y the time we reached the first unfurling hills of the Sombers, Aedis and I had mentally debated that, unfortunately, he was the winner by a second and a half. And ever since he reached the rest of our tribe just before I did, he'd been smiling. It was faint, almost nonexistent, but the hint of smug delight had lingered for long after that, still did until now.

We'd kept soaring past our friends who took off straight after, six shadows owning the skies as we passed cities and lands and flickering lights. The Sombers were perhaps from the farthest lands, and the darkest, too. Even through my Ealas, I was capable of sensing the churning, hissing lick of evilness festering in it. It wasn't a lick anymore when we arrived.

Massive, unending hills rolled through the lands, rocky and humid. Thick and dark green grass grew here, but all of it was almost concealed by the endless fog. Grey and dense, it coated the earth, the sky. It swallowed everything, wrapped the lands so tightly, unwilling to allow a shimmer of light to seep in. And it stretched and stretched and stretched, that grim fog, everywhere, over everything: over the spurting rocks, over the muddy ground, the pools of blood that smelled as though they'd been spilled here for ages, untouched by the dirt. Over the ruins and chains, some of them cracked, some of them still in using condition. Over every sort of life, over light itself.

And it hissed.

Mumbled and swirled and cawed. A fog power-forged existing since the rise of the very first dawn after Leader's death. It whispered, too. Broken cries and pleas, screams and grunts. It told a story, for those who listened. For those who followed the winds running through the valleys, sweeping around us, caressing us as we walked. For me.

The story of how bones had snapped, how hearts had been torn, how bounders had broke. Of the tears and the horrors this place brought, all the steel-forged warriors that had preferred dying so brutally than betraying their families. Our people.

I wondered if my friends could hear the stories like I did. If they listened to the evading words the earth sang since we'd landed. In both cases, none commented. Not on the magic feeding the lands, not on the grey lights that didn't hold an ounce of warmth, not on how blood and mud stuck to our legs as we moved.

The place was almost empty save for us and a guard standing near one massive, rock-made structure. It was our destination, the highest hill, overlooking all the Sombers, every land and thin, running water, every path. And that glorious form the guard stood nigh, it was fashioned like an open hand, palm facing the skies, fingers so slightly curling. There had been nothing else on it, not even a smear of blood or a piece of steel. Not even the fog and its memories.

It didn't take me long to realize this was the source of all that grey fog, that it was the hand that created it, seeping it from the cracks lining the fingers. This was the heart of the Sombers.

Little less than ten minutes remained.

I marched to that guard, to the hand behind him. He didn't even acknowledge my presence. But it was the fact that there had been no weapons strapped to him that made me stop, that made me turn to face him since he'd been giving us his back no matter how we shifted.

He did not object as I grabbed him by the collar and turned him toward me, only stumbled. Almost numb. His eyes were empty. Gouged out and the remaining flesh was decaying. Yet, there was power in that emptiness, a slate, bright-less hue curled in them, mist evading out of them like a warm breath in a freezing night. Not mist, no. It was the fog.

It trailed from his eyes to the fingers, dancing and curling and swaying before it spread to the final confines of these lands.

I removed my hands, quickly, forcefully, which sent him stumbling back. Not even a whimper evaded the mouth sewn shot with ropes made of a power I'd never seen yet. Only the winds growled.

His winds.

They had been his words, his stories. The fog had been his eyes.

Oh holy Gods.

The name that came running around us made my eyes shoot to the voice's owner. "Ha-ámej." I found him standing on the palm, his shadows still curled at the edge of his boots. Blake.

"I see you've dropped your fancy tunic."

Ha-ámej, I'd heard this name before, somewhere. But the recognition ended here. No matter how hard I tried, that memory remained unattained, curling away from the fingers I so ardently extended to reach it. No information echoed in my ears, no sudden faces and words in my mind.

Nothing. Blank.

The prince looked me down, waiting for me to climb those rocks, to join him. My lungs didn't know how to breathe anymore.

"Since I am going to burn,''—a pointed stare—''I might as well do it in something comfortable.''

All black, from head to toes, clad in a fighting suit that seemed to withstand the hottest flames and coldest winds.

The moment I stepped on the opening of the hand, a silent magic darted around us, veiling the prince and me. A shield and a camouflage, for whatever he wanted to do before the trial started. Aedis's mind was the only connection I worked on establishing should anything go terribly wrong.

The prince pointed to the very center of the palm, inside a circle that was engraved within the stones. The moment I stepped in it, gigantesque, twin columns appeared on each side, chainless. Ha-ámej's power shifted ever so lightly, intertwining around my friends' ankles, seeping inside. They sensed it, sensed how it swept back as silently, carrying a drop of blood that floated to us. To the columns, past the barrier Blake had placed. Straight to his hand.

They merged, and from that very blood, chains erupted. Like snakes, they swayed until they reached the columns, each of the four hanging from its position.

My heart froze for a moment that didn't end.

Not only would I have to fight to maintain my own magic, but theirs, too. Because if the chains broke, heads would be rolling down the hills in a moment's notice.

Blake came closer, stepping within the circle, and gripped my face, tilting it a bit to read the runes inked on my collarbone. The runes swayed and twirled like smoke on my skin, receding beneath my clothes, leaving nothing but pale skin and scars.

"If you think,'' I breathed, meeting his eyes, the fire in them."That you're getting information so easily after this, you are dead wrong."

He only smirked. Not even a comment.

"There's a gag,'' was all he said as he still eyed me, waiting for my reaction.

I was boiling.

"I'd rather have you bite my tongue off.''

That smirk merged into a smile, and something in it was dark and brutal. And possessive. "I've bitten your tongue before." His face inched closer, as close as what he'd done in the hall. The hand on my face tightened. "Just not off."

Heat exploded in my skin, just right where his hand was. The breaths hitting my face burned, and the rage within me was doused again, something else slowly, agonizingly replacing.

The memories swaying in his consciousness made me fight the trembling of my bones. What he'd just hinted. What I'd just seen.

It took you so damn long to come back.

Not only had he known Elayda before, but she'd been his mate.

His mate.

Oh shit.

His fingers traced my skin, bit by bit until he reached my shoulders, as though trying to remember how it felt. As though trying to remember all those lives he'd lived with her. The woman who'd birthed the same demon that continued his bloodline, the one who killed Leander.

I didn't dare going as far as reading Aedis's thoughts this time, not wanting to know just how his ideas were churning. Not now, not when so many had come. Lysithea and her guards, the Fifteen, villagers and citizens, demons of so many, many species.

An audience—witnesses.

The sun had barely risen from its slumber. It was sunrise.

"It's time.''

Blake stepped out of the ring and to the edge of the palm.

His barrier shattered. The rocks forming the inside of the circle vanished to nothingness.

And the chains held me in place, hanging over sheer emptiness, arms and legs stretched almost to tearing point.

Blake's magic was unleashed free.

The first wave of magic came crashing down. Then the second. And the third. All in the matter of heartbeats.

I felt nothing. Not even a lick of ache. Nothing.

Blake had sensed it. Everyone had.

I held Leon's eyes out of the entire crowd, mind so desperately reaching for him. Why? Why didn't that magic break my skin? Why didn't it even hurt?

Cheers exploded, and the crowd still filling, still expanding, laughed and applauded and—

The fourth magic came crashing down.

I swallowed my scream.

It burned. It hurt. It made me desperate to curl, to try to soothe the pain that had gnawed my back.

Another wave hit me, crashing all over my back, scorching it. Fire, it was fire. Just like under the volcano. But harder. Wilder. There had been a feeble shift in magic before that first pain sliced me, something dark brewing.

And the powers that rained down on me, it wasn't Blake anymore. Not the one I'd fought before. It was Dearcious with whatever magic he willed wrapped around his fingers.

Again and again and again, the pain bloomed and growled, the agony wrecked my soul, and the crowd still cheered each time I forced myself to choke down on my yells. I would burn them all, one by one, those laughing and enjoying the scene. Would burn them harder than any of the fire that had just ruined my back.

One by one.

Something cold went through my left feet. Through it. The chains jingled as I tried turning, pulling, escaping. My voice stuck midway in my throat. I wanted to yell, to scream so loud until there would be no more voice left to scream with. So loud Aether himself would find his heavens shaking with the impact.

But I couldn't—wouldn't break. I would die before allowing them to see that pain, to see not only Elayda breaking, but Celestia, too. Never.

Never never never.

Not even when Apocalys would destroy me on that final battlefield. None of them would see me in pain. None of them will have the delight or the pleasure of hearing me scream. Of seeing me break.

So, in those heartbeats between each lashing and the other, I focused on my breathing, focused on my friends staring at me. Waiting for me.

I dared looking at my feet.

The rhythm I had tried to tie my breathing to broke.

Steel had pierced my foot, from one side to the other. It was heavy. It was weighing me down. It hurt.

I bit my lips, my tongue, the inside of my cheek, trying to contain the growls. I tasted blood.

Dearcious's hell owned me once again. Each time, the pain grew. I waited for it to numb out, for my magic to eventually kick in and heal me in a way. Perhaps it did, perhaps it didn't. I couldn't quite tell. The pain was too strong.

I closed my eyes, forced them to block out all the faces in front of me, forced them to remain so every time a new sort of torture downed on my body. I forced myself to focus on something other than the pain.

I made myself remember Father, his warm smile. His engulfing embrace, his beautiful laugh. I made myself remember that time at the ball, as we danced under warm, golden lights. I was happy back then. He'd made me happy. And Ramos had done, too. And Leon and Carter and Mayra and Luthian and Hydn. Then Rhiannon and Green Leaf.

All of them, I made myself remember them bit by bit.

Laughers and drinks and flowers and flickering, multicolored lights.

My father's glowing eyes. His sleeping form on the bed. The first time we spoke.

Something wrecked my shoulders, a kind of power that ate my very bones.

Focus harder.

Blue-grey eyes and a warm, old smile. Ramos. The very first family, the one who'd made sure I was safe, the man who'd loved me as much as he'd loved his own family. The long beard, the fingers he kept them in it. The dragon-shaped clip fashioned after Siltheres. The first time leaning magic, the glowing dust, the rodent and the dragon and the smiles. The late nights together.

Focus.

Another magic shattered me.

Focus focus focus—

My eyes shot open. And I fought miserably trying to bite down on the sounds rumbling in my chest. Fire met my eyes. Red and scarlet and amber washing everything. So tall, so massive.

The flames danced, swayed, bowed, twirled, their snapping against my skin symphonies.

It wasn't pain anymore that spread within me. It was something far greater, far more powerful.

Focus focus focus focus.

Mesmerizing eyes the color of endless field of blooming lavender. Long, lush hair richer than honey and gold. A sister. My sister. The rock that didn't allow me to drift away, the one who had been here from the very start to help me in this. My sister, who the half of her family was taken from her. The Huntress. The warrior who wore silks and jewels.

All of them, I focused on all of them. My brothers, both of them. The Shadow's sister, herself a shadow and a warrior and a mind brighter than anyone who graced these earths. Her heart of gold. All of them, with hearts of gold. Him, too, the man with silver eyes.

Let me protect you.

From this. From this unending hell.

I told Luthian it was hell. But it was so much more. It was war. And I was both the enemies. The grunts and growls that threatened to evade were the traitors.

I didn't want to scream anymore. I wanted to cry. I wanted to drown the world.

I pushed the pain away, down and deep, deeper than the seas. I wanted it to flicker away, to carry everything and just leave.

A beach came shining in my mind. The massacre at Taloan. I wanted to be there. In the icy water, with my father, with all of my family, with all my court.

I heard Father's cries. Leon's broken words under the willow.

I opened my eyes—willingly.

The fire was still there. Stronger even. It expanded to the skies, perhaps to the Thrones. Or maybe to where Apocalys used to rule from, from where he judged souls and kept the balance of the world.

Blake was in front of me for a heartbeat, his face untouched by his fire. His eyes were dark, darker than what they'd been hours ago, in that hall. So dark not even firelight reflected in them.

But he was burning with me. His muscles were taut, his magic renewing faster than normal to maintain its strength. It hurt him as much. I almost smiled.

Almost.

But he was out of my sights, and more powers tortured me. I didn't know from where the pain was born, didn't know how many strikes had hit me at once. Everything was boiling. Everything was hurting. I lost my grip over my senses.

Hot metal grazed my face, ruining one of my eyes. I wasn't able to tell which one, had lost so much control in myself. But I hadn't broken down before them yet.

Once, Blake had been with me under warm, fiery lights. Once we danced, with Carter and Mayra. Once, so far away, he was my friend. Perhaps I'd wanted back then to be more than friends. Perhaps I didn't. I wasn't so sure anymore.

But he was lying from the very start. And he had once again the warm, brutal flames, us encircled within it. He wasn't lying now. I was. But I must survive, so I could keep lying. So I could end them.

Must survive.

Minutes blended together, and hours merged. I didn't know how much I'd been strapped this way, how long had this hell been eating me. I just hoped a long time had passed.

Blood was trailing down the sides of my mouth, from my nose, from the ruined eye. It stung when it touched my wounds—it did more than just sting.

Powers clawed at my neck, seeping inside my skin, inside my bones, in my very nerves. My spine locked up. All the nerves in my body throbbed at once. I was numb then I was shivering and trembling with agony. I was burning hot then I was cold, so cold. He was messing within me.

Oh Gods.

Keep on fighting. I must keep on fighting.

For all the ones I loved. For my family.

Fight for them.

For all they endured, all the long hours they spent in this very position. For my father who fought the poison eating him for seventeen years and a half. For my mother who went lost, who was surely tortured, who might still be if she was alive.

That thought made me forget the trial in its whole for a moment. That bit of hope, that bit of desire I still had. I thought I'd killed it, thought I'd faced the fact that she wasn't there, that even my father couldn't find her.

But I wanted her to be alive. Wanted to tell I was sorry, for all she had to give up and endure because of me.

I wanted to apologize to all of them, because I was the very reason of all their pain. To my king and his Court Leader, to my brothers and sisters. To the man I loved. They were too good for this world, for this era. They should have been born in a time that was filled with mirth, in a court with a queen who would bring them nothing but joy.

I wanted to give them that. Wanted to give them anything they'd ever dreamed about.

I was fighting for them. So they could heal and so they could love and be free. So they could sleep at night without a dagger and magic at their fingers.

I was fighting for all those who fell and I could do nothing to save them. To those butchered on the Fire Festival, to the men my father knew who were nothing more than crumbled bones.

Every drop of blood. Every tear.

This pain, it was so little, compared to what others had lived. So small, so ridiculous. It was nonexistent in front of what Apocalys would do. To what I would feel fighting him. And if I couldn't survive his dog's powers, how could I face him?

That's why I kept pushing at that pain, why I kept opening my eyes, why I kept swallowing, chocking.

I was strong. I was stronger than any who'd walked these lands. And I was feared, far before I was even born. They feared me—Dearcious and Apocalys. They were terrified of me. And to keep on terrifying them, I must not only survive, but to be strong. To be unbreakable.

Pain prickled somewhere in my navel. And it stretched and grew and I imagined it expanding, stretching its hands like a squid's tentacles in my body, releasing its poison.

I gasped for air as a gust of wind hit my chest, sending me back, the chains rattling. But never breaking. I would break myself before allowing my friends' magic to fade.

My throat was slaughtered by all that was unsaid, un-screamed, and I searched the fire, looked at and through it. I found Aedis's face.

Only him. And he was staring back