rumbling shook the halls and sent them to the ground. Behind them, the kesh raza pulsed and light flowed out and down through the metal lines, weaving their way up the hallway.

“What’s going on?” asked Petra, gripping the wall to stand.

Syra’s eyes widened as she took in the scene before her, “He’s here.”