Sorath’s footfalls echoed as Gwyn led him down a spiral stairwell. At the bottom, air was stale but warm. His eyes adjusted to faintly glowing crystals. He was in a corridor five strides long. One cast iron door was on the left wall. Another was further along on the right. And a larger one at the corridor’s end. Gray crystals embedded at the doors’ midpoints shone with intricately woven mana that webbed outward, covering each door in Lock and Ward enchantments.

Behind the far door, a fuzzy smudge of fiery mana was prone and unmoving. Sleeping. Valia.

Why did it have to be her? Out of all the powerful Fire Mages in the kingdom, this was the only one that brought back some of the most unhappy memories for Sorath. Maybe it was fate. Maybe this was all the doing of a bored god with a warped sense of humor; indeed, he had been running into quite a few of his old classmates these past days. He could only chuckle.

“Something funny?” Gwyn asked, halting in front of Valia’s cell.

“I suppose,” Sorath said, swallowing, “it’s funny that we’re making such a big deal out of one Fire Mage.”

“I already told you, we need Mages because we don’t have the tech unlocked to train them yet.”

“How many Mages are in our ranks now?”

“Obviously just me.” Shaman was a second-tier Mage. She scratched her head through her hood. “And you’re something of a Mage as well.”

To be precise, he was a melee-caster hybrid DPS, though Cyesten’s convoluted terminology didn’t matter here. His psionic affinity, now that he understood it better, was an excellent elemental modifier for the Mage class. Oh well, too bad. Anyway, his current class was much more enjoyable than hiding in back-lines casting spells.

Gwyn presented her palm to the door’s crystal. It lit up in bright green hues, and the door swung inward without a sound, revealing a cell several strides deep and wide. Unlike the cells upstairs, this one had a separate adjoining bathroom. There was a stone table, four stone chairs, an empty bookshelf, and a nightstand that supported a crystal lamp. But of course, there was no window here underground.

Gwyn fed the lamp a few drops of mana. It glowed greenish-white. “Wakey wakey,” she chirped loudly, reaching into her invisible pouch and taking out one of those paper-wrapped breakfast bars.

Under thick blankets, Valia moaned in discomfort, then jolted into a curled-up sitting position. Her long chestnut hair was an embarrassing mess. Her violet eyes, a tad bloodshot, narrowed and shifted between Sorath and Gwyn.

Right, the cloak, Sorath thought and unhooded himself. Old memories were close to reemerging. Truly, the teenage crush he had on this girl was a distant memory. He would behead her right now if needed, and she could see the bitterness in his face. Her restrained glare did not match her inner raging fires of fear, shock, confusion, worry, and the pain of betrayal. But who had betrayed her? Certainly not Sorath.

“Eat up.” Gwyn tossed the breakfast bar. “It’s chocolate and nuts. Very yummy.”

Valia caught it with a swipe. Her eyes remained fixed on Sorath. “Where’s Lesfid? I know he’s alive. I know he’s here.” Her voice was hoarse, as though she had been screaming for days.

Sorath had forgotten about the dungeoneering master. Yet another strange twist of fate.

Gwyn answered, “He’s upstairs. Scarlett already talked to him. We don’t really need him for anything, so we might let him go today.”

“What do you mean let him go?” Valia asked. Worry stoked her inner flames.

“Um…” Gwyn’s loopy, grassy mana rustled in amusement. “Let him go like letting a mouse run free. I’m sure he’ll scurry back home safely.”

Mentally shrugging, Sorath didn’t care either way. But he wouldn’t voice disagreement if they were to execute Lesfid instead. So many lives had been ruined thanks to that Dungeoneering Guild.

Valia’s flaming mana had calmed, somewhat. She tore open the breakfast bar, bit into it, not bothering to sniff for poison or potions. She chewed and swallowed. “Can I also go free? Or will I be your hostage?”

“About that…” Gwyn stood a bit taller, hands behind her back. And her shrouded hood was still up—untrusting. “We were kind of hoping, maybe, just maybe, you’d like to join our cause.”

Bewilderment smothered Valia’s fiery mana to embers. Only for a couple seconds, but in that moment, she looked a lot like the carefree, friendly girl that Sorath remembered. She scarfed down the breakfast bar, wiped her mouth on her linen sleeve. “What, exactly, is your cause?”

Gwyn hummed a breath. “This whole area will be a beautiful, prosperous faction very, very soon. Hopefully we’ll be able to get along with Cyesten as neighbors, but if not, overthrowing a king is always fun. You can be in charge of our first Mage Tower once we build it. How does that sound?”

Valia was gawking. “You’re serious.”

“Yup. How about a fancy title too? Grand Archmage. And at your age. Think about it.”

Valia did think about it, and she gave a frowning smirk. “It sounds like you’ve thought about this quite a bit.”

Gwyn nodded, hood still up. “Once we’re a faction and unlock all the First Age tech, the Mage Tower will one of our top priorities.”

“I mean,” Valia said, “it sounds like you’ve already decided I’m to be your Grand Archmage.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Gwyn’s voice was ten notes higher. “I read all about you in Sora’s journal. About how you’re so smart, talented, powerful. A once-in-a-century prodigy! Isn’t that right, Sora?” Her tone was cutting.

And attention was on him. He was a solid stone carving; he hadn’t said a word yet. He shrugged. “Clearly, you’re not so prodigious, getting captured so easily. I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote that.”

Gwyn giggled.

Valia’s lips twisted into a knot. She stood up, meeting him at eye level. Then her tongue clicked as her mana reignited. “Clearly, you’re no longer the awkward boy who was too nervous to even talk to the girl he fancied.” She added a thought, Bubble Head.

That jab barely pricked his skin. “Why would anyone fancy you?”

“I didn’t mention myself, but thank you for saying so.” Her chin lifted. Smug. “But, sorry, I’m still not interested. And I see you’ve already found yourself a whore.” Her eyes slipped to Gwyn, who was standing rather close to Sorath.

“I’m a whore?” Gwyn whined as her mana bubbled. “The only whore here is you. Don’t lie, Sora heard in all their thoughts about how you were running around with all the boys in your class. And now you’re whoring yourself out to Desiric by serving in his Royal Guard. Hmph.”

Valia’s arms crossed, her eyes slashing back to Sorath. “What exactly did you hear?”

He didn’t understand why or how the conversation had diverged to this. As with all girls, their minds were different, and he would likely never fully understand them even with Telepathy. He drawled, “I don’t recall. I don’t care.”

“Oh, you don’t care?” Valia’s weight shifted to her other leg. “Then what about the illusion attack you used on me? Hmm?”

His ultimate. Mass Hysteria.

He raised eyebrows at her. “What about it?”

“Don’t act innocent. You know what you did.” Valia pointed at him, almost poking his chest. “This is what it’s really about, isn’t it? You pledged yourself to Scarlett Freya; in exchange, she promised to capture me so I can be your slave to do away with. You’re sick, Bubble Head.”

Gwyn’s mana flipped in surprise—and annoyance at him.

Sorath had a fair idea of what Valia’s greatest fear was. One of her greatest fears. And she had resisted his ultimate skill within seconds unlike her party members. That one old Blademaster had been in the fetal position, rocking back and forth like an injured baby. Even Wyll Magnair hadn’t resisted as quickly as Valia. Brave and prodigious. More promising than any Mage born in hundreds of years.

Sorath chuckled and explained, “I don’t know what illusions my skill inflicts on my targets. Even if I could know, it would be too much information in the heat of battle. Though thank you for saying so.”

“Really?” Valia said, half believing.

“Really.” He placed a hand on the hilt of Vetara’s Reckoning. “I can demonstrate again.”

Her mana ignited into a cage of blue and yellow fire around her body. Hot air stormed the cell. Fire Shell. A typical defensive Mage skill with a long cooldown. She had used it in the fight. Great against physical and specific magic attacks. Useless against Mass Hysteria. “Do it and I’ll cook you alive,” Valia spat.

Sorath was about to draw his blade, but Gwyn took hold of his hand. Her nails dug into his palm. “Sora’s not serious,” she said, “and Scarlett promised no such thing, trust me. We’re not savages.”

No one spoke for over half a minute, until the Fire Shell’s duration lapsed, dissipating into tufts of smoky mana. Valia was still glaring at Sorath, her fists held protectively at her chest. Her unarmed melee fighting stance was decent—for a Mage. In a low voice, she said, “Don’t you dare try it.”

“Come on,” Gwyn said. “Sora’s not serious. He’s just got a mean sense of humor. That’s all.”

He was bored of this talk. “Relax, Valia. Listen to me when I say I don’t want you to be my slave or anything in that regard. I don’t care if you join us or not, but we do need Mages. We—” Headstrong, bright, loopy mana was approaching from above. Freya. Her party entry wasn’t grayed-out anymore.

“We?” Valia mumbled.

Freya’s hooded form appeared next to him in a fold of golden-white light. “My apologies, Valia,” Freya said in such a regal voice, “but I had matters to deal with. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. By the look you have, it seems that these two haven’t been very… diplomatic in their approach. I apologize for their rudeness.”

Valia’s lips were a tight line. Her eyes were tense. Her mana was drawn inward into a condensed furnace. She didn’t speak. She didn’t verbalize thoughts.

“So sorry about what Sora did,” Gwyn whispered, meaning it.

He bit his tongue.

Freya continued, “I will be direct, I don’t expect you to kneel before me here in this cell, far from it. For the time being, for at least this winter, you will remain as my prisoner. If you work and behave, you have my word that you will not be harmed.”

“And Lesfid is free to go today?” Valia asked.

“Indeed,” Freya said, “but on the condition that you agree to my terms. Is that understood?”

Valia’s nod was slight. “Fine, but I won’t fight for you.” It looked like she wanted to say more, perhaps a threat or another question. Her mana churned and coiled as non-verbal thoughts ran through her head. She was definitely withholding something.

She couldn’t be trusted.

Sorath didn’t know why he had thought otherwise. Valia was not like himself. She was a noble. Her family and friends were very much alive, worrying about her this very moment. Her whole life was in front of her, and she would not abandon her faction—even if she knew the truth of her king and lords. In fact, it was better if she remained ignorant. Guiltless. The gods would be most lenient on her.

As Tygett came down the stairwell with enchanted shackles, Sorath looked at his past classmate one last time, wishing her the best.