FEAR OF DEATH (VOLUME ONE)

BOOK ONE OF FLARES OF SERINOR

J.R. Dimesiss

J.R. Dimesiss

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 All rights reserved
Fear of Death(Volume one) is a self-published book by J.R.Dimessis
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval

system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express
written permission of the publisher. if you would like permission to
use material from this book please contact Dimesiss.j.r@gmail.com

Cover design by: J.R. Dimesiss, Maryam Rezaee

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PART ONE

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 CHAPTER 1
Daas

T
he Bell of the Macabre tolled, echoing in the quiet morning as the hazy
northern city of Naigaa awoke from its drawn-out slumber. The Naigan
were not used to such nuisance—that ominous toll of a bell only ever heard
on the occasion of an impending execution; one that was made years ago by the
magical craftsmanship of the Architects of Maazinaan, the capital, and erected in the
northern city. Its sharp, piercing sound seemed to engulf the brain, momentarily
eradicating all power of thought; not even the concrete walls, narrow passages, or the
dimmed cellars could resist its penetration.
Daas who had hunkered down in the city’s Grand Library, reading as usual, quickly
looked up from the elaborate book of Taahaaitan history, bewildered. He could not
catch a break—each time he attempted to read the book something would come up.
Staggered, he closed the hard red cover, the rising dust telling the tale of the tome’s
years of solitude.
“What could it be now?” Daas quietly wondered to himself.
Standing from his chair, he picked up the book and, after hurriedly tidying up the
place, headed to the front desk. The library’s ceiling towered at close to twenty meters,
being one of the more ancient buildings in Naigaa and housing nearly fifty thousand

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volumes. He could see the surprise and dread on people’s faces as he passed them. A
perplexed ruckus was slowly building up as everyone asked about the Bell, the distress
spread by its toll evident in their every breath, every glance.
As he laid down the book on the front desk, the librarian looked up from his own
tome—a rather short and chubby short fellow with large spectacles and a bald head.
He grabbed the book. “The Land of Taahaaita!” he whispered in wonder. “Truly
refreshing to see people in the north still care about these books.” He seemed
completely unfazed by the sound that, despite going silent, felt as if it still reverberated
through the corridors.
He turned his gaze toward Daas. “I’ve just been relocated here from Gorgaa, the
City of Life. And I must say,”—the man spared Daas a smile—“it’s a joy to see youths
such as yourself interested in history.” Daas noticed one of the man’s eyes was larger
than the other.
He shifted on his feet, being in a hurry as he was. “Thank you. Yes, the book is
rather interesting.” He half-turned, trying to signal his intention to leave. “Either way,
congratulations on your first day!”
The librarian gave him a considering look and chuckled. “You seem to be on the
verge of panic, young man. Don’t you worry about the Bell—so it goes. They probably
caught a spy.”
Daas delivered his best forced smile, trying to appear calm. “Yes, so it goes.”
“You must be one of the transfer Architects; which branch?” the man inquired as
he moved the tome of The Land of Taahaaita. “If I may ask, of course”
“No, sir. I’m a cadet; Azure Army division of the Armed Forces.”
The librarian visibly failed to contain his surprise. “Cadet!?” He stared momentarily
at Daas. “Oh, I have never before met a warrior who was interested in reading! I hope
you forgive my insolence.”

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 “I’m used to the gaping,” Daas said calmly, even as he was internally cursing the
relaxed, chatty librarian holding him up at such a terrible time.
The man finally saw the sword Daas was carrying and burst out laughing.
“Youngsters bringing a sword to the library”—he pointed to the bronze hilt he had
just discovered—“is not at all a common sight but, to be honest”—his volume dropped
as he leaned forward—“I wouldn’t trade your company for those snobby young
Architects—I can see their hatred for this city so evidently it might as well be written
on their foreheads.” Still chuckling, he wagged his head in disappointment. “So dim-
witted and immature.” He finally sat down to get back to his reading.
Daas had, of course, not listened to the man’s speech at all, his mind preoccupied
with the Bell of the Macabre; had the Architects really captured a spy? He had to find
out immediately. Bidding the librarian a hasty farewell, he turned to head out.
The man nodded. “Good day, swordsman. Do visit sometime.”
“Certainly,” Daas replied as he walked toward the exit. Whispering, he continued,
“If I still live, that is.” But the man was already out of earshot.
***
One good thing about the northern city was that many aspiring warriors chose to
take up training in the Naigaa Academy of Armed Forces after finishing school
instead of the other three major cities’ Academies. It was the largest city in the western
republic of Perigaad by landmass but housed less population than the other three.
Daas had to walk for half an hour through the one- or two-story buildings donning
the streets to get to the cadets’ dormitory he resided in, which was somewhat farther
away from the training grounds; a decisive win for this dorm compared to the others,
one might say.
Daas hesitated in front of the entrance, its gate made of iron and wood, unable to
shake the thought of what the unexpected ringing of the Bell could have meant.
Involuntarily, his hand brushed his simple cotton shirt, ensuring it was tidy. His black
leather boots were shiny as ever. He took a deep breath, letting the clean air fill his
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lungs. The seasonal rains had cooled down the air while the sun beamed across the
sky; he loved this weather and did not want to spoil his good mood with the unwanted
chatter that was sure to have started by now. His fellow cadets would have already
congregated in the common room, discussing the foreboding summons.
As he gazed at the sky with a half-smile, he felt a sudden, powerful blow on his back
that made him stumble. Straightening quickly, he unsheathed his sword.
“Oi! Easy, you div of a bookworm!” someone exclaimed.
Daas relaxed a little—that could only be his friend Petro. Being heavier built than
his friends, Daas tended to be called that way more often than not.
Petro laughed as he raised his hands in surrender, trying to calm him down. Daas
glared at him, exhaling in rage as he carefully sheathed his sword back into the
scabbard. “I’ll show you who’s a bookworm if you try something like that again!”
Petro assumed his usual apathetic tone, mocking, “Yeah, yeah, who else but the
great Daas would make such a threat?” He rolled his eyes. “At least go with I’ll show
you who’s a worm—that’s slightly more threatening, even if it’s just slightly.”
He knew Petro from two years back—a short skinny boy with a childish round face
and green eyes that made his face look rather innocent. Despite being a solitary soul,
he was also somehow Daas’s closest friend—though he mostly minded his own
business and did not interfere with Daas’s affairs.
Petro glanced at him. “You were at the library, weren’t you? Do you know what
they rang the Bell for?”
“No.” Daas stared back. “Do you?” he asked, trying to seem inconspicuous.
His friend threw up his shoulders childishly. “I haven’t heard a thing. Any guesses?”
“It’s been years since I last heard that damned sound for … for an execution.” At
the sorrowful memories flooding his mind, gloom settled over his face.

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 Petro sniffled. You could tell from the look on his face that he was lost in his own
ghosts, yet his tone was impassive when he replied, “I heard it once before, but it was
years ago. In Gorgaa in the south.” A scoff. “The City of Life.”
Glancing around the cobbled street, Petro grew somber. “You don’t think—”
A sudden toll cut him short.
It was the Bell of the Macabre. A ringing that should have stayed quiet for another
ten years. The jarring sound echoed through the city for a second time, promising
death.
Petro stared at his friend with wide eyes, panting “Didn’t they ring the cursed Bell
once already? ’The hell is wrong with them!?” as if expecting him to have an answer to
this mystery.
Daas cautiously directed his penetrating gaze to the end of the road. Sounding the
Bell, not only once but twice. He thoughtfully murmured, “Something’s not right. We
should go inside.”
***
With nearly a hundred people in the common room, the place was busier than
ever. The cadets (all Azure Army aspirers and none Domestic Security, since the
dorms of the two divisions were separate) sat around the long wooden tables in groups
of seven and eight, talking passionately even in their fear. The betting had already
begun—disappointingly making it clear that no one yet knew the real story—the
excitement visible in the eyes and tone of every single one of them.
An execution ceremony, especially after so many years, was enough reason for such
a stir; let alone twice in one day. The tolling of the Bell was a testament to the severity
of the convict’s crime, since common criminals like thieves and murderers were not
executed in such a fashion.
The betting usually ended in arguments and, more often than not, violence. So as
Daas and Petro were not huge fans of conflict, they took to a quiet corner of the hall

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and sat at a smaller table. The reason behind the unexpected turn of events would
become clear soon enough.
Right then Kaari, one of the cadets standing with the gamblers, caught sight of
Daas. Separating from the group without a goodbye or glance back, he yelled across
the room, “Daas! Have you heard any news?”
“No, I’m as clueless as everyone else.”
With a height at about a meter and ninety, Kaari was almost as tall as Daas but not
as brawny—something for which Daas was respected. In fact, the warriors held Daas
in high regard for two reasons; firstly for his prowess in battle, which allowed him to
last (and win) against their masters—all mighty warriors of the Azure Army who had
long ago graduated as soldiers and been promoted to marshals after years—even as a
cadet, and secondly for his intellect and knowledge about the lands in the continent
of Serinor—wisdom he had accumulated through tirelessly devouring advanced tomes.
Kaari fixed his scabbard as he approached. He pulled out a wooden chair, sitting
down next to Petro. “If they haven’t told us anything by now, then we need to wait
until five in the evening and find out the truth when we gather in the Hall of
Execution. But since the Bell tolled twice—,” he shrugged, “—I’m really curious as to
what’s happened. The excitement is quite refreshing.”
Petro leaned forward. “Perhaps there was a mistake?” he wondered, his gaze
swinging between the two in hopes of some form of affirmation. But Kaari paid him
no mind while Daas absently replied with a “We’ll have to wait and see,” and went
back to his thoughts. Daas had serious doubts that any mistakes were made—
Architects were always careful. Too careful.
Kaari grinned. “I never thought anything would make you leave your dear library,
Daas. The story of this Bell is that important for you?”
Trying to hide his anxiety, Daas let out a mocking laugh, exaggeratedly sweeping
his hand to point out the rabble of gamblers. “Should it not? With how thrilled our

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brothers are, I’m afraid we’ll have our own share of casualties if the true story isn’t
revealed before noon!”
Kaari gave Daas a long, hard look. Daas paid him no mind and crossed his arms,
fixating his piercing stare on the gamblers. Although calm on the surface, his mind
was in turmoil because of the execution ceremony—the Architects had no doubt
apprehended a traitor, he was sure of it.
“Hey, Daas,” Petro called suddenly, “you hate executions, right?”
Daas gave him a strange look. “What’s so exciting about death?”
Petro seemed a bit confused by his friend’s response. “Well, we’re warriors, aren’t
we? ‘Warriors must kill or be killed,’ as they say.”
Daas smirked and turned away. “You do remember you’re talking about
Perigaadian warriors, don’t you?”
“I know we haven’t fought any wars yet, but we’re still warriors!”
Kaari chipped in grumpily, “Warriors we might be, but you have warriors and then
you have warriors. Are you actually comparing us to the Lianese ones?” He sniffled in
disgust. “Everyone knows we’re useless and have no social status. Architects are the
ones who call the shots here. Us? We’re less than flies to them; just lambs squatting
quietly, waiting to be sent to the slaughter.” Standing suddenly, the young man
grabbed a glass from the table and went to find something to eat, taking his angry
grudge with him as a cloak to forever wear on his shoulders.
Petro’s laughing eyes followed Kaari’s steps, clearly finding the boy’s miserable
rambling just another thing to snicker at. Then he seemed to remember a more
pressing matter. “Anyways,” he said, getting right back to his favorite job of being
annoying, “you didn’t say why you hate executions!”
“I told you already, Petro! Death doesn’t amuse me.” Daas was starting to sound
less like his usual calm self and more like a caged animal.

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 Finally appearing to catch on to his friend’s dismay, Petro turned away, chastened.
“Suit yourself. You’re better off going to the library when you get moody; even though
I can’t, for the life of me, understand how you read those convoluted books with their
strange, incomprehensible writing styles.” He eyed Daas, twisting his lips as if tasting
something repulsive. As if books were repulsive.
Ah, here we go again, Daas thought.
Books of history and magic were sometimes written in code; the author would
finish the book and use a specific charm to shuffle the words in a new and
indecipherable order, then proceed to put the cipher’s guide in the foreword. It made
the book a painfully difficult and time-consuming read, yes, yet Petro was right in at
least one thing: nothing soothed Daas like reading.
Petro continued watching his friend while sipping his drink, apparently still
awaiting a response. But Daas saw no point in wasting his breath—the books were
challenging, bedazzling, and rightfully demanding troves of treasure absolutely worth
every patient moment spent on slowly coaxing their secrets out and understanding
their hearts, and that was that.
Finally losing hope, Petro took a different tactic. “So, how is it?” He pointed at
Daas’s sword from his corner of the table. “Aren’t people surprised when you bring a
sword to the library?”
Daas ran his hands through his somewhat short dark hair. “Sure they are. I tell
them I would leave it outside if I could.”
When he again fell silent, Petro leaned in. “And what kind of books do you read?”
Daas threw up his shoulders with indifference. “History, mostly. About the lands.
Why? You never ask me these things. Are you thinking about taking up reading?”
“No way!” Petro twisted his mouth in disgust again. A crash from across the hall
distracted them both. They whirled around to see that fights had already started, a

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couple of cadets thundering at each other. Daas smirked, leaning back in his chair to
enjoy the show with Petro, both of them spectators in a badly written play.
But even as his eyes were glued to the ensuing drama between the gamblers, Petro
would not let go of his odd inquiry. “You read about the White Union, too, right?
With all the eight nations in the Union and its heart, Kena?”
“Of course I do! That’s my favorite topic. But tell me—,” he turned to give his friend
a long look, “—where is all this coming from?”
Petro hesitated before relenting. “Well, just this morning, I heard one of the
masters talking about sending a group outside the Shield of Perigaad.”
Daas froze, staring at him in shock. “What!?” Sending groups outside the border
was a rarity—Perigaadians seldom interacted with other lands.
“A group is going to leave Perigaad and negotiate with the White Union,” Petro
cautiously repeated. “Is that too unusual?”
Slowly shifting in his seat, Daas took a deep breath. “It’s nothing. Only uncommon.
I’m just shocked, is all. When are they due to travel?”
Petro glanced at him sideways. “That, I don’t know.”
The pair grew quiet, both of their minds preoccupied with the twists of the day
that kept growing stranger. They watched their brothers in arms move past simple
words and resort to wrestling and throwing punches until, finally, Petro broke their
silent pondering. “Daas, out there—outside our country’s Shield, I mean—it must be
really dangerous, no?”
Daas thought carefully on his words. “Well, yes. They’re mostly magical creatures—
magic that stems from ravaan, the flowing force of the soul, mind, self, kind of all that
put together.” He paused, the sounds of the escalating quarrel filling the silence
between the two. “But don’t worry, the Architects’ Towers are truly sturdy. More than
sturdy, really. You could say they are one of a kind in all of Serinor.”

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 Ravaan Structure Architects (or Architects in short) were the true powers of
Perigaad. They weren’t mages—they couldn’t use ravaan directly. But with the help of
science, they used it indirectly to construct magical Structures that channeled the
magic by design for all things from war to housekeeping. It was the only magic
Perigaadians had, but it was a force to be reckoned with. An example would be the
legendary Towers—Daas had never seen one up close and there was not much about
them written in books, but whispers of the lethal weapons traveled on the wind.
The sound of a slamming door broke Daas’s thread of thought and he looked up
to see that, as he had predicted, the waiting game had come to an end. Pelaareh, a
fellow cadet, was running toward the center of the hall. “I found it out! I found out
what happened!”
All eyes turned toward him with curiosity. Those standing in the back made their
way to the front to hear the news better. Even the gamblers retired from their fights,
quieting in eagerness. Since Pelaareh was standing close to their table, Daas and Petro
had no problem hearing his words from their seats.
“The first toll,” Pelaareh began dramatically, “is for a traitor who tried to send our
spring’s starwater to Liano!” At that, a visible wave of shock went through the crowd.
“Starwater, can you imagine?” he asked incredulously. Shouts of surprise spread
among the cadets, cutting him off, and Pelaareh struggled to control his audience. He
raised both hands, demanding quiet. “Hush, no need to worry! The bastard will be
executed at five, as per the rules.”
Daas inhaled sharply; the traitor must’ve been either too fearless or too stupid to
have risked being caught smuggling the rare, precious starwater holding so many
magical properties. Or perhaps too desperate. Anyhow, the secretive Architects
watched the spring and Perigaad’s borders like a hawk, playing it as close to heart as
it could possibly be played.

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 The common room was in upheaval as the cadets shouted for justice and nodded
in approval at the promised violence. Pelaareh, who clearly was not yet done,
continued loudly, “But listen! The real deal … the second toll … none of you could
have guessed! All that useless betting—”
“Spit it out!” someone yelled.
Pelaareh caressed his sword with exaggerated calm. “Calm now, my dears.” He
paused, holding the agitated crowd by a thread like a true showman. “It appears that
a group of emissaries from Liano is to visit Perigaad for negotiations.”
The sharp intake of breath was almost deafening in its abruptness, the ensuing
awed silence even more so. Daas got halfway up from his chair. “What??!” he yelled at
Pelaareh, breaking the spell, then cursed himself inwardly—he seriously needed to stop
shouting in shock.
The eyes turned to Daas this time, Pelaareh giving his size a cautious look and
dropping his act. “Well, I don’t know the whole story. I heard they’ll be here sooner
or later.” He looked away to talk with another boy, brothers gradually gathering
around him.
Daas was frowning quite visibly as he slowly sat back down on his chair. Petro took
a look around to see who was in earshot and then, careful not to let anyone else hear,
leaned quietly toward Daas. “Are you sure you’re alright today?”
Seeing the worried look on his friend’s innocent face, a sigh escaped Daas. “I told
you, I’m just shocked. Nothing to worry about.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, the negotiations. Here, of all places. I thought it was us who
were going to travel outside of the border Shield, but it seems to be the other way
around. With the Lianese, no less—they’re our mortal enemies! Has this ever
happened before?”
“It has.” A pause. “But it goes way back…” He drifted off, still supporting a frown.

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 Liano was Perigaad’s neighbor in the north and greatest foe. The Lianese were
famous for their powerful warriors in all of Serinor—warriors who, unlike their
Perigaadian counterparts, had an inherent ability to wield magic that made them
fearsome monsters of murder.
Daas was in the grip of his mind now. A traitor’s execution and the imminent arrival
of an embassy? That makes no sense. He leaned back in his chair, a sinister feeling
courtesy of the day’s events overtaking him. What could they be up to?
***
After lunch, Daas and Petro visited the training grounds. Daas had already grown
tired of the repetitive debates about Liano following him everywhere, jumping from
one cadet’s lips to the next.
Is it true that the Lianese are like wild beasts?
I’ve heard they can set an entire city ablaze in a single minute.
Why in the world are they even being allowed to enter the country?
Are the Architects’ Towers stronger or the Lianese warriors?
And on, and on, and on. Daas had no interest in such nonsense. He honestly
didn’t understand his friends’ excitement about a war between the two lands—no, he
didn’t know which way the balance of power would go in the case of a conflict, but
what he did know was that the devastation which was sure to follow would cause the
deaths of thousands, pain and misery haunting the people’s footsteps.
Crestfallen, he had left the dorm to train by himself and try to forget the coming
execution, but Petro had announced he would be tagging along. To their surprise, the
training grounds were quite empty. Usually during the classes, which were held three
times a week, at least two hundred cadets trained under the masters’ supervision. Yet,
despite being a training day, only a handful of people could be seen scattered here
and there today.

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 After a few hours of practice and combat with Petro, most of which Daas won
rather swiftly as always, they felt they had had enough as well. Sweating from head to
toe and splattered on the ground, Petro looked up at his supposed friend. “You know,
you could lose on purpose from time to time. I’d like to remind you that we are pals
for crying out loud.”
Daas grabbed his hand good-naturedly and helped him up. “I might try to lose to
you in official fights, but if I do so in practice then I’m just lying.”
“Oh, but please, tell me sweet lies,” Petro quipped. Running his hand through the
black hair he kept short in imitation of Daas—which, sadly, failed to give his slight
body any sense of grandeur the way it did Daas’s—he laughingly continued, “I’ll have
to remember to remind you of that come the final exams.” He paused, then threw a
discreet look at Daas. “Anyways, shouldn’t we be on our way? It’s only an hour until
the execution,” he asked hesitantly, as if fearful of his friend’s reaction.
Daas wavered for a moment while looking around. Then he let out a sigh. “Let’s
go.” He was anything but eager for the ceremony, but the cadets were required to
attend and the Architects accepted no excuses.
***
The sun was about to set, its orange rays blanketing Naigaa in a mournful shade.
The pair walked the hard cobbled streets of the city toward the Hall of Execution.
Daas could not shake the sense of dismay and rancor that had possessed him since
hearing that peculiar sound in the morning. His mood had taken a turn for the worse
today; as if the morose tolling of the Bell had hunkered down on his mind, stealing
any joy or power of thought.
Petro was not faring any better either. He had seemed doleful since they set out for
the ceremony, but now finally moved to break the uneasy silence not even filled by
horses’ hooves. “However I look at it, you’ll be a graduated soldier in less than three

16
years at the very most. You’ll be twenty-four and receiving the silver-hilted sword, and
you will have to move to the soldiers’ barracks, right?”
“I’m in no hurry to enter the Army,” Daas responded indifferently.
“It’s not up to you, now, is it?” His words dripped bitterness. “You’ll leave and I’ll
be left here with a bunch of newly hatched cadets who couldn’t raise a sword if their
lives depended on it!” Petro said such things every once in a while, even though he
was a joyful young man. He would sometimes get tangled up in negative thoughts that
Daas usually helped him forget. Except he was now preoccupied with his own
thoughts about the execution and the Lianese embassy.
After a short pause, Petro tried to change the subject from his sour mood. “Daas,
you have an Architect friend, don’t you?”
“We’re not friends, I saw him at the Grand Library a few times. Helped him with
some of the more complex books he had trouble understanding and translated a
section for him.”
“What kind of an Architect? Which branch?”
“He’s switched branches once or twice.”
Petro was not willing to let it go. “I’m coming to the library with you, I have to
meet this friend of yours. Wait, how did the whole Architect branches work again?”
Daas sighed. “There are four main branches: Warfare (who build the Towers), Life,
Shield (who built the Shield of Perigaad), and Construction. The power and
distinction of each Structure are due to its layered nature—meaning the more layers it
has, the stronger it becomes.” He enunciated each word slowly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve
already explained all of this to you many times, haven’t I?”
Petro lowered his head, dejected. “Well, it’s complicated, what can I say! I have no
idea how you memorized it all,” he murmured.
“Through patience and determination, as I do all things.”
Detecting Daas’s low spirits from his tone, Petro let the conversation drop and kept
quiet as they continued to stroll through the market. The stalls and roads were
17
emptier than ever, most of the people certainly having left to watch the traitor die.
Daas saw a kid holding a loaf of bread as he ran down the street, laughing, his old
grandmother struggling to keep up with him. Life went on as usual in the northern
city, dimly shining through the simple lives people lived. The undeniable truth, of
course, was that the rich migrated to the more prosperous and affluent central cities
in pursuit of a better life, not to mention better magical facilities.
It was thus that they reached the Hall of Execution. Petro took a dramatic breath
upon catching sight of the oddly sinister building. “And now … death is here.”
The Hall of Execution was a seven-hundred-year-old Structure, wide and somewhat
tall. Everything about it was ancient—the doors, windows, walls. It seemed as if the
city officials had no interest in its maintenance and renovation.
When they passed through the doors, Daas felt his insides twist; it was just as he
remembered it thirteen years ago—the dim lighting, the damp air, the countless
massive rugged columns supporting the ten-meter-high roof covering the sole room
of the entire building. A tumult had filled the Hall, echoing through the hundreds of
square meters of space. Even though close to two thousand people could be seen,
there was still room for several times that number.
Daas was shocked to see the joy on people’s faces, the elation glowing in their gazes
as they discussed the ceremony. It was as if they were all only here to see a show. Kids
running across the Hall; young men boasting passionately; women doing their
knitting to keep busy until the beginning of the ceremony—why, Daas wondered, why
would anyone be happy?
But while the common people’s attendance was not enforced and they chose to
take part all the same, ancient tradition made the participation of all cadets
mandatory. Soldiers and marshals, although not required to attend, would mostly
join in as well. However, there must always be at least one Elder present—a marshal
who had served outside the Shield of Perigaad for more than ten years and given an

18
honorable title for their service. Rare as they were, even the mighty Architects held
these warriors in high regard.
The duo continued to make their way through the Hall and came across Kaari,
wandering all by himself in the crowd. He told them he had seen the convict—
apparently, he was a farmer who had tried to smuggle the magical starwater of
Perigaad’s spring to their mortal enemy, the Lianese.
“Unbelievable!” Kaari continued, shaking his head in bewilderment. “How could
they have infiltrated Perigaad so deeply? They say Lianese spies are everywhere!”
Daas nodded in understanding of Kaari’s rage and the three proceeded to find
their places. As tradition demanded, the cadets—Army and Security—would stand in
orderly lines closest to the dais and the commoners behind them, with countless
guards scattered all around the Hall to keep the order.
It did not take long before the ceremony got underway, the Hall of Execution
falling utterly silent upon the Elder’s entrance.
The warrior climbed the dais. A silver-hilted sword swung at his hip, marking him
as a man in the Azure Army, and the grand dark azure cape of marshals billowed
around his stocky build, fluttering the shoulder-length hair that had once been boldly
brown but was now graying as a testament to his fifty years. With a forceful gaze and
resonant voice that echoed through the Hall, he began his speech.
“Salutations to you, people of Naigaa. You have all gathered here to witness the
execution of a traitor, a man who put the enemy before the glory and greatness of his
own people.”
Daas recognized the Elder, it was Aaron—Aaron the Hero. Strange that he had
come here for this execution.
Aaron faced the warden, signaling that the convict be brought forward. As the
slender, short man appeared on the dais, all eyes locked on him. Howls of rage rose
as his fellow countrymen started booing and cursing, but the middle-aged farmer

19
stood unfazed despite his rough appearance and bent figure. Turning his eyes to the
cadets, he smiled and closed his eyes while raising his head.
“Transgressors and traitors will have no honor in death,” Aaron continued, and
Daas felt the excitement of the crowd at those words. He stopped listening, escaping
the people’s joy to hide in a chamber of his mind.
His focus was broken a few minutes later when the Elder addressed their ranks.
“Who amongst the cadets striving for the glory of our armed forces would carry out
the end of this traitor?” he asked, as was customary after delivering the conventional
speech. This act was twofold; it both valued the young aspiring warriors and reminded
the betrayer that he deserved to die a humiliating death at the hands of the lowest
class of warriors—not a marshal or an officer, not even a soldier or a guard.
No one stepped forward, as was also demanded by tradition.
Aaron repeated the request, following the custom of three repetitions in his
booming voice. As he asked it for the third time, a marshal who had been previously
chosen to swing the sword finally emerged. The man addressed the convict, “Do you,
treacherous man of no land, no name, repent for your sins or choose to be forgotten
forever on the wind?”
In the answering shouts of the crowd, the voice of one farmer could not hope to
find its path. And yet it did, making its way to Daas’s reluctant ears.
“By the sacred ravaan, I have done naught but help innocent souls suffering
unjustly. There is nothing to repe—”
But a sword fell. A man’s words and head were cut short. A decapitated head rolled
on the floor. A crowd screamed in joy.
As blood gushed from the wound, people cheered. As his lifeless body struggled to
stand on the dais and fell over, they howled. As he twitched on the ground before
stopping, they remembered their uneasy stomachs that had been forgotten in the
unexpected swiftness of it all.

20
 And as they ran to the thoughtfully prepared buckets set beside the columns, the
sounds of their retching filling the Hall, as mocking laughter followed the misery,
Daas stared at the man, finally resting in peace.
If it could even be called that.
When they finally headed out, Petro attempted to walk alongside him, seemingly
doing his best to hide how shaken he was. Daas took his friend’s hand. “Come on!”
he said, pulling them both through the crowd to the closest bucket. He looked away
as Petro bent over, throwing up the contents of his stomach.
His wandering gaze sought the corpse again and found it being put in a body bag
and pulled outside amidst the scattered crowd who paid it no mind. A humiliating end
for a traitor indeed, he thought. And he stared, and he stared, and he stared, even long
after the farmer was nothing but a trail of blood on the floor.
***
Once they returned to the dormitory, Daas went straight to his room, avoiding the
excited voices discussing the execution and the Lianese embassy. He lay on his bed,
watching Petro rush to the privy immediately.
Daas rolled to his right, unable to shake the thought of the poor farmer’s fate from
his head. Why did he have to be killed in such a degrading manner? He was just trying
to help his people. Yes, it was a crime punishable by death, but why did the people
enjoy the scene so? Why were the cadets all so ecstatic?
Words from years ago rang through his mind: The people only cheer for heroes.
He rolled back around, feeling his insides twist in dismay.
The young man was half asleep when he felt a presence by his bedside. It was Petro,
staring down at him. “Are you up?” Seeing Daas’s open eyes, he turned and sat on his
own bed. He faced his best friend, angry and glum.
Daas rose, stretching. “What now?”
“I’m going to be the party clown!”

21
 A frown. “What are you talking about?”
Not looking away from the floor, Petro murmured bitterly, “That ridiculous game.”
Then he addressed Daas, “You know, apparently, the guys had made a deal while we
were gone—anyone who gets sick during the execution will be the clown on the mess
hall table at sunset. Taking turns, of course.”
Daas let out a sudden guffaw. “That, I need to see.” He was miserably failing to
contain his mirth at this interesting turn of events.
“It’s not fair! I didn’t even know. Otherwise, I would have stopped myself
somehow.” He looked at Daas beggingly. “Can’t you do something? Everyone looks
up to you. This is the third time they’re making me a clown; please!”
When Daas continued laughing, the slim boy growled at him, “Screw you!”
“So, when is your turn?”
“Tomorrow night…”
Daas inhaled, trying to stay his giggling. “I’ll be sure to check my schedule.” He got
up, making Petro stare at him, betrayed yet hopeful to see his friend is headed
somewhere. “And no,” Daas went on, shattering his dream, “I’m not headed to put
in a good word for you. I’m just going out to read someplace alone.”
He picked up a book off the shelf and walked out the door, not waiting for his
currently grumpy friend to get a word in. “Later!” There were many empty rooms on
the second floor of the dorm which suited his purpose perfectly, so he made his way
to his usual spot.
“Hey!” someone called out while he was trying to climb the stairs. “Don’t you know
the second floor is off-limits, young man?” Daas recognized that voice; it belonged to
Master Shin, a short man who stayed as custodian for the dormitory some nights.
“Daas!” Master Shin exclaimed when the boy turned. “I didn’t realize it was you!
Going for some reading, are you?”

22
 “Yes, sir, if I may. It’s less hectic upstairs and the guys won’t bother me as much.”
Daas always made sure to be nothing less than flawlessly polite while talking to the
masters, and this made him endearing to most of them.
And when they love you, people give you what you want.
“Yes, of course! Go on!”
“Thank you, Master.”

***
The second floor was mostly used as storage and nothing but old and useless junk
could be found up there. Dark, calm, and quiet; so much so that his steps echoed in
the hallway, the floorboard letting out an aged moan with each step—and that was just
as Daas wanted it, warning him of any unwanted newcomers.
He always ended up in the same room since, not only did it have a torch, it
happened to be relatively clean as well—compared to the others, that is. He closed the
door carefully as he entered. Picking up the torch and flint, he lit up the room and
looked around. Everything was exactly as he had left it…
He knew every object in the room by heart, from the sword hanging on the wall to
the bedsheet on the bunk. No one ever came here, every surface was covered in dust—
well, every surface except for the desk, chair, and a few footprints that belonged to
Daas; he always used the same prints, cautious so that he might be able to detect an
intruder disrupting the dust. Making his way to the table in the middle of the room
and laying down his book, he lit the well-used candle and set the torch back where it
was. Then he sunk into the chair and sighed.
He unsheathed his knife and made a small cut on his index finger, a drop of blood
appearing. Taking a deep breath and trying to clear his mind, he brought his finger
to the burning candle. The crimson blood shone in the dim light.
He carefully dripped it onto the flame and whispered, “Sing with me, brother.”

23
 And then, as he did every time, he closed his eyes and waited. With every passing
moment of silence, his hope grew brighter, piercing the gloom of the shadowed room.
But with a voice ringing clearly in his head, his hope tripped and shattered, falling all
across the dusty floor. A voice, sounding as if from deep within his mind.
He had gotten through.
“We should not rejoice,” the Voice said.
“We deserve to rejoice,” Daas whispered back.
“Today, you witnessed how one of our comrades—a Lianese warrior—was executed, a hero
called a traitor and disgraced. Do you see what is happening to our countrymen? We must be
vigilant; the slightest mistake will send you to death’s greedy grip.”
“Yes, I know.”
“In the memory of our fallen comrade: long live Liano, long live the Lianese.”
Daas covered his face with his palms as if wishing he could cease to exist. Through
all these years each time he had repeated those words his stomach had churned,
shivers racing down his spine. And still, he steeled himself and whispered the words
that could mean his certain death.
“Long live Liano. Long live the Lianese.”

24
 CHAPTER 2
Daas

T
he early morning had the entire dormitory in upheaval. Even though the
sun had not yet risen, cadets were already running every which way around
the place. Last night a master had announced that all Azure Army cadets
were to be at the training grounds come daybreak and absence would mean
punishment. Apparently, Elder Aaron intended to inspect their fighting skills.
Sleepily walking out of their room, Daas saw Pelaareh marching ordered rows of
ten first-year cadets outside. Petro threw the newcomers a hostile look and called to
Pelaareh, “Man, you have some patience! Leave the little chicks—don’t you remember
the pains we endured in our first year?”
Pelaareh chuckled. “Oh, we deserved everything we got.” Then he turned to the
boys with a glare. “Keep the damn lines, you idiots! Anyone who puts one step out of
line will be on watch for a week, got it?”
“Yessir!”
Satisfied, Pelaareh gave Petro a secret wink and ordered his subordinates outside.
Petro shook his head in disgust. “And that is the same person who used to tell me he
wouldn’t want anyone else going through what he did.”
“That’s just how the world works,” Daas said as he tightened his belt, ensuring his
scabbard was in place. “There’s always those above and those beneath, and everyone
has to learn to follow the orders of the ones above them.”
When they arrived, bright morning rays were shining on the poorly maintained
grass of the field. You could still see the glimmer of morning dew on the short weeds.
It was certainly one of the busiest days; close to four hundred people were present on
the training field, accompanied by twenty teachers where there were barely five most
of the time—all male, of course, as female recruits were very rare.

25
 The Army cadets immediately got divided into groups of ten as usual, with older
students on one side of the grounds and the younger ones on the other. Each group
was to be supervised by a master or a prefect. As was always the case, Daas and Petro
ended up in the same batch, with Daas overseeing the group’s training without any
opposition by their teammates.
“Alright, let’s get to practice,” Daas said as his friends gathered around. “We’ll be
doing hand-to-hand combat; you all know the rules, yes?” Practice sessions included
warm-up, instruction, and one-on-one combat. Everyone was required to follow the
code of warriors, even the teachers—failure to do so meant punishment.
“Yeah, yeah, we know,” a boy named Kilaas chipped in from the crowd. “But really
guys,” he continued, turning his bored gaze around the group, “what’s the point of
sweating for nothing? We never fight anyone. Let’s just kill time, who cares.”
“If you want to seem like a worthless dim-wit in front of the Elder, no one’s stopping
you,” Petro shot back, the inspection clearly having put him on edge.
Kilaas rolled his eyes. “Come o—”
“That’s enough,” Daas interrupted. “Petro’s right, this isn’t the time to mess
around and”—he disapprovingly looked Kilaas up and down—“is that how you’ve been
taught to present yourself? What about trimming your beard? Or a white undershirt?
That dress code is for everyone and you’re no exception.”
“Come on Daas!” Kaari laughed. “Not even the masters have done that.”
A sigh. “Just get to training.”
It was half an hour into practice when the Elder arrived. He was wearing the same
shining armor from the day before, a long sword sheathed at his waist. His dark blue
cape gave him an appearance of grandeur. Aaron the Hero watched the combats as
he strolled by, sometimes holding a short dialogue with the cadets. To Petro’s
misfortune, he was fighting the beefy Nimaan as the marshal reached their group.

26
 His best friend was just a wisp of a boy and, since they were now practicing hand-
to-hand combat with no swords, it was obvious to everyone that he had no chance
against Nimaan. The giant lifted Petro by the waist and shook him. Then he threw
the boy to a corner like a rag doll, completely unaware of Aaron’s presence. Kilaas
guffawed, attracting the attention of every group in their proximity toward Petro’s
defeat. Aaron gave the big guy an appreciative look and turned away.
Getting up quickly, Petro opened his mouth to curse. Just then, he saw Aaron
walking away and immediately shut his lips. His face fell in shame.
Nimaan stepped forward. “Sorry man, I didn’t see him there.” But his apology was
met with a glare from Petro, making him shrug and go back to practice.
“Never mind.” Daas gave his friend a hand up. “Don’t think about it, you’ll be
alright. Think of better things.”
“Like what?” Petro spat.
“Hmm.” Daas scratched his head. “Like how you get to be the party clown tonight!”
Petro glared at him as he laughed, seeming to use every last ounce of self-restraint to
not charge at his treacherous friend.
Life was not good, but it would do.
***
Training came to an abrupt end before the usual two-hour limit when it was
announced that the Elder planned to give a speech. The Army cadets formed their
neat lines, facing the masters as Aaron the Hero took to the podium. Every pair of
eyes locked on him. Every mouth went quiet.
“Well,” he began casually, apparently deciding to drop the formal and heavy tone
of the execution ceremony, “I’ve seen you fight and I have to say—,” he paused,
holding the young men on the edge of a precipice, then gave them a friendly smile,
“—you weren’t great but not half-bad either. Certainly better than I’d expected.”
His voice grew serious as he continued, “It’s crucial that you understand how
important our Azure Army is—how important you are in keeping our country safe. A
27
warrior’s life is forged in battle as is his death. What you witnessed yesterday was not
pleasant, but you need to realize this: we are at war.
“Even though we seldom see battle thanks to the Shield of Perigaad and our
Towers, the wicked presence of spies is always felt,”—Daas tensed—“and you should
be ever aware. Yesterday’s events showed us that anyone could be a traitor...”
As he looked down at his feet, Daas felt cold sweat slither down his spine. He
ignored the rest of the Elder’s speech on glory and duty, struggling with the feeling
that forever haunted his steps—betraying his friends, a lonely stranger among his
closest comrades…
The salute to Perigaad broke Daas out of his thoughts. Getting his bearings, he
heard Aaron wrap up his speech. “Now, are there any questions or ambiguities?”
No one stepped forward.
“No questions at all? I know you might feel that asking some questions might get
you into trouble but today, I stand before you as a comrade. If there are questions on
your mind, ask them. I promise, there is nothing to fear.”
A cadet Daas did not recognize raised his hand. “Why are the Lianese being allowed
to pass through our border? I mean, we all know they are dangerously powerful. Why
risk it when Perigaadians don’t need them?”
Aaron smiled and addressed the crowd, “The Lianese embassy’s presence is in fact
the reason for my presence in Naigaa. It is a matter of utmost importance that you, as
our fighters and future soldiers and marshals, not fear facing the enemy. You’re
different from the common people—they are truly afraid as is only natural, but I have
higher expectations from you.”
“But we don’t have the power to stand against them!” a boy protested.
“Is it true that the Lianese are like wild beasts!?” another yelled from the crowd.
Daas was not the least bit surprised; the coming foreign envoys were now the hot
topic all over the city and many were unhappy about it.

28
 Raising his palm, Aaron demanded silence. “Your wit and will are what ultimately
bring you victory; power alone does nothing,” he said to the first boy before facing
the latter. “In what way are you comparing them to beasts?” He turned to the crowd.
“If it’s behavior and intelligence we’re talking about, then no! The Lianese are exactly
like us.
“But if it’s strength you’re referring to…” He watched his rapt audience. “Then yes.
They are as strong as wild beasts, some of them having even changed physically to
become more like certain animals. Although it has been said that they were much,
much stronger hundreds of years ago than they are now.”
“So why are these savages coming to negotiate?” Kilaas asked from behind Daas.
Aaron closed his eyes, his patience clearly running thin. “Mind your words, young
man. The Lianese are strong and respectable. Just because they have long been our
enemies doesn’t mean we should resort to calling them savages.”
Kilaas dropped his eyes, ashamed. “My apologies, sir.”
From the top of his podium, the Elder eyed the boy with approval. “Apologizing
for our mistakes is an applaudable trait. As a reward, I could recommend you to the
party escorting the Lianese envoys. Are you interested?”
“Escorting the Lianese!?” Kilaas’s eyes grew wide. “Uh, hmm, no, thank you. That’s,
that’s really kind,” he stuttered, making Aaron laugh.
“Any more questions that aren’t related to Liano?” The Elder waited. “Nothing!?”
“I have one,” a voice rose from among the rows of cadets. Daas knew this one—it
was Kaari, standing a couple of rows to Daas’s right.
At Aaron’s expectant look, he cleared his throat. “This has long been a question
on my and my comrades’ minds—what is our presence worth at all? We all know that
we don’t stand a chance against the Lianese—in fact, as long as we have the Shield
wall and the Architects’ Towers, what good are we against any enemy?”

29
 The Elder smiled kindly, liking this question better. “This question has no doubt
occupied each and every one of your minds, as it did mine.” Aaron looked at every
young pair of eyes. “I am among you now, and it has but one reason: because you
matter to us. We ask you to volunteer in execution ceremonies because you mean
something to this nation. As for the might of our enemies…” He grew quiet, gloom
settling over his features. It was suddenly as if ten years had been added to his age, a
weight pulling down his square shoulders.
“I have spent more than ten years outside the Shield of Perigaad and have seen
what you might have only heard of.” He stared at the crowd, piercing their souls with
his gaze; drawing them in and mesmerizing them as only a skilled orator knew how.
“In my first journey, I accompanied four Elders—you might have heard of them;
Digaar, Terineh, Mansis, and Paader,”—Daas recognized all four—“We were escorting
a group of Architects and, as it happens, got trapped facing a number of the giant
horned divs of Keroneh with a taste for ensaan flesh. We lost many good men. As our
party scattered, running for our lives, we came across a girl.
“She was fifteen and, in our fear and haste to escape, we did her a great wrong. It
was unforgivable but also all we could do. Anyhow, we paid for our sins soon enough.
As our luck would have it, that kid was a White Union warrior, wielding incredible
magic. The fight that ensued had all four Elders defeated easily. Mine was the only
life she spared.”
Aaron stared ahead into the distance, his face that of a grieving man. “It was as if
she was fighting off flies. Digaar was the first to go, his head blown off; he didn’t
suffer. Mansis was not as fortunate—the girl spiked him on a tree branch. Terineh and
Paader both burned in the fire. I was tied to a tree all along, watching my comrades
die.”

30
 He lifted his sleeve, revealing a large misshapen scar on his forearm. “This is my
souvenir from that day when my life was miraculously spared. The young warrior said
I reminded her of her father and so she would let me live to see another dawn.”
The Elder started laughing then, his voice echoing across the field and breaking
the cadets from their horrified spell. “If it is a dangerous adventure you seek, then the
unpredictable world beyond the Shield of Perigaad is where you belong; but if it’s a
quiet, boring life you’re after, you’re better off staying here.
“But back to the question.” Aaron chuckled again. “You wonder why, despite the
powerful Towers and the magical wall guarding our borders, we still need the Azure
Army? You tell me! To sweeten the deal, I’m prepared to wager supper for all of you
at the Serene Night Inn on the answer—if any one of you gives me a complete, logical
explanation, you will all be my guests tonight.”
A wave of excitement went through the young men. The Serene Night Inn was one
of the best in Naigaa. Daas did not much care for food or parties and he was going
over what Aaron had said. Setting men ablaze, blowing up their heads, spiking them on tree
branches, he thought about the ways the White Union warrior had channeled ravaan.
Whoever this kid was, she must have been very talented in ravaan magic.
The warrior went on. “The full question is this: in what way or ways are our Shield
and Towers inadequate in protecting us? Concise, logical answers only.”
No one moved.
“Does anyone know? Put your minds to work, come on!” He pointed to Nimaan,
“You, young man who performed well in hand-to-hand combat. What do you think?”
“Well, uh,” Nimaan stammered, panicking, “it may be because, maybe the enemies
could go past our Shield and Towers and attack us!”
“Bravo!” Aaron clapped, making the cadets explode with cheers. “But my dear
friend,” he said as he smiled, raising his hands to silence the youngsters, “you have
delivered the most obvious answer; now tell me, how would they do that?”

31
 The young man gave it some thought. “Well, maybe through the ground, digging
beneath the Shield?” He looked at the Elder, full of hope.
“For your information, the Shield of Perigaad goes a hundred meters deep and the
Towers could detect the enemy even farther down.”
“Then maybe—”
“No!” Aaron cut him short. “That stupid look on your face tells me your next bright
idea is to pass over the Shield which, again, is not possible! I’ll give you a hint: the
answer is in a few of Serinor’s wonders, two of which you must name with adequate
explanation.”
Petro glanced at Nimaan’s hopeless face, gleeful. “That’ll serve him,” he whispered
to Daas. Daas found he was glad that his friend’s spirits had risen. He truly wanted to
help the innocent boy, he realized, and nothing would give him more joy.
“Any other thoughts?” Aaron repeated. “Well then, it appears we should forget
about dinner at the Serene Night Inn after all.”
“Sir, may I?”
The Elder curiously scanned the crowd, his eyes finally finding Daas. “And what is
your name, young warrior?”
“Daasiaac Benor, sir,” Daas replied. Petro muttered a curse.
“Come forth then, Daasiaac, you seem to know a thing or two. Come here.”
The cadets made way for him. He could feel their eyes as he climbed the podium
and turned to face his audience. “Well?” the marshal urged him, curious.
Daas paused—it was different up here. He gave the crowd a quick look before
starting again. “I speak only based on what I have read. There are many things that
could pass our Shield, but I’ll try to explain two of the important ones—wonders the
Towers have no way of standing against, at least by my estimation.
“First, the Great Gates.” Aaron smiled as Daas continued, “For anyone not familiar
with the term, it refers to the colossal iron gates closing off the three sole bridges over

32
the Roaring River—which is the eerily shadowed river spanning across the entirety of
Serinor’s south, cutting off the Unseen Realms beyond with its breadth and mists and
neighboring rocks. They date back to at least three thousand years ago, and we know
nothing about why, or how, or by whom they were built. But none of this is the reason
they are of the wonders of Serinor.”
He swallowed. “The reason why all are forbidden from nearing the Gates is the
mystery of their nature—they cannot be destroyed or breached, no magic can affect
them, no shield capable of standing within their thousand-meter vicinity for more
than half an hour before falling apart.” Daas met the eyes of his brothers. “It’s only
logical that, should the occupants of the lands beyond choose to cross over one day,
our magic will be useless against their weapons as well.”
“Well, just lock it then!” a boy yelled.
“You can’t.” Daas shook his head. “The Gates are opened and closed from the
other side. The White Union did once try to build a wall in front of one to keep any
who crossed the dark bridge and opened the Gate from entering Serinor, but
apparently, the Gate opened and some magic destroyed the wall.”
The grounds were completely silent. “But what’s on the other side of the Great
Gates?” Kaari asked, his words cutting through the entire field. Daas had expected
the question and his friends’ shock—he was well aware that, considering the coded
books and how isolated Perigaad was from the entirety of Serinor with its closed
borders, all but the Architects knew very little about the magical lands that lay beyond.
This was why he had explained his words in the first place.
“No one knows.” Daas’s voice was low when he replied. “There are no records of
it. All we know is that the Unseen Realms are massive and their people powerful.”
Aaron clapped, making them all jump. “Very good. Now, what’s the next wonder?”
Daas took a deep breath. “The second one is the Black Death, an evasive myth
plaguing Serinor.” At the cadets’ blank looks, he explained, “The Black Death is a

33
fearsome monster that appears only two or three times a century, laying waste to cities
and killing masses before it completely disappears, making people question the truth
of its existence. It has caused a lot of carnage through the centuries, proving time and
time again that there’s simply no shield that could keep it out.”
Anticipating the next obvious question, he went on confidently, “And yes, people
have tried to defeat it—many a warrior who sought fame in its slaughter has failed
against the deadly predator, the entire White Union reportedly falling to its grip once
long ago. Not even one corpse has ever been found of them. In fact, no one even
knows what it really is. All that is for certain is that, should it decide to pay us a visit,
our Shield or Towers will be nothing more than a nuisance for the beast.”
The Elder nodded appreciatively when Daas quieted, signaling that his explanation
was adequate and he could step down. When he returned to his place in the line,
Petro was watching him, displeased yet thoughtful.
“Ah.” Aaron laughed. “It appears I will be spending three months’ worth of my
wages at the Serene Night Inn,” he declared, successfully breaking the growing ice as
the young men cheered. The older man invited them to silence with a wave of his
hand. “We know that the Shield of Perigaad does not mean complete protection, and
neither do our Towers. There will come a time when magic, with all its might, will
fail us, and we will be left with nothing to defend our people with.” His voice grew
low. “The enemy is already among us, and there is but one solution: utmost
preparedness.
“And that’s it,” he finished, smiling. “Have a nice day and remember to appreciate
the friendship of your comrade Daasiaac. There are many who possess knowledge far
and wide, but only a few understand what they know—be it Architect or warrior, mage
or scholar, here or anywhere in this land.”

34
 The cadets erupted, hooting and clapping. Daas felt a small smile curl his lips. But
it was not to last, because Kilaas’s words suddenly rose up amid the tumult. “Long
live the flat-liners!”
The deafening cheer that went up was ice in Daas’s veins. He knew which line’s
straightness they celebrated; it was the glowing yellow one resulting from a ravaan test
that revealed whether you were an unripe—one without the magical instinct—or not.
In Perigaad, all were flat-liners. At least, they were supposed to be.
No one noticed when his smile was wiped away.
***
As they made their way to their sleeping quarters, Daas was surrounded by his
fellow cadets, growing frustrated with their ridiculous questions. He was not much of
a talker and his best efforts at avoiding questions were not working.
“You learned all this by reading books?” Siaar asked. “Isn’t that difficult?”
“It is, but you get the hang of it.” Daas was truly bored now.
Kaari put a hand on Daas’s shoulder. “You really saved our face today, man. Forget
the dinner—which is nice, not gonna lie—we would have been made a fool of if you
hadn’t found the answer, especially with Nimaan’s genius theories. I swear, he must’ve
been close to proposing that the Shield would fall apart if a group of divs collectively
bestowed their magical pee upon it.”
The boys burst out laughing while Nimaan threw a shoe at Kaari from the end of
the room, hitting his head. Kaari picked it up. “And you can forget about this.”
“Hey!” a shouting boy hopped toward him on one leg. “But that’s mine!”
“Kaari’s right though, Daas,” Pelaareh interjected. “You saved our asses today.”
Daas sighed internally; to him, all of this excitement was misplaced. But if they
insisted on making a huge deal out of it, he might as well use it as he’d planned.
“Guys, since I helped you all, can we forget about Petro’s clown duty in exchange?”

35
 Kaari thought for a moment. “Hey, Petro!” He looked around but did not find him
anywhere. “Fine, we’ll forget about it. Anybody got a problem with that?” he declared,
facing his brothers. After some words of agreement and a few regretful sighs, the
matter was settled in peace.
***
Daas found Petro back in their room, sitting on the bed and hugging his knees.
Without paying the glum boy any mind, he started undoing his bootstraps.
“Where did you get all of that damned information from?” Petro wondered quietly.
“Well, I know. Obviously the books.”
When Daas didn’t respond, he went on, “You know Daas, my parents were
farmers. I didn’t like a farmer’s life, I wanted to be an Architect. But when I sat for
the entrance exam, they said I’m no good.” The boy paused then, as if fighting
himself. “I decided to search for something else, something—anything—other than the
ordinary life of a farmer. That’s when I thought of fighting. I thought I would one
day be a hero, but now … I guess I’m no good for this either. So, what am I good for?”
Finally beating his bootstraps, Daas sighed. “At last! Did you say something, Petro?”
“You’re the worst!”
Daas tossed the straps to the side and grew serious. “You’re not getting any better
through wallowing in your despair. Besides, you’re not that useless anyway.” At Petro’s
unrelenting long face, he felt sad for his friend and decided to open up. “Look, you
know I was raised by a man called Serbino.”
Petro looked up—it was not every day that Daas talked about his past. “He was a
good man. He took care of me after my family died. I was once as hopeless as you are
now, perhaps even more so. Serbino sat me down one day and told me that everyone
is born with a purpose. He said, ‘Everything we have in our lives has to do with our
unique purpose; it’s up to us whether we use it to get there or not.’” Daas threw his
boots to the ground. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not exceptionally talented at fighting

36
or channeling ravaan or whatever else. Because whatever you are, you’re still Petro.
And that purpose is still a part of you. Try and find it.”
Petro remained silent for a long while before smiling. “Daas, how much time
exactly did you put into reading those idiotic philosophers’ books anyway?” As Daas
rolled his eyes, sighing, the small boy got up and unsheathed his sword.
The blade shone under the candlelight. He stared at it and laughed. “You know
Daas, the first time I held this, I brought it back home to my mother and father, saying
‘this sword will serve justice and avenge the oppressed.’” He smirked before sheathing it.
“Ha! Justice! Whatever the hell that means,” he finished as he headed out.
“Where to now? It’s a bit early for dinner, isn’t it?”
“For your information, I’m going to be the clown tonight so I better get prepared.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Daas grinned. “You’re off the hook this time. I told the
guys to back off and they all agreed, because of course they would.”
“YES!” Petro whooped. “You, Daas, are the man!” He laughed again, but then grew
serious and pointed at his friend. “Hey! Don’t get any ideas about me owing you for
this!” He turned away without waiting for a response. “Oh, I’m going to eat so much
at the Inn tonight and not have a single care in the world!” He jumped on his bed.
“You hear that world? I’m coming for you!”

37
 CHAPTER 3
Daas

S
unbeams gleamed on the cobbled street leading to the Grand Library, the
morning reflecting on the immaculate surface that owed its cleanliness to the
banning of horses and carriages from the paths covered in cobblestones. After
Daas’s pompous showing off the day before, Petro was convinced he should at least
try and enhance his knowledge—which was why he was accompanying Daas to the
library that day.
“Oh boy,” Petro rubbed his stomach satisfactorily, “did I gorge myself last night.
I’m just saying, but how many grand invitations do you get in a lifetime?”
Daas shook his head as he kept his eyes forward. “You were all feasting like pigs.”
“And why did you have so little to eat?”
“A warrior must always remain in control of his appetite.”
Petro nodded with a “Sure, sure!” but his evidently rolling eyes made Daas suspect
control was the last thing on his mind.
Aaron had truly lived up to his promise, leaving the Serene Night Inn entirely at
the cadets’ disposal, and they had spent a good chunk of the night partying there.
Aaron himself had shown up and, as was expected, spent most of his time with Daas,
satiating his curiosity. Daas had ended the night with the quiet victory of gaining the
Elder’s trust.
They reached the Grand Library of Naigaa about half an hour later—Daas always
wondered why the city with the least use of ravaan Structures had such abundant
resources in its massive library. Whatever the reason, Daas would take it.
“Daas!” a female voice stopped them in their tracks before the steps. “Hey, Daas!”
The pair whirled around to find a young woman with ear-length black hair walking
toward them. She was only slightly shorter than Daas, dressed in a medallion yellow

38
tunic with brown hems and sleeves, belted at the waist. It reached her knees, which
were covered in dark chestnut trousers. Her smooth face made it difficult to make out
her age but, even knowing it, Daas had trouble connecting age and appearance.
“Sorry I wasn’t around for a couple of weeks.” She gave them a sweet smile.
Daas knew her—it was his Architect friend, Paaneh. “Did you run into trouble?”
“No, no trouble.” Paaneh eyed Petro. “And you must be Daas’s friend, yes?”
Petro—who had been staring at her the entire time—did not reply and only swung
his head toward Daas, switching the object of his stare. At his silence, Daas stepped
in, “Yes. My friend and roommate, Petro.”
Paaneh’s smile could pierce the nonexistent clouds in its brightness. “Well then,
hi Petro! I’m Paaneh. It’s very pleasant to meet you.”
Petro finally reacted, grinning. “Well, well, so that’s why Daas likes reading so
much!” He shook his head and continued with a mockingly disappointed tone, “I
expected more from you, man.”
“Expect what?” Daas asked, acting suspicious and confused. Of course, he knew
what was going through his friend’s mind—it was the exact reason why he’d went along
with Petro’s assumption that his Architect friend was a “he” since the first time he’d
slipped and mentioned her.
“Never mind.”
“Anyways,” Paaneh caught Daas’s attention, “I need your help. Can you help me
translate a few books on the history of Liano?”
“Sure, we don’t have any special plans.” Daas shrugged. “But why Liano?” Of
course, he already knew the answer—everyone was talking about Liano these days. The
people had become irrationally sensitive about the subject; there had even been
protests in the streets, a group of people gathering in front of the Naigan Hall just
yesterday. Many were threatening to desert their posts, some talking about leaving
their homes.

39
 Paaneh smiled hesitantly. “I’m actually in the group chosen to welcome the Lianese
embassy,”—Daas started at her words—“in addition to being responsible for escorting
them through the district. I might as well advance my knowledge.”
“You?” Petro burst out as Daas watched Paaneh in surprise. “You’re part of the escort
tasked with protecting us from the Lianese?”
Paaneh raised her eyebrows. “You are more than welcome to take the
responsibility, Petro, if you think I can’t handle it.”
“That’s not what I meant; I mean—you want to—”
“No, that’s not what I do. Protecting the people is on the Towers and defensive
Structures, Petro. Don’t be like the common people!” A sigh. “The envoys are not
coming here to murder and pillage; they’re here to talk. Believe me, they need this a
lot more than we do.”
She turned to Daas who still maintained his betrayed surprise. “I’m sorry I couldn’t
tell you before, the negotiations were classified. That’s why I came to Naigaa in the
first place,” Paaneh explained with an ashamed smile. Daas had not asked about the
reason for her presence in the northern city but he could not have guessed it to be
such a serious responsibility. The Architects frequented Naigaa and were often in
charge of control and maintenance of the Structures’ health—Daas had just assumed
that was what Paaneh was doing, too.
“It’s fine,” Daas sighed. “Let’s get to work. I know a few good books.”
As they turned to climb the doorsteps, Paaneh added hesitantly, “You know, I was
thinking we could save some time and read a new book. Since you’ve already read
those and could tell me about them, I mean.” She smiled her disarming white smile,
looking at Daas hopefully.
For a moment, Daas could only stare at her. Shaking himself, he smiled in return.
“That’s a good idea. I intended to read a new book on Liano before you came; I guess
now we can do it together.”

40
 “Ah,” Paaneh sighed when they passed through the doors, distracted by rows upon
rows of books. “I really can’t understand your passion for reading these tomes.”
Petro nodded understandably. “I used to make fun of him for it. But after watching
him thoroughly display the power of his knowledge yesterday, I’ve been successfully
converted into a believer.”
Just then, the librarian looked up and saw Daas. A smile bloomed on his face as he
leaned back in his chair. “Greetings, swordsman!”
“Good day to you as well,” Daas said as they reached the front desk. “I need a
certain book on Liano. I think it’s the third volume of History of Serinor.”
“Right you are.” The man got up. “A difficult book to read, though.”
“And of course, a book on the wonders of Serinor as well, please and thank you.”
“Well, that’s somewhat simpler to read; good for beginners!” He laughed before
nodding to Petro and Paaneh, “I suppose this one is for your friends?”
Considering their painful smiles, Daas decided not to make it worse with a reply.
They had to wait while the man went to get the books with his tall ladder; due to
the library’s old design, only librarians had access to the brimming bookshelves, the
hall instead filled with hundreds of desks and chairs where people sat to read.
When the librarian finally returned, they turned to the sitting area and headed to
a desk far away from the rest of the patrons. Looking at the book Daas was holding—
which was several thousand pages thick and could have easily been ten kilograms—
Petro tried to hide his own extremely thin one as they made their way through the
crowd. He pointed at Daas’s book, “Hey! You’ll let me read some of that, too!”
“Why don’t you finish the one you’re holding first, and we’ll get to this later.”
“So,” Paaneh interrupted when they sat down, “how do we read it?”
Daas opened the foreword, “Hmm, let’s see.” He paused as he read the guide. “The
odd chapters contain the disordered sentences while the even ones list the numbers
for finding the right reading order; the first number is the page, next one is the line,

41
and the third indicates the sentence. For example, two hundred thirty-two means
second page, third line, and second sentence.”
“By the Betrayer,” Petro cursed. “Are they sick? Why would you do that to a book?!”
Daas gave him a condescending look. “This isn’t even the hardest book there is—
it’s considered fairly average in terms of difficulty, in fact.”
They grew quiet after that and got to reading. It was only a few minutes before
Paaneh decided to help Petro with his first book. Daas did not break focus, quick to
turn the pages and find the right sentences. Luckily, the book’s chapters were clear,
so he had no trouble finding what he wanted.
“Liano is the land of warriors, a land where magic glistens on its people’s bodies. A Lianese
warrior does not fear death, for death has only two faces: honor and pride. If one is killed to
protect his people, their death rewards them with honor; and if it is to right the wrong done an
innocent, pride—the higher of the two faces—is their trophy.
“Liano, the land of the kahbod, that which demonstrates the warrior’s inherent might…”
Daas paused, his mind overtaken by memories. “A Lianese warrior does not fear
death…” he whispered.
Petro’s ultimate question broke him out of his thoughts. “How many Mounts of
Might are there?”
“What?” Daas said, trying to get his bearings.
“Mounts of Might—how many of those mountains are there?”
“Oh.” Daas thought for a moment before starting, “There’s three of them: the
White Mountain, the Molten Mountain, and the Emerald Mountain.” He raised a
finger, counting as he went. “The first one is the emblem of the eight-nation alliance
that makes up the White Union and is located in Kena. Even though the enormous
mountain is actually green, they call it White because of the mist that always
surrounds it.

42
 “Then there’s the Molten Mountain,” he added a finger, “which is in the Barren
Lands. Due to the ever-flowing lava that fills a several-kilometer radius, the mountain
is unapproachable.” He raised a third finger as he went on, “Finally, the Emerald
Mountain. It sits with its greenish-black color in the lands beyond the Great Gates.
You can see it from the south-eastern basin along the Roaring River,” Daas caught his
breath as he finished. “Why? Are these in that book?”
“No, just a short mention of them.”
Paaneh chuckled. “I knew all of that as well, but Petro insisted on asking you.”
“But how are these mountains different from the others?” Petro insisted. “What’s
so special about them?”
Daas lay back in his chair. “The Mounts of Might have a couple of important
features. But the information we have is obviously only on the White Mountain, since
the other two are inaccessible. What we do know though, is this.” He looked at Petro.
“First of all, they’re huge—and I mean massive. The White Mountain stands at more
than twenty-five thousand meters high; the others are similarly large. But, despite the
astonishing altitude, there is no snow on top of them.” Daas shook his head in
wonder. “The second and more important difference is ravaan emission.”
“Wait, what?” Petro interrupted.
“I know this one!” Paaneh anxiously jumped in before Daas could respond. “May
I?” She gazed at him hopefully.
“Sure,” Daas replied, surprised.
The Architect turned to Petro. “You know what ravaan is, right?”
Petro shrugged uncertainly, making it clear he was mostly clueless.
“Well, ravaan is the energy that flows all over Serinor. Many call it magic. So far,
we know of twelve different forms of it, each branch having its own special
application. Different creatures, mages, and even the Architects’ Structures make use
of it and the power of mages is judged by the amount of ravaan they can employ. Now

43
that that’s settled, we’re faced with an important question: where does this force come
from?
“The answer is simple: everywhere. From the soil, rocks, trees, even beings—it comes
from all things, living or not. The only problem is, everything has only a limited
capacity to emit and store ravaan. Store too much of it in something and—” She
snapped her fingers. “The Mounts of Might, however, are the greatest source of ravaan
there is. Their stones’ capacity for emitting and storing it is truly unfathomable.”
“So,” Petro who had been completely absorbed in Paaneh’s words interjected,
“these mountains are basically just sources of ravaan?”
“Yes, and so is everything that comes from them,” she responded enthusiastically.
“Plants growing on the mountains’ soil; the rivers whose waters stem from them; even
the people who live on the White Mountain!”
“There are people living there?”
“Yes, we call them cragmen. I don’t know much about them though.” Paaneh
turned her expectant eyes to Daas. “We await your wisdom, professor.”
He let out a chuckle. “They are an intelligent humanoid species that lack emotions,
and so are not considered human—not like the leokaans, for example. Instead, they
belong to a group called yaaraay. It’s a long story and now is not the time.”
Silence reigned for a few minutes before Petro banished it. “But if these mountains
are so rich with ravaan, then why don’t people just start mining them for money?”
“The White Mountain is considered sacred; it’s very well guarded, too. The
Emerald Mountain is inaccessible and, while the Molten Mountain is not out of
reach, who would dare approach it?”
Seeing Petro descend deep into thought, Daas went back to his reading.
“Paaneh,” Petro said abruptly, clearly unable to stop thinking about what he’d
learned, “have you ever been to the White Mountain?”
She paused. “Of course not! I haven’t even stepped outside Perigaad yet!”

44
 They spent the rest of their time at the library reading, with Daas answering
Paaneh’s occasional questions about Liano. Come noon they were at the front desk,
returning their books to the smiling librarian who informed them he would be happy
to see the swordsmen again. His wish was granted soon enough when Daas and Petro
returned to the library after eating, Paaneh joining them not long after. The sun had
already set when they finally decided to go back to the dorm.
As they strolled down the street, Petro bombarded Paaneh with questions while
Daas kept quiet at his friend’s rudeness—after all, she did not seem to mind the
relentless digging as she patiently answered everything he asked.
“Do the Architects live in dorms too?”
“Those who are still studying in the University of Architecture do,” Paaneh
explained as she ran a hand through her hair, “but none that have graduated.”
“Where are you staying, then?”
“I live downtown.”
Petro eyed her, contemplating. “Alone?”
“I do for now, but a friend will be joining me soon. Well, not a friend, exactly—
more like a friend’s friend.”
“So,” he stared at her, perplexed, “you’re not a student anymore?”
The Architect laughed and straightened up her long, flapping sleeves. “No, of
course not! I even have ten years of teaching experience under my belt. Though I was
a Life Structure Architect first. Then I got into Warfare and switched branches. Now
I’ve completed my studies in that field as well.”
“By the Shield, how in hell is that possible?” Petro was slowing down in his shock.
“How old are you even?”
Paaneh pouted, staring at him for a moment. “I’m fifty-one years old, Petro.”
“You’re WHAT?” Petro yelled, stopping dead in his tracks. “Wh—Daas wha—” he
stuttered and looked at Daas, finding his friend shrugging and not the least bit

45
surprised. “But how—” He pointed vaguely at her appearance, manners apparently the
furthest thing from his mind.
The woman gave him a small smile. “Second life.”
“Wow.” You could see the awe written on his face, which Daas understood. When
a person’s body became too joined with ravaan, they passed into second life—now
capable of living hundreds of years with specific rules, facing possible side effects
varying from infertility to a higher chance of death when reaching their inner capacity.
Petro shuddered. “But … isn’t that difficult? And dangerous?”
“Yeah, it’s hard,” Paaneh replied dismissively, “but I manage.”
Daas decided it was time to stop his friend. “You ask too many questions, Petro.”
He pointed to the crossroads they had arrived at. “I think we should split here.”
The Architect smiled again. “You’re right, I should go this way. I have some
shopping to do first! Daas, are you up for tomorrow?”
“Sure, if nothing comes up.”
“Later boys. It was a pleasure to meet you, Petro.”
“O-oh,” he stammered, “pleasure, pleasure’s all mine!”
After they watched her enter one of the shops, Petro turned to Daas, opening his
mouth as if to ask something. At Daas’s look, he thought better of it and kept quiet
about Paaneh. They bought two nightrise fruits, watching the vendor skillfully skew
the big yellow fruit and hand it to them. Nightrise was the cadets’ favorite fruit—the
astringent taste was not for everyone, but Daas and Petro rather enjoyed it; not to
mention how the hard shell was useful in soothing and healing the wounds they
sustained during fights.
Finally, Petro decided to break the silence. “So, how did you meet?”
“With Paaneh?” He shrugged. “She wanted a book from the library, but they only
had one and I was reading it. I suggested we read it together, and the rest is history.”
“It’s ridiculous.”

46
 “What is?”
“That she’s almost the same height as you are and still wears high heels!”
Daas laughed at the boy’s irrelevant observation. “I hadn’t even noticed.”
“You know,” Petro grew serious, “she’s using you.”
“Who? Paaneh!?”
“No, Nimaan. Of course Paaneh! She’d probably been watching, waiting for the
perfect opportunity to get someone to translate books for her. Didn’t hurt that you
ended up being a muscular, handsome young man. The whole ‘I need the same book
you’re reading’ story? Utter nonsense.”
“And that matters because?”
“Well,” Petro raised a shoulder, “no reason.” He stayed silent for a few minutes
until his patience seemed to run out. “Daas, Serinor is really big, isn’t it?”
Daas looked surprised by the sudden change in topic. “Haven’t you asked me this
before?” He shook his head and went on slowly, “Yes, Serinor is like the basin for
ravaan magic. It’s so immensely vast that no one knows how big it truly is.”
Petro put his hands inside his pockets, his eyes glazed. “What other wonders are
there in Serinor? Are there any strange places that no one knows how they came
about?”
“Of course! There is the uncharted Snow Forest with trees of snow that bear fruit;
the Vale of Parisaa where gravity plays with you and the sun never touches; the
Lakelands with its hanging lakes that is home to the winged leokaan; the Golden Lake
of Keroneh; City of Shaahnaamaan, where all the heroes are called.”
“Do you think we might one day see them?” Petro’s voice carried quiet wonder.
Daas looked around, his eyes brimming with bitterness as if he despised everything
around him. “Not really, no. I doubt we could even get out of Perigaad.”

47
 The bleak reality of his words hung in the silence reigning between the friends.
Wherever Petro’s mind had gone, it made it grow uncharacteristically quiet. And he
remained so until they reached the dormitory.
Dim lights shone through the windows. It was already night, with stars shining
boldly through the dark. Most of the cadets were gathered in the common room when
they entered, the place barely lit by torches mounted on the pillars and warm from
the young men’s excitement. Spectators circled the multiple groups of gamblers,
wagering dish-washing duties and their pride rather than money.
The pair headed to the dining hall and got their supper from a grumbling staff.
Daas took a few quick bites. As he picked up his place, he told Petro that he was eager
to get to a book he’d left unfinished, wasting precious moments shaking his friend’s
requests to accompany him with the excuse of needing to focus on the complicated
read. The truth, of course, was that he needed to make contact.
The process of walking to his room and choosing a fairly complex book all passed
in a blur. He was entering his usual room on the second floor in no time, watching
for signs of intruders as he always did. From the furniture to the dust covering them,
everything was as it had been. He sat at the desk—calm and collected—cut his finger,
and watched his blood drop onto the candle flame.
“I am ready.” It was one of the passphrases reserved for Daas. He waited for a few
moments, then opened his book as if reading.
The usual deep voice sounded in his mind, “It is a joy to converse with you.”
Daas breathed in upon hearing the agreed-upon response. “We all deserve to feel
joy,” he finished the identification exchange in confirmation.
The Voice finally began to speak. “You must have come to know that a group of our
fellow countrymen are about to enter Perigaad.”
“Yes, I have heard,” Daas whispered.

48
 “The man who was recently executed was one of our key pieces—thousands of people in Liano
need starwater to survive and what we had hoped to achieve has now been left regrettably
unfinished.” They paused. “It is time for you to step in. You must fill his place.”
Daas sank into his chair, as if he wishing he could disappear in it. The moment he
had feared—the moment the Voice called on him to fulfill his duty to his unseen
home—was finally upon him.
“I need to know your thoughts,” the Voice insisted at his silence.
“Does it even matter?” He felt sick. “I must fight for my country.”
Silence reigned before the Voice kindly replied, “You have a choice. I know what you
do is difficult—you will be turning your back on those you have lived among for years. I
understand.”
“Do you, really?” The young spy struggled to keep his voice low. “Then tell me, why
do I have to lie so much? There are good people here—good men who live honest
lives. My every word is a betrayal to them. Yet I have never even met or known the
people of Liano.”
“Believe it or not, I’m just like you. I have been here for many years—longer than you have.”
A paused. “There are things you do not know; you’ve never seen the suffering of the Lianese,
watched them struggle for a single meal. The Lianese are tough but, believe me, those people do
not deserve this many hardships. Not when many here live bountiful lives. Not when Perigaad
refuses to help the world around it, hiding its ocean of resources—resources that could support
half of Serinor! Why do you think they have surrounded themselves with that Shield?”
“To keep the enemy out?” Daas said, hesitantly.
“Yes, but aren’t the Towers strong enough for that? I’m telling you, Daas, the real reason is
to keep their treasures from exiting the borders. The Shield is built to detect not only enemies
but also important resources.”
Daas inhaled sharply. “But why would they do that?”

49
 “Fear for having no mages to stand against other countries, leading them to ensure they have
the upper hand in one way or another. The greed of those in power, driving them generation
after generation despite the good men who live in those lands.”
The young man had nothing to say.
“Well, my friend, are you ready? Do you trust my words?”
“I am a spy,” Daas replied after thinking on his words, “and it is my job not to trust
anyone. I don’t trust you. But I trusted my lost comrade who was like a father to me.”
The haunting memory of Serbino’s beheading raced through his mind. He’d been
only nine at the time, and they killed his only family as he stood steps away. “I trusted
him, and he trusted you and Liano.” He took a deep breath. “So, yes. I am ready.”
The Voice seemed to know his thoughts as they softly went on. “In the memory of
our fallen comrade: long live the Lianese.” But this time, they did not wait for Daas’s
response. “We must find a way to get you into the party chosen to escort the Lianese embassy.”
Excitement filled Daas when he realized what his mission was about—that is, before it
quickly morphed into fear. “Can you think of anything?”
Without thinking, he answered, “I might be able to ask Aaron for help.”
“No names!” they warned, reminding him of an old rule.
“I, I’m sorry, I forgot.”
There was a beat of silence before the Voice spoke again, their words angry and
clipped. “Do you think the person you named will help?”
“Mo-most likely,” he stuttered.
“Good,” the Voice ended satisfactorily. “We’ve talked long enough. We’ll continue later.”
“Alright. Over and out,” Daas whispered.
“Over and out.”
The young spy raised his head from his book, leaning back. This may have been
their longest conversation through all these years. He was obligated to check in once
every two nights, but their exchanges usually concluded after three or four sentences.

50
 Things were changing.
He sighed and closed the book. Slowly getting up, Daas picked up the torch at the
door. But before he exited the room, he looked back. Took another glance at
everything just to be sure. And then he stepped out with caution, heading to his fate.

51
 CHAPTER 4
Daas

H
ow much longer are we supposed to be waiting here for her grace?”
Petro’s frustration soaked every word, all dripping with bitterness. Daas
and Petro had been waiting for Paaneh at the Grand Library’s main doors
for a while now, and it was clear the slim boy was anxious to get inside.
“You should go,” Daas did not turn his head away from the street as he replied.
“The librarian recognizes you now so you can get your book without trouble.”
“I’m not worried about that. Just … why aren’t we going in again?”
“No reason, I’m just enjoying the weather.”
Petro threw him a dirty look and muttered something under his breath. Daas was
not bothered enough to ask.
They both had their hands in their pockets, swords sheathed and hanging from
their waists. They wore regular, simple clothing and the only sign that gave away their
class was the bronze-hilted swords. The cloudy sky and its gift of a cool breeze filled
Daas with peace.
He was gazing up at the distant horizon. The Shield could be seen even from here;
the pink wall towered at fifty meters high. Its sight no longer gave Daas a sense of
safety—he was sure his comrade’s revelations were to blame.
A week had passed since Daas was assigned his mission. As promised, the Voice
had spoken to him the following nights, explaining what he had to do. Four or five
Lianese warriors were to enter Perigaad for negotiations aimed to broker a deal for
the protection of a Perigaadian embassy. Apparently, a group of the best Architects—
whose safety was obviously of utmost importance—planned to travel to Kena, the heart
of the White Union, next year. Just as Petro had overheard before.
The last time a similar journey was taken, the White Union had been in charge of
escorting them and things had not gone well. The extensive casualties sustained while
52
facing the Keroneh divs had made Perigaadians decide to seek better and cheaper
alternatives—namely, the Lianese. In exchange for protection, the warriors would be
compensated generously; though Daas did not know with what.
In fact, he suspected the negotiations were only a cover for the true intentions of
Liano which, as the Voice explained, was to bring a communication device into
Perigaad. How they could possibly pass the device through the Shield built to detect
any suspicious object was beyond Daas, but his contact had assured him that it would
be done. Whatever the case, the crucial part was receiving the device on this side and
Daas was charged with the responsibility.
“Hey, guys!” Paaneh’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned and saw that she
was wearing the same yellow and brown outdoor attire as before. Daas looked down,
paying attention this time—yes, she was indeed wearing high heels.
The Architect eyed the pair of them up and down. Her usual tinkling laugh filled
the air as she threw them a suspicious glance. “Were you waiting for me?”
“No,” Daas was quick to reply. “I was just thinking.”
“That’s no way to speak to a lady!” She gave him a fake frown. “What you should
have said was, ‘Yes! Your presence brings light to our day!’”
“Anything else?” Petro’s tone was as carelessly rude as ever. “Would you like us to
bow as well, your majesty? Or better yet, kneel at your feet? Hmm?”
“I’m trying to instill some manners into your empty heads, you brutes. Anyways,”
she turned toward Daas, “what were you thinking about, oh you brooding man?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Petro protested. “That head of yours is filled with things!”
Paaneh stared at him. “What kinds of things?”
Daas gave his supposed best friend a dirty look and changed the subject. “I spoke
with Elder Aaron, Paaneh. You know the marshal, right? I asked for his permission
to be part of the escort. It took some convincing, but he finally agreed.”

53
 “Wait, really?” Her surprise was written on her face. “That’s great, Daas!” She
hesitated. “But why would you do that?”
“Curiosity. I’ve read a lot about Liano. I want to meet them and see for myself.
You’re in the group too, aren’t you?” He thought Paaneh’s presence might make
things a lot easier.
“Yes, I’m actually in charge of the Architects.” She shook her head, watching him.
“You’re so strange, Daas. Everyone is running the other way and you want to meet
them? We had a hard enough time trying to convince the chosen escort members.
Ended up drawing random names!”
“How many warriors—cadet or soldier or whatever—have you met in the whole of
Perigaad who were into reading, though?” Petro chuckled. “Daas is from a different
world.”
Paaneh stared at Daas for a few more moments, squinting. When she didn’t stop,
he shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” She shrugged, relenting. “You’re nervous.”
“Of course he is!” Petro jumped in. “The Lianese have been these mythical monsters
haunting us for all our lives, who wouldn’t be?”
“There’s no reason for concern.” Paaneh waved a dismissive hand. “Our Towers
and defensive Structures are invincible, I promise.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that; I know our strength.”
Petro made a face. “And how would you know? You’ve never seen one up-close!”
Paaneh raised both her hands placatingly. “Stop, guys. Why are we arguing anyway?
Daas, we are headed to inspect the Towers tomorrow. Care to join?”
“What—” Daas burst out.
“No way!” Petro exclaimed at the same time.

54
 Daas stared at the woman for any signs that this was a joke but found Paaneh
nodding in affirmation—it seemed his ears had not malfunctioned and he was, indeed,
still sane. “Well, yeah. Yeah, of course! I’d love to come!”
“What about me?” Petro frowned childishly. “I want to come too!”
Paaneh grinned. “Ooh! Look who’s grown a backbone.”
Petro glared at her. “You don’t get it. We have a saying in the Forces: Brothers in
arms, brothers in blood. And brothers don’t leave brothers behind.”
Paaneh smiled. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, Petro, but I can’t. Daas is in the
escort, but you’re not and that makes your presence for the inspection complicated
to arrange.”
As the boy started begging, ranting about how unlucky he was and how he’d tried
to convince Aaron to let him be an escort too but oh there apparently wasn’t room
for more than one addition, Paaneh raised her palm.
“Stop. Look, I’m not sure.” She paused. “How about you get ready in the morning
and we’ll see what happens? What do you know, maybe luck will be on your side for
once!”
***
Seeing how they wanted to talk freely, the three of them decided not to go to the
library and instead headed for the beautiful small lake south of the city. As they
walked through the streets, Paaneh wondered out loud, “Don’t you get into trouble
for being out and about so much? Shouldn’t you be training or something?”
“We train three days a week,” Petro explained. “We’re supposed to train by
ourselves the rest of the days but it’s not a must. As long as you pass the finals, you go
up one level. Six levels and you graduate into the Azure Army as a soldier—or
Domestic Security as a guard, if that’s the path you chose when joining at eighteen.”
“So, what is your level?”

55
 With a groan and a rising blush, he looked away and mumbled, “I’ll be a level three
cadet if I pass my finals this year.”
“Then you’re at level two now. And how long have you been a level two?”
Daas laughed as his friend grumbled, “It’s the third year, I reckon.”
“Hmm, how many times can you take the exams?”
“You get three shots. So, if I don’t make it this time—,” he kicked an imaginary ball
in the air, “—they’ll give me a nice boot in the butt and I’m out.”
Paaneh turned to the other boy. “Daas, what is your level?”
Petro gestured at the person in question. “Look at this hornless div—what level do
you think he’s at? Four, of course! When he gets to the final level where we combat
the masters, I doubt any of them would even step forward.”
Daas did not pay him any mind, preoccupied with his strange feelings since Paaneh
had joined their stroll. At the library, they only talked about history and books. But
now things were more, well, friendly—Daas had no idea what to make of it except the
fact that he was uncomfortable and Petro laughed and talked without a care in the
world. As if he’d been friends with Paaneh all his life. “So, you’re a hotshot Architect
now, yeah?”
“Not exactly. Depends on your perspective, really. My change of branches has made
me somewhat lack expertise others might have, but being familiar with different
branches has really helped me gain an understanding.”
Petro looked to Daas. “But how many branches are there?”
“By ravaan and all that it flows through, man,” he swore. “I’ve lost count of the
times I’ve explained this to you! There are four main ones: Life, Construction,
Warfare, and Shield.” A sigh escaped him. “They all have their sub-branches, of
course. Architects choose one of the four when they finish their general studies and
then, a year into their vocational studies, pick a sub-branch to pursue. Like Motion
Architecture, which is a novel sub-branch of Construction so difficult barely any

56
Architects can graduate with a degree in it. That’s why it’s failed to gather a following
even though it’s been around for fifty years. It’s also one of the fields of study that
continue into the special studies and grow even more advanced.”
When he fell silent, Daas noticed Paaneh staring at him. He wondered if she had
caught the fact that he had slipped and sworn by ravaan; people here hated ravaan for
evading them, they never swore by it. “You really are an odd one, Daas,” Paaneh
noted. “Not many know about the specialized Vaahaa degree, let alone Motion
Architecture.”
Daas breathed an internal sigh of relief. Just the usual shock at my knowledge.
“I told you already,” Petro cut in, glaring daggers at his giant friend, “he’s from a
different world. I bet he knows as much as the old men in Maazinaan—the ones who
could fit me in their beards and have spiders nesting in their noses, I mean.”
After that, the conversation shifted toward Architecture and the Lianese embassy
at Petro’s urging. “What does headbonding mean?”
“Oh, it’s bonding with ravaan Structures. When someone is able to transfer their
senses and wishes to the Structure, they’ve made a headbond and become its ‘head.’
It’s hard to explain. You could say they take control of it? Structures require
controlling once they get to a certain level of complexity—like the Warfare Towers.”
The new information piqued Daas’s interest. “Does the Shield have a head too?”
he asked out of nowhere, breaking his role of quiet spectator.
Paaneh looked at him with a smile. “Those are dangerous questions to ask, Daas.
You should be careful not to ask them from just anybody.” She paused. “Yes, the
Shield has heads as well, though I don’t know how many—I’m not cleared for that
much information.”
Daas already knew that the safety of the Shield wall was of the most crucial matters
in Perigaad. He should’ve been more cautious. “I know. I’m just curious, that’s all.”
Paaneh looked at him a little longer before dropping the issue.

57
 They reached the Jade Lake a short while later; a small body of water with a black
bridge that made the interwoven trees meeting over the lake as a roof and reflecting
in the clear surface a sight to look at—it was a masterpiece of ebony and jade.
“I had never been to this place before.” Paaneh breathed in deeply. “It’s beautiful.”
From atop the bridge, they could see fish darting around in the fresh water, playing
between the shadows of the trees as light danced on the lake. Swimming and fishing
were not permitted in this piece of paradise, and for good reason.
Petro seemed to relish Paaneh’s wonder. “Daas and I come here often. Sometimes
with the other guys.”
“We used to come here often,” whispered Daas. In fact, they had come here a lot
after Petro had a nasty breakup. One of the lake’s custodians ended up arresting Kaari
after he jumped into the water.
Paaneh looked away from the lake. “Well, Daas, I’m not sure how much Aaron has
told you but I think I should note some important things, too. Five Lianese warriors
will be at the border in three days. When they arrive, we’ll be waiting for them at the
gate and tie them up with chainvests to keep them from using magic; it’s a term of
the negotiation.”
Fear slithered down Daas’s spine. “What are chainvests? Can they stop them?”
“Yes. Architects may not be fighters, but they are good at making these sorts of
things. Don’t worry about them causing trouble; the chainvest will detonate if one of
them even tries using magic. All we are responsible for is delivering them to
Maazinaan. Not that difficult, but extremely important. There can be no mistakes.”
“Do we receive special training?”
“Not that I know of.” Paaneh looked up at the roof made of intertwined tree
branches. “Oh, by the way, my friends will be here tomorrow; it might be a good idea
for you to get to know them.”

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 Petro could not seem to stay silent any longer. “Daas, couldn’t you just be happy
with seeing the Towers? Do you really need to be part of the escort?”
“The hunter must not fear the woods, Petro.” He laughed in mock disappointment.
“I didn’t become a warrior to slouch and sleep.”
The boy glared at Daas. “Ugh, stop quoting Serbino for me!”
“It’s not Serbi—”
“Who’s Serbino?” Paaneh asked at the same time.
Petro ignored Daas’s cut-off words, turning to Paaneh. “He was Daas’s guardian.”
At that, Paaneh stared at the odd young man. She shook her head. “Fine, Daas.
Now that you’ve made up your mind, let’s get our facts straight.”
***
They were at the lake for a few hours, speaking of everything from Lianese warriors
to Architects and different cities, until Petro told the story of Kaari’s arrest with a lot
of flair. As they were on their way back, Paaneh gave the short cadet a manufactured
smile. “Petro, do you want to go on ahead?”
“No.” He looked at her like an idiot. “Why?”
Realizing that he was just incapable of taking a hint, she sighed and spelled it out,
“I want to talk with Daas. Alone. If you don’t mind, that is.”
Petro squinted suspiciously. “Sure, why not,” he muttered.
The two slowed down as Petro walked faster. “Daas,” Paaneh turned her dark gaze
to him and looked him dead in the eye, “the man who was your guardian—he got
executed, didn’t he?”
It was as if he was hit in the face with a sledgehammer. Daas caught himself before
stumbling and managed to maintain his composure. “Yes, I was nine at the time.”
Inside, he was cursing himself. None of his friends knew about Serbino’s execution.
Daas refused to speak with them about his past and no one seemed to care.
Paaneh, on the other hand, appeared surprisingly sorrowful. “I’m sorry, Daas. I
really am. It must have been hard on you. Was he your official guardian?”
59
 “No, it wasn’t registered anywhere.” Daas did not know what to make of her grief.
“For treason, right?”
Daas nodded.
“No matter, he wasn’t your official guardian so it’s nothing.” Paaneh turned to
head away. “See you tomorrow morning, professor.”
“Wait!” Daas hesitated. “How did you know Serbino?”
Paaneh smirked. “I gather information about Liano day and night. I know the
names of all the spies caught in the past fifty years by heart. A middle-aged man called
Serbino was apprehended and executed twelve years ago—it’s not a name you hear
often, so I assumed it must be the same person.” She rubbed her chin, pondering.
“Aaron knows, right?”
“Yes, he knows.”
“It’s not an issue then. If it was anything worth worrying about, they would have
brought you in for questioning many times by now.” She smiled. “I have to leave now.
Morning by the Betrayer’s statue—don’t forget!” she called as she walked away.
Daas watched her leave until she disappeared from sight. He felt cold sweat swallow
his entire body. He could almost hear the Voice warning him to be vigilant.
He sighed and put his hands into his pockets. He was no stranger to the fear of
being exposed. It was a fear that forever haunted his footsteps and he had long gotten
used to it.
***
When he sat at his desk on the second floor of the dormitory, he’d already shaken
off his fear. He calmly cut his index finger and went back and forth with the Voice to
complete the safety procedures. Their exchange was short as always—essential
information only.
“So, I need to bleed a little in front of them?”
“Yes, one of them has a strong sense of smell. They will be able to identify your blood.”

60
 “You’re not giving me any physical descriptions?”
“That won’t be necessary—they will find you. But be careful; some of the more experienced
Architects are aware of this ability. Only one drop of blood. The envoys will recognize and
approach you themselves.”
Daas paused, considering what he was about to share. “I have been able to arrange
for a chance to go and watch the Towers near the Shield. Is that alright?”
The Voice paused as well, going over Daas’s words. “It’s not an issue. But remember:
always be cautious—about what you say and who you interact with.” They didn’t say anything
more and Daas didn’t explain; no unnecessary words were to be spoken.
Their telemind connection had been formed by Serbino years ago, yet Daas still
had no idea who the Voice was. One night, his guardian had brought a small vial of
blood and merged it with Daas’s. Since magic was traceable, the least amount of it
had been used in the process and their communications were always kept to a
minimum to evade capture—it was that or death, and they chose wisely.

61
 CHAPTER 5
Daas

C
ome sunrise, Daas and Petro were waiting next to the famous statue of the
Betrayer Architect downtown. It was a pleasant morning; people were
exiting their homes one by one, workers sweeping the streets. A bakery
was already open, the rest of the shops following slowly and carrying their goods
outside. The majority of the northern city’s population was comprised of farmers who
lived an average life.
But these days, the Naigan people were living with tension. Daas had heard that
this time a group of protestors had attacked and damaged the Naigan Hall. Their
demands were clear: the Lianese were not to be allowed to enter if they wanted peace.
They didn’t seem to realize that the Architects did not care what the people of Naigaa
had to say.
Petro was staring at the statue; it was white and stood at about three meters high,
dating back seven hundred years. A small hammer was held in the Betrayer’s left hand,
a long scroll in his right. He held the scroll up high, reading it.
“Despicable Architects,” Petro muttered glumly as he continued watching a symbol
of this city. He was clearly not feeling like life was sunshine and rainbows.
Daas was used to his moods and tried to calm him. But before he could do much,
he heard steps approaching from behind. He turned back and saw Paaneh as awake
and alert as always, walking toward them in her usual attire except changed to blue.
She was accompanied by three other figures—two men and one young woman. “Hello
to you, our fresh warriors! Good thing that you came, Petro.”
“You mean I can come with you?” Petro asked eagerly.
“We talked and, as it turns out,”—she smiled—“it will be alright for today!” She
looked at her company. “Everyone, meet Daas and Petro; two eccentric Azure Army
cadets who are reading aficionados.”
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 Petro subtly pointed toward Daas to signal he was the only bookworm here. Daas
paid it no mind and smiled politely. “It is an honor to meet you.”
Paaneh gestured at her companions. “And my friends who have just arrived
yesterday.” She pointed at the tall man. “Eskeem, Warfare Architect.” He was a good-
looking fellow, tall with hair combed to the right.
“Kaamaareh, also specializing in Warfare Architecture,” she continued as she
indicated the other man. Kaamaareh was about the same build as Petro—tiny and
slender, with a pair of black glasses nestled on his large pointy nose and taking all the
attention. A big smile and a not particularly well-groomed stubble adorned his oval
face. Kaamaareh nodded at Daas in greeting. Daas smiled back; the man seemed
friendly enough.
Waving in the last person’s direction, Paaneh finished the introductions, “And this
is Aashaaraa, a Life Architect.” She was younger than the rest. Taller than Kaamaareh
yet not as tall as Paaneh. Her huge green eyes contrasted her long dark brown hair
nicely, though her pallid complexion did not sit well. Aashaaraa seemed in as much
of a need for sleep as Daas.
She gave a crooked but friendly smile as Paaneh clapped. “Let’s get on with it then.
A carriage with Araasian horses awaits us.”
***
As the road flew by, Daas tried to contain his nerves, his guts jostled by the horses’
speed. Araasian horses were a popular and rare race whose strength and resilience
had made them extremely sought after. The massive creatures pulled the large roofless
carriage with quick feet, guided by an old man.
“Where are we going right now?” Daas asked out loud.
“We’re headed to the Shield’s gate—where it will be opening, I mean,” Paaneh
explained. “We’ll do a series of security checks and return soon after.”
The road became unpaved, making the horses slow down. Throughout, Eskeem
kept staring at Daas quietly. Daas said nothing, knowing full well that the man will
63
not be able to contain himself and would finally speak his mind if the silence stretched
long enough. And he was right.
“Mr. Daas, what level of cadet are you?”
Daas paused; experience warned him to not respond quickly to such people. “I’m
a level four.”
“And what makes you so interested in meeting the Lianese?” Eskeem’s deep voice
carried his question to Daas’s ears clearly.
He considered his words. “I’m a warrior, and so are they. If we are to fight one day,
I must know my enemy.”
Eskeem smirked. “I assure you, if you stay in this country, there will be no war.”
“I have read enough history and studied enough wars from a thousand years ago
to assure you, sir, that the Shield of Perigaad won’t stand forever. And even if it does,
I’m not staying on this side of it forever.”
“How long could a Perigaadian soldier possibly survive in the wild world outside
the Shield?” the man mocked as he raised an eyebrow.
“Longer than an Architect, probably,” Petro jumped in before Daas got a chance.
Eskeem gave Petro an indifferent look but did not speak. Instead, it was Kaamaareh
who addressed Daas. “What makes you think the Shield will fall?”
Daas looked the small man in the eyes. “How well-versed are you in history?”
He shrugged. “Quite well, actually. I’m not a historian, but I know enough.”
“Great, then. Tell me: Right now, we are in 2536 after the Calamity. Are you aware
of the history before this age? Before the Calamity?”
“No, my knowledge is all from this age. The events of B.C. are irrelevant.”
“But are they? How did we get here? Why did we get here? Where did the Trinaarian
city of Irneh come from? Or the Vale of Parisaa, the famed Nethercity? What about
the others? The ruins of Irneh in Trinaar, the existence of the Nethercity, the rest …

64
They all stand testament to previous civilizations much stronger than us. But what
became of them? No one knows. Whatever it was, it wiped them clean.”
“You’re claiming that the previous civilizations were more advanced than us? Now,
that’s something I hadn’t heard before,” Eskeem scoffed.
“I’m not claiming anything. What I’m doing is repeating what the great historian
Caarteh wrote a two-thousand-page book explaining, discussing previous civilizations
and their advancements. So did Bimeraa and many other historians.
“Our Shield and Towers are a house of cards,” his voice was low and steady as he
continued, “giving us an illusion of safety that keeps us ignorant in our cocoon.
Serinor is a magical land and Perigaad won’t stay safe from that magic for long. If we
don’t prepare ourselves right now, we will be sure to regret our choices later.”
When he finished, he started to notice his companions’ silent stare. The heavy air
between them made him regret his words—unlike Petro who seemed to have swelled
with every sentence, staring at Eskeem with a proud grin.
The cynical, arrogant man opened his mouth, clearly about to continue the
discussion, when Paaneh softly cut in. “We’re here.”
Daas involuntarily stood halfway up, trying to catch a glimpse. Yes! There they
were—the renowned Towers of Perigaad. He had waited too long for this moment.
The horses came to a stop with a whinny. Petro paused for Paaneh and Aashaaraa
to exit the carriage first before jumping out without so much as a glance at the two
other Architects. Daas got out last.
As they walked away from the carriage, Daas scanned his surroundings. It was more
of a craggy desert, filled with rocks of all sizes scattered throughout. Small trees dotted
the land every few hundred meters.
The Shield was visible up ahead, stretching thousands of kilometers and separating
Perigaad from its neighbors, its source unknown. He had never seen it from so little

65
distance, now less than five hundred meters away. Daas noticed the surface’s pinkish
hue seemed to be everchanging in places, yet you could not see through it.
And then there were the Towers.
This was the first time Daas had seen the Warfare Architects’ Towers; they stood
in three rows at various distances from the Shield for as far as the eye could see.
“This way,” Paaneh lead the group forward.
From afar, there was nothing strange about the Towers. But as they got closer, the
Structures’ oddities started to show themselves—every Tower had a unique
appearance; some tall and cylindrical, some short and cubic, and some not at all
resembling a “tower.”
Most of them stood under ten meters tall, made of a variety of materials—Towers
of bricks or wood or iron, several of them constantly moving and others completely
static. Daas noticed one that looked like a heap of dirt and when they passed close,
he began to make out wormlike creatures swarming over it.
Petro leaned in, looking simultaneously awed and sick. “What in the Betrayer’s
cursed name are these?” he whispered to Daas. But as astonished as the two cadets
looked, the Architects seemed just as bored.
“Come on guys,” Paaneh urged the dwindling young men.
When they passed next to a Tower of stone, an unusual feeling filled Daas. It was
about ten meters high and made of hard granite, a large rock-like cap situated on top
of it. Weak buzzing noises came from within its wall—as if it was beating, pounding.
The Tower’s huge cap rotated as they walked past, looking for all the world like it was
staring back at them.
Dread urged Daas’s feet to move faster and away from the lurking monster, and he
saw in Petro’s quick pace that his friend shared the sentiment.
The Towers might not have been a grand sight to behold, but Daas could feel the
power hidden deep within each of the horrifying creations. No, they were not made

66
of brick and mortar—it was pure energy that formed every part of these Towers, every
corner and crevice. Each one a sleeping giant, patiently waiting for its chance to
unleash death and destruction.
***
They reached their destination close to the Shield after a few minutes of walking.
It was a masterpiece—every bit of the flowing yet impenetrable wall seemed to be in
turmoil, shifting even as it sat utterly still.
Paaneh gestured ahead. “That is where the gate is. You can’t see it, but the Shield
will open in time.” The Towers were more densely situated here, with two extra ones
placed right next to the part of the Shield Paaneh had indicated. With those, the total
number of Towers at the entry point added up to eight.
“Our job is to ensure the health of the Towers in this area.” She faced her
colleagues. “Start with these, just make sure there are no issues. I’ll check the ones in
the front.”
The three Architects nodded and went about their business as Daas and Petro
followed Paaneh. Petro took a good look at the Tower standing straight ahead. “How
do you check them?”
“Oh, you’ll see.” She smiled. “We will be making sure their weapons are
functioning properly without lagging.”
The one they were standing next to was cylindrical with three openings near its
hood. A two-meter rod stood above the Tower, at the very top of which was a small
sphere. For a passing moment, Daas glimpsed the glare of light near the Structure.
“Wait. The Towers have shields, too, don’t they?”
Paaneh gave him a sharp look. “Yes Daas, well done! Towers have shields as well,
but it’s weaker and their range limited to only covering the Tower itself. A simple yet
effective barrier made to keep incoming magic out, but not external objects. See, you
can pass it.” She walked through, her body blurring on the other side.

67
 “Hey!” the woman yelled toward the Tower. “Prepare for a test run!”
As Daas and Petro stared in amazement, a tremble began amid the Tower’s bricks—
it sounded as if the whole thing was about to implode.
“Who’s listening to you?” Petro asked after the shaking had stopped.
“The Tower’s head. Most likely someone who is not physically anywhere near here.
They could be kilometers away, actually.” She turned back toward the Tower. “Activate
the brainblight! Briefly though!” Exiting the Tower’s shield, Paaneh warned the duo away.
“Step back, boys; if you value your sweet sanity, that is.”
Daas did not have the smallest clue what Paaneh meant by “brainblight” but he
quickly found out when the trembling started again, shaking the towering
construction to its core.
Daas felt an invisible wave go through him.
A splitting headache took over, making him collapse on the ground along with his
friends. The hard ground dug into his back, the wave into his head. He could hardly
see before his own eyes. Taking quick short breaths, Daas wondered if it would ever
end. Or maybe his brain would fall apart before the wave ever did.
Just then, the Tower stopped quivering. Daas breathed in deeply as the wave ceased
tearing his mind apart. The three slowly got up, groaning.
“My God,” Petro cursed quietly. “I thought the madness would never end!”
Daas stared in awe—he had never heard about this brainblight before. It made
sense, of course. The Towers’ mechanisms were classified; you certainly couldn’t find
anything to read about them in a library, however Grand.
“That, my friends, is the power of Perigaad.” Paaneh laughed before shouting at
the Tower once more, “Test the long-range attack!”
The bricks trembled again. But this time, the openings along the top started
glowing red. Daas and Petro involuntarily stepped back. In a flash, a luminescent orb

68
shot from one window. It burned across the sky and into their eyes. When it landed
hundreds of meters away, an explosion shook the ground.
Daas inhaled sharply, staring at the massive flames. Such devastation with more than
two hundred meters range. He could not wrap his mind around what he was seeing.
The boys were still staring in wonder at the impact sight when Paaneh raised her
voice again. “Test your fire too, we’re counting on it!”
“What fire?” Petro hurriedly asked Daas.
“Damn me to hell if I know.”
“Step back!” Paaneh looked worried as she kept an eye on the Tower.
They had barely put a little more distance between themselves and the death
machine when the rod on top of the Tower quivered. A blinding stream of white light
traveled up the rod before concentrating in the small orb. Daas was mesmerized,
unable to look away as his eyes burned from staring into the flare.
With a thunderous explosion, scorching white flames seared through the air. It was
impossible to breathe. To think. To exist.
“CUT IT OFF!” screamed Paaneh.
The fire blinked off in an instance. Daas saw Paaneh covering her head with her
hands. As lost as he had been in the fury of the flames, he hadn’t even realized when
they had all fallen down, taking shelter on the cold hard earth. The concentrated
stream of fire had only reached thirty meters away and they had been well out of
range, and yet.
And yet.
He looked up at the orb. Only a small fire remained of the hell that had reigned
just a few moments ago.
“Shield’s sake!” Petro cursed. He was panting, eyes wide open, head held in his
hands. “What in the burning hell was that?”
Daas gulped. He wasn’t faring any better.

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 “White fire.” Paaneh shook the dirt off her pants. “Towers are equipped with at
least two abilities. One long—”
A horrible boom rose from afar. They whirled toward the source; it was another
Tower farther away, sending waves of green gas into the sky. Kaamaareh stood
relatively close to the weapon of war, clearly tasked with inspecting it.
“Anyways,” Paaneh continued as if nothing had happened. “As I was saying, one
long-range and one short-range, the latter often being the more powerful one. The
white fire is the short-range weapon of this one and can do a great deal of damage.”
“No kidding,” Petro muttered.
“You guys had better stay away now and let us complete our tests.” She finally took
a proper look at them and started laughing. “Look at you two!”
They were admittedly a disheveled mess, their clothes skewed as they tried to shake
the dirt off of them. Ignoring his appearance, Daas went right into questions. “Do all
of the Towers make flames?” His voice was nearly lost in the occasional explosions
that roared from all around.
“No, not all of them,” Paaneh replied as she continued to watch them like they
were two amusing freaks. “And the Towers that do produce fire are not the same
either. The one we tested was white, but they can be different colors; each has its
specific usages.”
“These bombs that keep being fired—,” Petro gestured vaguely around, “—do they
affect the Towers’ shields?”
“No, they pass through them. That’s how advanced shields work; pass anything
being sent out but deter what’s outside and trying to get in.” She nodded at the Shield
of Perigaad. “A clear example of this.”
“Wait,” Daas stared at her in surprise. “You’re saying that anything the Towers
shoot outside will pass through the Shield?”

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 Paaneh’s usual radiant smile graced her face. “Obviously!” She shook her head. “You
two should go wait by the carriage now. We’ll join you soon after we’re done.” And
with that, she went to finish her inspection.
Petro’s eyes traced her steps and he sighed. “I wish we could walk all the way back.
I really don’t want to face Eskeem again.” He put his hands inside his pockets before
turning to Daas. “You know, I can’t imagine what will happen when the emissaries
arrive. If they put one step out of line…” Petro wagged his head. “Let’s just say I truly
feel sorry for the Lianese right now.”
Daas had nothing to say to that—he felt sorry for the Lianese, too.

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 CHAPTER 6
Clora

S
he was running within a halo of light and dark, searching—for whom, she did
not know. But she ran, and ran, and still kept running.
After what could have been days, years, or only passing moments, she
glimpsed a house in the distance. It rose in a parched land; its creaky wooden doors
and decrepit two stories seemed to wave at her in the desert. She saw hundreds pass
by her without sparing her a glance.
The world spun around her—nothing was clear.
The girl cut through the crowd, reaching the house. It was as if someone was calling
to her, beckoning her inside. She took a deep breath and crossed the threshold,
following the silent summons. The floorboards moaned beneath her feet.
A man was standing by the second floor’s window, his gaze locked on the horizon.
She had never seen him before. Involuntarily, she took a step forward, trying to catch
his attention. Soothing yet dissonant music greeted her ears, the source of its deep
sound unknown and far beyond her grasp.
She walked forward and stood beside the man. Everywhere she looked, there was
only desert. She frowned, unable to understand what the man was staring at. And
then she saw it.
Far in the distance, at the edge of the horizon, there was a dark spot; as if trees were
clustered together. She squinted, focusing—they appeared to be the source of the
strange music.
Suddenly, the trees started to grow larger. No, closer. They were being pulled toward
the house. Or perhaps the house was moving nearer to them.
When the trees finally loomed over her, giant and overwhelming, the house
vanished. She was left in a vast and empty land, standing alone in their shadow.

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 One by one, the trees began to disappear. All, except for one.
It was ancient and withered, its countless branches leafless and its trunk made up
of twisted wooden snakes. It floated above her, swaying slowly in the air.
The music grew louder and deeper as a twisted bough bent and stretched, then
advanced toward her. With every beat of the song, the branch came closer.
And then it was right next to her, wrapping around her petite body. In a flash, it
pulled her forward and—
With a thump, Clora fell off her bed.
Short, heavy breaths escaped her. She clumsily tried to pull her hair away from her
face. Sweat soaked her entire body. Her eyes flitted around the room, a film of terror
clouding them. The dream played before her eyes, again and again, making her watch
the dark corners as if a wild creature was about to burst out of them at any given
moment.
Gradually, her breathing slowed, dream and reality breaking apart. She was safe.
With a sigh of relief, Clora relaxed on the floor. It was just a dream, she thought.
Still, the images haunted her. What will this mean for me? Dark thoughts played on her
mind as shadows ruled the room. She sat in silence for the remaining hour of the
night until, finally, the sky began to lighten. After that scare, sleep was clearly not an
option.
Clora found the bubble lamp by her bed with difficulty. Opening its lid, she called
forth the ravaan inside it. Slowly, the light pierced the eerie black corners of her room.
Its glow seemed to taunt her, reminding her of the whole month it had taken her to
learn to do this one simple task—the task more than half of Trinaarians performed
easily. She brushed the thought aside; she’d never had much talent in wielding ravaan
anyway.
As she sat in the dim light, Clora struggled to get her bearings; the dream refused
to be banished from her mind. Unable to think of anything else, she rose. Perhaps a

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walk would be helpful. From her window, she could see the coming dawn. Well, it’s a
pleasant enough time for a stroll. After cursorily combing her hair, she put on the dark
gray robe of seventh-grade mages and walked to the door.
Clora paused at the threshold, throwing a quick glance around the place, and
wondered if she would ever have the courage to return to her room again.
***
The Great Academy of Trinaar was where Trinaarian mages were trained. The
campus was so large, it had taken Clora a relatively long time to get familiar enough
with its every nook and cranny.
Its one-hundred-hectare yard was surrounded by stone walls and tall fort-like
buildings for residences, meetings, training, and indoor classes among other things.
Despite its enormity, though, the academy had a rather simple and practical structure.
For instance, the three-story dormitory of female mages stood on one side with
another one for male mages opposite it, all the way across the yard; a five-story
building rose next to the female dorm for the residence of royal mages and special
guests in addition to housing the library, while the kitchen and dining halls took up
space next to the male dorm. The grounds were mostly covered in neat grass, with a
single pond and a few large trees scattered throughout and around the lawn. Paved
paths connected the buildings.
The sound of Clora’s shoes on the marble stairs resonated in the morning silence
as she exited the female dormitory. She stopped, raising her head to gaze at the
lightening cloudy sky. Trinaar was located in a cold region, and the weather’s
combination with the rough stones gave the Great Academy a soulless and
unwelcoming look. Yes, there was no beauty to fill her with awe, but basking in the
peaceful quiet had to be enough for now; all she needed right now was to escape the
phantoms of her past. Finally, she turned and made her way to the dining hall.

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 Breakfast was served after six but most of the mages, regardless of age, preferred to
sleep in until midday, the older students usually having spent the night partying.
Clora, of course, never joined them—not only because she was too young and the
young mages were forbidden to do so, but also because, despite her four months at
the academy, she didn’t exactly have many friends.
A voice interrupted her brooding as she passed the flower bushes. “Hey! You there!”
Clora stopped.
It was one of the workers tending the flowers—a plump middle-aged man with tan
skin, leaning against his stick. “What are you doing here?” He glared at her. “How old
are you even? Fourteen? Don’t you know you’re not allowed to wander around at this
hour? What if one of those winged shirdaals attacks you with its beak and lion paws?”
“The prohibitions don’t apply to me,” Clora replied impatiently. She truly was not
in the mood to argue with this man.
Rage simmered in his eyes. “You little mages think you own this place, don’t you?”
He made to grab Clora. “Come, we’ll see—” With a sudden gasp, he dropped her arm,
gulping down his words. His gaze was locked on the symbol on her shoulder.
“I, I apologize. I—” He laughed nervously after a pause. “I didn’t know Sky mages
could be so … young. Please, please excuse my ignorance.”
“It’s fine.” This man wasn’t the first person to be shocked by the badge sewed on
her robe—a badge only granted to the extremely talented students in the seventh, and
last, grade.
By the Great Academy’s rules, those with a higher grade or station ordered their
inferiors, and the inferiors had to obey. Due to this and how Clora belonged to the
highest grade called Sky, no one other than the high-ranking masters and officials
could give her an order; which was just as she preferred it. Of course, this was also the
reason why friendships were so rare to come by, blooming only between mages of the
same grade.

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 Clora spun around indifferently, continuing her walk. Whatever the case,
squabbling with an old man would certainly not help her banish her worries.
As she had expected, only a guard stood at the door of the dining hall. He regarded
her sleepily. “Wait—” he started, before his eyes caught sight of the crown with three
spikes, sewn on her robe. “Oh, you’re fine.” He stepped aside. “But why in the world
are you out and about this early?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said by way of explanation.
“Huh.” The guard leaned his head on the pillar and closed his eyes. His drowsy
mumble barely reached Clora’s ears. “I wouldn’t mind if you worked my shift too,
early bird. By all means.”
She gave a faint smile and walked on.
That early in the morning, the academy’s dining hall was dimly lit, shadows playing
beneath the numerous rows of tables. The place was so enormous five hundred people
could eat there together comfortably. And the food—oh, it was always delicious and
fresh. Turns out Trinaar, like all countries, badly needed mages, and it needed them
healthy and well-fed.
Clora pulled up a wooden chair and sat down with a sigh.
She’d only been there for a few minutes when the silence was broken by the sound
of opening doors. It was the staff, coming to prepare the dining hall for breakfast.
Clora had noticed a flurry of activity in the academy’s staff for the past few days—
which made sense since Khaavira, the Grand Royal Mage, was planning to visit.
Clora watched the women scatter throughout the large hall and get to work in their
plain long skirts and knotted hair, clothed as was demanded by the rules; the academy
did not want them attracting the mages, and none seemed to have any objections to
it. Apparently, they were mostly rural women from surrounding villages, here to make
money and nothing more—since the Great Academy paid its staff considerable
salaries, working here was the villagers’ dream job.

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 A young slip of a girl approached the lengthy oaken table reserved for the Sky
mages—the one Clora was sitting at—and began cleaning it. It was clear that she was
trying really hard to seem casual. “Good morning, miss,” she mumbled, her clay-
colored skin blushing beautifully.
Clora threw her a passing look and nodded. “Good day.”
The girl started putting the abandoned utensils in her basket, all while her thin,
long eyes sneaked glances at the mage. Despite her attempts at not staring, Clora
noticed her behavior and decided to keep quiet about it.
She was leaving when Clora called out to her. “You forgot this.” She picked up a
spoon and rose to hand it to the girl.
“Oh, thank you!” The girl smiled palely as she stretched out her hand to take the
spoon. But the moment her eyes snagged on Clora’s badge, she dropped the basket.
It landed with a startling bang, metal utensils rolling all over the floor. “I, I’m so,
so sorry, I—” the girl stammered as her face reddened. She knelt, hurriedly gathering
the scattered objects. Clora realized the girl must have thought she was sitting at the
Sky mages’ table by mistake.
“Dora,” a female voice scolded from behind, “you need to be more careful!”
It was a middle-aged woman, rushing to help the girl. Clora realized with joy that
she knew her. “Hey Mini!” Two months had passed since the last time she had
stumbled upon the woman in this unfamiliar academy. Mini was one of Clora’s few
old friends. From before.
The girl called Dora looked to Mini. “Do you know her?”
Mini did not turn her delighted wide eyes from the young mage as she replied, “Of
course I do! She’s the girl from that nightmarish Castle of Illusions.” The name hit
Clora like a brick, followed by violent terror. “Are you feeling well, Clora?”

77
 She struggled to appear unruffled, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah. I just couldn’t
sleep,” she bit out, “so I came here.” But inside, she was trembling, trying to wrest her
mind away from that place—the Castle where madness lurked.
“But,” Dora stuttered, “her badge…”
“Clora is not like others,” Mini said firmly before taking a quick, wary look around
at the other staff as if she didn’t want anybody to hear them. She took Clora’s hand.
“Come with me,” she urged, pulling her to a corner with Dora close behind.
When no one else was in earshot, Mini’s eyes examined Clora from head to toe,
seemingly unsure about her physical health. “We didn’t get a chance to talk properly
the last time, so I thought I might find you in the dining hall. Do you still not want
to explain how you managed to get out of that damned Castle?”
Clora shifted on her feet. “I told you, they sent me here.”
Mini’s wise face broke into a knowing smile, arms akimbo. “You want me to believe
they just sent you here and”—she pointed at the badge—“gave you this?”
Dora’s gaze swung cautiously between the two.
“Yes, they did send me here. And as for the badge,” she said, forcing a smile, “well,
maybe I deserve it.”
“I smell secrets, oh yes I do. But never mind, the less I know the better.” A sigh.
“By the way—,” the woman pointed at the silent servant girl, “—this is my daughter,
Dora.” With a start, Clora noticed how similar the two looked. “We just moved here
a while ago. I can scarcely believe our luck in getting out; being a servant in that Castle
of Illusions was a nightmare.”
That name again—Clora’s hands quivered before she fisted them.
Dora’s curiosity seemed to finally get the better of her. “What is your kind?” she
asked, her eyes locked Clora’s pale face. Immediately, the girl dropped her head and
continued in embarrassment, “Sorry, I only asked because of the black shapes around
each of your eyes.”

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 Clora was not surprised; the black skin surrounding both her eyes undoubtedly set
her apart from the others. “Oh, just a human. Think of that as a … kind of mask.”
Dora opened her mouth, but before she could throw more of her questions at
Clora, Mini cut in angrily, “Enough already. There are more important things to
discuss.” The old woman turned to Clora. “Which class are you in? Who’s your
master?”
“We only have one branch and master. It’s Ernaan—Elora Ernaan.”
“Wait,” she gasped, “you mean the heavenly gorgeous woman from Kena?”
“Yeah, that’s her.”
Mini put an anxious hand on her forehead. “Oh dear, but they say she’s cold as ice
and cruel as a blade! How long have you been in her class?”
“Since I came here.” Seeing the woman’s worry, Clora tried to reassure her, “Don’t
worry, Mini. I’m really fine. It could be worse; at least it’s better than the Castle of
Illusions.” She couldn’t spit out the name fast enough—it felt as if it would rot in her
mouth.
“Of course it’s better than that Castle! Anywhere in this whole land is better than
that accursed place!” She wagged her head, trying to shake away dark memories. “If
I’m not mistaken, this Ernaan has been gone for a few weeks. Yes?”
“Yeah,” she replied, glad to leave the other subject behind. “but she’ll return soon.”
Mini leaned forward, watching the hall from the corner of her eye before focusing
the force of her stare on Clora. “Are Dena and Shaar here too?” she whispered.
Clora frowned. “No. They’re back there. In the … the Castle.”
“Oh, but no,” Mini grinned, “they’re not.”
“What?” Clora’s eyes widened. “What do you mean ‘they’re not’?” She was struggling
to keep her voice down.

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 The woman took the mage’s face under scrutiny for a second too long. Deciding
that her surprise seemed real enough to prove her honesty, she finally went on, “They
escaped. Two weeks ago.”
Clora took a shocked step back, her sharp intake of breath cutting through the
damning silence. She could not believe what she was hearing.
“Yes,” the woman nodded at her, “from what I hear, things are as disastrous as you
can imagine. Interrogations, hunting parties, you name it. Fortunately, there is no
sign of them—they’ve disappeared into thin air. I thought they might have come here
as you did, but seems like I was wrong.”
“How, how did they run away?”
Mini laughed, shrugging. “I don’t have the smallest clue. Clever, clever youngsters.”
Dena and Shaar, a twenty-something girl and boy who had resided in the Castle,
like her—or been trapped, to be more accurate. She felt her knees weaken and found
purchase on a chair, sliding down to sit as her blood ran cold. The Castle of Illusions
had lost Clora, and now two more of the candidates. She trembled.
What does this mean for me? the thought assaulted her again, but this time stronger
and more urgent.
“Clora? Clora, are you feeling alright honey?” Mini’s worried face cut into her line
of vision. The woman’s calloused hand brushed Clora’s forehead. “Oh dear, you’re
burning up! Do you want me to get you to the infirmary?”
“No, it’s—” She inhaled deeply to calm her racing heart before trying again. “I’m
fine Mini,” Clora reassured. “I’m just feeling weak because I didn’t sleep last night.
Forget that, tell me about the Castle. What did they do?”
“Well,” she said after a concerned pause, “things were bad. More than bad. They
locked up everyone in their rooms for an entire month. The punishments and mental
tortures—or disciplining, as they like to call it—became harsher. And more frequent,
too! Twenty people committed suicide just in that one month, can you imagine?”

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Horror and revulsion clouded her face. “By God, had they continued that way, there
probably wouldn’t have been anyone left!”
Clora tried and failed to make a fist—her fingers had gone utterly numb. The eerie
and silent corridors of the Castle haunted her, deafening quiet flooding her mind.
She could almost feel the insanity seeping into her bones.
“Oh dear, don’t be afraid,” Mini murmured soothingly as she caressed Clora’s face.
“You’re out of there now. Just focus on getting away from this hellhole of a country,
alright?”
“I know.” Clora’s voice was weak, but she attempted a smile for her friend—Mini
was of the rare people Clora could trust, and having her here filled her with warmth.
“Thank you for worrying, Mini. I promise, that’s next on my mind.”
“Good,” Mini approved. “Look, we have to go before we draw any attention. But
if you need anything, don’t hesitate. At least one of us is here each morning. Alright?”
Clora thanked her and watched the two of them get back to work. Despite the grim
news, she was glad to have spoken with Mini. She’d known the woman for a long
time, but when they’d run into each other at the academy two months ago, they
hadn’t been able to catch up. Now they had, and Clora was shaking all over.
She gazed around and realized the sun had risen. Students were slowly trickling
into the dining hall, banishing its silence. However, no one approached Clora’s—or
more specifically the Sky mages’—table where she sat all by herself, even as they threw
her occasional curious glances; after all, her classmates were all older students who
never showed up for breakfast, not young like her and the mages scattered around.
Studying at the Great Academy of Trinaar consisted of seven grades, at least for
those mages intending to reach high places in Trinaar and specialize in the offensive
magic branch. The first three grades dealt with controlling ravaan and were filled with
young students—every mage had to learn to control objects of ravaan emission, which
were mostly made of various stones embedded in rings, necklaces, or the likes. The

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higher grades were where specialties began to branch, teaching different combinations
of ravaan. As the grade number increased, so did the difficulty of passing it—
graduating from the seventh grade alone took years. This was why the Sky mages were
more than three or four times Clora’s age.
After breakfast, she endured the stares for a while before rising to get to the training
room as her schedule demanded. It was still early, but anxiety kept her from sitting
idly. Besides, Christis would certainly be there, and she had to talk to him.
Clora was elated to see the clouds had parted, making the day a rare sunny one.
But when she gazed at the lofty structures of the academy, casting shadows on the
mindless mages, her passing good mood evaporated. Even the sun seemed unable to
revive the dreary walls of this place.
As she crossed the yard, she walked past a group of new mages, sitting cross-legged
on the ground. The ten-year-olds had their eyes closed as they focused on the small
stone laid in front of them. To become a mage, each one had to connect with the
ravaan inside the stone and prove they are “ripe.” Failure to do this elementary task
in three months or forming a weak connection meant they were incapable of wielding
ravaan, being an “unripe”; naturally, nothing but expulsion awaited them.
Other groups dotted the grounds as well—after all, this was where the hands-on
classes of mages from grades one to four were held, well away from the dangerous
training rooms of advanced students. Some moved tiny stones in the air with a
gesture, others setting small woodpiles on fire. Since she still had a lot of time, Clora
decided to stop and watch a class of children. They were barely ten, certainly
newcomers.
Their master noticed her, staring at her Sky badge for a beat before turning back
around to begin his class. “As you well know, ravaan is not the only magic in our
world, but it’s the most important. It flows through all there is as blood does through
our bodies. If you leave it be, nothing will go amiss. But it is when you attempt to

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control it that it reveals the savage beast beneath.” The sun gleamed in his eyes as he
took in the effect of his words. “Just like a wild creature, you must know how to rein
it in if you endeavor to extract ravaan. If you don’t, you have unleashed a beast that
will be your ruination. But if you do, then you have tamed a lethal weapon—it will
defend you, help you, obey you completely.”
The words were nothing new for Clora, and so they failed to keep her mind away
from the foreboding place where she had spent years of her life. How had Dena and
Shaar escaped? Who could’ve possibly helped them? Her questions were unending,
but none truly mattered; not right now. Only one selfish question shone boldly amid
the rest: What will the Castle do in their absence?
They had been a group of ten chosen candidates chosen from the many captive
residents of the Castle—a group Clora, Dena, and Shaar had been a part of. The
Warden had had grand plans for them. But now, the Castle had lost three of the ten,
with Clora having miraculously gotten out four months ago. She could not—did not—
want to think of the implications.
Her gaze drifted away, snagging on a dense cluster of clouds. They were scattering
so very slowly, promising to steal away the shining day and curse them with grim rain.
A wistful smile curled her lips when her mind flew to the few colorful days of her
childhood; the games they’d played, looking for shapes in the clouds—beautiful dolls,
delicious fruit, a simple meal … All the things she’d wished for so innocently.
Taken by a sudden need to travel back to a time before she’d known any Castles,
Clora tried to find shapes in the clouds as she had loved to do so long ago. The
drifting cluster seemed to have a twisted long center, with strips of coiled white and
gray branching out both ways. She frowned. It looked like … It looked like a tree.
Like the tree.
Clora stumbled. Panic seized her lungs. All that escaped her lips were short gasps,
barely taking in air. She grasped her throat, bending and trying to rein in her fear.

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 When she could breathe again, the mage straightened. The master was regarding
her strangely. Clora ignored him, looking up. Just a few clouds—it’s nothing but a few
flimsy clouds, Clora, she chastened herself inwardly. Spinning around on quick feet,
Clora left the master and young mages behind; her own class was close to starting.
And as she rushed away, resisting the urge to glance back, she wondered how worse
the day could possibly get.
***
The four stories of the training building towered over Clora, swallowing her in its
shadow. The building crouched in a northern corner of the grounds, solely reserved
for the classes of the sixth- and seventh-grade mages. Unlike the rest of the academy’s
structures, it looked old and worn, though just as grim and bleached as the others.
Chips and cracks covered its walls, adding to the haunted appearance of its slouching
tall door made of black iron.
No guards were necessary, of course—the small orb positioned next to the entrance
more than made up for it. Clora walked forward and raised her right shoulder so that
her sewn badge was in front of the orb. Suddenly, an invisible connection formed
between the two, and the sphere glowed red. The door swung open without a sound.
As she crossed the threshold, she felt the change in atmosphere. No sunlight
penetrated these walls, a few torches taking up the task of dimly lighting the entrance
hall with their cold flames.
She climbed the wide stairs to the top floor where the single class of Sky mages
always practiced. There, a narrow corridor led to the enormous area—it had to be a
couple of hundred square meters at the very least. Shadowed pillars dotted the room,
holding torches that failed to pierce the oppressing gloom in their small number.
She made her way to the few chairs and took a seat in a corner. Then she waited.
Only Sky mages were allowed to enter this floor, which weren’t many. After
successfully passing the fifth grade, mages were given two choices: leave and serve as

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an ordinary mage in small towns, or continue to the higher grades (which required
second life) and graduate as a royal mage. The latter was not a popular choice since
passing the sixth grade took at least fifteen years. This was why the total sum of the
mages in the sixth and seventh grades barely reached fifty.
Finally, her fellow Sky mages began to trickle into the room. As always, they ignored
her presence after throwing her a glance—it was a tenuous relationship, an unspoken
understanding that they should leave her alone. And it suited her just fine, easing her
discomfort a little.
There were about twenty mages present, standing around the room and chatting,
rings for ravaan emission adorning their fingers. Their long dark gray uniforms
marked them as students of the academy’s highest grade.
Mensa Nikoo, the class vice president who kept the order in the master’s absence,
walked in last. She was a cheerful and chubby woman who was always kind toward
Clora. “Good day everyone!” she called for the mages’ attention. “We’re continuing
the connection and transformations of fires today. Let’s get to work!”
One of the men groaned. “Ravaan’s sake,” he complained playfully, “how much
longer do we have to practice that?”
Murmurs of agreement traveled through the class. “Could you not ruin last night’s
fun, Mensa?” a young-looking woman sneered. Of course, she wasn’t actually young.
None of them were; not really. As for this particular long-haired and beautiful mage,
her name was Teraanteh and Clora did not like her at all—the woman had only ever
had cold glares for her. She probably didn’t even deem Clora worthy of a
conversation.
“Ernaan’s orders, nothing I can do,” Mensa replied placatingly. “You don’t want
to anger Elora Ernaan, do you?”
“And why shouldn’t I?” Teraanteh regarded her friends. “Really, who does she
think she is?”

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 “Tell me about it,” a man named Broba rolled his eyes. “The foreigner’s been
ordering us around for years. I don’t know about you, but my patience is running so
thin it’s this close”—his thumb and index fingers were only a few millimeters apart—
“to splitting in half. I say it’s time we gave her a lesson.”
Clora wondered if all sixty- to hundred-something-year-old mages sounded this
arrogant and immature, or if it was a specialty of this lot. For all their years of
experience, they looked less than thirty and acted even younger. To them, Clora was
a barely hatched chick whose presence was an insult to their ego. Only a handful of
them tried to hide their dissatisfaction, choosing not to sneer at her.
“Enough. There’s nothing to be done. One word from Ernaan and a year will be
added to all our terms for misconduct,” Mensa cut in, trying to put an end to the
pointless discussion. Seeing their bitter silence, she nodded—silence was silence, bitter
or not. “Now, pair up and begin.”
The mages slowly collected their goblets of fire and faced their partners with a ten-
meter distance. They were to connect the ravaan in their fire to that of their partner’s,
then achieve the difficult job of transforming the fire into a new type. The
transformation of red fire to any other color, such as green, was a hell to accomplish—
only the best could succeed in the task.
Clora noticed Mensa walking toward her and rose to her feet. “Are you on your
own?” she asked Clora quietly, trying to avoid attracting any attention.
“Looks like it. Do you know where Christis is at? Isn’t he coming today?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know, but he might not show up. Do you
want to train with anyone else?”
“I can’t.” Clora winced apologetically. “Master Ernaan said I may only train with
Christis and no one else.”
“Good, good,” Mensa conceded. “I think it’s better if you just stay here away from
the rest, too.” She threw the girl a shameful smile before turning back.

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 Clora considered leaving, but if there was even a small chance that Christis was
coming, then she had to stay—she desperately needed to speak with him. She sighed
and sat back in her chair, eyes glued to the dancing flames. All around, pillars of
swirling fire flew through the air at the wave of a hand. Flares of red, green, and blue
finally conquered the darkness of the room. The mages had quieted at last, too
focused on the effort needed to channel their stores of magic.
It was the first thing any mage learned—the ability to control the emission of ravaan.
They had to extract the ravaan in their external stores—be it rings, necklaces, or
anything else with a considerable capacity—and absorb it, then proceed to wield it as
they wished. But if someone absorbed more than their body could hold, then it would
rip them apart. Considering the amount of ravaan control required in connection
and transformation of fires, it made sense why the mages hated practicing it.
An hour had passed when a few of the men plopped down on the ground right
where they stood, some stretching their straining necks. “I feel like my bones are going
to fall into a million pieces,” Niari whined.
“Yeah, fire is just the worst.” This was Kaiti, the stout man with a receding hairline.
Mensa wiped the sweat from her forehead as she struggled to put on her ever-
present smile while still focusing on her task. “Fire is the most useful weapon in war.
A mage who can’t control fire can’t even be called a mage!”
“You say that like we don’t know it. Controlling fire is one thing, but transforming
it is a whole other story.”
Ericeh’s proud voice rose from further away, “I don’t understand why they won’t
let us go already—we stand head and shoulders above most mages as it is.” Clora
pursed her lips. She wasn’t very fond of Ericeh; the tall, broad-shouldered man was
so self-absorbed and dismissive of others. He had grizzled hair and the appearance of
a thirty-five-year-old, though Clora guessed his age to be at least a hundred.

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 Out of nowhere, Niari glared at Clora. “Lucky her. She does whatever the hell she
wants and gets to be here without earning her place or breaking a sweat.” Clora
pretended not to hear, keeping her eyes on the mages who were still training.
“Shh,” Mensa warned.
“Oh, let her hear us!” Teraanteh’s protest cut through the air. “Why should we
keep quiet? Why is she even here?” Her voice grew louder with each bitter word.
Clora was conscious of the eyes turning to her. “A very good question,” Ericeh
replied. “We’ve gone through hell to get this far and we’re being ridiculed by a little
girl—a nobody.” Soon, more voices joined them.
“You know we have to follow the orders,” Mensa’s desperate voice shot back.
Just then, a boyish voice drew everyone’s attention. “What orders?” Clora’s head
spun around involuntarily.
Two relatively young men had swaggered into the room. She knew them; they were
Neria and Kaasmoos from the sixth grade. Sometimes, when the master was absent,
they would swing by and mingle. The latter’s brawny and tall body took up a lion’s
share of the space, his shorn hair and the tattoo on his forehead making him even
more menacing. Neria, however, was the opposite—willowy with long blonde hair that
added to his attractiveness; though he was almost as tall Kaasmoos. His lips had
twisted into an arrogant smile.
“Neria!” Teraanteh was immediately on her feet. She ran up and hugged the young
man, looking delighted.
Neria grinned. “You were saying? What orders?”
“Oh, it’s just the girl with black skin around her eyes.” She sounded annoyed.
The newcomer gazed at Clora. “I see…” Cold calculation filled his eyes for a
moment before he turned back to the group. Despite her best efforts to ignore all this,
Clora was beginning to regret her decision to stay more and more. She could leave,
but her escape might make things worse.

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 “Greetings everyone!” he called to the room as the last of the mages gave up practice
and sat down in exhaustion. Friendly quips rose in response; the Sky mages liked him,
and no wonder. “You’re all probably drained, yeah?”
“Well, yes, very much so,” Mensa said dispassionately as she sat cross-legged.
“Ah,” Neria went on with deliberate slowness, “then how come I don’t see any sign
of exhaustion on this young lady’s face?” His hand was pointing at Clora.
Realizing what was going on in his head, Mensa tried to change the subject. “Don’t
you two have training of your own to get to?” But it was too late—the whole class had
already turned to throw Clora dirty looks.
“In fact, we don’t,” the blond boy shot back, still staring at Clora. “Hey! Young
lady!” he called, a dark gleam in his eyes. He looked like a hunter about to pounce on
his prey.
Clora finally locked eyes with him. “Yes?”
“I suppose you didn’t have a training partner today. How would you feel about
honoring me, this lowly servant, by deeming to train with me today?” He strode
toward Clora with a curious smirk.
“I’m only permitted to practice with Christis. Master’s order.”
“Well,” he glanced around in mock surprise, “I don’t see any masters around here,
do you? Your Christis is also, apparently, absent.” Neria stood only a few steps away
now. “I wonder, could it be that you feel it’s beneath your dignity? Or, perhaps, you
are afraid? But how could that be?” He lifted a curved eyebrow. “We have all strived
for years to reach the Sky grade and, surely, if they gave you that badge the instance
you walked into this place, you must be the greatest student there is? What is there to
fear, then, for such a high and mighty mage?”
Teraanteh’s sharp laughter bounded off the walls, echoing in Clora’s ears. She
maintained her serious expression even as her stomach roiled, staring into Neria’s
handsome face. “I am not interested in training with you.”

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 Neria did not respond. Holding her gaze, he snapped his fingers. His ring glowed
and the nearest torch flared, a ball of fire detaching to fly slowly toward them.
Mensa was on her feet. “What are you doing?” Ericeh’s hand stopped her.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mensa. I’m just curious. A little playing never hurt anyone.” His
smile had turned so sharp Clora thought it might cut her open. Her eye flitted to the
door, but he caught the look and laughed. “You’re not going to run, are you, little
bird?” With that, Neria leaned in closer and urged the fireball forward.
She had no choice; she had to defend herself or she was going to be roast beef.
With shaking fingers, Clora spun her only ring. A small translucent bubble gleamed
around her—a shield, and it was going to last for only a few minutes.
Neria tutted. “A prepared shield? We expected more of our little prodigy!” With a
sudden sweep of his fingers, the fireball struck the bubble.
It flared like a living beast, red and hungry for Clora’s skin. The flames surrounded
her, greedy hands seeking a way in. She could feel the ring sucking away her energy
bit by bit. Gulping, she caught a glimpse of Neria through the fire; his face was set in
determination as he pushed against her shield, hunger dancing in his eyes.
“That’s enough!” Mensa’s shout scarcely reached Clora through the roar of the
flames. “Stop! You might kill her!”
“Alright, alright,” Neria’s faint voice did not sound pleased. “Just … one second. I
promise …” The pressure on the shield increased.
Pain cleaved behind her eyes. Clora felt like her head was about to explode. Her
fingers had gone numb and her whole body was trembling. Tears painted a path down
her face. It was too much—the pain, it was too much. She couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Stop, she begged, please, don’t. But it was too late.
With a sharp burning pain down both sides of her back and a burst of energy that
wiped the shield and fireball away, her fear became reality.
Clora screamed.

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 The growth began right where she burned, two vertical slots across her back. They
ripped through her robe, each three times her height—bony and bare like branches
with blue glowing veins, boughs of bone leading to twigs. No, not now not this!
“Wings?” Neria gaped as every single mage shot to their feet. “Wh—how—” The boy’s
shock quickly morphed into fear. He raised his hand and another ball of fire flew out
of a torch and toward her at top speed.
Out of instinct, she cut her right hand through the air. Her right wing followed,
piercing the ball with surprising swiftness that countered its fragile appearance.
The fireball vanished, and that was when Clora saw with sobering horror what she
had truly done. A deep wound wept blood on Neria’s chest—blood that also dripped
from the tip of her right wing.
The boy fell, hands clutching his chest.
She had barely registered what had happened when Kaasmoos’s shout pulled Clora
out of her mounting panic. With a delicacy that did not match his size, the man
moved his hands in mimicry of waves. A cold rush of air moved toward Clora.
Before the frost magic could turn her into a block of ice, she instinctively clapped
her hands. The wings followed suit with a thunderous sound. A crescent wave threw
Kaasmoos all the way across the room. He did not move again.
A deathly hush fell. Clora was stunned. She could not believe the carnage she had
caused in a few short seconds. No, no, they’ve all seen it. It’s over. It’s all over.
But just as quickly as it had come, that silence was broken. “It’s a feral leokaan!” All
the mages took up defensive positions. Mensa was shaking in fear.
A glare of light flashed on Ericeh’s hand—it was his ring, shining as he summoned
the ravaan within to attack. A wave of energy lifted Clora with a motion of his hand,
hitting her against the wall. She tried to use the wings as a shield, but Ericeh’s magic
overpowered her, holding her beneath the pressure of an invisible wind.

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 Clora shrieked in agony, sobbing, but even Mensa wasn’t going to defend her this
time. Ericeh moved his hands up, perhaps to strike the final blow, when a girlish voice
made them all draw up short.
“That is enough!”
Elora Ernaan, the Sky Master, strode into the hall. She scanned the scene with her
quick eyes, face filling with chilling rage.
“But she—”
“Silence!”
The pressure on Clora’s wings disappeared. She fell, landing on her hands and
knees. Her wings were trembling and she was too weak to control them.
The master’s sudden entrance had shaken the mages awake. They drew back, some
watching with wild, fearful eyes, others with fury. It was clear some were waiting for
the woman to magic away the trouble as she had done every time; after all, their
training had always been full of danger and injuries. But this—this was different. It
was not a normal fight, and many didn’t seem to want it to be magicked away.
With firm strides, the master moved toward Clora. There was cold controlled rage
simmering in her eyes. The floor began to quake beneath Clora’s hands and red
flames flared out of it, surrounding her. She screamed. As she rushed to stand, the
cold fingers of fire reached for her wings, swirling around them and keeping her from
moving. Through it all, the master had not moved a muscle.
She knelt in front of Clora and put her palm on the petrified girl’s forehead. Her
striking face had never looked so furious, her milky skin never so icy. Sudden pain
stole Clora’s breath. Slowly, its every moment so excruciating that she twisted and
shrieked and moaned for a reprieve, the wings were sucked back into her body. Clora
fell on the floor, her breathing labored, her back screaming.
Elora Ernaan rose and turned away without a glance back. She pointed at Neria’s
shaking body and he began to float. For a few silent moments, every mage stared at

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the dying boy, and then his lethal wound started to close in front of their disbelieving
eyes.
The Sky students watched their master in wonder, realizing the depth of her power.
That was when Teraanteh decided to voice her outrage. “What the hell is going on
here? Why should a—”
“Quiet.”
“Why? What is that animal—”
“I said QUIET!” The master’s deafening voice reverberated through Clora’s body,
chilling her blood. There was no way that was an ordinary shout.
Teraanteh immediately shut her mouth, bowing her head. “Yes, Master Ernaan. I
apologize.”
Elora Ernaan cut a formidable figure in the dim hall. She was tall, wavy black her
falling on her shoulders. Her wide ebony eyes, thin nose, and angular chin made her
serious face a breathtaking canvas, her black robe adding to her majesty—all in all, she
was a sight to behold. And while she looked young, everyone knew she was far from
it. Her words were rare, her smiles even more so. In normal circumstances, she had
an undeniable gravity, let alone now that fury radiated from her.
Clora struggled to get her feet underneath her. She glanced around, taking in the
devastation. The mages stood silently to the side, watching the woman heal Neria.
The day had barely started and it had gotten worse with every passing hour. They
saw the wings. They saw me. Few people knew of her true heritage, and now it was
revealed to all. Not only that, but she had also attacked and injured two mages. Her
heart seemed to skip a beat as she thought of the consequences. Will they, will they take
me back to the Castle? She felt her head spin and fought to stay upright.
As soon as he was healed, Neria’s weak voice broke its way out of his parched
throat. “That girl,” he pointed a quivering finger at Clora, “she, she attacked me.”
“Is that right?” the master asked Mensa.

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 “Well,” the woman attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace than
anything else, “Neria did mess with her a little, but no one could’ve possibly imagined
that this would happen…”
“Exactly!” Ericeh’s outraged tone cut right through the debate. He stepped forward,
squaring his shoulders. “We should’ve been inform—”
“The ruling council of Trinaar does not need to explain its decisions to any of you.
You must obey the orders you are given without question.” Her voice was so sharp
with controlled wrath it pierced Ericeh’s like a blade cutting away rotten pieces. “I
distinctly said that Clora may only and only practice with Christis. Your unruly
behavior and disobedience will be noted in the final letter of recommendation.”
Ericeh shook with rage as he lifted a threatening finger. “You have no right—”
“Oh, really?” The woman cocked her head in mock surprise. “I think I should
remind you that you are my student—I have every right to do that, and I undoubtedly
will.”
The pair’s eyes were locked on each other; one wrathful, the other oddly calm. The
tension was so thick Clora thought she could cut it with a knife—if she could find the
strength to move her arm, that is.
Elora Ernaan’s lips curved in a small smile. “I am getting the feeling you intend to
evaluate my abilities. If you are really that interested, then we can think of it as a
training exercise. How is that?”
With that last barb, Ericeh’s years-held patience tripped and broke with a startling
flare—the flare of his rings as he raised his hand against his master.
“Step back,” the woman gestured to the others. They obeyed, making way and
forming shields around themselves. “You,” she said to Clora, “move next to the back
wall.” Clora trudged to where the master had indicated, exhausted and trembling. All
eyes stared at the two mages standing in the center of the room with anticipation.
Clora had heard Ericeh was undefeated in battle.

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 Without further ado, the man struck.
A current of wind swept toward the woman at a wave of the mage’s hand. But
despite its strength, it was only strong enough to ruffle Master Ernaan’s hair. Clora
frowned until she saw Ericeh twist his left hand and realized that had not been his
actual attack. With a flash, his stretched left hand burst into flame, then caught the
wind. A horrible inferno shot toward his opponent like a red raging river afloat.
The master did not even blink. A small sphere glowed white and into existence in
front of her, a lilting song rising as it slowly spun—the song washed Clora’s nerves in
calming cool water. In a flash, the whole fire was swallowed by the sphere like a hungry
vortex, turning red.
Without hesitation, the woman’s hands flared and this time it was her that threw
flames at her opponent. Ericeh saw the fire for a second before the sphere exploded,
his own magic joining hers and shooting toward him.
Immediately, a blue shield blinked around his angry form.
The flames hit his protective bubble and it held—Clora knew hers wouldn’t have.
Fire surrounded the shield, choking it. The master raised her left hand and another
sphere popped into existence, this time in her palm. Air rushed toward it from all
over the room; the strength of the current whipped Clora’s hair. Immediately, the
white orb flew at Ericeh at top speed.
His shield did not stand a chance. The sphere cut through fire and shield and then,
in a thunderous moment, everything exploded.
Clora hit the wall. Sliding down, she gasped. Her ears were ringing, the world a
blur. As the air settled and groans filled it, Clora cautiously looked up. Ericeh was
lying meters away on the floor, unconscious, no sign of all that magic visible anywhere.
All around, the mages lay sprawled on the ground.
Elora Ernaan was the only one left standing.
“Everyone,” she called, crooking her fingers, “gather around.”

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 Slowly, the bewildered mages got to their feet. Broba and another man hurried
toward Ericeh, but the master stopped them. “Leave him. He’ll be out cold for two
hours, at the very least.” She turned to the others. “Who started the fight? Did you?”
she directed the last question at Clora.
“No, the boy, he started it. Then I couldn’t contro—”
“Enough.” The master’s eyes sought Neria. “What were you doing here? You’re not
even allowed on the fourth floor, let alone to attack a student.” At the boy’s shocked
silence, she faced Mensa. “I entrusted you with the class. You should not have allowed
them in. But not only did you not do that, you also let them engage in a fight with
Clora, which I had explicitly forbidden.”
Mensa opened and closed her mouth like a dying fish. The rest were not faring any
better either, staring at the woman with wide eyes. Clearly, her display of power had
shaken them all to the core.
“Six months will be added to your terms.”
A cacophony of protests swept through the room. “But we didn’t do anything,”
Broba whined.
“Exactly, you didn’t. You could have—and should have—stopped it. But did you?”
she replied without looking at him. “This punishment includes the ones who are
absent as well. And you, Neria, will have one additional year on top of that, plus five
magical lashes.” She paused, then her stunning cold gaze slid to Clora. “You too.”
Fear made her gulp. She tried to quench it, biting her lip, but it was no use. “Yes,
Master Ernaan.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“But, Master—she’s too young,” a female mage stepped in. “The whips are
dangerous for her.”
“Rules are rules,” the woman replied, her voice firm, before she left the room
without a backward glance.
***

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 She had been lying in bed for hours. Her back was strips of agony, the wounds left
by the lashes covered in salve and white cloth. After the lashing, a kind healer had
tended to her wounds, damning the people responsible under her breath. She’d
warned Clora that the pain would last for days to come. Wounds caused by lashes of
magic could not be healed with any quick method and only time would gradually
erase them.
Night had fallen through the window. Struggling to her feet, Clora stumbled to the
small table across the room and reached for the pitcher of water. Tears ran down her
face at the spike of pain in her back. She poured herself a glass with difficulty and
drank, cursing herself that she couldn’t pull objects from a distance. Then she lowered
herself on her bed face down and turned to the wall.
In the impregnable silence of the room that was never broken by outside noises
just as it never allowed any sound to leak out, Clora spiraled into despair.
She imagined a thousand ways in which the truth of her heritage would spread and
she would be taken, imprisoned, punished. In the shadowed room, her mind became
her worst enemy, conjuring monsters out of the walls, their reaching hands thin and
long, made of dread and hopelessness.
A knock, and the door opened.
“Are you awake, little sister?” Her eyes faced the wall, but she did not need them
to recognize that voice. Still, she turned, just to see the owner’s angelic features.
Elora Ernaan stood in front of her closed door.
Elated, Clora tried to sit up. Pain laced through her back and her face crumpled.
“Don’t!” Her older sister rushed to her, gently pushing her down on the covers. Then
she drew up a chair and took a seat. “How are you feeling?” Elora said, a bitter,
ashamed smile crinkling her usually emotionless expression. “Could you have ever
imagined your own sister would do this to you one day?”
“It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

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 Rage clouded Elora’s eyes. “Christis, that fool! I’d told him to be right next to you
in training at all times.”
“Don’t be mad at him. Something important must’ve come up.”
The woman sighed. “I know. He’s probably gathering information since all classes
had been called off. That’s why that despicable waste of air Neria was there.” His
name sounded like a curse on her lips. She looked into Clora’s eyes, guilt written on
every wrinkle of skin. “You know that if I didn’t punish you, they would’ve gotten
suspicious and taken action themselves, right?”
Clora nodded.
“Well, there’s no need to worry about that now—not even an emergency meeting
was called. No talk of further punishment, or imprisonment, or anything.” At the
girl’s disbelief, Elora continued, “You’re safe, I promise. I won’t let anything else
happen to you.”
Calm eased over her heart. She knew Elora would always save her. Still, she bit her
lip anxiously. “But what about my reputation? Word’s probably already spread. I will
stick out like a sore thumb wherever I go. What would people say?”
Elora caressed the girl’s forehead, smoothing out the creases with patience. “It
doesn’t matter what people say, little sister. In fact, damn all those dimwitted dingbats
to hell, I say!”
Wide eyes stared at the woman before hearty laughter escaped Clora’s lips.
“Whatever you say, big sister. Damn all those”—she mimicked a quotation mark—
“‘dimwitted dingbats’ to hell indeed.”
As their joined giggling ran through the room, Clora watched her sister’s face.
Elora was so fearless and sure, taking things easy and looking at them from a
completely different angle that was foreign to Clora. Her calm control was like a
beacon, steadying those around her. And oh, did she shine.

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 I shouldn’t sadden her with my worries, she thought. Her beloved sister who had walked
into the hell that was the Castle of Illusions and dragged her out of the drowning
misery and torment with her sheer will and cunning. No, I shouldn’t. And so, she
decided to change the subject and take advantage of their precious moment of peace—
after all, they rarely ever got the chance to speak. “How was your trip?”
Elora made a face. “It was fine. Everything is ready for our departure. We just have
to wait a little more,” she said, waving a hand. “How is your wound? Does it still
hurt?”
“Not that much,” Clora lied, though it was clear Elora did not believe her.
“Do you want me to change your bandages?”
“No, they need to be changed tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. Really.”
Elora’s sigh resonated through the room before a small smile sat on her face. “Oh,
how good it felt to give that Ericeh a proper beating. My blood was boiling when I
saw he’d pinned you against the wall like that. I intentionally goaded him into
attacking me just so I could put him in his place.”
Clora smirked. “I don’t like him either. He’s so arrogant.”
“Ah, you don’t know the half of it. The likes of him are everywhere, even in Kena.
Sometimes I think a required condition of being a mage is being foolishly arrogant.”
“Does Kena have a lot of mages too? Like here?”
“Yes, and even more! Trinaar’s mages are rather mediocre, actually, and most of
them don’t have much talent—certainly nowhere close to Kena’s. This kingdom’s
specialty has never been its magic; its strengths lie elsewhere.”
As her sister passionately answered her questions, Clora was mesmerized by her
animated features that heightened her beauty. She couldn’t deny the jealousy rising
inside her. Elora noticed her stare and seemed to read her expression like a book.
“You know, the mask around your eyes makes your face so striking,” her kind voice
soothed.

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 Clora shook her head. “Yours still leaves mine in the dust.”
Elora gave her a crooked, dismissive smile, like her beauty was the most irrelevant
thing in the world. “Do you know how I figured out you’re my sister the first time I
saw you in the Castle?”
“Well, you said you had been looking for me for a few years…”
“Yes, ten years.” Her face grew serious, a sign of the unpleasant memories prancing
through her mind. “There is so much that I haven’t yet had the chance to tell you,
what with the oppressive shadow of that place standing vigil over our every move.”
Clora nodded. Back at Castle, they had only been able to meet once a week and
even that was for a limited amount of time—revisiting the past had been the farthest
thing from their minds then. And for the four months since they had gotten out,
they’d stayed cautious, all so that their relationship would remain hidden.
“As I’ve told you before, our parents’ marriage was forbidden,” Elora began, “so
they had to rely on secrecy to stay safe from the consequences—not that it worked, in
the end. But anyhow, very few people know that I am their daughter. Naturally, your
birth was hidden as well—even from me. For years after their deaths, I didn’t even
know they had another child. It was only by accident and thanks to Christis that I
found out about you. And thus, we started looking.
“Our search led us to the cursed Castle of Illusions, and the very moment I saw
you in that cage, I knew you were my sister; your black mask, your watchful eyes …
They are exactly like Father’s. I couldn’t have dreamt of it in a million years! When
I’d thought of you before that, I’d been imagining someone like me—a face similar to
Mother with the magical talents of Father, but you…” She pointed at Clora. “You are
the exact opposite. You have inherited Mother’s wings, but take after Father in
appearance.”
“You mean I’m ugly?” Clora interrupted with a laugh.
Elora smiled, shaking her head in exasperation. “Not at all! You are beautiful,
Clora. What I mean is that, seeing you for the first time … It was like traveling back
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in time to when I last saw Father. That was when I knew you were my little sister; not
that you were so little anymore!” She had a point—despite her appearance, Clora was
twenty years old. It was her leokaan heritage that had slowed her physical growth.
Clora’s lips began to stretch into a smile when her gaze passed a dark corner of the
room. For a moment, she felt as if the shadows grew branches, reaching to swallow
her whole. Her smile dropped.
Elora noticed. She scrutinized her sister’s face, trying to understand her change of
mood. Then she sat back. “Anyways, congratulations on becoming two-winged!” she
said, and Clora realized she must have thought the memory of their parents had upset
her.
“How many wings can I grow?” she asked, trying to distract herself.
“Up to six. Rest assured, we’ll get out of here in two months, and then a friend of
mine can help you get rid of them.”
Clora anxiously bit her lips. “Won’t it hurt?”
“Relax.” Elora rose to sit on the bed. “I promise, I’ve thought of everything.”
Clora attempted a reassuring smile, but her fearful mind was her greatest foe and
the shadows—the branch-like hands were everywhere.
“There’s really no need to worry,” insisted Elora, hugging her. “Only two months
to go. If we’re careful enough, nothing else will happen. Fortunately, I know a little
about controlling your wings because of Mother. Everything will be alright love, you
just wait.”
Still, no words managed to make their way out of Clora’s mouth. All she could see
was a greedy strip of darkness, sliding toward her along the floor.
“You don’t need to worry about the other mages either. With the beating I gave
Ericeh, none of them would even dare to look at you. Nothing will go wrong.”
The shadow grew closer. “I—” Clora tried to find her words, staring down at her
feet. “I ran into Mini today. She said … she said Dena and Shaar have escaped.”

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 A pause. “Mini? You mean the servant?” Elora frowned. “Were Dena and Shaar
your friends in the Castle?”
Clora bobbed her head, eyes still glued to the dark. The Castle of Illusions truly
had turned her mad, in the end. “Do you, do you think they might take me back?
Now that two more are gone?”
Elora took her hand. “Look, there is no need to be afraid. We had legitimate
reasons for bringing you here and they’re still valid, Clora. Not to mention I handed
around enough bribes to ensure no one asked too many questions.”
“But what if … What if there are good reasons for me to go back?”
Another pause. “Like what?”
Clora could not tear her gaze away from the dancing shadow. “I was going to tell
Christis today, but he didn’t show up to practice.” The branch was going to take her—
it was going to wrap itself around her slim body and drag her away. “I saw it…”
Absolute silence. “What did you see, Clora?”
Finally, the girl raised her head. She hadn’t wanted to worry Elora, but there was
no way out of this. “Last night, I dreamt. It was a horrifying phantom, reaching for
me.” A tremor went through her pale hands. “I could feel its devastating power, the
decay poised to destroy a world—no myth has exaggerated it, no myth could.” Her eyes
flitted back to the dark corner, seeming to open its hungry maw. “The Tree. I saw the
Curse Tree.”

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 CHAPTER 7
Clora

E
lora shot to her feet. “You saw the Tree?” she said, pushing away the hair
fallen on her wide eyes. “Are you sure?”
“It couldn’t have been an ordinary dream. I felt it. That dark power…” She
shuddered. “My mind can’t possibly make that up.”
Elora began pacing around the room. Clora had never seen her lose control this
way, shock and terror written so obviously on her face. Fear tightened its grip on
Clora’s heart.
Finally, her sister stopped and took a deep breath. “Damn it,” she whispered before
turning to Clora. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“You only just returned,” Clora murmured, dropping her head. “And I didn’t want
to worry you.”
The mattress shifted as Elora sat back down. She felt her sister’s elegant fingers
softly grip her chin and turn her head. Her eyes locked on that reassuring smile. “It’s
fine,” Elora soothed, a gentle hand caressing Clora’s cheek. “But don’t ever again
hesitate in telling me what you know when it comes to the Curse Tree, alright?”
A nod was her response.
“Good.” She sighed. “Looks like we have to speed things up—there is no way I’m
letting you stay here any longer; not after this.” A frown crinkled her brow. “We also
need to be prepared, just in case. How likely is it for the Warden to decide you’re the
one and come looking? How many were the candidates? And how were they picked?
Did they have an interest in you in particular?”
“Well,” Clora began shakily, “there were ten of us, so I don’t know. We were all
chosen because of showing the most tolerance for pain in the, the mental tortures.
Though other than me, the rest were also great with magic.”

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 “Hmm. And with you gone, and two more having escaped, that means there are
now seven candidates left, yes?” At Clora’s nod, she let out a breath. “Well, there’s no
reason for them to think it’s you, is there?”
Clora shrugged. For a few moments, Elora stayed silent as she mulled over the
information. Clora knew it was all new to her—little was known about the Castle of
Illusions in the outside world, and they had never had the chance to talk about
everything Clora had found out inside.
Eventually, Elora wet her lips before looking at Clora. “How long until the sacrifice
is chosen from among the candidates?”
“Seven months remained until the ceremony when we left, so…”
“Three more to go,” Elora hummed. “And what did the ceremony entail?” she
asked, still trying to see the full picture that had eluded her for so long. “Do you know
how the sacrifice was to be chosen?”
Dark memories stole her resolve. She tried and failed to reply. If only I was as strong
and unshakable as Elora, she thought as she gazed at her sister’s unyielding eyes.
“Clora, are you alright?”
Elora’s voice cut through her fear, lending her strength. She took a deep breath.
“I’m not sure; the time hadn’t arrived so they never completed the ceremony, but …
there was a room with this strange magic flowing inside. We, I mean the candidates,
sat around a long table in that room and became lost in a dark illusion. It was—it was
terrifying.” Her voice shook. “But that was more like preparation for the actual
ceremony. I know that one of us had to finally see the Curse Tree, but I don’t know
what else had to happen besides that. There were rumors though.”
“What rumors?”
“Rumors about a, a laashkhaar being part of it.”
Elora’s frown deepened. “A laashkhaar?”

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 Stomach lurching in disgust, Clora tried to describe the despicable thing she had
seen, “It’s a gigantic worm-like creature, maybe the size of this room or even larger. It
has a soft body and a face like a human.” The image made her retch.
“Hmm.” Elora looked out the window. “I’ve never seen such a creature.” She
paused. “Do you have any idea what happens when the sacrifice is chosen?”
Clora shook her head.
“Very well,” Elora declared in her firm voice. “It doesn’t matter—we still have time
before they attempt the final ceremony. But we’ll leave sooner just to be sure.” She
thought for a moment. “Two days—I’ll get you out in two days. Your wounds would’ve
healed enough by then for you to be able to walk.”
Clora knew her sister was exceptional not only for her beauty but also her
incredible magical powers and quick mind. She wasn’t the Sky Master for nothing,
and there was probably no one better suited to the task of planning a sudden prison
break. Still, she worried. “But won’t they suspect you?”
Calm settled on the mage’s face. “I don’t care if they do,” she said. A proud smirk
curled her lips as she continued, “Besides, I’m Elora Ernaan—I know what I’m doing.”
She squeezed her little sister’s hand. “Just try to rest. You’re not getting out of this
bed on my watch, and I intend to stay here the entire time.”
***
The knocking on the door pulled Clora out of sleep. It was still dark, past midnight,
so she must not have slept all that long. She tried to rise from the bed, but Elora’s
voice stopped her. “Shh.”
Through the darkness, Clora could make out her sister sitting alert on the chair;
she must’ve kept vigil while Clora slept, turning off the lights to avoid disturbing her.
Two orbs, one yellow and the other blue, hovered in the air above her.
The sound rose again. Three taps. A pause. A solitary knock. Repeat. Clora knew
the code. “It’s Christis,” she said sleepily.

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 Cautiously, Elora got to her feet and walked toward the door. Clora was confused
by her behavior, but the girl knew her sister would not act this way for no reason—she
must know something Clora didn’t.
Elora took a defensive stance and slowly cracked open the door. Christis’s short
form became visible in the dim light. The woman quickly ushered him in before
looking down the corridor and softly closing the door. The lock slid into place as the
bubble lamp began to glow.
Christis was a young man Clora had only known since she coming to the academy.
His blond hair shone atop the striped black-and-white traveling cloak of mages, his
green eyes pinned on the two glowing spheres. “What the hell?” he whispered to Elora,
struggling to keep his voice low. “Do you want to raze the whole academy to the
ground?”
“If I have to,” she replied, lifting her chin. “We’re leaving tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?” Christis’s eyes widened. “Is the team ready already?”
Elora sat back down on her chair. “No, they’re not ready and I don’t care. I’m
getting her out myself.”
“But—”
“We’re not discussing this. Clora saw the Tree and I’m not sticking around to see
what happens.”
“What?!” he almost shouted.
“Yes, she saw the Tree.” Elora sounded unconcerned.
Christis spun toward Clora, looking feverish. “In a dream?”
She bobbed her head, surprised by his excitement. Clora liked Christis; he was a
patient, caring young man. Yet right then, his intent gaze was oddly disconcerting.
“Wait,” Clora cut in, “what are you doing here so late?”
Apparently, Elora shared her concerns. “She’s right. Did you want something?” she
asked suspiciously.

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 A sigh escaped Christis. “I was looking for you,” he said to Elora, “but I couldn’t
find you anywhere. I’ve reached the same conclusion: Clora must leave as soon as
possible.”
Elora raised an eyebrow. “And why is that, exactly?”
“Well, did you know two candidates escaped the Castle while you were away?”
“Yes, I did.”
A pause. “Wait, how did you know that?”
“That’s no concern of yours.”
Christis’s brow furrowed. His eyes swung between the sisters before he relented.
“Well,” he went on, “after the two ran away, the Warden, whatshisname—”
“Elikaar,” Clora interjected.
“Right. Warden Elikaar decided to bring the ceremony forward.” He looked into
Clora’s eyes. “The choosing ceremony was performed three days ago.”
Ice slithered down Clora’s spine. Rescheduling the choosing ceremony? she thought in
horror, unable to wrap her head around what she was hearing. The very fabric of the
Castle of Illusions depended on that ceremony—not in a million years could she have
imagined the chilling Warden doing such a thing.
Involuntarily, her eyes sought her steadfast sister, her pillar of support. She was on
her feet, rage simmering in her gaze and features sharp in their cold severity. “And?”
she spat out quietly.
Christis took a quick step back, shocked by her fury. “Umm, I did some digging,”
he began cautiously, “and it appears no sacrifice was chosen. They’ve concluded that
it must be one of the other three.”
You could hear a pin drop in the hush that followed. The chances of Clora being
the one in a group of ten had been low enough for the Castle to agree with her transfer
to the Great Academy. “And now,” Elora broke the quiet, “that goddamned Elikaar

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believes Clora is the sacrifice?” Her unbreakable, cutting tone gave Clora shivers—she
sounded just as she had right before tearing into Ericeh.
With a sidelong glance at the mage, Christis nodded. “It’s only logical to come for
her first; the fugitives are out of reach after all. She’s here, ripe for the taking. And if
they test her and the Tree ends up choosing her, then they won’t have to bother
looking for the other two.” His eyes slid to Clora. “I hate to say this but, considering
her dream, it’s more than likely that she is the one.”
“They won’t touch a hair on her head,” the woman waved a hand. “We’re leaving
in two nights using the telebranches. We just need to wait for her whip wounds to
heal a little more.” An unbecoming groan escaped her. “Damn me for meting out
that punishment!”
“Wait, you did that?”
“Yes, I did that,” Elora vindictively threw back. “If you had been there, doing your
only job, none of this would’ve happened,”
Christis drew up defensively. “I left for only two hours in the entire time you were
gone and that was only because I thought you’d be arriving shortly.” When she made
to continue her verbal lashing, he shook his head. “Leave it, what’s done is done. We
need to focus on the issue at hand—like what you mean to do about that old mage
Khaavira.”
Elora turned away indifferently. “Nothing I can do. He’s here, he will certainly
interfere with our plans, and”—she shrugged—“I don’t care.”
“You don’t care?” He stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “Elora, do you even realize
what you’re doing? He’s the Grand Royal Mage of Trinaar and you’re still a Kenese
authority. If you engage him while breaking Clora out, you could destroy the Kena-
Trinaar relationships!”

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 “I wasn’t born yesterday, Christis.” She rolled his eyes at his disbelieving stare that
seemed to disagree. “What do you expect me to do? Just hand over Clora? There is
no other choice—it’s a risk we have to take, but you’re too scared to face it.”
Christis pursed his lips. “I agree that Clora has to leave as soon as possible,
otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now. But we need to be more careful; you should
not engage Khaavira—just wait a little more. The Warden’s men would not dare attack
the Great Academy; they’ll have to send a formal request for Clora’s return—maybe
they already have—but the transfer will take time. Time we can use to act with more
deliberation.”
“Don’t do it, Elora,” Clora’s whisper drew their attention, putting a temporary end
to their argument. “You don’t know the Castle’s power.”
Elora’s severe expression softened. “Fear not, little sister; you don’t know our
power. The only reason we haven’t destroyed that abominable place yet is their
relation to Trinaar—Trinaar depends on the Castle and we don’t want to ruin our
newly formed alliance with the councils of this monarchy.”
“But you barely know anything about the Castle…”
“You’re right,” Christis smiled patiently, “our information on the Castle of
Illusions is limited. But your sister is also right. All we have to do is get you inside
Kena’s borders and they won’t be able to do anything.”
Clora stayed silent after that, still unconvinced. She was sure they were
underestimating the true power of their foe.
Christis turned to Elora. “How is it that Clora’s rescue team is not yet ready?”
“There was another mysterious attack,” Elora replied as she took a seat once more.
“It needed to be investigated.”
“Another attack? Where?”
“Dona. The creatures hit the Donans’ main hive about a month ago. There were a
lot of casualties, but they managed to repel the attack.”

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 Clora had heard the country’s name before, though she knew nothing about them
other than the fact that it was placed in the south of Serinor. Without magic, it would
probably take months to get there from Trinaar, which was in the east. “Who attacked
them?” she inquired.
“We don’t know much about the attacks, even though they’ve been happening for
a few years now. Groups of vile creatures with unknown magic are popping up all
over Serinor.” She let out a sigh. “Anyhow, the team’s unpreparedness changes
nothing. We’re leaving tomorrow night.”
Christis rubbed his face. “Elora—”
“Enough,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “No more discussions. If you have
any objections, I give you until tomorrow to come up with a solid plan, or else we’re
going with mine.”
He scowled, seeming to contemplate whether he should push it or not as he held
Elora’s steely gaze. Clora could tell the two had been at each other’s throats often
enough through the years to know the other’s moods because Christis let the matter
drop after only a moment’s pause. “As you command, Master Ernaan,” he said,
sounding resigned. He looked away from those stunning eyes, his own catching on
Clora. Suddenly, he perked up as if remembering something. “So,” he wondered,
“what did the Tree look like?”
At that, even Elora turned to her, curiosity evident on her face. Clora understood
their interest—no one had seen the Curse Tree and all they had were ancient tomes
and inscriptions. Still, that didn’t mean she was any more enthusiastic about it.
“I didn’t see much, but it wasn’t as huge as I’d imagined; maybe twenty meters or
so. It had no leaves but countless twisted branches, so dry it looked dead.” She gave a
humorless laugh. “It was floating—ten meters above the ground.”
A frown sat on Christis’s brow. “Floating? In all my research, I’d never heard
anything about it floating.”

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 Elora shot him a look. “And how much information do we even have on the Tree
for you to have looked into? Sum up everything we know about it and it won’t even
reach ten pages.”
Christis persisted, “But we had deduced that it must be in the Yawning Pit. For it
to appear in the air … It doesn’t sound right.” He glanced at Clora. “Look, maybe it
was just a normal nightmare. After all, you were trapped in the Castle for years. That
place does things to people. It’s natural for your mind to conjure that image when
unconscious.”
“No.” Clora burrowed into her pillow, trying to escape the looming darkness. “You
don’t understand—I felt it. Its limitless power. Its rough branch wrapping around me.
It—” A shudder went through her weak body. “It pulled me, Christis. It pulled me to
itself and off the bed as if it would take me away from this very room.” She tried to
fist her hands around the sheets, but her fingers had gone numb.
Silence followed in her words’ footsteps. Clora could feel the pair’s eyes on her,
taking in her fear. She scrambled to find anything else to distract herself with. “What’s
the Yawning Pit?” she asked, looking to Elora.
Understanding dawned on her sister’s face. “Well, how do I explain it?” She
thought for a beat before continuing in her tranquil voice. “It’s an immense pit the
size of a city in the very center of Serinor. It’s unclear what truly lies in there; perhaps
a secret base, a hidden world, even the Curse Tree as Christis believes. It is said that,
in the old days, they used to imprison monsters and demons there.”
“It could very well have been a city once, or a land that weathered unimaginable
magic,” Christis added. “Whatever the case, we’re mostly clueless.”
She tried to imagine the vastness of Serinor with all its wonders, but her thoughts
flew back to the Tree’s clutches—the dancing shadows. From the looks on their faces,
Clora could tell they were aware of her pathetic attempts at calming her mind. For all
the good it did her.

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 Elora knelt on the floor in front of Clora and hugged her little sister’s head to her
chest. “My dear, I promise I’m getting you out of here tomorrow, no matter what it
takes. All the royal mages could line up in front of these very doors and they still
would not be able to stop me. Do you hear me?” A small nod. “Good. Sleep now.
Christis and I will be quiet,” she finished, glaring at the young man.
He smirked. “Of course, nothing to worry about. Elora’s plans might be formed in
two minutes, but there’s no doubt they’ll come to fruition.” Seeing Elora’s tense
parting lips, he rushed to add a “Shush! Clora should sleep,” his grin widening.
Watching the two of them bicker, Clora smiled. Their certainty made her worries
seem inconsequential. She felt her eyelids droop—the medicine the nurses had given
her must’ve been hypnotic. “Sleep well,” a feminine voice said. The last thing she saw
was Elora tucking her into bed, smiling down at her like all the world was a flimsy
dream and she, its master.
***
Clora did not sleep well that night.
Nightmares hounded her in her sleep. She was back at her cell in the Castle of
Illusions. Then she was running, the dark, narrow corridors surrounding her as she
sought a way to escape. Mist and dust chocked her. She was lost.
Each time she woke, whimpering in terror, Elora’s gentle voice was there.
It was midday when she fully opened her eyes at last. She turned on her side with
difficulty, agony lacing down her back. Her sister was standing at the window, a breeze
ruffling her hair and the two magical orbs still circling her. When she tried to sit up,
the stab of pain stole her breath. Elora spun around at her gasp.
“Clora!” she rushed toward the panting girl. “What are you doing? You should be
lying down!” Seeing the state of her, Elora sighed. “Christis brought you a special
ointment, I might as well apply it now.”
Clora was barely holding back tears. “Ointment?”

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 “Yes,” she explained as she helped Clora remove her nightshirt and lie back down
on her stomach, “it’s made of a krikahndahss. And if you don’t know what that is,
which I’m sure you don’t, it’s a harmless but formidable creature that has an intrinsic
ability in defense against ravaan magic. Something like a horse but larger, stronger,
and more intelligent.”
“What’s … What’s a horse?”
Elora chuckled. “It doesn’t matter. Forget it.” So very gently, she began rubbing the
substance on her back. “With this, you will be able to move without problem in two
hours, if not sooner.” Her hand glided down Clora’s spine, tracing the wounds. “If
only magical lashes were not so tricky and I could’ve healed you myself.” Heat coursed
down her back where the ointment lingered.
A bang on the door made Clora jump. Her sister’s soft hands pushed her shoulders
down before her footsteps grew distant. The door opened with a click. Clora turned
her head—the movement easier already—to see Elora beckon Christis inside.
The Sky Master observed the man’s hurried look. “Is something wrong?”
“No—well, yes.” His eyes flitted to Clora and back to her older sister. “Khaavira has
called for a full inspection. All students must be present.”
“Clora’s just been whipped, she can’t go.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible.” He smiled grimly. “The chancellor’s secretary
told me to assist Clora and that, if anything goes wrong, they’ll send more help.”
“Why?” she said with a blooming frown.
Christis threw up his shoulders cluelessly. “Apparently, the presence of all Sky
mages is mandatory.”
A frustrated pause. Elora breathed out furiously. “When is it?”
“In three hours.”
She looked to Clora with concern. “Do you think you can come?”
“Yeah,” Clora smiled faintly, “the ointment is already helping.”

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 “That’s good to hear.” Elora nodded. “I don’t want to give them an excuse,
otherwise I wouldn’t have let you get up. Are you sure you’re fine?” she said. Her lips
pursed as she watched Clora for the smallest sign of doubt, ready to call it off. There
was none.
“Oh, by the way,” Christis cut in, “they were looking for you as well.”
Elora sighed and pulled the blanket over her sister. “The masters probably have a
meeting before the inspection. I should go.” Still, she dwindled.
“I’ll stay with Clora,” he offered. “We’ll be there.”
She did not move. Seeing her older sister’s worry, Clora tried a reassuring smile.
“It’s just an inspection. A walk will be nice, too.”
Finally, that seemed to reach the woman. Elora bent down to kiss her cheek. Her
long finger brushed aside a few strands of hair from Clora’s forehead. “Rest, and don’t
worry about a thing. I’ll get you out of this damned kingdom. Soon.”
***
For two hours after Elora’s departure, time trickled by as Clora ate the lunch
Christis brought her, then tried—and failed—to go back to sleep. Finally, she admitted
defeat.
The shining sun lent the room a jovial warmth through the window, as if there
were no Curse Trees, no sacrifices, and nothing to worry about. Christis stood across
the room, gazing down at the bustling campus. Clora shifted on her bed, delighted by
the ebbing pain, faded to just a sting. It felt as if a layer of paste coated the wounds,
keeping them from bursting open again.
When she couldn’t shake the thoughts of the escape any longer, she decided to
distract herself through other means. “Hey, Christis.”
“What is it?” he asked, walking away from the window. “Are you having trouble
sleeping?” The young man was modestly dressed, neither his clothes nor his
mannerisms showing any signs of the mages’ splendor. It was why Clora was so
comfortable around him.
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 “I slept the entire night and morning; I couldn’t go back to sleep to save my life,”
she huffed. “Forget that. You never told me how you and Elora met.”
With a laugh, Christis turned back to stare outside. A moment passed before he
began speaking. “Your sister and I have a complicated story,” he explained, eyes
glazed. “You see, your father was my mentor.”
Clora’s mouth dropped open comically; this was news to her. Four months of
knowing one another, and yet they did not know the first things about each other—
caution had not allowed them.
Too lost in memories to pay her any mind, Christis smiled. “I spent hours with
him each day, but I did not know they had a daughter named Elora. They’d hidden
her existence from even me. It made sense, considering their forbidden marriage.” He
looked into her eyes. “Which is why I keep reminding you to never ever tell anyone
of your relation to Elora. I know it’s starting to grate on you, but you must never
forget that.”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry.”
Satisfied, he went on, “But then you were born, and everything changed. At first, I
was unaware of your birth. That is, until your father called for me and told me about
you. I don’t know, perhaps he sensed the nearing danger, but two days after that, they
were attacked. That forbidden marriage finally seemed to catch up with them.”
“But why?” Clora jumped in. “Why was their marriage forbidden?”
“Serinor is a realm of breathtaking wonders, Clora, but its cruel brutality is just as
great as its beauty, and it flows in its people the same way it does its land. One day,
you will see those two sides together in all their majesty, and you will learn to crave
and fear it in equal measure.” A bitter smile. “And your mother … She was indeed
beautiful. A pure-blooded leokaan with wings that defined grandeur. But in her family,
the pureness of blood was the most important rule. Anyone who dared marry a non-
leokaan and supposedly ‘taint’ that blood”—he almost spat out the word—“deserved

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nothing but death in their eyes. No one could escape their wrath, not even your
parents.”
The words slowly sank in. “What about me? Are they after me now?” she whispered.
“No,” he sighed. “Thankfully, no one else knows of your heritage. Though you
should remain vigilant.”
Short-lived relief filled her. Worrying about a vengeful close-minded family was the
last thing she needed in the middle of the mess that was her life. Perhaps, when she
had left the Tree’s shadow well behind her, would she have time to grieve for the
family she had never had.
Christis seemed to agree as he went back to his tale with heightened focus. “Later,
I found their remains. Your father and mother were powerful, and yet, despite feeling
the coming threat, they had not managed to survive it.” A grim shadow settled on his
face. “I searched through every bit of the scene all while trying to stay hidden, looking
for signs that you had perished in the fight along with your parents. There was none.
“Thus, I began looking for other clues—if your father had chosen to tell me about
you as a precaution, then there must have been more. I went through every piece of
their life I could find, tracing their footsteps for years, until I could piece together
what I had discovered with the help of all he had told me. That led me to the two
blood caskets.” He looked to Clora. “Do you know what a blood casket is?”
Seeing her obliviousness, Christis explained, “Imagine I have a few priceless
belongings I want to ensure no one but me can reach. What I do is make a blood
casket, which takes the first blood it is given as the only key that can open it. Now,
my items are safe.” He paused, letting Clora absorb the words. “That, however, is just
one of its uses. The other one is proof of heritage.”
“What do you mean?” Clora wondered. “I get that the casket’s owner must be able
to make their child’s blood the key. But what’s the point?”
“The point,” he said patiently, “is that this is a dangerous world of magic where
many families are torn apart by trickery and treachery. Yet with a blood casket, it
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doesn’t matter if a child has been lost to their parents for years and has returned
completely changed, or a trickster mage has stolen their memories or turned them
into an unrecognizable creature, their blood will always open the casket and prove
their heritage. Because magic might transform, but it can never create, and the child’s
blood will forever remain the same.”
The girl’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Well, what does any of this have to do
with you and Elora?”
A wide grin brightened Christis’s features. “You see, just as I was seeking clues,
Elora was doing fruitless investigations of her own to understand what had happened
and why your parents had been acting so strangely before their deaths. Of course, she
did not know about your birth and your father had not entrusted her with the clues
to solve the puzzle. It was then that Elora noticed me digging around her family’s
business and began following me with increasing suspicion.
“The moment I reached the blood caskets, she showed herself.” He ran an
astonished hand through his short hair. “Or exploded is more like it. With a strong
rush of air, she had me pinned against the wall, the magical wind raging just as she
was. I now know she’d thought I’d had a hand in your parents’ murder and was ready
to chop me into pieces. And all this while, I assumed she was the murderer.”
The young man let out a breathless laugh. “What a disaster. I told her all her plans
were ruined because there was no way she could open the blood caskets. And you
know what she did?” He locked his disbelieving eyes on Clora’s intent ones. “She
laughed. By God, you know which laughter I mean, don’t you? The one that rings with
self-assured charisma and stuns and exasperates you at the same time. She laughed
and then, as I stayed pinned on the wall, she cut open her palm on the caskets and,
just like that, one clicked open.
“Oh, how confused I was. Who was this ruthless mage and why had your mother
and father trusted her enough to leave her a blood casket? Certainly, she could not be

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their killer as I’d initially thought. She might even be the key to finding you. But
whoever she was, she was poised to end me.”
“How did you strop her, then?” Clora burst out.
The grin returned. “Well, I reminded her that, if she killed me, the second blood
casket would stay forever a mystery and, besides, why would her father trust me with
the information required to decipher the clues that led us here—clues she had not
been able to make sense of?” He threw up a shoulder. “She hesitated long enough to
hear me out, and that’s when I told her of her secret sibling whose blood would
certainly open the second casket, which”—he pointed at Clora—“would be you.
“You should’ve seen her face. It took some convincing but, after a few more
arguments that took me to the brink of death, we finally concluded that it would be
better for us both if we worked together in our mission to find you.” Christis’s eyes
wandered to the horizon. “And that is the story of how I met your sister. The rest, as
they say, is history.”
His words echoed quietly in the silence that followed. Clora’s mind wandered to
her inheritance—the thought that her mother and father had left her anything made
her want to burst at the seams. “What happened to the other blood casket?” her
question rose to break the young man’s peaceful remembrance.
“It’s hidden in a safe place. We’ll get it for you when the time is right.”
“And in all these years, you two just abandoned everything to find me?” she asked,
shame at their sacrifice twisting her insides. “What about your own lives? I’m not
worth all this.”
“Clora, listen to me,” Christis said seriously as he knelt in front of her. “This is our
duty. Elora is your sister and I’m only paying a small fraction of everything I owe your
father. You’re worth it to us both, so throw away that useless guilt.”
The girl smiled, words failing her.

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 “We should get going,” he declared, rising. “Your sister is crabby enough as it is—
let’s not make it worse with our tardiness.”
Clora sat up and the sudden sting made her face crumple. She had almost forgotten
about the lashes down her back.
“Are you alright?” Christis rushed to help her.
She attempted a weak smile in return. “I’ve had worse.”
***
The large wave of students made their way to the main yard from all over the
campus, basking in the sun’s generously granted golden beams. Rows began taking
form, each two facing each other across an invisible isle.
Clora and Christis pushed through the crowd with some difficultly and managed
to stand behind the other twenty members of the Sky grade. Looking around, Clora
watched the mages’ numbers swell to one thousand, then two, before finally
beginning to slow down. Robe colors and symbols differentiated the seven grades of
the Great Academy of Trinaar and made the divisions in their numbers clearer than
ever; the classes of lower grades had the longest rows while their row, the sole class of
the seventh grade, was evidently the least populated of them all.
Quiet descended as the mages stood at attention, hands behind their backs and
heads held high while waiting for the inspection.
Then it was the masters’ turn. The hundred or so mages took their places in front
of their respective classes one by one, and Clora struggled to see whether their master,
Elora Ernaan, was there yet—her low height was more than a hindrance on too many
occasions.
Not that the Sky mages needed a master, mind you; their master mostly served the
role of supervisor, maintaining order as the students trained and studied
independently to reach a certain degree of magical expertise and pass the tests held
by royal mages. If they succeeded, they would join their esteemed ranks.

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 Leaning back on her heels, Clora tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
Things were better than she had anticipated—after yesterday’s disaster, the occasional
glares and scowls and silent whispers were almost a welcome reprieve compared to
the alternative.
“How long will this stupid inspection take?” she murmured to Christis who was
beside her. The mage standing in front of the young man turned around, irritated. It
was Tora, the brawny, towering man who looked more like a butcher or smith than
anything.
Christis paid him no mind. “About an hour, I’d wager.”
Clora shifted on her feet. She had never been part of an inspection. Worry
threatened to overwhelm her, but her friend’s calm soothed her nerves—after all, he’d
seen many inspections and if he said it was nothing, she ought to listen.
Then why couldn’t she?
“Hasn’t Master Ernaan arrived yet?” she asked.
“No, she hasn’t,” Christis frowned, looking around in confusion. “Don’t worry,
she’ll be here.” His attempts at reassurance fell on deaf ears.
Minutes flew by, yet nothing happened. Her wound still bothered her, but Elora’s
ointment had truly pulled off a miracle.
Suddenly, she heard a voice call from the front. “Clora Tilersaan.” Cold slid down
her back in response. “Come forward.” She gulped at the order.
“Go on,” Christis urged her, but the girl could see the suspicion playing in his eyes.
Clora began walking hurriedly, feeling the weight of the others’ cold stares dog her
steps. Elora was standing at the head of the line, her serious face giving nothing away.
“Stand between these two,” the master ordered. Her fingers indicated Ericeh and
Mensa. Clora obeyed without a word, face flustered.
Mensa stole a peek at her before quickly looking away. And while Ericeh did not
move a muscle in her direction, rage continued to redden his face. Between them, she

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felt comical in her rigid stance. The only upside of standing here was her unlimited
view—Clora could see more than fifty rows of students facing each other.
The sound of a horn pierced the air, signaling the start of the inspection. As one,
all the students straightened in response.
A group of twenty became visible far across the yard. Three royal mages stood out
from the rest in their vibrant robes. Slowly, the guests moved through the aisle,
pausing to speak to the masters of each grade or sometimes call on a student. With
that speed, it would probably take them half an hour to reach their row.
Three royal mages, Clora thought to herself. Christis had believed Khaavira’s
presence would cause complications in itself. Add two more on top of that, and there goes
any hope of success.
Elora stood slightly farther in front of Clora, her back turned to the girl. From her
profile, it seemed her gaze refused to move away from the inspection team. Yet her
cold expression gave off an air of unconcerned indifference that calmed Clora’s
agitation.
She directed her eyes back toward the group—they had moved closer in that time
and she could finally make out their faces. One of the royal mages looked like a kindly
old man, slim eyes set in an oblong light-brown face surrounded by sparse hair and a
long, thin beard, while the other two appeared young. Clora glanced at the rest of the
party. Most were the academy’s officials, but she also saw a couple of masters thrown
into the mix.
And that was when she saw him.
Clora’s limbs froze. It felt as if frost magic had been sent her way out of nowhere.
Fright took over her stiff body and vulnerable mind. Instinctively, she began to call
for her sister, “Elo—” But she caught herself and swallowed her words.

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 Still, Elora noticed. She locked eyes with the girl. Despite her emotionless
expression, serenity glowed in her deep, devastating eyes. A wordless communication
passed between them before Clora inhaled deeply.
At last, she looked back at the group growing closer with each second.
A man was walking behind the other mages. A long gray cloak fell around his
shoulders, its hood throwing his eyes into shadow. And yet, Clora could make out
the soulless features beneath his unkempt and wispy short beard as clearly as if he was
standing over her once more, dragging torment behind him on a leash. His every
stride smelled of death, illusive in its transparency.
Of course she remembered him—how could she not?
He was Warden Elikaar, master of the Castle of Illusions.

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 CHAPTER 8
Clora

I
n the second it took for the sight to sink in, a million thoughts ran through
Clora’s mind: He is here to take me. No, he could just be visiting for political reasons,
or to see the academy. No, no—he’s here for me. Or maybe he’s a royal mage, here to do
his duty. He might even be here for some sightseeing. Don’t panic—you don’t know why he’s
here.
But she did. It did not matter what hopeless theories she entertained; Clora knew
the true reason why the illusive Warden of the Castle of Illusions was here now, and
it was not duty or fun. It was her.
Memories assaulted her—a dim room; a suffocating atmosphere; preparing for the
ceremony with Elikaar sitting across the table and a—
“The hell is wrong with you?” Ericeh’s harsh voice broke into her panic.
Looking away from the Warden’s shadowy figure took more effort than she’d
imagined. When she could finally breathe again, she realized she was shaking all over.
Cold had seeped into her bones as if all her blood had frozen. Clora tried to compose
herself. “Nothing,” she told a curious Ericeh.
Her façade of control must not have been convincing enough, because Elora
turned back to her for a moment and, mindless of Mensa and Ericeh’s presence, tried
to calm her. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen.” Her tone was tranquil, lending
Clora strength.
The girl took a deep breath and bobbed her head in reassurance, aware of the two
gawking mages flanking her. As the group grew closer with excruciating slowness,
Clora kept her gaze on her sister’s blank profile. Her tall figure shone in a pearl-white
silken robe; she was majestic, like a grand sculpture of a forgotten goddess cut from
alabaster.

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 At last, the knocking of approaching footsteps announced danger’s arrival.
“Vice-Laayeq Ernaan, well met!” Clora’s eyes involuntarily swung to the right,
seeking the voice’s owner. The old man she had noted earlier was leading the
inspection team. He gave the Sky Master a goodhearted smile, his silver beard swaying
in the breeze. With his holy, wise air, he could not be anyone other than the Grand
Royal Mage.
“Greetings to you as well, Derafsh Khaavira,” Elora responded formally.
“It’s been a long time since I last saw you, Vice-Laayeq Ernaan. As I’ve mentioned
before, your presence here is a great honor.” The tenor of his voice reminded Clora
of a warm campfire. He was one head shorter than Elora, his form covered in a floor-
length green robe. A small goldfish swam in the air above his left shoulder.
Khaavira turned to one of his companions. “Allow me to introduce Vice-Laayeq
Ernaan of Kena, a keeper of absolute magic,” he said, his tone admiring. Then he
looked to Elora. “Mage Peraanteh”—he indicated the man with a thick mustache—
“one of our greatest royal mages. And of course”—he pointed at the man on his left—
“Royal Mage Desiss.”
“I have heard a great deal about you,” Peraanteh admitted with a sweet smile, “and
it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Mage Desiss, however, remained unmoving.
“Now, let’s take a look at our top students!” Khaavira declared, sounding jovial.
“With such a master, the Sky mages must be doing better than ever, no?” He did not
wait for an answer, looking to the three people standing at the head of their row.
“Which one of you is the class president?”
“Me, sir,” Ericeh replied. “Mendere’aas Ericeh at your service.” Clora drew up
short—she’d always thought Ericeh was his first name.
“Well, well. Tell me, Mage Ericeh, do you think anyone will graduate this year?”
“It’s certainly not up to the students to determine whether anyone will graduate.”

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 Khaavira tutted. “But it’s the Sky mages who decide if they are ready to pass the
exams or not. Do you think you’re ready?”
Ericeh’s mouth opened for a quick reply, but he hesitated. After ruminating on his
response for a few long moments, he began again. “No, sir. I don’t believe I am.” His
nearly humble words gave Clora pause—she would’ve been shocked if she had not
been so anxious, focused on keeping her gaze away from Khaavira’s entourage.
“That, right there, is what makes a true mage: honest understanding of your own
strengths and weaknesses.” The old man clapped. “Truly admirable!” He spent the
next few minutes shooting more questions at Ericeh and Mensa before eventually
humming in satisfaction. Khaavira redirected his eyes back to Elora. “It is truly
unfortunate that you are leaving us. Is there no way for you to stay a little longer? This
promising class could use more of your help.” Earnest regret creased his brow.
Elora’s lips puckered with a small smile. “The Sky students are indeed promising—
of course, there is still room for their efforts to increase, and I would have loved to
stay and guide them through it. Sadly, issues have arisen in Kena and, as a high official
of my country, it’s my duty to return to them now.”
A sigh. “Of course. Losing an experienced and talented master like yourself will be
a hard blow for the Great Academy of Trinaar, but it’s understandable why you need
to leave. The preparations for your departure have been made.”
As Elora thanked him, the old mage looked back at his companions. Suddenly, he
straightened as if recalling something. “I almost forgot! We have another guest with
us today,” he said. Lifting his hand respectfully, he pointed to a figure standing farther
in the back, hidden like a shadow from sight. “The Warden of the Castle of Illusions,
Warden Elikaar.”
A breeze blew past, making Clora tremble. Despite the rare warm day, cold had
nestled deep into her bones, unwilling to leave.

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 The tall figure stepped quietly forward. His height towered over them all, even
Elora. From this close, his feature came into sharp focus in the shadow of the hood;
he looked fifty, but his real age was indiscernible. A thin gray beard hung from a small
cold smile, dark circles of fatigue just visible beneath those green eyes so pale they
appeared white. Clora avoided meeting them, though she knew they were glued on
her.
“You have my deepest thanks, Derafsh Khaavira.” His low whispery voice stole the
breath away from Clora’s lungs—it was the same sinister sound that haunted her
dreams and waking hours.
“Warden Elikaar has joined us for a series of negotiations and has expressed
interest in seeing the transfer student from the Castle of Illusions,” Khaavira
explained to Elora, his words bleached of their warmth. “Would you mind calling
them forward, Master Ernaan?”
“There is no need,” Elikaar interrupted. “Our beloved child is right here.” He
inclined his head toward Clora, his smile unwavering.
Next to her, Ericeh and Mensa stiffened in surprise.
“Oh,” Khaavira exclaimed, “she is?”
Clora could feel his stare. Hiding her fists, the girl kept her eyes on her sister and
tried taking inconspicuous deep breaths. Still, her heart raced with a beat that
threatened to kill her.
“All the better. I should inform you that Warden Elikaar requires your student’s
return to the Castle, Master Ernaan. The consent from Trinaar’s Council of Mages
will most likely arrive in a week.”
The girl might have gasped in fear, but she was not paying any attention to the old
man’s words—her entire focus was on keeping her sight on her sister, resisting the
unnatural gravity of the hooded figure’s. A gravity rooted in the Warden’s renowned
Illusive Gaze, the Sight magic for which the Castle of Illusions was known. And it was

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pulling Clora’s eyes to itself with a force so strong she had to fight with every fiber of
her being to not surrender to it.
But finally, she could fight no more, and her gaze slid to Elikaar’s.
Instantly, an invisible connection snapped into place. Time and space ceased to
exist and there was only her in the whole wide world—her, and the man in an ashen
robe, facing her with a sly smile.
And then even he was no more, and the girl drifted in an infinite abyss. Terror
seized her throat. She did not know where she was, who she was. Her name, her past
… Had she ever had any? Did she even exist?
She thrashed, seeking a handhold on life. Suffocating pressure attacked her from
all sides, within and without. The girl inhaled sharply—or tried to, because the
pressure had squeezed her lungs closed and there was no air and she could not breathe
and she was going to die. But had she ever lived?
Images blinked into being all-round, and terror swallowed her—a dark room; a
serpentine creature; a pale-green pair of eyes … And there he was, the morbid man
with the bewitching gaze, standing at the very center of what must be her fears. The
girl screamed, but no sound escaped her. There was no air, no hope—
“Enough!”
A sonorous voice rose from afar. It echoed in the dark, like a song of light and
soothing wind. She knew that voice—it was her pillar of support, her safe haven.
It was her sister’s.
The song swept away the nothingness, the sun following in its footsteps. Clora
woke from the trance only to be assaulted by a wave of dizziness and fall to her knees.
Gaping mages stood all around her. Her panting was the only sound in the fallen
hush as she struggled to bring her mind back to the present. Back at the Castle, she
had gotten very close to losing her mind to the clutches of Elikaar’s games and
illusions, and their return loomed over her like a blade.

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 His chilling voice rose against the silence. “I had heard much about your talents,
Vice-Laayeq Ernaan.”
Clora looked up to see a cutting smirk bloom on Elora’s face even as cold rage
radiated from her. “If you’re interested, I would love to display them for you.”
As the suggestion left her, four red pulsing spheres grew out of thin air to swirl
about her. Immediately, a man with a robe like Elikaar’s stepped forward; a wooden
mask hid the right half of his face. Dread filled Clora’s heart as she felt the dense
energy all around, poised to strike—Elora was about to turn everyone in their vicinity
to ash.
“Peace, my lords and ladies,” Khaavira jumped in between the two sides. He raised
a placating hand to Elora. “Allow me to deal with this, Master Ernaan.”
The woman did not take her frozen glare from the Warden. “It appears Warden
Elikaar has not been informed of the rules of this academy.” There was an unnatural
sharpness to her voice that spoke of magic.
“I apologize for the lack of consideration, my lady.” The old man turned to Elikaar
as his goldfish spun around in distress. “My lord, no one is permitted to perform any
kind of magic on the students without their master’s leave. Not even me.” Barely
veiled contempt shone from him. “And especially not Infinite magic,” he added drily.
At last, Elikaar took his dead eyes off of Elora. “Of course, my mistake.” A mirthless
smile curled his lips. “Please forgive me. I was only curious to see whether our dear
child still has it in her.” He turned to the masked man beside him with false joy. “See,
Telriss? Our Clora is hail and healthy and will return to us soon.”
Telriss? Clora’s eyes flitted over the visible half of the man’s light face, noting his
familiar blue eyes with surprise. She peeked at the featureless mask, knowing full well
the painful sight it hid. The man met her gaze.
After a moment, the orbs ceased and gradually began to fade like evaporating
masses of cloud. A steely Elora helped her sister up.

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 “I am grateful for your patience, Vice-Laayeq Ernaan,” Khaavira said with a bow,
then directed an icy look at Elikaar. “If you agree, I believe we should continue the
inspection at the academy’s library.”
“Certainly,” the Warden responded.
As the group slowly departed, Elikaar kept staring Clora, seemingly unwilling to
take his eyes off her. With a last backward glance, he finally joined the group heading
to the main building.
The masked man, Telriss, was the last to move. Before leaving, he fixated on Clora
and gave a half-smile. His rasping voice rang in the afternoon air, “Sonia’s memory
remains alive in our hearts.”
Fury rose up from inside her, a burning traveling down her back where wings had
grown yesterday. “Oh? How about Shaarin?” she panted.
Telriss’s smile vanished, replaced by rage. He looked as if he was ready to pounce
on her when Elora snapped her fingers in front of him. “Your lot went that way,” she
nodded to the group growing distant with every second.
With a resentful glare at Elora, the man finally walked away. A relieved sigh escaped
the girl and she turned to her older sister. The woman had her eyes glued to the
departing team and in them, there roared a fire so cold that Clora thought if looks
could kill, then the mages would all be nothing but ashes on the wind.
***
After the inspection, Clora immediately made her way to her dorm room, half-
dazed and avoiding curious students. Christis accompanied her with the excuse of
tending to her wounds.
For a couple of hours, all she could do was sit on her bed and wrestle with her
mind as the shock of the Sight magic sank in and stayed. Through it all, Christis
remained patiently by her side and tried to help her with strange herbal teas and his
steady presence. When she could move again, Clora rose to finally change out of her
uniform.
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 The thought of Elikaar wandering any part of this academy filled her with fear so
overwhelming she thought she might throw up. There was no doubt in her mind that
she was the sacrifice. She knew the Warden and his minions must suspect this, too,
and that’s what worried her—they were here to collect her, and they would not give in
without a fight. These dire circumstances had convinced even the careful Christis that
they should go ahead with Elora’s plan before Elikaar decided to take matters into his
own filthy hands once more as he had done during the inspection.
In all the grimness, however, there was one ray of hope. Each time Clora
remembered how easily her sister had shattered Elikaar’s Illusive Gaze—the very
symbol of the Castle of Illusions—certainty flared in her heart. Perhaps Elora had been
right all along and her power surpassed anything Clora had ever seen—which, in all
honesty, had not been much.
The girl sat back down with a sigh. It had only been yesterday when everything had
begun to change. Before then, Clora had been pleasantly oblivious to the two
candidates’ escape and the sight of the Curse Tree, her wings hidden and her position
certain. Now, her nightmare dwelled on the same campus as her. “If rain is falling on
your parade, you might as well enjoy it,” she muttered to herself with a bitter smile.
“What?” Christis’s voice broke into her thoughts. As always, he was standing next
to his favorite window, staring at God knows what.
“Nothing. Just a saying.”
The young man nodded absentmindedly, his eyes glazed. Clora was disturbed to
see there was no sign of his usual calm. He must be scared for Elora, she thought. Despite
the woman’s complete lack of concern about the likelihood of her exposure and what
Trinaar would think of it, Christis clearly did not agree. Even Clora knew her older
sister’s carelessness must have a limit—there was no way any of this ended as
optimistically as she believed it would.

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 In a short conversation after the inspection, Elora had expressed her fear that the
Castle’s minions might take action tonight. And even though Christis shared her
worries that Elikaar was mad and out of control, he’d reasoned that even the Warden
would not risk starting a fight when both she and Khaavira were still at the academy.
“He’s seen your power,” Christis had said, “and he knows he can’t pass your wall
of protection. If he’s planning to do anything, he would at least wait for you to hand
in your master’s robes and depart tomorrow.”
Come sundown, Elora showed up at her door, a bundle of clothes in her hands.
“Are you alright?” she asked, but did not wait for a response. “Curse that wretched
Elikaar to hell. One day, I’ll show him. Performing Sight magic on a defenseless girl?
How dare he!” She slammed her bundle on the chair. “I can’t imagine how idiotic and
desperate Trinaarians must be to stomach the presence of those sick bastards of the
Castle in their lands.”
Clora and Christis watched the tornado of her sister’s rage play out, patiently silent.
The woman let out a growl that did not match her elegant features, even twisted in
fury as they were, before finally composing herself. “So? What’s your plan?” she shot
at Christis.
Barely—composing herself barely.
“Well, before the inspection, the plan was to dissuade you. But now…”
She raised her chin smugly. “Then we’re going with mine.”
The young man squinted at her. “And what might that be?”
“It’s rather simple, really.” Elora waved dismissively as she sat down. “As you know,
I am to officially leave this place in the morning. But I don’t plan to go all the way to
Kena, of course. Instead, I’ll jump back here tomorrow night using the telebranches.
After that, there is no choice but to tear down a section of the outer wall and break
the academy’s magical shield.” She leaned back in her chair comfortably. “Khaavira
will no doubt find out, but we’ll have to deal with it.”

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 Christis sighed in defeat. “Are you sure you can nullify the academy’s shield?”
“Of course I can!” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not the Shield of Perigaad.”
Clora could not help voicing the worry playing on both her and Christis’s minds.
“But they will know it was you!”
“Most likely,” Elora said with a smile, “but they will have to prove it if they want to
condemn me officially. And that, my dears, is something I intend to make difficult
for them.”
“How?” Christis asked, his suspicion visible.
A blush rising in her cheeks, the woman pursed her lips and opened her bundle at
last. “With this,” she declared, holding up a silver robe.
Christis’s mouth fell open with a gasp. Clora focused on the piece of clothing,
trying to understand why it was such a big deal; the robe was simple, without a single
design or mark to explain its significance. Yet seeing the gaping young man and the
shame on her sister’s face, Clora knew there was something she was missing.
Finally, Christis gathered himself enough to utter a low curse. “You want to dress
as the Protectors?”
Elora nodded, avoiding his furious, fearful eyes.
“You can’t do that, Elora! It’s wrong. Unacceptable. Unethical.”
“Come on now! Don’t you think they would’ve helped us if they were here?”
“That changes nothing. Your deception will put all the blame on them.” He shook
his head. “Besides, Khaavira is not a fool. You might be able to deceive a few naïve
children, but not the royal mages. The Protectors are known for their special kind of
magic—how does your genius plan explain that?”
“I can simulate the Protectors’ magic to an extent.”
“To what extent, exactly?”
“To a sufficient extent,” she barked. “Are you done nagging now?”

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 “So that’s what I’m doing—nagging. Good to know that’s what common sense
translates to in your lexicon.”
“Oh, get off your high horse. I don’t hear you divulging any of your brilliant plans.”
Christis had no response. They glared at each other in silence, waging a quiet battle
of wills. Clora wondered how many arguments a month the pair got into.
“Who are the Protectors?” the girl said to break the tension.
Glad to abandon the subject, Elora turned to her. “A mysterious group of
individuals who protect the innocent and the oppressed all over Serinor.”
“Won’t they make trouble for you if you impersonate them?”
From Christis’s glower, it was apparent that he had great respect for the group.
Elora, however, appeared as unconcerned as ever. “Of course not! Rest assured, little
sister. Now forget that. Remember, tomorrow after dinner next to the eastern wall.
Stand close to the large willow.” She turned to her friend. “Watch her from afar but
don’t interfere unless absolutely necessary. Alright?”
“Since when has anything been alright?” Christis muttered under his breath. At
Elora’s expectant look, he let out a deep sigh. “Yes. Alright. Whatever you say.”
Seemingly satisfied, the woman directed her steely eyes to Clora. “It doesn’t matter
what it takes, I will get you out of this goddamned place tomorrow. I’d love to see
how any of those ‘royal mages’ plan to stop me.”
And then there was nothing more to say. Christis excused himself and left to get
some rest. But Elora remained next to her bed the entire night, unwilling to leave her
sister’s side.
It was almost dawn when the mage finally rose with a few last reminders. “Leave
the rest to me,” she said, her shining eyes scanning the girl one final time. “Just do
what I told you and I promise, everything will be fine.”
Clora bobbed her head. Her throat had tightened, making it impossible for her to
speak without bursting into tears.

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 Gentle fingers caressed the black skin around her eyes. “I’ll see you by the wall,
little sister.”

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 CHAPTER 9
Daas

T
wo towering figures stood still in the city’s main square, hidden by the mist
as the people of Naigaa rose to live another day—one had kept vigil there
for seven hundred years, the other only passing through, waiting to do what
he had to and claim the first’s name for himself.
A cold wind whipped through. The mist parted, a grand curtain revealing truth.
And there they stood; one Betrayer made of stone, the other flesh and bone.
Daasiaac Benor shivered, setting himself apart from his unmoving companion.
Three days had come and gone after their border inspection, and it was finally time
to face the inevitable. So he stood there, waiting and shaking down to his boots.
The morning air was freezing, yet the young spy did not know whether the quivers
running down his spine were due to the cold outside or the dread inside. Just as he
didn’t know if it had taken him so long to get to the meeting point next to the Betrayer
Architect’s statue because of the blinding mist or his sleep-deprived mind—yes, sleep
had been a stranger last night as he dwelled on the inevitable dawn and what it would
bring.
Daas put his hands into his pockets and began absentmindedly circling the statue,
trying to escape the cold and his thoughts. Fear held court in his mind that morning;
fear of facing the Lianese, fear of getting caught. He was not unfamiliar with that
fear—while he had had an easy life in the northern city, the threat of being exposed
had always followed him like his own shadow.
For a warrior to fear death was the ultimate shameful disgrace, yes, but Daas was
indeed afraid of death.
The thought of being beheaded in the Hall of Execution made his stomach churn.
When he stood on the podium, Aaron asking for his last words, what story would the

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eyes of his friends say? When his decapitated head rolled on the ground, how many
would feel sick? Would Petro run for the buckets?
He smiled bitterly, looking around. A man was struggling to drag his half-asleep
son to the school to learn elementary subjects for five grades. That kid must have felt
like the unluckiest creature in the entirety of Perigaad. He did not realize that Daas
would give anything and everything to be him. To not have to avoid speaking just so
he wouldn’t need to lie; “stay quiet and you’ll stay out of trouble,” he’d been told all his
life. And yet he’d uttered so, so many lies.
His mind flew to Serbino—the man who filled Daas’s best memories.
He remembered the time he hadn’t been able to take part in the children’s running
competition because of his wounded leg. Serbino had put him on his shoulders and
ran to the finish line. Their first place had of course not been accepted. They didn’t
even receive applause. What they got were stares that all but shouted “madman” at
his guardian. But still, Serbino had laughed carelessly and whispered in Daas’s ear.
“What others think of your victories doesn’t matter,” he’d said. “Your heart is the only place
where you need to be a winner. Always remember that.”
Daas smiled at the memory.
“Good morning, young warrior.”
He whirled, looking for the voice’s owner. “Oh, hi Aashaaraa.”
Aashaaraa stared up at him with her big green eyes, dressed as she’d been at the
inspection three days ago. “You’re a bit early.”
Daas sighed. “I was anxious. I couldn’t just wait.”
“Oh, it’s fine. We have a big mission ahead of us.” She shrugged. “I’m actually
nervous, too. Didn’t get any sleep either. Why do you think I’m here so early?”
Daas raised an eyebrow—at least someone else knew how he felt. He doubted
Paaneh would be anything less than in complete control when she showed up. She
was probably already running around making last-minute arrangements.

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 “You know,” Aashaaraa continued, looking at the stores. “I’ve never met the
Lianese. I wonder if they’re as strong as the stories claim.” She smiled crookedly.
“Is this your first mission?”
“No, not my first mission. I’m kind of the only one who’s been outside the Shield.”
“Wait,” Daas stared at her in shock, “you’ve been outside the Shield?!”
She laughed, her alabaster face brightening beautifully. “Why are you looking at
me like that? Yes, I have. After finishing my studies here, I went to Ligaa—the
Perigaadian city outside the Shield all the way in the east of Serinor. We were with a
group. I stayed there for five years, then spent another ten years outside any
Perigaadian territory. We’ve only been back a few months, actually.”
Daas kept staring at her. “How old are you?”
“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask that?” Aashaaraa smiled. “I’m not as old as
Paaneh. Just forty-five.”
He took in her young appearance and shook his head. This was the second person
Daas had met who was living a second life. “So, you haven’t met the people of Liano
even though you’ve been beyond the Shield for ten years?”
“I was in the east. First Ligaa, then the countries of Hiti and Dona,” she explained,
clearly welcoming the idea of thinking about anything other than what lay ahead. The
Architect gestured at Daas’s sword. “I always wondered what it would feel like to be a
fighter, you know. I would have become one too, if they’d let me. But apparently, I’m
too”—she made quotation marks in the air—“skinny and feeble.”
Daas was quiet for a few moments. “How was it? Out there?”
Aashaaraa looked forward, growing somber. “Beautiful and rough; that’s the best
way to put it. Serinor isn’t at all like what people say, actually. There are normal
people, too. Of course, there is more magic on the other side. But people still need to
work hard—not everything is magical. In fact, a lot of Serinorians are like us, not able
to wield ravaan directly. Some even hate it.”

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 She stopped then, continuing to stare at a point in the distance. Daas realized she
no longer wanted to talk about ravaan and Serinor or anything related, so he tried to
change the subject. “Could we go over the plan again?”
Aashaaraa turned to give him a strange look. Then she relented. “Fine. Never hurts
to be safe, I guess.” She shrugged. “The gate will be opened at the set time, which is
around noon, and we’ll be waiting behind it. We were supposed to add two more
Structures as well, but the group has already taken care of that.”
They discussed the day ahead as the sun continued to rise in the sky, slowly
banishing the mist. Paaneh and her companions joined them a while later, making
them a party of eight. Besides the four Architects he had already met, there were two
other men who introduced themselves to Daas as Konaaki and Reever. The former
was tall and wore a casual suit, complete with an unsightly small hat. The latter was
dressed the same but, unlike Konaaki, was short and beefy. That introduction was the
first and last time they spoke to Daas, more concerned with their nerves than the
young cadet. It was just as well. Daas turned to Aaron who had also come along with
the group.
“How many warriors are in the security party?”
Aaron ran a hand through his thick gray beard. He wore his grand cape as always,
his sheathed sword’s silver hilt shining under the sun’s glare. “About a hundred, all
of whom are Maazini marshals.” He handed Daas a dark blue cape—it was the cape
reserved for marshals, Daas realized with shock, made to be worn by them at all times
along with their swords.
Daas’s eyes grew wide as he started protesting, “But sir, I’m not a marshal!”
The Elder gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “This isn’t the cape of status,
but a cape of bravery. You more than deserve to wear it.”

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 If only that were true, he thought. Had Aaron known his true intentions, he would
have most likely taken the traitor directly to the Hall of Execution as the Bell of the
Macabre rang through the streets, piercing his mind. Daas smiled bitterly.
Without wasting any more time, they climbed into the waiting carriage pulled by
the rare Araasian horses. The air had completely cleared by the time they reached the
Shield, the sun shining above their heads. The dry, rocky ground appeared soulless
and dead, the dry wind almost sucking the life out of their bodies.
Unlike three days ago, all the nearby Towers appeared alert—smoke rose from a
few; the cannons were at the ready; one Tower had even created a swamp around
itself, bubbling as something resembling tree roots moved inside it.
As expected, a large group from the Azure Army had already set up camp near the
invisible gate. All wore silver-hilted swords, dark azure blue capes hanging from their
shoulders. Daas finally put on the cape Aaron had given to him.
“It looks good on you,” Aashaaraa said as she looked him up and down. He tried
to smile in return, but the stress made it look more like a grimace than anything.
As they walked toward the Shield, a huge gray compartment caught his eye. Its
thick walls seemed to be made of stone and eight Araasian horses were attached to it,
seemingly tasked with pulling it. “What is that?”
“What?” Paaneh absentmindedly replied. “Oh, that’s just the carriage made to
transport the Lianese.”
The young spy had a strange feeling about the carriage but paid it no mind. When
they got closer, the men saw Aaron and straightened, saluting the Elder. Daas looked
to the place the gate was supposed to be, now only a few meters away.
There was no gate there. The only difference about this part of the Shield was the
slightly raised earth in front of it that had not been visible from a distance the last
time. It was about a meter higher than the surrounding ground, mimicking a pedestal.
Just as before, two Towers stood close to the Shield on either side—one resembled a

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massive pillar with patterns on its hard surface, the other a tree trunk. Other Towers
filled the area in ordered lines, the empty space between each two approximately fifty
meters.
Aaron climbed the stairs. Looking back, he assessed the crowd.
“When are they coming?” Daas whispered to Aashaaraa.
She didn’t take her gaze from the Shield. “They are supposed to have been waiting
on the other side since sunrise.”
After a few minutes of silence where they all anxiously waited for the arranged time
to arrive, Paaneh finally raised her voice, calling to the wooden Tower on the right,
“We are ready. Open the gate!”
A small glowing orb formed on top of the pillar Tower in moments, pulsating. Daas
was sure it was prepared to fire. The other Tower was surrounded by a small cloud.
Everyone stood still, ready for the opening of the Shield.
A whine rose from the pink wall. A vertical slit appeared in the towering Shield
just where the center of the pedestal lay. It could not have been more than a few
meters high. The two sides moved away, as if a curtain was making a grand reveal.
And for the very first time, Daas glimpsed the other side; yes, there was indeed life
out there. Even though it was just like this side; a barren, rocky land of rare trees.
Then he made out five silhouettes far out on the field.
“Step forth!” Aaron ordered.
The silhouettes began to move. They passed through the gate as it closed behind
them. All five of their heads were covered by individual clouds. Daas couldn’t stop
himself from leaning toward Aashaaraa. “What are those clouds?”
“The wooden Tower made them; they stop the Lianese from seeing anything.”
“Bring out the chainvests,” Aaron called to his men.
A few men stepped forward. They were holding what appeared to be thin metal
singlets. Outwardly, the chainvest did not seem special except for the four chains that

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surrounded it and gathered in front of its stomach area—two crossing it diagonally
from the shoulders, two from the sides. At their center was a lock.
“We are going to put the vests on you,” Aaron told the Lianese. “Don’t move.”
It took several minutes for each of the vests to be adjusted. When the locks fit into
place, each one turned red for a passing moment, indicating success.
Aaron finally shouted at the wooden Tower, “Remove the mist!”
The cloud around the Tower glowed for a moment before returning to normal. As
it did, the mist around the warriors’ heads disappeared and at last, Daas could see
their faces. Three were men and two women. And when he focused on their features,
he saw they all looked unremarkably human.
“I, Mekaasaandrisaa Aaron,”—Daas startled to hear his full name for the first time—
"welcome you into Perigaad as an Elder Marshal of this great land. I will be responsible
for your safe passage to Maazinaan.” The fact that they all already spoke the common
tongue of Serinor helped in removing language barriers.
One of the men stepped forward. He first looked at his vest before staring towards
Aaron. Short blondish hair sat on his head, one eye green and the other red. “I am
Ashliyah Berhamy, the representative of Liano. It is an honor to meet you.” His
confident voice was heard clearly despite its softness, his accent slightly throaty.
Aaron smiled drily. “The vests you have on you will detonate instantly if you
attempt to use any magic. Though I’m sure you’ve already been warned.”
“Yes.” Ashliyah redirected his indifferent gaze to the Architects and the army of
marshals before him. “I’m not sure whether this party is here to welcome us or slit
our throats at the first opportunity,” he added, “but we’ll assume the former and
express our sincere gratitude.”
Daas looked at the others standing behind the speaker. One stood taller than two
meters, covered in heavy armor with a massive sledgehammer on his shoulder. He
supported a huge diagonal scar across his face that took all the attention despite his

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mismatched long beard and knuckle-length hair. The third man appeared younger
and slender in his armor, which was lighter than the second warrior’s. He carried a
shield and short-sword on his back. Daas failed to find any symmetry between the
man’s long brown hair, thick mustache, and untrimmed short beard. It was obvious
Lianese men had no sense of fashion whatsoever.
Turning his gaze to the women, Daas saw they fared a little better—in the sense that
nothing about their fashion sense was disproportional.
The first woman was tall and slender with a simple golden ponytail, having put no
effort into looking beautiful. A strange sword was sheathed at her back; it resembled
a wooden spiral and could have easily been a meter and a half long. On her left waist
hung a twisted whip. Her calm and friendly face did not match her rough clothing
and weaponry. The last person was also coltish. The girl had ear-length black hair and
a dark cloak that looked a bit short for her height. Her simple clothes differed from
the others’ armor, not appearing to be made for war. But the other four…
It was evident all the others were fighters—no, not from what they wore but the
state of it. As sturdy and healthy as the armors seemed, they had been repaired over
and over. Daas was sure the scrape on the large man’s armor was not the result of a
training session; what type of creature could leave a mark on such solid gear? Clearly
not one of the Perigaadians standing in neat lines with their shining new armors and
useless capes who knew nothing of true war and danger.
“Before we leave, you need to surrender your weapons. We will also have to do a
body search. Rest assured, your weapons will remain in a secure container.”
Ashliyah nodded at Aaron. “We understand. Although none of us is carrying our
primary weapons—except for Hilmah who will of course surrender hers to you.” Daas
realized Hilmah must be the woman with the strange sword. Their primary weapon? he
wondered, curious about what it could do.

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 A few of the men walked past Aaron and received Ashliyah’s sword and shield
before proceeding with the body search. After him, the brawny foreigner stepped
forward and put his sledgehammer down to be collected by the Perigaadians. The
marshal collecting the weapons tried to lift it, to no avail. After a few embarrassing
moments, four more marshals moved to help him as the Lianese man watched their
struggle with a smirk and shook his head in disappointment. He then turned to the
person inspecting his body with a gaze so wrathful Daas expected the marshal’s neck
to snap in half right then and there.
The young man was next in line to surrender his weapons and be searched. A
mocking smile graced his lips as he finally moved back. “Ah, the incredible courage
of Perigaadians is always heartwarming.” The words seemed to be fighting their way
out of his throat with how oddly thick they sounded.
When the woman named Hilmah walked forward, she stopped the man reaching
for her sword with a look. “I have to put the sword into the chest myself. No one but
me can put their hands on it.”
The collector paused. At Aaron’s nod he relented and moved aside. Hilmah
cautiously put her sword in before handing the rest of her many weapons to the
marshal. It was a while before all her weapons had been surrendered and the inspector
stepped in to perform the body search.
Hilmah smiled. “I’d rather a woman search me, thank you very much.” Her voice
was soft but firm enough to show she would not have it any other way.
A frown sat on the inspector’s brow. “There is no one else. We’re all men.”
“That’s not my problem now, is it?”
“The lady is right, Teran,” Aaron intervened before the conflict could grow out of
control. “We should have prepared. Let one of the female Architects perform the
search.” He glanced at Paaneh. “Could you please do the inspection?”
“Certainly.”

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 The man called Teran pulled back his hands and spun away with a sneer. “Get off
your high horse, woman. You’re not much to look at anyway.”
No one was prepared for what happened next.
Hilmah’s friendly eyes turned dangerous. Her mouth twitched as if tasting
something. The moment Teran looked back, she opened her mouth. There was a
glimmer of light, a streak of blood, and suddenly Teran fell with a scream.
For a second, everyone stared at the writhing man. Shouts filled the air as every
single sword was unsheathed; a cacophony of aggression responding to his pain.
Daas ignored the horrified marshals and ran to Teran. What appeared to be a small
needle had penetrated his right eye, blood gushing from the wound—the woman
must’ve hidden the needle in her mouth.
“He was impolite,” Hilmah declared to an angry Ashliyah.
Looking up, Daas finally noticed that the marshals had not been the only ones
responding to the threat. Next to the gate, the two Towers had started shaking.
“Wait! Please!” Ashliyah raised his hands. “We can sort this out!”
But there was no deescalating this situation. It was as if a dam had broken, all that
pent-up fear and worry being let loose in an uncontrollable demand for violence. Even
if Aaron and his men calmed down, there was no stopping the Towers.
While the patterns on the stone Tower began to glow as it prepared to fire, the
wooden one’s cloud pulsed and mist surrounded the Lianese’ heads. Roots emerged
from the ground and shot towards Hilmah with astounding speed. She could not
escape them as they wrapped around her and pulled her to her knees.
Daas was already pulling Teran away when he realized the others had all stepped
back in terror as well, watching the Towers render the foreigners powerless.
But then, the chest of weapons shook. A twisted sword flew out—it was Hilmah’s.
With a swing, the sword ripped the warrior’s chainvest apart as if it was paper.
A rumble went through the ground.

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 Daas whirled to see a glowing orb shoot from the second Tower. Before he could
blink, the sword was in the woman’s hand and had lengthened to an impossible size.
It engulfed her like a second skin just as the orb hit home with a blinding explosion.
Except it didn’t.
The light dulled enough for Daas to see an indecipherable figure on the ground
where Hilmah had been, completely wrapped in bands of something with a wooden
texture—it was the sword, twisted around the woman as a shield.
“WAIT!” Ashliyah screamed.
But the Tower did not wait. Orb after orb of light was launched at the target. The
simultaneous shots collided with the cocoon, the deafening wave of impact sending
every single person flying. Daas thought he’d gone blind.
Slowly, the light dissipated and the dust settled, revealing the carnage.
Of which there was none.
The sword began shrinking, the cocoon twisting as it fell away. And there sat
Hilmah, down on one knee, miraculously unharmed as she held the hilt in one hand
and raised her head. There was no sign of the mist. The roots seemed to have dried,
becoming harmless. And still the magical sword seemed untouched.
But that was not all. Daas gazed at her face and gasped.
Her skin—it had a blue hue, rippling like water. Her eyes filled with furious
satisfaction as she stood up, squaring her shoulders.
Teran moaned in pain beside Daas.
Realizing their target remained standing, the roots rose again, urged by whomever
controlled them. Still, they were not a match for the sword—it moved too fast for Daas
to even see what was happening. For a few seconds, the attacks slowed and he caught
sight of a moment of the action; the sword moved like a coiled snake, cutting off any
assailant that got close with quick strikes.
The Tower of stone started rapidly changing colors as the roots finally backed away.

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 This can’t be good, Daas thought. If the orbs were the Tower’s long-range weapon,
whatever was coming next would be the short-range one. And it would be much,
much worse.
Hilmah turned to the Tower on the left. Her eyes glowed, a blue halo of light
forming around her hands—in her right one, she held her magical sword; in her left,
a red whip of fire. She cracked the whip, the sound echoing kilometers away. The
Tower let out violent flames, surrounding itself and ready for attack.
For one small moment, there they stood. Two weapons of war facing each other
down; one human, one Tower. Prepared to lay waste to everything around them.
“Hilmah!” Ashliyah shouted, blinded by the mist. “Drop your weapon!”
The woman looked at him in rage as the flames of the Tower grew. She wavered,
considering. Then she closed her eyes.
Her posture relaxed, her skin returning to normal as she dropped her sword. The
roots were on her instantly, smashing her down to the ground and wrapping her in a
prison so tight she could not move a finger.
Daas felt movement beside him—it was Paaneh, starting to run toward the Tower.
“STOP!” she yelled as she waved her hands in the air. “Hold! DON’T SHOOT!”
The stone Tower’s changing colors slowed down, the devastating flares of fire
retreating into its walls as it slowly regained its original form.
Paaneh looked at the others, worry in her eyes. Everything seemed to be under
control. The caped men were all on the ground, cautiously removing their hands from
their heads, the confusion in their eyes a testament to their inexperience. The open-
mouthed Architects did not speak a word either.
The Elder got up, leaning on his sword. He threw Teran an angry look that said all
that needed to be said—he partially blamed the man for being a callous idiot and
ruining everything, dying though he might be. Then Aaron called to the wooden
Tower, a resigned expression on his face, “Remove the mist from their faces!”

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 The mist disappeared and the Lianese rose. Ashliyah shook his head in regret and
stared at the trapped Hilmah. He addressed Aaron, “I’m really—”
“You will return at once,” Aaron cut him short, pointing toward the gate.
“I’m deeply saddened by what happened, but these negotiations are essential for
both our countries. You can’t let one simple thing—”
“One simple thing!?” he shouted suddenly, losing control. His finger pointed at
Teran. “One of my men is dying. Is that a simple thing? They almost started a war!”
“That man is not dying,” Ashliyah reassured, giving Aaron pause. “Hilmah’s aim is
flawless, and the needles are harmless and specially crafted—they only give the illusion
of pain for a few hours. He will be completely fine; his eye won’t suffer any permanent
damages either.” He gestured around, continuing placatingly, “Thankfully, no one is
permanently hurt. Whatever has happened could easily be forgotten. Please, Elder
Aaron.”
The aged man shook his head in rage. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s not
about how a war was prevented just now. If you stay, a war will start!”
“But sir,” Paaneh let herself into the argument, “he’s right. The negotiations are
essential for both countries. There was a conflict, but everyone is safe now. Months
of planning have gone into this, sir. We must consult the higher-ups before any
decisions are made.”
“I am not about to let these people into our country! How will we know they don’t
have any more concealed weapons?”
“The rest of us don’t have weapons. We needed one person to carry special
weaponry in order to get us safely to your borders. It was my mistake to let Hilmah
enter the group and be the one. She is too angry and unstable. Please,” the Lianese
representative was begging now, “give us a second chance.”

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 As Aaron put his face into his hands, breathing in deeply, Paaneh interjected,
“Aaron, please relent. Our authorities have been insistent on making this meeting
happen. We need to contact them.” She looked at him with hope in her eyes.
The Elder gave her a furious look as if he held her accountable, then sighed.
Regaining his nerves, he responded with a calmer voice. “Your ‘too angry and
unstable’ companion will go back nonetheless. I can’t have her lose control at any
other slights without concern for anyone’s safety—however unforgivable and damning
the words might be. As for the rest of you, the authorities will judge you as they see
fit.” He faced the female Architect. “If it was up to me, they’d be heading home this
instance.”
Ashliyah murmured his gratitude. Paaneh stared at the Elder before nodding her
acceptance of his position on the issue.
Silence reigned as the marhshals began shaking the dust from their clothes. The
air was drier than ever and Daas’s cape sat heavy on his shoulders. He untied it with
shaking hands, taking longer than he would have otherwise, and threw it over his left
shoulder. He watched the Perigaadian marshals reform their ranks—all the might had
vanished from their beaten and dusty appearances, all the glow of their brand-new
armors and prideful self-righteousness gone.
“Are you alright Daas?” Aashaaraa asked him, standing next to Eskeem. “You were
close to the fight. You must be terrified! You’re not wounded, are you?”
“I’m fine,” Daas shook off her worry.
His eyes were glued to the Lianese, standing far away—it was almost laughable now,
how different they were from their Perigaadian counterparts. To him, each was a
massive bomb, ready to go off at any given moment.
He glanced at Hilmah, held captive by the roots and barely breathing as she kept
her eyes closed. Her battle with the Towers would be ingrained in the minds of the
caped marshals for years so come, its tale passed from one fearful mouth to another.

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 As he paused in that moment a little longer, reflecting on everything that had
transpired, Daas thought to himself that the stories on the valor and power of the
Lianese warriors had not been that much of an overstatement after all. No, they had
not been an overstatement at all.

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 CHAPTER 10
Clora

C
lora spent her last day at the Great Academy as normally as she possibly
could. Since her wounds had almost healed, she joined the other students
in going about their daily tasks—she visited the main office to ask about
the final exams; spent a few hours reading at the library even though she understood
none of the mages’ complex tomes; and generally acted like nothing had happened
or would.
Throughout it all, Christis either accompanied her or kept back and
inconspicuously shadowed her steps. Elora had wanted the girl to stay in her room
until the last moment, but the man had convinced her a crowd was more likely to
make Elikaar hesitate in case he decided to pay Clora a visit.
So, sitting in a corner of the enormous library, surrounded by books she could not
comprehend, Clora obsessed over the escape. What if Elora fails? They’ll certainly take
me back to the Castle then, she thought, then frowned. Oh, shut up. If Elora fails, she’ll be
giving up her life and you’re worried about yourself?
After dinner, Clora split up from Christis at the dining hall and made her way to
the female dorm. The night was cold, filled with the din of students out and about.
Some were lounging on the grass while others played games like Light and Night or
Wooden Vigilance. Only a few were heading to their rooms like her, yet no one paid
her any attention—with her ordinary brown robe and small form, she was like any
other inconsequential young mage. Well, except for her masked eyes, but there was
nothing to be done about that.
Midway to the dorm, she changed course toward the eastern wall. No one noticed.
She kept her head down and eyed her destination; the eastern side was the farthest

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from the guards’ barracks; of course, the guards were only ever stationed next to the
numerous buildings since, apparently, the outer wall required none.
The girl had only taken a few steps when a voice called her name. She drew up
short—it was Ericeh. Trying to act normal, she turned around. “Yes?”
The two had never spoken directly. He was dressed in the Sky mages’ dark uniform,
as groomed and neat as he could get. With his hands behind his back and an arrogant
seriousness befitting of his grade, he looked her up and down. “You really came from
the Castle of Illusions?”
“Does it matter?”
The man looked away. “I have not heard a great deal about that place and, I admit,
none of what I have heard is good. But you just don’t belong here. You should go
back to where you came from.”
Clora saw red. How dare he, privileged and coddled as he had been all the hundred
years of his life in his wealthy, influential family whose name hovered behind his
shoulders and kept anyone from uttering even a harsh word his way, make judgments
about how she should live and where she should go? The girl doubted he had ever
tasted an ounce of the suffering she had endured in her twenty years.
Before she could stop herself, Clora snapped, “Well, I don’t think I asked for your
stupid opinion now, did I?” Immediately, she regretted her words—now was not the
time to argue with a powerful mage.
Surprisingly, Ericeh did not lash out. He shook his head, muttering something
about children under his breath before giving her a comical wave. “Suit yourself, little
girl. Good luck on the return journey.”
Clora gave him her sweetest smile and hurried to get to the meeting place on time.
“Wait,” Ericeh ordered before she could get away.
“What is it this time?” Clora asked, sounding bored.

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 Ericeh pointed at the dark of night where she had been headed. “Where are you
going this late?” he said suspiciously.
Without thinking, she burst out, “After Christis. We are practicing together.”
“I just saw Christis a few minutes ago—the chancellor’s secretary had summoned
him. He went that way.” Ericeh pointed in the opposite direction.
“Well, thank you for informing me. He’ll probably be a little late.”
“Is that so? But from what I gathered, he’ll be stuck for a couple of hours.”
Silence. Clora was stunned. Where is Christis? Is the plan already going wrong? She
pulled herself together quickly and fished for the first reply that came to mind.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m doing what Master Ernaan ordered me to do, which is none of
your business.”
Ericeh folded his arms expectantly, looking for all the world as if he’d caught a
thief red-handed. “Master Ernaan handed in her uniform this morning. She’s no
longer our master.”
Finally, Clora had had enough. “Why do you care where I’m going anyway?”
“When there is no master, the responsibility falls to the class president.” He
pointed at himself. “Which is me.”
“And me wanting to take a stroll is a crime, how?”
“It’s not. But the fact that you shoot lies at your superior back-to-back is.”
Flustered, Clora took a deep breath. “Look,” she said, trying a different tactic,
“Master Ernaan was someone really important to me. When no one had my back, she
did. Now she’s gone and … well, I’m going back, too. I just…” She pushed away her
hair. “I just needed to take some time to take it all in.”
There was a pause as Ericeh watched her, trying to check her honesty. She hadn’t
lied, not really. “Alright,” he eventually relented, “but don’t do anything stupid—
anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Like what? Run away?”

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 The man laughed as if even the thought of escape was ridiculous. “Like hanging
yourself from a tree, you little bird.”
“Oh,” she replied, surprised by his concern for her safety. Huh, who knew even
centenarian bullies had a heart. “Fine. Thank you for worrying.” Clora gave him a
hesitant smile and spun around. With quick feet, she disappeared into the dark.
***
Eastern wall. Next to the willow. When the sun and moon’s ravaan align with the fifth
direction. Clora repeated the small instructions to herself as she waited, pulling her
robe close against the cold, though she knew her shivers had a different reason. She
gazed up at the night sky, brightened by the moon and its many children. No sign of
the common Blazing Star phenomenon, though.
Thankfully, there was nobody around. Students sometimes frequented the quiet
corners of the campus, though the eastern side was not a favorite spot with its rare
trees. And of course, no guards could be seen either.
Clora did not understand why none were ever stationed at the walls—was the
magical shield that strong? What if divs attacked the academy? Or the fire-breathing
serpents they called azhdaha? Maybe there are guards, but they’re hidden. She could see
the wall’s smooth, hard surface; it seemed impossible that anything would be able to
leave a scratch on the thing, let alone breach it.
Standing there, escape was beginning to sound more and more foolish. What if the
wall hides a trap? Or the academy carries a curse? Trinaarian mages were known for their
trickery and dishonest ways, and the thought of Elora getting caught in one of their
tricks made her sick. No, calm down, she chastened herself. If there was one thing she
had learned since meeting her, it was to trust Elora to do what needed to be done.
She was strong and resourceful; she can pull this off.

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 BOOM! A horrendous explosion made her jump. She looked around in fear. The
ground beneath her feet was shaking and she struggled to maintain her balance.
Another earthquake almost threw her off her feet.
Their escape had finally begun.
The academy’s response was immediate—a loud continuous sound rang throughout
the campus, the sound of a horn alarming all individuals of the attack. Clora noted
with horror that the alarm was coming from the eastern wall, specifying exactly where
the assault was happening.
The third explosion was stronger than before and shook pieces off the wall, dust
rising to obscure her vision. In response, a sudden light pierced the hazy dark; it was
like a false sun, hovering above the campus and turning it bright as noon.
With the fourth attack, a farther section of the wall exploded.
Clora flew backward, her scream lost in the alarm. Ears ringing, the girl lifted her
heavy head. A tall silver figure was running toward her in the rubble; her face was
covered by a scarf so only her eyes were visible. “Damn that shield,” the cloaked
woman cursed as she pulled her up and toward the hole in the wall. Pain laced
through Clora’s right arm—it must have been twisted when she landed on it.
A screeching rose. The girl looked up to see a green light flare across the sky.
Without turning, Elora waved her hands in the air and two turbulent, glowing
ribbons appeared. “Take them each in one hand.”
Clora obeyed, eyes still glued to the sky. Seven meteors detached from the flare and
shot toward them.
“The shield’s been breached so it won’t stop the connection. Hold on and don’t
let go—no matter what happens.” Elora was talking so fast Clora could not make sense
of her words. Her older sister stepped back and raised her hands. “I’ll see you soon,
little sister,” she whispered, just as the burning birds landed with a force that made
the ground tremble.

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 White flew out of the woman’s hands and formed a small dome around Clora.
Behind her, the birds’ shapes were changing and the aura around them disappearing.
As the forms of four masters and three royal mages came into focus, the false Protector
spun around to face them.
Clora caught a last glimpse of her sister’s face as she turned; her eyes had gone
completely white—in the mayhem, she wondered if this was what Christis had meant
by the “Protectors’ magic.”
“Who are you?” Khaavira shouted at the intruder, flanked by Peraanteh and Desiss.
“Who dares attack the Great Academy of Trinaar?”
Elora did not respond.
Holding the two telebranches felt like trying to hold on to dense air. Clora
instinctively hid the tiny ribbons in her fist and out of sight just before the old mage’s
eyes slid to her. When the Grand Royal Mage took in her sight, standing in a
translucent shield amid broken stones of the wall, his face softened. “We cannot let
you take that girl with you,” he said to the woman in silver.
Still, she kept silent.
“Surrender now, before anyone is hurt.”
When she remained between the seven mages and the girl, Khaavira sighed. The
fish floating over his left shoulder was in turmoil. “If that is your wish, then by all
means.” He lifted his arms, sleeves sliding back.
Apparently taking that as a signal, power erupted from the other six in unison. A
crystalline bubble snapped into being around Elora just before it hit her.
White fire surrounded the shield like a roaring azhdaha as a swamp of black boiling
tar formed at its bottom and let out a nauseating smell. Hundreds of spears of light
were flying at the woman from above. It was madness. A chaos of the mages’ making.
Magic soared through the air and over the ground, struggling to break apart the
intruder’s bubble of protection.

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 And in the center of it all was Elora, a small pearly shadow against the onslaught.
She had her head down, hands gripping the opposite upper arm and forming a knot;
it seemed it was taking every bit of her strength to keep their shields up.
But how much longer could she last?
Khaavira’s appearance had changed, skin going from clay to ebony. The
transformation had affected his goldfish too—it was larger and darker, growing sharp
spikes for teeth. In a flash, the old mage disappeared. Then he was next to Elora’s
shield, hovering over the swamp.
He put his palm on the surface—his skin so dark it shone—and pushed.
His hand went right through it.
With petrifying speed, the black fish swam down Khaavira’s arm and tore into the
crystalline bubble. And then it was past it, flying at the lonely figure that was her older
sister.
Clora squeezed her eyes shut. An explosion, followed by a shout. The sounds of
conflict did not stop and the girl exhaled—Elora was fighting back, still standing.
The girl, however, could take no more. Her back burned and she wondered if the
wings could help—she wanted to help. But who was she kidding? Her wings did not
obey her. She only had one task, and it was to hold on to the damned telebranches
that grew wilder with every breath.
So she turned her back on her sister, and held on.
Her eyes were closed when she heard a movement close to her shield, separate the
other chaos—it was too quiet to be a part of the fight. Clora’s eyes shot open.
It was Mage Peraanteh. He seemed to have sneaked away, now standing at the girl’s
left behind the protective dome. The royal mage was glancing around suspiciously
and Clora wondered if he was looking for a third person. Finding none, he threw her
a furious glance. “You! Get out of that shield before I drag you out!” His voice
sounded odd after passing the dome.

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 Clora did not react.
“Co-operate. It’s for your own good. Your silvery friend will be nothing but a corpse
soon enough—if even that much remains of her.”
The girl looked away. She would not listen to his threats. Elora had given her one
job, and she was going to trust her and hold on.
Suddenly, the ribbons pulsed and inflated. Her left fist jerked and loosened from
the force as the branch peeked out of her hand. Peraanteh’s gaze shot down to what
appeared like a glowing eel, now visible and trying to twist free of Clora’s grip.
“She has telebranches!” the man cried out. Wasting no time, he put both his hands
on Clora’s shield and closed his eyelids.
The ribbons grew larger with every moment, attempting to snake around and out
of Clora’s fingers. She was struggling to keep a hold on the slippery things.
As the girl watched, a red aura surrounded Peraanteh’s hands and they began to
slowly sink into the surface of the dome. Sweat coated his creased brows. He was going
to pass through the shield. Panic seized control of her mind. No. no—
A loud bang shook the earth. The man stumbled back, his concentration breaking.
A second explosion followed. Then a scream. And then a figure was soaring above
their heads.
Before Clora could make out its face, it hit the ground like a discarded doll. She
stared at its unmoving form, too far away to be recognizable. But she noted in horror
that its robe was similar to what Mage Desiss had been wearing.
Peraanteh made no move to attack her shield again. Instead, he stood gaping at the
scene behind Clora, colorful lights playing on his face. The girl wanted to turn back
and see the source of the deafening sounds and blinding flares, but she needed all her
strength to keep the writhing telebranches in her fists.

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 Another body flew past Clora, this time disappearing outside the hole in the wall.
The two stared after it, dumbfounded. And in their shock, they almost missed the
turbulent blue orb making its way gradually around the shield.
It was headed for Peraanteh.
The man started as if remembering where he was and what he had intended to do.
His alarmed gaze swung from the telebranches to the slow orb moving closer on its
curved path with every single second. Clora could almost read the question in his
eyes: risk his life and stop her, or save himself and risk her escaping?
He chose bravery.
On a whim, Peraanteh jumped forward and pushed his red palms against the dent
he had created. With a victorious howl, he breached the shield—but the orb was
already behind him and exploding.
It all happened at the same time.
The force pushed his body flat against the translucent dome and his hands passed
through the holes up to his shoulders. Clora stumbled, her fists loosening. A second
wave of attack from the orb struck immediately after the first and pulled the mage
back like a vortex. And just before the man was thrown into the air like a leaf on the
wind, he reached to her with one last hopeless attempt.
“NO!” Clora screamed, but the telebranch was out of her left hand and falling. It
rolled on the ground, then stopped beating.
But the right one did not. It grew wilder, beating more urgently. And before Clora
knew what was happening, the telebranch imploded in her palm.
For a moment, she felt sucked into a whirlwind. Black space swallowed her—she
was weightless. Then it stopped as quickly as it had begun and the girl hit the ground.
Heavy silence enveloped her. Groaning in pain, she tried to sit up. Her right arm
buckled beneath her weight—it was the same one she had twisted before. Her entire

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body felt sore as if a div had sat on her. Finally, her aching head stopped spinning
enough for her to look up.
The dark blanket of night had fallen over a forest of towering and ancient trees.
Everywhere she looked, she saw shadows dancing around flickering lights. There was
no academy. No wall. No sounds of explosion.
It was then that the truth started to sink in.
The telebranch had worked—at last, she had escaped the Warden’s clutches. But
no, it had not worked properly. For as far as the eye could see, there was no sign of
civilization in this foreign forest of eerie glimmers.
The realization hit her like a brick. She felt her lungs squeeze in despair, her breaths
turning short and desperate. Where am I? What is this place? she thought. Am I even in
Serinor? The endless questions swallowed her up, but she knew she could find no
answers in this wilderness.
Involuntarily, Clora looked back. Hoping for what, she did not know. Her sister
fighting the four remaining mages? A gateway back to the academy? Elora striding to
hold her in her arms and promise that everything would be alright?
Whatever it was, her hope was pointless—there was naught but darkness all around.

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 CHAPTER 11
Clora

F
or a long time, Clora sat where she was, too terrified to move. Her eyes spun,
taking in her new surroundings: tiny twinkling halos flying all around;
strange night-blooming flowers emitting colorful rays of light; aged trees
standing tall with branches and roots intertwined … and that was it.
Nothing she gathered helped her figure out where she was or how to get out. She
had heard stories about the dense, wild forests of Serinor, inside of which no one had
ever witnessed. What if that’s where I am? The answer was obvious—the only thing she
could do was wish for a quick death.
She shook her head to banish the grim thoughts. The silence was suffocating and
the air humid. No light managed to cut through the natural roof above her from the
moon and stars; instead, it was the flowers and floating shimmers that made anything
visible.
She squinted—they were insects of all shapes, bouncing around in the air. And they
seemed to be multiplying, too, as if they had hidden in fear of her sudden appearance
and now deemed her harmless. The rising chirping and croaking made it clear the
crickets and frogs agreed with the flickering bugs.
As her heartbeat slowed slightly, she began to notice the pleasant smell. Her nose
followed it involuntarily and she found a blue shining flower right next to her. They
were everywhere—growing on and between the trees in all shades of the rainbow.
Suddenly, she felt something shift in her hair. She jumped to her feet and her hand
shot up to throw it off. But then it was on her fingers, moving down her arm. She saw
slim legs and an odd, lumpy body before she let out a screech and shook her hand
violently until her assailant fell away. Swiftly, she picked up a fallen branch and turned

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to defend herself. The bugs, however, did not seem to care for the girl’s tactics and
mindlessly went about their way.
Clora relaxed, ashamed of her reaction. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath,
clean night air filling up her chest. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” she
whispered. The bugs had no answer and neither did she. “Alright,” she went on, “just
breathe. We can do this.” Her audience still offered no encouragement.
Sighing, Clora sat back down to go over the day’s turns and try to deal with her
spiraling mind. Her first concern was Elora; she knew the woman had been alive when
she disappeared (who else could’ve sent the blue orb?) but she could not imagine how
her older sister would possibly get out of the mess she’d left her in. After mulling over
that for some time, Clora decided her worry was misplaced—if anyone could get away
with that insane rescue attempt, it was Elora.
No, her sister could manage herself; but Clora was not sure if she could. The girl
tried to see what options she had: wander in the dark and make herself easy prey to
any predator tens of meters away, or stay here for the night and be a quiet—if still
easy—prey for the predator who happened to pass close? Well, it wasn’t much of a
choice, really.
She spotted a large root a little farther away that provided more cover. Cautiously,
she rose and walked toward it. Cleaning the soft moss left the surface damp, but it
was better than nothing. Clora sat down and, knowing full well that sleep was not
even an option, settled in to stand vigil through the night.
***
A beam of light startled her awake from her haze.
She did not know how long had passed but the eerie jungle had grown darker, no
signs of the luminous insects to be found. The nearing light drew her gaze and the
flare of hope in her heart took her by surprise—it looked like a lantern, moving
through the thick trunks. Clora clambered to her feet. Could it really be a human?

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 Just before she moved toward the beacon, the girl hesitated. She tried to think if it
would be a good thing or a bad one if someone saw her. Certainly, she needed help
or else she would not survive a day in this place; but she also could not trust anyone.
The light was moving closer and there was no time to properly weigh up her options.
Clora raised her stick, even though she was useless with it—or anything, for that
matter—and stepped out of her hiding place.
She was not prepared for what awaited her.
It was not a lantern, and certainly not a human. A strange insect was flying amid
the trees; it was like a butterfly, but the size of a tray. And it was dazzling.
Two long antennae swayed above its gorgeous large wings which flapped smoothly
in the air. They were a work of art, a canvas of a hundred colors, and they shone with
an enchanting gleam. Clora’s gaze was pulled to the butterfly’s green eyes, so much
like two precious emeralds. Peace hugged her mind and swallowed up her worries.
She dropped the branch.
The butterfly turned and flew away in the opposite direction. Clora stumbled after
it, feeling like it was all a dream. A burning went through the two slits down her back,
but she ignored it. Nothing mattered right then; nothing ever had. There was nothing
in the whole world but that piece of paradise.
She walked through the dark and the cold; not even the perilous path could
dissuade her. Another girl would have been filled with dread at the misty forest, but
not her. She was not that girl—she was no one. She only had eyes for the creature,
majestic and heavenly in the gloom.
Oddly enough, it looked back at her occasionally, seeming to check if she was still
there. The girl would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion that she would
be doing anything other than that (what else even mattered in the world?) but she was
too busy making sure she did not lose sight of it.

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 After days or hours or only minutes, they came across another butterfly. It flew
slower than hers and had a massive cow-like creature following it. Distantly, the girl
wondered if the creature was dangerous, but the thought was faint—a pale glow against
the burn of the butterfly’s image.
So she ignored the wild growls and barks rising into the night every once in a while,
the predators surely roaming the jungle, and kept walking. This infinite peace—it was
what she had sought all her life. No Castles of Illusions, no Great Academy, no wings
or Elikaar or Christis or Elora and her ferocious yet caring smile…
The thought of Elora gave her pause. Distracted, her feet caught on a root and she
fell to her knees. It felt as if a heavy blanket had been lifted off her shoulders. There
was no sign of that reverie, no stifling quiet in her mind. Clora looked around in
confusion, horror beginning to set in.
She had barely registered where she was when the butterfly was there again. The
light from its green eyes had intensified. Unable to resist, Clora’s tearful gaze was
pulled back to those two bewitching emeralds.
And then she was no longer Clora, and no longer afraid.
***
A clearing came into view. It was a field of small flowers that swayed in the breeze,
beginning where the tropical forest’s trees began to dwindle. The moon and the stars
lit the clear path to a cluster of tall trees—their destination.
They had not gone halfway into the clearing when the girl registered something
running toward them in the dark. Half-asleep, she only watched as it leaped forward.
In an instant, the creature was tearing into the butterfly, sharp teeth flashing in the
insect’s glow.
Clora viciously fell out of her daze as her captor’s light blinked out.

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 She lost her footing and went down. Terror set in with a film of cold sweat—all
around, shadows fought the moonlight and came out victorious. The trees at the
center of the clearing quivered. “What the hell?” she whispered under her breath.
A light from afar lifted the gloom. Still lying down, she turned as quietly as she
could. It was the other butterfly—the slower one. This time, Clora paid attention; the
beast following it was gigantic, like an oversized bull with long horns.
As they moved closer and toward the center, no fleeting creature burst out of the
dark. Clora kept down and watched them stop at the foot of the trees. The butterfly
flapped its wings, gently sitting on the giant bull. Then its antennae twitched and a
loud whistle cut through the air. Clora held her breath.
Slowly, two serpentine things slithered out of the trees. The bull remained dazed
and unresponsive while the newcomer neared. Then it wrapped around its prey and
the poor creature finally bellowed, freed from its trance only to discover another trap.
Its horrified sound was cut off short with a crunch of breaking bones.
The killer retreated.
Clora felt her limbs turn to lead, her mouth dry. Get out get out get out RIGHT
NOW. The girl scrambled to her feet and turned around—
And came face to face with a third butterfly.
Two magical eyes snared her and ecstasy returned—she was falling and forgetting
and suffocated by peace right where she stood. Then there was a distant sound of
running. A small creature. Sharp teeth ripped into glorious wings.
The light flickered out in an instance, taking the enchantment with it. Clora did
not hesitate this time. She ran, leaving her unknown savior behind.
Darkness loomed on the horizon, but she did not care. Her only thought was that
of escape and the haunted jungle her sole haven. The trees swallowed her, the lack of
shining insects making her all but blind. A root caught her right foot. Stones bit into
her palms as she hit the forest floor. Something moved to her left.

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 Before she could scream, a large hand covered her mouth. “If you make a sound,”
a male voice rasped, “I’ll have no choice but to kill you. Understood?”
Clora nodded.
“Good.” The man who must have been her rescuer hesitantly took away his hand,
clearly prepared to silence her if needed. He helped her up. “Can you walk?”
The girl could only make out a large silhouette. “Yes,” she said faintly.
“Then follow me. And do try not to fall again, or else I’m leaving you to the beasts.”
***
Despite the warning, Clora did trip and almost alert every predator in their vicinity
twice. Fortunately, she managed to keep her feet beneath her. Her right arm still
throbbed, but the pain had faded some—nothing serious, it seemed.
The farther they walked, the more similar the jungle became to the dreamland she
had first seen. But in addition to the plants and insects she had previously noticed,
there were also magical trees, giving off a soft green light.
Clora was unsure whether she should trust the man or not. But for now, she had
no choice but to follow. He moved through the wild growth with enviable ease,
navigating the maze and dodging threats from experience. Sounds of flowing water
reached Clora and grew with every step. Soon, a pond with a departing stream came
into view and the girl began to make out three forms sitting around the remains of a
fire.
The group rose at their approach.
“Taaless! What happened? Why didn’t you spring the trap?” one said. “And who’s
this?” Clora squinted. There were fewer flying pinpricks of light here and she could
not discern the speaker’s face. Still, his skin seemed to gleam in the rare bursts of light
and his green eyes actually glowed.
“This boy was wandering there. I couldn’t just go ahead with the plan and attack.”
A low chuckle. “That’s a girl, man.”

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 “Who cares? The plan is ruin—”
“You fool,” a feminine voice cut through the argument. The sound of a sword
leaving its scabbard rang through the air. Quickly, the woman’s dimly lit hand threw
something into the embers. With a hiss, smoke filled the night. Clora was confused;
the smoke did nothing but give off a pleasant smell.
She felt eyes on her, waiting—for what, she had no idea.
“I assure you, she’s not a vicious magical creature,” Taaless spoke up. “We were
together alone for an hour; if that were the case, I’d be a dead man by now.”
“That just shows how naïve you are.”
The man with radiant eyes cut in, “What’s that mask around her eyes?”
“It’s not a mask,” Clora spoke for the first time. “It’s my skin.”
He stepped close and leaned into her face. Clora was mesmerized by his eyes—the
white of his eyes was not white but green, and they shimmered softly around the black
center. His fingers traced her skin. “She’s right. Her face is black and white.”
“Where did you find her?” asked the woman sharply.
“Around the pekeen. One of its lures had her. They were less than twenty meters
away from its lair before the girl ripped the eghvaagar butterfly apart. And not just one
but two—she killed them instantly.”
Shock went through the group. “I didn’t!” Clora said quickly.
“Quit lying,” Taaless barked. “If you didn’t kill it, then who did?”
“I thought you did!”
“Me? You think I’m that out of my mind to rescue you from a pekeen?”
“Enough,” the woman commanded. “It’s not the time. We have to return.”
“Will we continue the hunt tomorrow?” the green-eyed man said.
“No. The pekeen has lost two of its eghvaagars; it’ll run amok.”
“But we can’t find another one anytime soon,” Taaless protested. “We can’t lose
this opportunity. What if it goes underground?”

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 “After that attack, the creature will seek a new lair, and a wandering pekeen is even
more dangerous. They’re smart creatures—I’ve lost too many of my people to their
traps. No, we’ll wait. The pekeen won’t release the lures before finding a lair.”
The second man’s strange eyes went to Clora. “What should we do with her?”
A pause. “We’ll take her to Aakaa and let him decide.”
The fourth figure broke his silence. “I say we let her go. We don’t know what she’s
doing here all alone. It’s not a risk worth taking.”
Without replying, the woman strode toward Clora. The other three remained
quiet, waiting for her call—she must be the group’s leader, then. From close, the girl
could make out uneven skin on her face where light broke. “I’m going to ask you a
few questions and you’re going to answer them like your life depends on it, because
it does.” Clora said nothing. “What were you doing in the clearing?”
“One of those butterflies had me. I don’t know how long I was following it through
the jungle, but something killed it before we reached its destination.”
“Where are you from?”
“Trinaar,” she replied truthfully. It wasn’t as if she knew anywhere else.
“How and why did you end up here?”
She tried to dodge the question. “I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?” the woman snapped.
“What do you think it means?”
Immediately, she felt the cold bite of a blade under her chin. “You think you’re so
clever, girl? I could cut off your head right now and no one would even know.”
Clora’s throat bobbed and the sword’s edge pressed tighter. She needed their help—
really, it was a miracle she had found people in this wilderness at all and she couldn’t
afford their suspicion. And yet, they might sell her to Elikaar. “I was escaping,” she
opted for a half-truth. “I’d been imprisoned.”
“Where?”

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 She wasn’t going to make herself that easy a prey. “The Greendawn Citadel.”
Taaless’s voice rose, “But I’ve never heard—”
“Quiet.” Their leader stared into Clora’s eyes. “How long were you imprisoned?”
“Fourteen years.” It was also the age she usually passed as. Good, she thought, let
them think I’d been there for all my life.
“And how did you get here,” the woman lifted a brow, “from there?”
Clora had no idea where ‘here’ was. “A family friend rescued me.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“But I don’t.”
The sword bit into Clora’s neck. “Your innocent act is lacking, girl. What was your
means of transportation? There are only two ways you could have ended up in the
middle of this jungle, so don’t even think about lying.”
She was trapped; there was no choice but to tell the truth. “Telebranches—I used
telebranches,” she burst out. “But I dropped one at the last second and came here by
mistake.”
The sound of buzzing and water was all that filled the fallen hush. Clora realized
with dawning dread that something she had said had ticked them off. Are telebranches
not a common thing?
Finally, the woman seemed to make a decision. “We’ve wasted too much time
already. Taaless, you and I are going back to the caravan and taking her with us,” she
declared in her rough voice. Her glance shot to the other silhouettes. “You two, get
to your meeting place. And don’t so much as breathe to anyone about this girl.
Understood?”
The men murmured their agreement, still too shocked by Clora’s admission to
protest. In no time, they had packed up and were saying goodbyes. Clora caught the
name Silliss in their snatches of conversation—apparently, that was the woman’s name.
Then the green-eyed man and the stoic one disappeared into the trees.

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 “Lead the way, Taaless,” Silliss ordered. “I’ll bring up the tail.”
With a nod, the man moved ahead. Before Clora could follow, she felt a hand on
her shoulder, stopping her. “I’m right behind you, girl,” the woman whispered into
her ear. “If I suspect for even a moment that you intend to use your wings, leokaan,
I’ll cut you open there and then. Got it?”

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 CHAPTER 12
Clora

For close to two hours, the trio walked in single file. The sun slowly climbed up
from the hidden horizon and transformed the jungle’s beauty, luminous bugs and
plants sleeping to give their place to other strange sights of green and white and any
color possible.
Clora was startled by the dawn—her body’s clock told her there should still be some
time until sunrise. When she voiced her concern, Taaless explained to her that
morning there came a couple of hours sooner than in Trinaar. “Same as how the east
of Serinor is more than half a day ahead of the west,” he said.
The revelation shocked her. All her life, Clora had known the world was vast and
full of wonders she had not even heard of, trapped as she’d been, but only now was
the girl truly realizing the depth of the unknown—the unknown she wanted to explore
and make known.
By the light of dawn, the contrast of Taaless’s bulk and deft movements became
more discernible. Muscular arms came out of a brown leather vest and a thick bow
was slung over his shoulder. Yet he hiked through the forest with unexpected
swiftness, pausing every once in a while, as if expecting an attack.
Silliss, however, remained out of sight, dogging her footsteps. How did she know
about the wings? The question had not left her mind for a second since the woman’s
threat—Clora had no visible features that identified her as a leokaan, and Silliss’s ease
at figuring out one of her secrets had shaken the girl.
Many times, she considered running; but the idiocy of the thought was obvious to
her. The pekeen encounter had proved what she’d known from the first moment she’d
dropped into the jungle: she could not survive out here on her own. Her companions

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might not be exceptionally friendly, but they were certainly better than the deceptive
predators of the wilderness.
The list of her misfortunes in the past three days were endless. What did she know?
Perhaps this encounter would not be on the list in a week’s time.
Lost in the sea of her own thoughts, Clora tripped over a rock. Instinctively, she
extended her hands to break her fall, and pain shot up her right arm as the injury
awakened. She bit her lip to keep in her cry.
Footsteps. A large hand came into her line of sight. She caught it with her left one
and let Taaless help her up.
Standing face to face in the growing light, Clora saw with surprise that he was, in
fact, rather young. His sunburned skin and the small scars on his cheeks gave him an
older look, but the vitality of youth shone in his earnest black eyes—eyes that were
staring at her in shock. “Huh, you do have black skin on your face.”
“Move,” came an order from behind. Clora turned—
And stopped dead in her tracks.
A dark green cloak covered Silliss from the neck down, only sturdy boots visible
beneath it. Its hood was off, showing her unadorned braid. But none of that was what
had stolen Clora’s breath away. It was the scars.
From her right cheek to the edge of the same eye, from hairline to the left eye and
right through brow and eyelid, long diagonal cuts split open Silliss’s skin. And that
was not all, because her skin was gray. Clora had heard about the many colors of skin
throughout Serinor, but she had never seen more than a few of them. It ran smoothly
over an upturned nose and elegant features that whispered of a beauty marred by deep
scars.
She was stunning and fearsome at the same time.
Ashamed of her stare, Clora met Silliss’s green gaze. In them, she found curiosity.
Callused fingers touched the girl’s mask for a brief moment before retreating.

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 “Move along!” commanded the woman. “You have much to explain.”
Clora spun after Taaless immediately; she had no intention to displease the
intimidating warrior. Not because of the scars, no—it was the unbreakable resolve and
sharp ice in Silliss’s voice and stance that made the girl want to follow her without
question.
***
When they finally left the jungle behind, a breathtaking sight awaited them.
It was a rolling plain, magnificent and alive with countless wildflowers. Delicate
fragrances and vibrant shapes blanketed Clora’s senses from every direction. Strange
birds sang as they flew over stranger plants, a wave of pollen rising from the flowers
that danced at their passage; it was as if the field was not on the ground but up in the
sky, filled with colorful clouds swirling about.
“Welcome to the Thousand-Bloom Plain,” Taaless announced.
Clora had never seen a scene so disarming.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
It was almost like she could hear Christis again. Serinor is a realm of breathtaking
wonders, he’d said. One day, you will see and learn to crave and fear it in equal measure.
I already have, Clora wanted to tell him, and I’m afraid yet desperate to see more.
“Yes,” she said out loud, swallowing. “Where are you taking me?”
He pointed to a slope in the distance and the girl saw tops of what could only be
tents. “That’s where the caravan—”
“Enough chitchat,” Silliss barked. “She’ll see soon enough.”
Taaless threw her an exasperated look. Sighing, he turned to Clora. “Go on.” It
was clear he was not very fond of the woman.
Soon, the tents loomed up ahead. A number of guards stood around the area.
Upon seeing the newcomers, they inclined their heads. “How was the hunt?” one of
them called as they passed her.

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 “Bad.”
A frown creased the guard’s brow yet she said nothing, understanding evident on
her face. Without a further word, they continued onto the encampment. At least a
hundred white and gray tents rose around them, doused fires and empty cauldrons
in front of each.
“Get Esnoz,” Silliss said to Taaless, “and send him to Aakaa’s tent.”
“Esnoz? What if he’s asleep?”
“Then, by all means, kick him awake.”
The man raised a clueless shoulder, not hiding his surprise. With a last warm smile
Clora’s way, he headed left down a row of tents.
“Come.” The woman led her away.
Most of the caravan’s people seemed to be still resting, but the few who were out
and about sent Silliss guarded looks, some hailing her with clear respect, to which she
only ever responded with a nod. Clora watched the growing number of dwellers with
wide eyes—they were all so different. Skins like milk and butter and night; eyes tilted
and embossed and lean. The peace and harmony between them slowly stole away her
fear and eased her heart.
The woman stopped at a tent that was somewhat larger than the rest. “Whose is
this?” Clora wondered out loud.
Lifting the tent flap, Silliss gave her an indiscernible glance. “The one who is to
decide your fate. Now, get in.”
The girl obeyed.
Inside, shadows prevailed. It took Clora’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim
lighting. Shelves surrounded the warm space, brimming with leather-bound books
and objects of all sizes. Dried plants and pots with odd flowers dotted the place. And
at the back of the tent, a man sat behind a long wooden desk.

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 He appeared to be thirty or more. His black hair was pulled back and a short but
thick beard covered his sharp jawline. Light skin gleamed on a lean face and his eyes
were staring right into Clora’s. “Good morn, Silliss,” he said without looking away.
“How fared your hunt?” His voice was quiet yet held an undeniable gravity.
“Unsuccessfully.”
The man who must have been Aakaa finally looked away. In silence, he wrapped
what appeared like hay in a paper and tied it with a thread, then applied an adhesive
oil on the knot. Silliss watched him patiently until, at last, he broke the silence again.
“And where did you meet this young lady?”
“In the jungle. She was escaping a pekeen.”
A pause. Using a candle, Aakaa set one side of the wrapped paper on fire and put
it in a small bowl. “What is your name?” His keen gaze was on the girl.
“Clora.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Clora. I am Aakaa, the head of this caravan.” He then
looked at Silliss. “What is she?”
“A leokaan.”
“Huh. Strange…”
“Her words even more so,” she noted.
The man hummed thoughtfully. A sudden movement made Clora jump—it was the
flowers, growing rapidly. Their stems were lengthening and thickening, new leaves
popping out and blooming fast as lightning. And then they were meters long and
creeping toward her on the ground.
Clora took a terrified step back.
“Don’t move,” Aakaa’s calm voice ordered. “They’re harmless. Mostly.”
One of the writhing flowers rose up in front of her, its stem now as thick as a small
tree trunk. When its white petals closed, Clora flinched back. Silliss’s hands gripped
her shoulders and held her in place as the flower opened again. Stuck between woman

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and flower, the girl had no choice but to stand there while the petals contracted and
expanded again and again. A rush of air ruffled Clora’s hair with each contraction,
being sucked into the plant.
After a few long moments, the flower retreated and all the plants quickly
transformed back into their original form. Looking at the now calm and open space,
it was as if nothing had happened.
Silliss seemed disappointed. “She says she got here via telebranches,” the woman
told Aakaa, letting go of Clora’s shoulders, “which is probably the truth. But her claim
that she was running away from the Greendawn Citadel is undoubtedly false. I know
the Greendawn Citadel—they do not imprison people there and no one has reason to
escape it. The residents are all hairasis.”
Clora swallowed, hiding her panic.
“Well, well,” Aakaa said softly. “Where did you really come from, Clora? Or should
I say, where did you escape from?” He smiled. “And please don’t lie this time; it won’t
help you. It certainly won’t allow us to help you.”
The girl stared at the man, contemplating her next words. She did require their
help—badly. Half-truth it was, then. “I was running away from the Great Academy of
Trinaar.”
Aakaa was watching her closely. Her answer appeared to have satisfied him because
he went on after a short pause. “And why did you escape?”
“I had to. They were going to hand me away to people that wanted to harm me.”
“Hmm. The people who meant you harm, they must have a name. No?”
“If they do, I don’t know it. All I know is what one of my friends told me. That if
I stayed, a terrible fate awaited me.”
The man seemed to digest that. “Where is your family?”
“They’ve all died.”
“And where are you from?”

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 “Geriss,” she spat out Mini’s hometown, “a village in the east of Trinaar.”
“Any friends or relatives you would like to go to?”
Clora watched the man in silence. Despite the calculation in his eyes, he had an
honest look about him. The girl knew he must be beloved to his people, but that was
still not going to make her trust him. “I have no one,” she said at last. “I was
imprisoned all my life. A few sympathetic people helped me escape the Greendawn
Citadel for the academy, but I was going to run away from there, too.”
Silliss finally lost it at that. “She’s lying through her teeth,” she hissed. “The sheer
number of contradictions in her claims! Do you think we’re stupid, girl?”
Aakaa raised his left palm toward the woman, asking for patience. Then he leaned
back against his chair. “Tell me, Clora, who brought you the telebranches?”
The girl did not reply.
“Look, girl—” Silliss began threateningly.
“It was the Protectors.”
Silence again. Clora wondered how important a role the Protectors, whoever they
might be, played in Serinor for their name to carry such weight.
“How did you contact them?” Aka eventually asked.
“I didn’t do anything. They found me themselves and—”
Just then, the flap was drawn back. “Ugh, Silliss, what is it again?” a disheveled
young man called, stumbling in. His unkempt long, thin hair and bloodshot eyes
made it clear he had been indeed dragged right out of bed. If not for his baggy white
sleeping trousers and the lopsided brown cloak he had barely thrown on, he could
have been considered formidable.
Disapproval was written all over the woman’s gray features. “Get over here, Esnoz,”
she said, annoyed, “and for once in your life be useful.” Her hand pointed at Clora.
The young man started, noticing the newcomer for the first time. For a moment,
he just stared at her face. Then he jumped forward and grabbed her shoulders.

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 “Hey!” Clora cried out. She tried to free herself, but his grip was like iron. The
man’s face was centimeters from hers, his eyes on hers—no, around hers.
“Peraasian,” declared Esnoz as he finally let go. “She’s from Peraas.”
“Wrong.” Silliss gave a smug smirk and the scars on her face stretched. “Leokaan.”
“That’s not possible.”
“You think I made a mistake? Alright, I will simply need to force her to show her
wings.” She moved towards Clora.
“No,” commended a voice from the other side of the tent. It was Aakaa, and his
eyes were firm and brokered no discussion. “There is no doubt that she’s a leokaan,
so no need to have a display.” He waved a hand. “Silliss, please explain the situation
to Esnoz, if you would.”
A sigh. “She looks like a Peraasian,” the woman began, “but she’s a leokaan. The
girl claims to have come here from Trinaar because of a telebranch mishap. She’d
been escaping the Great Academy with the help of the Protectors, apparently.” She
squinted at Clora. “We found her after she killed two of a pekeen’s eghvaagars while
trying to get away, but she says she had nothing to do with that and something saved
her.” Then she seemed to remember something else. “And she doesn’t have any
magical traps on her—the flowers checked.”
There was a short silence where Esnoz took it all in. “Where is your family?” he
ultimately asked.
“Dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He smiled kindly. “You say the Protectors helped you
escape the Great Academy of Trinaar. May I ask how they breached the walls? I mean,
did they attack the guards? Sweep in on a shirdaal or some other bird?”
Clora knew immediately that the question was meant to catch her red-handed—
there were no guards at the academy’s walls. Good thing that this part of her story

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was at least semi-truthful. “It was just one Protector,” the girl corrected, “and she tore
down a section of the magical shield. There are no guards there.”
“Correct.” Esnoz’s lips curled thoughtfully. “But how did she get through the
shield? With what type of magic?”
He must be asking about the Protectors’ magic, she realized. “I don’t know. All I saw
was the wall exploding.”
“Hmm. And how did the academy react?”
“There was a loud horn from the eastern wall—where the attack happened, I mean.
The sky went as bright as day at the alarm and mages shot toward us like birds of light.
I was supposed to hold on to the telebranches but a mage knocked one out of my
hand right before the other one imploded. And then I was here.”
Esnoz asked nothing more, eyeing her wordlessly.
“Well,” Aakaa broke the silence, “what do you think we should do, Silliss?”
The woman did not hesitate. “Let her go. It’s clear she is lying to us about many
things. Keeping her here could put the entire caravan in danger—what if she’s involved
with the criminal underworld of Trinaar, which I suspect is the case?”
Clora was not the least bit surprised by the woman’s cold words.
Aakaa turned to Esnoz. “And what about you?”
The young man finally took his eyes off the girl. “It’s clear that mysterious and
important things are at play here. Her words about the academy’s response and the
hairases’ attack ring true. In fact, she knows and understands so little of what she saw
that there is no way she could be lying about it. And yet…” He threw up his hands.
“Breaching the Great Academy’s walls? Using telebranches?” he wondered
incredulously. “There are barely ten people in Trinaar who can use that means of
transportation. Not to mention it would take a whole team to get through that shield
and rescue her. A single person doing it on her own? How powerful must she have
been? Who could she have been?

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 “This is extremely serious. Trinaar is very protective of their mages and all of this
could easily lead to war—if she’s telling the truth, of course.” Esnoz watched Clora’s
face again, looking like he was trying to see into her soul. Then he sighed. “I can
scarcely believe I’m saying this but, in this particular case, I’m with Silliss. This girl
may be nothing but trouble. They must be looking for her—what will happen if
someone sees her here?” A shake of his head. “I say we let her fend for herself, too.”
When he ceased speaking, Aakaa knotted his fingers together and watched the
smoke slowly rising from the bowl in front of him. At last, his guarded gaze slid to
Clora’s. “And what do you think, Clora?”
“Me?” she asked, shocked.
A nod.
“I…” The girl bit her lip. “Well, I’d be thankful for your help. I don’t want to join
your caravan and make any trouble. I really just want to get to Kena.”
Aakaa fixed his calm eyes on her. “And what do plan to do once there?”
Clora hesitated. What do I want to do there? Ask about Elora from anyone I see? It
sounded ridiculous even in her head. “I’m … I’m not sure.”
The man just looked at her, contemplating. As the head of the caravan, it would
be his call in the end. Clora gazed right back.
After a long silence, he sat up. “Clora will stay with us”—Silliss pursed her lips—
“until the ambiguities are cleared up and we find out if she is being honest with us.
In the meantime, Esnoz and Taaless will be in charge of her.” Aakaa turned to the
young man. “Would that be alright for you, Esnoz?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said immediately, “not an issue at all.”
“You really want to keep her?” Silliss protested harshly. “What if they come after
her? What if she is a spy?”
“No spy would try to infiltrate our caravan through making herself prey to a pekeen.
There are far easier ways to do that.”

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 “You do not even know who this girl is. Why would you take such a risk?”
Aakaa was placid. “Because she is lost, Silliss, and she needs our help. Besides, this
might be beneficial for us as well. Please, trust me.” The unmoving woman did not
respond, dissatisfaction rolling off her. Still, she did not protest either. Aakaa took
that as a shaky agreement. “Thank you, Silliss.”
His face swung toward Clora. “Welcome to the Storm’s Mane Caravan, Clora.
During your stay, follow Esnoz’s directions in all things—well, except for clothes.” He
sent an exasperated glance at the culprit. “I’ll send for you later so that you might
answer some more questions about your past. Until then, make yourself at home and
stay out of trouble; it’s for your own good, because you’ll be dealing with Silliss then,
and I strongly advise you against doing anything that will make you cross paths will
Silliss.”
Clora did not know if Aakaa was joking or not—his level tone had not changed for
even a moment. The woman certainly appeared unamused.
Ignoring her, he went on. “You can find me in this tent if you need anything but
you should know that I have absolutely no interest in seeing you, so please only bother
me if it’s urgent.” Pushing back his chair, Aakaa rose to his impressive height. Clora
noticed his shirt was open at the top, casually putting a part of his chest on display.
The man picked up a dark cloak from his chair as he put his right hand in his
trousers’ pocket. His motions languid, he headed for the tent flap.
“Where are you going?” Silliss inquired suspiciously.
“For a short walk.”
“Do you need me to accompany you?”
“No, thank you.” Then he walked out without a backward glance.
They all stared after him for a beat, until Silliss turned to Clora. Her scars were
thrown into sharp focus by the dim light. “Remember his advice,” she bit out and,

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ignoring Clora’s vigorous nodding, marched away with a sneer. The girl suspected
she’d been referring to the part about avoiding Silliss at all costs.
Clora relaxed as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It was only her and
Esnoz now. The young man was smiling apologetically down at her.
“I hope my words did not upset you.” He made a face, scratching his head.
She raised an indifferent shoulder.
Esnoz rubbed his hands in excitement. “Now, now, what would you like to do? I
could give you the rudimentary tour and explain some of the rules. Or maybe you’d
like to rest a little first?”
Clora took in his sincere face. Can I really trust them? Should I? she thought
hopelessly. Do I even have a choice? To be honest, her life had never been particularly
pleasant, but the past three days had ripped away the small glimmer of hope which
had only just dared to shine in her heart. Now, all she knew was that she was lost and
defenseless, at the mercy of evidently powerful strangers.
When she thought about it, though, she could see they truly did seem to mean
well. Besides, what use was there in deceiving a helpless girl who could not even
control her own damned wings? Her mind went back to her mental list of misfortunes
and she wondered if, perhaps, finding the Strom’s Mane Caravan would indeed end
up not belonging on it.
“I actually didn’t sleep at all last night,” she told Esnoz. “I’d really love to first rest
before anything else.”

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 CHAPTER 13
Daas

N
o way!” Petro’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “You’re telling me she’d
actually had a hidden needle in her mouth the entire time?”
Daas took a sip of his drink and nodded.
Kaari shook his head, sharing Petro’s sentiment. “Forget that—how about we focus
on the part where, after all the fuss, the Towers couldn’t get her! Are you serious?”
Thankfully, the inn was more or less empty. Daas had to be careful not to tell the
story in front of other people; who knew what this news would do if it spread. “Yes,
I’m serious. Although, the stone Tower that resembled a pillar was preparing for
something. She dropped her sword before we could find out who would walk away
from that confrontation.”
Kaari leaned back in his chair. “But really, the Lianese are a true piece of work.
They come to us for negotiation and then act like savages?”
“She had anger issues, apparently. Ashliyah was this close to begging for mercy.”
Petro cut in, “She may be unstable, but Teran also deserved a punch in the face for
what he said. I’m just saying, but that’s not how you talk to a lady unless you’re a
worthless waste of air and need a beating. Hilmah had every right to be angry.”
Daas raised his eyebrows. “Oh, and you know all about proper manners?”
In response, Petro grew uncharacteristically serious. “Being callously comfortable
is different from being self-righteously crass. There are things you say, and then there
are things you don’t. Ever. She asked for her right. Teran should’ve shut up.”
Maybe he has a point, Daas thought. He could admit that he was completely clueless
when it came to women. “Even if that’s true, Hilmah still overreacted.”

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 “Hmm,” Kaari looked at them thoughtfully, “but did she? Didn’t you say the needle
was harmless?” He seemed to have changed gears from calling her savage to defending
her pretty quickly. Leave it to Kaari to always question everything.
Daas released a sigh. “Yes, but she should’ve considered the response she’d get. She
put her companions and their mission at risk with her lack of control.”
Petro shrugged, clearly not agreeing with Daas’s concerns and priorities. He faced
Kaari, changing the subject. “Can you imagine her power though? I’ve seen those
Towers up-close; they’re frightening just to look at. She must’ve had guts for breakfast,”
he grinned, “if you know what I’m saying.”
Kaari chuckled, shaking his head at the boy’s ridiculousness. He looked to Daas
again. “So, what became of her?”
“We got orders from the higher-ups that she must return but the rest can stay. The
gate opened once more as we were walking away and she went beyond the Shield.”
“It’s rather strange, isn’t it? The negotiations should’ve been canceled. The meeting
must be really important for the Architects.”
“But tell me,” Petro interrupted, smirking, “what were the mighty marshals of our
Azure Army doing during all this? I bet they were all shitting their pants!”
Daas laughed. “Sadly, yes. They might as well have been pieces of ice stuck to the
ground for all the good they did. The Architects were much braver than they were.”
Kaari sat up suddenly. “Wait a second, weren’t the chainvests supposed to explode
or something when the wearer used any magic? So, what the hell?”
“That, I haven’t the slightest clue about.” Daas had hit a dead-end every time he’d
tried to figure out the answer. There was so much he didn’t know.
The skeptical cadet laid the back of his head in his hands as his hatred for the
Architects bubbled to the surface again. “Every day, I lose a little more hope in the
goddamned Azure Army.” He eyed Daas’s new piece of clothing. “How is the fancy

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cape? Mr. Daasiaac Benor has become a marshal in his own right, hasn’t he? Why am
I not the least bit surprised?”
“Leave him be. It looks good on you, Daas,” Petro said, but words did not match
his bitter smile. “How long are you staying?”
“I should go, actually. They’ve set up camp just outside Naigaa for a few hours.”
The thin boy squinted. “Why won’t they move right away?”
“The carriage is too slow,” Daas replied, shrugging. “Getting to our destination will
take days.” He slowly got up from his chair.
As all three stepped outside the inn, Petro raised his eyebrows. “Oh, by the way!
Daas? Keep Paaneh but put Aashaaraa aside for me. Don’t get greedy now!”
“Who’s Paaneh? Who’s Aashaaraa?” Kaari looked between them, confused.
Daas laughed—Petro had spent many hours fantasizing about the Architect these
past couple of days. “Aashaaraa’s out of our league too, Petro. She also lives a second
life.”
“What? Oh, man!” A dramatic sigh escaped him. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t
matter. Love knows no age, anyways.” Petro lifted his index finger as they turned to
split paths. “Don’t get greedy…”
***
It was getting dark. The cobbled streets were sleek from the rain, small puddles
having formed here and there; they glimmered under the moonlight and made the
ground a starry night sky of its own. Daas strolled down the road in silence, his mind
preoccupied with his mission. He had to move tonight, and he was afraid.
What if Hilmah, the angry woman, had been the person with the acute sense of
smell? Was the plan in ruins now? Daas had no other choice. He wished he could
speak with the Voice one more time, even though they probably knew nothing about
today’s events. Anyhow, communication was impossible—there must always be at least
two days before another contact. This was one of the rules written in stone. He sighed
and sped up; he must make use of all the time he had.
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 The young spy reached the campsite about an hour later. It was a seemingly
abandoned farm farther away from the city. A two-story building sat in its center that
must have been a great ravaan Structure; Daas could feel its hidden power from the
moment he set foot on the farm and, considering how it currently housed the Lianese,
he also doubted a normal building would be used for the purpose. From the open
grounds cleared in the middle of the woods, Daas deduced the place had already been
intended as a frequent campsite for such transportations.
The caped fighters had set up their tents on the vast grass fields surrounding the
lofty Structure. As Daas moved among the twenty or so tents, the chirping of the
crickets sang the tune of the night and the smell of roasted meat filled his nostrils.
There were a few campfires lit among the trees, giving a warm light to the dead of
night. Men who had not been chosen for guard duty in the woods had gathered about
the flames in silence, some roasting meat and others handing it around. He saw Teran
among them—the man seemed to have partially recovered. He sat in shaken silence,
one eye covered with a white cloth.
Daas stopped a passing man. “Where are the Architects?”
The marshal took a bite of the roasted meat in his hand and eyed Daas. “You’re
the one Elder Aaron recommended, aren’t you?”
He nodded.
“They’re inside,” the man pointed ahead.
He started to walk away with a word of gratitude, but the warrior called to him
again, “Have you eaten supper? There’s plenty if you haven’t.”
“I’ve eaten, thank you,” Daas responded without looking back.
The Structure looked like any ordinary house—a wooden fence; a small porch; two
stairs. The weeds made it obvious the place had not been occupied in a long while.
He paused, looking at the building. Daas could feel the energy flowing through it, as

185
if the walls were alive. When he paid close attention, he could make out the rapid
movements of every speck of dust floating about.
He took a deep breath; stepping inside seemed to require more nerve than he’d
anticipated. He stacked up his courage and knocked on the door, then entered.
Inside the magical building appeared like a regular house as well—a bunch of old
wooden chairs around the room; a rather long table in the middle; some vases here
and there. The Architects were all sitting at the table, Aaron having sunk into a
separate chair in a solitary corner. The Elder was unquiet and upset.
Paaneh welcomed Daas with her usual sunny smile, though slightly more dulled.
“How are you? I thought you’d ran away!”
Kaamaareh chuckled. “No, no, he doesn’t look like a deserter. Konaaki and Reever,
on the other hand…”
“What? They ditched?” Daas was taken aback.
“Oh, you should have seen them! Reever almost passed out in fear.” Aashaaraa
wrinkled her nose as she continued, “And Konaaki had sweat so much you couldn’t
even go near him.”
“Ten of my men also left for bogus excuses.” Aaron’s smile overflowed with
distasteful bitterness, his eyes sorrowful and defeated. “Well, hard as it is to admit,
courage was never a common virtue among our Army.” He shook his head and turned
his distant gaze to the young cadet. “Daas, we need your help. Right now, you are my
bravest soldier.”
Daas shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Wouldn’t it be better if we brought a few
people from Naigaa? I could go after them right away.”
“Don’t worry, reinforcements are on their way. What really pains me is how we
were made to look like fools in front of the Lianese.” Aaron shook his head as he
sighed. “You’d be interested to know you are the only one that dared enter.”
The young cadet eyed the entrance door in astonishment. “You mean…”

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 Aaron laughed, rising from his seat. “That’s right—none of my men had the courage
to even climb those two damned steps. I told them there’s no obligation and that
anyone can leave without repercussions.”
Daas was shocked and embarrassed by his comrades’ behavior. “Sire, it’s fine by
me! Anything you need me to do, just say it.” His declaration was met by a proud pat
on the shoulder from the Elder. He tried to hide his guilt and turned to the four
Architects, noticing their unease. “Where are the envoys?”
Paaneh pointed toward the ceiling. “Upstairs. Completely sealed, too. Not even
sound can pass to them from down here. This is a three-layer Structure; we have full
confidence in its abilities,” she finished firmly, daring him to disagree.
“Certainly,” Daas was quick to agree before her stare all but cut him apart.
“Shouldn’t we tell that to the ones outside?”
“Oh, they’re here because we told them. What a disgrace.” She threw a sidelong
glance at Aaron. “We need to wait for reinforcements, but I don’t think it’s even
necessary. There won’t be any problems and if there are, I doubt our supposed
warriors would do any good. Especially after everything. I admit, we didn’t have high
expectations—but to be so cowardly they won’t even enter this house?!”
The Elder raised his head. “I’m not defending my men, but they can’t be blamed
for it all either. None of us anticipated the events at the gate and they had no grasp
of what was happening in front of their eyes. Some of them had never even seen a
Warfare Structure before.”
“I meant no offense. Their fear is just so ridiculous it’s frustrating!” She let out a
long breath. “Either way, we’ll be staying here; both to wait for reinforcements and
because the plans have changed—we are to handbond the Lianese right here before
things could get any worse. Just to be sure. We’ll use this Structure’s commscreen.”
“Are these the new orders?” Aaron frowned. Paaneh nodded in response.

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 “It’s the wise thing to do,” Aashaaraa added. “The conflict at the gates stupefied
everyone. I didn’t even know a ravaan object could act on its own.”
“Exactly!” Eskeem shook his head in wonder. “That sword messed with all our
understandings. It’s clear our knowledge of Liano is very lacking.”
“Why is it strange?” Daas looked between them, confused and unable—or
unwilling—to hide it. “Don’t the Towers act on their own, too?”
Paaneh leaned forward. “Architects are not mages, Daas. What they do is a kind of
science. A controlled force connects a complex Structure to its ‘head,’ who is an
Architect, with the headbond. It’s the Architect who controls the Tower. Of course,
some ravaan Structures can act independently, but only for minor tasks like…” She
paused, thinking of examples.
Kaamaareh gave her a hand. “Like farming, cooking, those sorts of things. Simple
tasks, you know? But what we all saw was a sword moving on its own. Defending its
owner. Making decisions. All while it had no connection to the woman. The chainvest
would have detonated otherwise—as it would if a head Architect wearing it tried to
substantially control their bonded Structure.”
“What about someone controlling the sword from afar? Like our Towers?”
Kaamaareh shook his head. “The Shield of Perigaad blocks those connections.”
Daas smiled bitterly as he sat down. “Every day, I learn new things about this great
Shield.” I wonder what other tricks they have up their sleeves, is what he didn’t say. Daas
peeked at the Architects—the issue with the sword had truly perplexed them.
“Elder Aaron,” a voice called from outside the house.
Aaron got up slowly and went to the door, Daas right behind him. It was one of
the caped marshals, standing a meter away from the porch.
“The food is ready, sir,” the marshal explained as he pointed at the roasted lamb
being picked up from a fire farther away.
“Bring it here, we’ll take it inside.”

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 The man blushed. “Sir we will—”
“No need. Just do as I said.” The Elder ignored the man who dropped his head in
embarrassment, and instead continued, “How many have left?”
“About thirty, sir. They left their capes as well.” The dark azure cape—the sign of a
warrior’s courage. With the symbolical gesture, it seemed the deserters were trying to
show their shame over feeling fearful and giving in to it.
Aaron climbed down the steps and walked toward the tents in silence. His stance
was that of a leader doing a simple inspection—hands gripped behind, face calm and
collected. The men got up at his approach as he stopped by their tents, boosting
morale with a few kind and friendly words. His stroll took a while but he finally
reached the largest campfire and called loudly, “Everyone gather, please.”
Most of the men were already there; the few that were frolicking around caught up
as well. They all sat down on the grass, facing the Elder. Daas felt he did not belong
in the crowd, so he stood behind Aaron.
For a few minutes, he spoke about their mission; where they were headed and why.
Faces stared at him in the night—some clear near the fire, others blurred and hidden
in the dark. His shoulder-length gray-brown hair and thick gray beard made him a
majestic sight in the shadows of the flame. He looked every bit the wise, seasoned
Elder, and he had to give a speech.
“I know how you must feel. Despite spending more than ten years outside the
Shield of Perigaad, even I was thunderstruck by what happened today.” His face
looked warm and open in the light as he met every pair of eyes with his piercing gaze.
“You must be terrified. Petrified. You have only ever practiced with swords and hands.
The magic of those beyond our borders was just a tale. A myth.
“The fear and doubt you feel are natural; any warrior would feel afraid faced with
such power. Indeed, that woman was truly powerful,” he pointed toward the house,
“and so are the rest of them without a doubt. We won’t stand a chance against them
in battle, and that’s hard to admit. But remember two things, my friends:
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 “Firstly, that the Lianese are here to talk and want to avoid conflict just as much as
we do. Treat them with respect and no fear as you would a fellow human being, and
I promise a similar incident won’t happen again.” Some of the men sitting in the
front dropped their heads in shame.
“Secondly,” Aaron went on fervently, “remember that, no matter how afraid, we
must always maintain our honor. Anyone can be afraid, but cowardice is a choice.
One becomes a true warrior when he faces and overcomes his fears; because then and
only then can he defend his people from those who would harm them. Courage is
letting go of your fears and without courage, strength is meaningless.”
His tone grew soft, “You have come this far even as you wavered, and that means
you have understood the meaning of courage. I don’t expect more of you. You have
already proven your bravery.”
Silence reigned in the wake of his words. Teran, who was sitting at the front, raised
his voice to break it, “Elder Aaron, we know how embarrassingly we have performed
and we are ashamed of our actions. I am ashamed of my actions.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd, slowly rising to a unanimous affirmation of
Teran’s remarks. Aaron smiled. “And for that, I thank you.” His tone clearly indicated
the end of his speech. The marshals got up and Aaron gestured for them to be at ease
as he approached.
Daas paused before leaving the group for the building. Aaron’s speech had
impacted him deeply. In fact, Daas was just as scared as everyone else—he feared the
Lianese like they all did, but he also feared exposure and capture. Who was he doing
all of this for anyway? What was a lie? What was the truth? Who was right?
He truly knew nothing.
His doubts weakened his loyalty; his uncertainty making him waver with every step.
He wanted to be sure, to be fearless as he fought for what he believed in. But he was
filled with questions and terror and the only thing that kept him steady was Serbino—

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the man he trusted wholeheartedly, even as he lay dead. He knew that his childhood
guardian would not act without purpose, and so he would continue to do as he’d
wished.
Still, if he someday found Serbino at fault, then he would turn his back on Liano.
For now, there was no more proof of the Lianese’ righteousness than there was the
Perigaadians’. And until the day he found out the truth, he would not—could not—
see as himself as one of either people.
But a man’s courage was what made him a warrior, and now was the time to prove
to himself that he was one.
***
When he walked in, Paaneh was standing next to the table, leaning over an odd
black board laid horizontally on the wood. Its surface seemed to ripple the way the
pink Shield’s had. Daas assumed it must be the commscreen Paaneh had mentioned,
via which they were to make the ‘handbond’—whatever that was. Aashaaraa and
Eskeem sat across from her on the other side of the table, chatting.
Kaamaareh, who had lain back on a chair, smiled at the sight of Daas. “That was a
nice speech, wasn’t it? He spoke as if we were all going to die tonight.”
“He did what a leader is supposed to do.”
The Architect laughed good-naturedly. “You truly respect him, don’t you?”
Daas threw the friendly man a sidelong look, making it clear he had no interest in
continuing any kind of discussion. Still, Aashaaraa persisted. “How come you don’t
fear a thing? You’re supposed to be the least experienced out of all us but—,” she
looked the young cadet up and down, “—you seem incredibly calm.”
“I’m just better at hiding my fear,” Daas replied, trying to seem inconspicuous.
Eskeem raised his head, watching Daas intently. Aashaaraa opened her mouth,
obviously not done, but Paaneh interrupted the conversation abruptly, “Contact with
the authorities has been finally established.”
“Shouldn’t they be on call the whole night?” Daas wondered out loud.
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 She didn’t look up. “They are, but this Structure’s shield creates complications.”
“And which authorities are we talking to, exactly?” Daas dared ask.
“When we say authorities here, we mean the Architects who are to control the
Lianese through the handbond,” Aashaaraa explained. “In general, though, they’re
the chiefs and commanders who govern Perigaad. But who are they? How many are
they?” She shrugged. “No one knows. Architects might not be the strongest in all of
Serinor, but be sure that they are of the most mysterious.”
The Architects’ mysterious nature was not a new subject for Daas; he had sifted
through thousands of books in the Grand Library of Naigaa, looking for information
on the beings of Serinor, and he had found knowledge on every species and race
except for Architects.
What did catch his interest, though, was the opportunity to ask about that strange
term. “What’s this ‘handbond’ you keep mentioning? Does it have anything to do
with the headbond?”
Aashaaraa spun toward him, mouth gaping. Then a smile bloomed on her face.
“Oh, you’re smart! Yes, they are both a bond with a ravaan Structure. The difference
is in the direction of power. In a headbond, the head controls the Structure whereas,
in a handbond, the hand is controlled by the Structure—or, more specifically, its
head.”
“And why are the Lianese handbonding with a Structure?” Daas asked, confused.
The woman laughed—it was evident they all found Daas’s question trivial. “Think
about it! Maazinaan is the most prominent city of Perigaad. All of the Architects’
knowledge is under lock and key in there. You don’t actually expect us to take the
Lianese into the capital with just these chainvests, do you? We need them in full
control.” She shook her head at his idiocy. “Anyway, the handbond was supposed to
be established later on but, after what happened, we were told to move ahead.”

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 Daas soaked up the new, rare information. And as he did, he was reminded of the
fact that the four people in this room were one of the very people who held all the
power in this country for themselves, allowed a voice in this so-called ‘republic’ and
aware of a substantial amount of the knowledge hidden in Maazinaan.
It was a sobering thought.
Paaneh put her hand on the board and the Architects took that as a signal to rise
and gather around her. Daas noticed Eskeem had been staring intently at him the
entire time and kept his stare even as he walked toward Paaneh.
Daas ignored the man and approached the commscreen out of curiosity; he had
never seen one before. It was shaped like a square with one-meter sides. A black liquid
seemed to be smeared all over its surface that glistened in the light.
Paaneh spoke without addressing anyone, “They are ready. We await orders.”
Ripples appeared on the black liquid covering the board and white letters took
shape one by one. We will be ready in a few minutes as well, Daas read to himself.
“Alright, I will bring them so we can establish the bond.”
Paaneh took her hand off the board and stepped away; no trace of the black liquid
remained on her skin. “It’s time. Daas, please call for Aaron.”
Daas nodded and quickly walked outside. He found the Elder sitting among the
men around a fire. “What’s happened?” Aaron asked as he saw the young man.
“Apparently, they’re about to establish the bond.”
He rose immediately, the men around them looking at the two in shock. “Now?”
the Elder asked and, without waiting for a response, headed toward the building.
All four Architects raised their heads from the board as they heard the door open.
“It’s time,” Paaneh declared from their circle around the device.
Aaron stared at the board for a moment before raising his assertive voice, “Alright,
open the door.” He turned to Daas. “You’ll come as well.”

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 The cadet was surprised but obeyed the command nonetheless, climbing the stairs
behind the Elder. There was only a wooden door on the upstairs landing.
“It’ll open in a moment,” Paaneh promised from downstairs. A few beats of silence
passed until a rumble rose from the door—it sounded as if an old key was noisily being
turned inside it. The rumble ended with a clicking sound, and the door slowly swung
open. Daas was startled to find another door behind it.
Aaron knocked on the inner door and waited. The handle was turned from the
inside, revealing Ashliyah on the other side. He inclined his head in polite greeting.
“I hope our protocols have not offended you,” Aaron remarked.
The Lianese was quick to protest. “No, not at all! On the contrary, in fact. We were
not expecting such hospitality after the disaster at the gate.”
He stepped aside, inviting Aaron inside the room. The space was rather large; three
bunk beds in the corners with one table in the middle. The coltish girl and the young
man sat at the table, an assortment of fruits in front of them, while the brawny warrior
slept on one of the top beds, his loud snores filling the room. The bed was clearly too
small for him.
The young man waved a friendly hand at Aaron. “Thanks for the bath, it was great!”
His deep consonants were a little jarring, though his vowels were pronounced and
long as Daas was used to, if more halting.
The Elder nodded to him but wasted no time exchanging pleasantries. “The
handbond must be established immediately.”
“Why?” Ashliyah frowned. “I thought we’d wait until the next city.”
“The plans have changed due to the events at the gate.”
The representative pursed his lips. “I suppose it’s natural. So, what do we do now?”
“Nothing difficult. You just need to step downstairs and spare a few drops of blood;
each one of you. After that, the bonding will take only a few minutes.” The sleeping
man’s snoring was so loud Aaron’s voice could hardly be heard.

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 The bath-loving man got up from his seat. “Hey, Bahgdon!” he called at the big
warrior’s ear. “Get up man!” The man startled awake, groaning.
After the man called Bahgdon was brought up to date, they all followed the Elder
downstairs. The entire time, Daas involuntarily averted his gaze from the Lianese,
avoiding eye contact.
When they reached the ground floor, Aaron and Daas went to stand beside the
Architects on one side of the table as the foreigners lined up on the other. Paaneh
was leaning over the board, awaiting instructions.
This was the best opportunity Daas would get.
Slowly, he put his hand in his pocket. The Voice had told him that the smell of his
fresh blood must be in the air for a few minutes. Daas opened his folding knife while
everyone was focused on Paaneh. Breathing silently, he pressed the sharp edge sightly
on his middle finger; just enough for a shallow cut. He felt a spark of pain. A trickle
of blood quickly followed.
He eyed Aaron and the Architects—nobody was paying any attention to him. Thank
God. Discreetly, he scanned the Lianese for a reaction, making sure no one else looked
at him the entire time. Moments passed.
Nothing happened.
“What’s going on?” Kaamaareh asked Paaneh.
“The connection’s been lost. Again.” She seemed a bit confused.
Daas did not take his eyes off the four Lianese, watching them so intently he was
close to knowing all the details of their faces by heart. Still, none of them took their
eyes off Paaneh.
Anxiety lapped at his feet, ready to drown him. What if Hilmah had been the one?
What if the entire mission had already failed?
“Come on! What’s taking them so long?”

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 Paaneh was frowning, unable to make sense of the issue. Ashliyah did not look
away, utterly focused on her while the young man supported a smirk. Bahgdon
yawned, following the Architect’s fumbling with indifference.
Daas’s eyes caught a sudden movement.
The black-haired girl’s eyes darted to Daas and back, like a nervous tic. She paused,
looking at Paaneh once more before peeking at Daas again. He stared back.
The corner of her lips rose in a subtle smile.
Relief soothed Daas’s nerves and he sighed internally. She was definitely the one
with the acute sense of smell.
Abruptly, Paaneh straightened. “Connection established!” She smiled pridefully as
words began to form on the board. Then her smile fell.
“What does it say?” Aaron leaned forward.
“I don’t, I don’t understand.” Paaneh raised her head, a puzzled look on her face.
“There must’ve been a mistake…”
“What does it say?” Ashliyah insisted, frowning
“It says … ‘Run.’”
The young man stopped smiling.
Out of nowhere, the house shook with a weak rumble. Daas stumbled and reached
for a chair to keep his balance. He looked to see others had done the same.
Aaron spun toward Paaneh. “What’s happening?”
“No,” Paaneh gasped in disbelief as the place quaked once more.
“What is happening?!” Ashliyah shouted at her.
A horrible sound thundered from above, the walls shaking violently this time.
Aashaaraa finally screamed, “Everyone. Out. NOW!”
They rushed to the door as the lights began to flicker. The building thrashed
around them. Daas caught a glimpse of Aaron panting and barely keeping his feet as

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the Architects got out. Aashaaraa fell and Daas ran to her, pulling her up. The Lianese
were right behind them. He looked back to see Aaron get out last.
The caped marshals had all risen from their fires. They were looking at the house,
horrified. Glancing up, Daas saw in terror that the second floor had been completely
destroyed—it was as if it had burned down.
Everybody took cover as another thunderous sound echoed, promising a fourth
wave of destruction. “By Infinity,” the young man roared, “WHAT THE HELL ARE
THEY DOING?!”
A whining rose from the walls. The air stilled for a moment.
Then, like a giant flower opening its petals, the whole Structure exploded in pieces
of stone and wood.
When the dust settled and relative silence returned to Daas’s ringing ears, he
looked up at where the house had stood.
Nothing but rubble remained.
“What happened?” Aaron shouted at Paaneh, marching toward her. He looked at
her accusingly, as if he held her responsible for whatever had just transpired.
But Paaneh only had eyes for the ruin, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Finally, she spoke, her quiet voice piercing through the campsite and haunting every
pair of ears.
“The Architects who had linked their lives to this Structure … They’ve all died.”

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 CHAPTER 14
Daas

B
ut, but that’s not possible,” Kaamaareh’s frantic voice broke the damning
silence. He was panting, fear stealing his breath. “How could’ve all four
Architects died at the same time? That’s—how—”
He ate his words, staring at the wreck. Daas shared his confusion and terror,
as did all the others. No one could fathom what they had just witnessed as they stood
with their eyes glued to the ruin taunting them with its impossibility. Could Paaneh be
right? he wondered. If yes, then what does that mean?
Slowly, everyone started to come out of shock. Murmurs traveled through the
crowd; words of worry on all their lips as Aaron ordered them to check if anyone was
harmed. “Everyone seems to be fine, sir,” one of the men announced after a few
moments.
The Architects had formed a circle in the meanwhile, urgently discussing the events
and trying to make sense of them. Daas moved closer and caught Paaneh replying to
Aashaaraa, “Maybe … Maybe there was an accident.”
Aaron stepped toward their group. “Any conclusions?” At their shaking heads, he
frowned. “The simultaneous deaths of four Architects … and the ones headbonded
with the Structure housing our Lianese guests, no less.” He paused, thinking. “This
all sounds extremely suspicious. We need to be very careful. Where else do we have
Structures with commscreens?”
“There’s one in the city,” Eskeem noted, his eyes darting around in panic. “But we
must move at once.” Daas had never heard of a ravaan Structure inside the city—it
must have been classified.
Ashliyah moved away from the Lianese and approached Aaron. “I know you don’t
exactly trust us but, if there’s a problem, we may be of assistance.”

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 Aaron watched the man, as if contemplating whether he should accept the offer.
“Thank you,” he finally spoke, “but the incident needs to be investigated. There most
likely won’t be any other issu—”
A loud scream rose from the right and was quickly silenced.
They all whirled around. A marshal was running toward the crowd at top speed.
For a second, he looked behind at the woods in horror and his foot caught on a root.
He went down.
“What is it?” Aaron demanded.
“Someone, someone dragged Mentil into the trees—”
“There!” another man yelled. Every pair of eyes turned to where he was pointing.
Daas inhaled sharply at what he saw.
A creature had begun to emerge. It was ancient. Malevolent. Hideous. Its rotten
human form was half-hidden beneath a torn cloak, a sword in its thin hand. Where
his decapitated head had once been now stood a black halo shaped like an orb.
As it took slow, shaky steps toward them, Daas involuntarily unsheathed his sword.
It seemed ridiculous that such a fragile thing could be dangerous—it certainly couldn’t
wield that blade. And yet, fear slithered down his spine. He saw Teran calmly pull out
his sword as well.
“There’s more of them!”
Daas did not register the owner of the voice, but he saw the truth of his words as a
group of the creatures struggled out of the darkness. They twitched weakly like they
were about to fall apart at any moment. Daas saw tens of them. No, a hundred. He
took a defensive stance, gulping.
They were surrounded. Seventy inexperienced Perigaadian marshals, four
Architects without Structures, one Elder, Daas, and four Lianese without their powers
… all against a hundred feeble magical creatures. It wasn’t favorable, but not
impossible odds.

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 Then why am I on the verge of panic?
The creature at the front raised its sword. Daas doubted the clumsy, sluggish thing
could even bring it back down. Suddenly, the halo that was its head lit up with fire.
In a blink, it was upon the closest marshal. A flash of light, and the man lost his
head with a gush of blood. A scream split the air as everyone backed away.
It was so fast—how was it so fast?! Daas had not even seen it lower the weapon.
The men were gripping their swords like it was the first time they had held a
weapon in their lives. Their bodies shook in fear.
“Form ranks!” Aaron ordered. “ATTACK!”
Stunned out of their terror, the men’s cries of war filled the air as they grouped up
and attacked the creature. There was no order to the frenzy of their strikes, but the
creature was cut down into pieces in an instance. Its halo head vanished.
Their victory was short-lived. Another creature’s halo lit up. Another blurred
movement of swift running. Another man went down with a scream.
The rotten army fell upon the Perigaadians like death made flesh. With each fire
coming to life, a marshal fell. The caped fighters hacked at the creatures crudely, their
attempts at fighting back useless.
“FREE US!” Ashliyah’s voice sounded amid the commotion.
The Elder took his eyes away from the battlefront and looked at him in a haze. For
a few seconds that stretched for eternity, he did nothing. Then he quickly fetched a
set of keys out of his pocket and ran toward him. He pulled up in front of Ashliyah.
Leaning down, he extended his hand to the lock.
A scream of warning rose, but it was too late.
A sudden gush of blood splashed into his face. A blade stuck out of the Lianese,
splitting him diagonally from shoulder down.
Aaron roared as his stretched hand was cut off on the way.
“The rear! They’re coming from the back, too!”

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 The Architects backed away as Bahgdon charged at his friend’s killer with a cry.
Before the creature could lift its weapon, the man grabbed its arm, twisting. Daas
wasted no time; he jumped forward and brought down his sword on the creature’s
body, dividing it in half.
Bahgdon nodded in approval before turning to poor Ashliyah’s body. Sorrow sat
on his face. He opened his mouth—
A blade struck his side out of nowhere, barely stopped by his heavy armor.
Before Daas could move, Bahgdon grabbed the assailant with his two massive
hands and hugged it tightly so it couldn’t move. Another creature swung its sword at
the foreigner, but the armor stopped it again. Daas took his chance and attacked the
second newcomer as Bahgdon grabbed for the first’s head.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The big man screamed and pulled back his hand. The black orb vanished and the
creature fell down, lifeless. Daas finished off the second one and looked at Bahgdon’s
hand. He gasped.
The brawny man’s fingers were melting. The meat fell off his bones, the bones
themselves following immediately. In moments, there was nothing left of his hand
from wrist down. A rotten stench assailed Daas’s senses.
“Come on!” The young Lianese man called. The creatures were filing out of the
woods from all sides. There was no escape from their siege. How can we fight them?
Daas thought fearfully. They’re so fast it’s like they appear from thin air. That swift-run…
He gazed around. Less than thirty fighters remained.
He saw Teran dodge the sweep of a sword and meet the second one head-on—the
clash of weapons threw him back with its force, but he kept his feet. Spinning on his
heels, he swung at the creature with the help of his momentum and continued to rain
attacks down on his opponent. The creature did not stand a chance.

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 Daas looked away, this time finding the young Lianese man lifting the sword of
one of the dead. He grinned and ran into the foray, seeming fully in his element
despite lacking his magic.
Aaron had finally covered the open wound that was his wrist with the cape on his
shoulders, successfully stopping the bleeding. Daas helped him up.
“The first strike!” the young man shouted suddenly in the madness. “Repel the first
strike! They’ll slow!”
Daas did not hesitate. Lifting his sword, he ran to join the fight. He saw a fire light
up, followed by a rush of air—a swift-run. On instinct, he bent backward. He felt the
blade half-pass where his head had been and quickly raised his own, meeting the
attack and diverting it. The creature stumbled, then slowed. Preparing for a swift-run
but needing time. Daas went in for the kill, ending the miserable thing.
He stared down at the hideous being. So that’s what he meant. The caped marshals
were catching up on the creatures’ weakness, too. Daas solemnly joined them, sword
raised. More creatures began to fall than did humans, but fall they still did.
The Architects were standing in the center of the defensive circle. Eskeem had
fallen to his knees, sick from the severed limbs strewn about. The others were not
faring any better, either. Paaneh’s face was bone-white. Aashaaraa held her friend’s
hands, eyes tense. The sweat running down Kaamaareh’s face was clearly visible even
under the moonlight. The black-haired girl stood with them, never taking her anxious
eyes off Daas. He looked back at her.
The air to his right moved. A swift-run.
He raised his weapon without a thought. A crash, and he was thrown backward.
The creature lifted its arm again with a whistling sound.
Just then, Bahgdon appeared out of the dark. The giant man raised his intact fist
and landed a shattering punch on the thing’s torso. Daas was on his feet in a flash,

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hacking at the creature with force. Soon, there was nothing left of it. In his single
moment of reprieve, he oddly noted how it reminded him of a scarecrow.
“Good boy.” Bahgdon gave him a reassuring smile, his face still twisted in pain.
The marshals’ cries rose from behind as they fell on the last scarecrow as one.
The young man pulled his blade out of a rotten corpse. “Is that it?”
“It seems so,” Daas replied as he took a glance around. Only ten caped marshals
remained. “We must leave this place at once. We’re too exposed.”
The girl approached Bahgdon. Her short black hair was standing in a million
different directions. “Are you alright?” Upon hearing her voice for the first time, Daas
thought of how he might’ve been startled if he hadn’t been so exhausted. He had
expected her voice to be girlish, but it was the exact opposite—slightly deep like that
of a grown woman. Her throaty accent added to the odd mix.
Cut-up bodies carpeted the field, blood forming the dark red background adorned
by severed limbs. The damned creatures had wasted away, scattered like dead sticks.
Daas averted his eyes, unable to stand looking at the carnage.
The young man reached Bahgdon’s side as well. He took a look at Ashliyah’s body.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He spat on the ground and faced Aaron. “You must set us free.”
Aaron nodded, struggling to breathe. “Daas, the key … It’s, it’s in my hand.” Daas
began to walk toward him but the Elder shook his head. “The … The other hand.”
Daas redirected his steps, embarrassed. He found the detached hand resting on the
ground somewhat farther away. Forcing the stiff fingers open with disgust, he took
the set of keys and stepped toward the Lianese.
“No,” Aaron said softly. “The vests will … They will only unlock by my hands.”
It happened in an instance.
A dark silhouette shot from the sky. “NO!” Paaneh screamed, but it was no use.
The ghost caught Aaron and shot upwards. Rising with impossible speed over the

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trees, it dropped the man from a deadly height. Daas watched in horror as the Elder
disappeared far into the woods.
No. No. No, no, no. NO.
A scream interrupted Daas’s spiraling. “They’re back!”
He whirled, and there they were. Rotten, twitchy scarecrows emerging from every
corner of the woods, shrinking the circle with excruciating slowness. Daas almost
wished they’d just get it over with and end it all.
The young man whispered, “These vests must be opened.”
“But…” Paaneh struggled for words. “Only, only Aaron could open them.” At the
man’s glare, she glared back. “What? You didn’t expect normal vests, did you?”
Daas shook himself. His fear would get him nowhere. He pondered in his panic,
trying to put his brain to use. “We must break the siege, or else we’re done for.”
“The carriage!” Paaneh exclaimed all of a sudden. Her eyes shined with hope. “The
carriage. Everyone, we must get to the carriage. Now.”
Kaamaareh seemed to catch up to her line of thinking. “Y-yes!” His voice trembled
with fear. “The carriage, it could defend us!”
Daas looked at the stable—other than a few loose stones, it seemed untouched by
the explosion. He put the key in his pocket. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
Everybody ran; the Architects in the middle and the warriors on the sides. In the
darkness, Daas saw the creatures hounding them from the left. The others saw that
too, moving away to the right instinctively.
An earsplitting scream cut through the air. Daas immediately spun around—the
right, he noted in fright, watching a man go down as he got too close to a new group
of attackers. There’s more? How is there more? How many are there?
“Don’t stop!” yelled the young man.
Another flash of fire. Another swift-run. It was the young man this time. He
deflected the first attack and the creature fell. He did not hesitate to go for the kill.

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 Two more of the scarecrows neared. Two men went down. Daas glanced back at
them as he ran—one was the man who’d offered him supper. He was still alive,
struggling to rise. Daas felt shame at leaving him in the dust. I should go to him.
He turned away. There was nothing he could do.
The stable rose up in front of them. The cadet saw with relief that the carriage was
untouched. One thing has gone right, at least. Paaneh rushed to its half-door and was
inside instantly. The rest of the Architects followed. Daas took a defensive stance at
the door and found in shock that only five other fighters remained—three
Perigaadians and two Lianese. The girl went to stand beside Bahgdon, even though
she wielded no sword.
The creatures crept toward them, barely fifty meters away.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Daas called loudly, “but how long until it’s ready?”
“A while!” Paaneh shouted from behind.
A black orb went up in flames.
“Make it quic—”
The marshal beside Daas never got the chance to finish his demand. With a swift-
run, the creature was there. The man dropped. Teran rushed the hideous thing.
Another swift-run. Daas barely repelled the blade in time. The young man appeared
from the side, sword swinging. The creature was finished off soon after.
Daas took a fleeting look around. A gap had opened up between them and the
Perigaadian warriors. “Damn their protection to hell,” the young man cursed, watching
the slow scarecrows sharply as they slithered closer. “What a shitshow.”
A glare of light. Bahgdon was prepared for the swift-run. The duo went down,
human grappling with his assailant.
Before Daas could step in, the girl caught his arm and pulled him back to where
she stood behind the other Lianese, out of immediate danger. Daas eyed her,
confused. The girl paid him no mind and turned to her comrades as the big guy got

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up from a creature’s deteriorating body. “Watch him.” Her voice was low, her words
deep.
“Who?” the young man said with a quick glance back, sword at the ready.
The girl nudged Daas discreetly.
For a moment, the Lianese stared at him. Then a smile split across their faces.
Bahgdon’s thick words were almost inaudible in the mayhem as he grinned, “I
wondered why fighting seemed to be in his blood.”
A swift movement. The young man almost lost his head, but he deflected just in
time. He spun around the creature, hacking. The thing finally stopped moving. “We
must keep you safe, no matter what,” he said as he came up for air, then ground his
teeth. “Damn that Hilmah, she messed up everything.”
Kaamaareh opened the carriage. “EVERYONE ON THE GROUND IN FIVE,”—
three creatures swung at Bahgdon—“FOUR,”—he dodged, his armor shielding what
he couldn’t—“THREE,”—the giant kicked them away, panting—“TWO”—Daas
glimpsed Teran and another Perigaadian fighting on the other side as the carriage
door slammed shut and a slender hand pulled him down.
The girl finished for him, “ONE.”
He heard the whoosh of a sword. Before he could worry about an attack while
down, a scream of agony rose from the other group. It was cut short as he felt it.
The heat.
Fire raced above him. He turned his head to see it engulf the rotten creatures. The
tents. Everything. Waves of unbelievably hot flame shot from behind and burned the
despicable things to ash in seconds. The clearing was a piece of hell.
After what felt like an eternity, the fire stopped.
Daas raised his head. His throat was dry. He struggled to swallow.
“Are they gone?” Paaneh’s voice pierced the quiet.

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 “No,” the girl called from beside Daas on the ground—she must’ve been the one
who pulled him down. “There’s still more.” She pointed at the border of the woods.
Holy hell, Daas cursed internally, getting up. More were lurking in the shadows,
blocking the way. Will this ever end?
The Architects cautiously got out from the carriage. Daas looked back at the
compartment. Where did the flames even come from? He couldn’t make sense of the
magic. Oh, well, what’s new.
From their hundred-and-something party, only nine people remained; four
Architects, three bound Lianese, and only two Perigaadian with a sword—Daas and
Teran. The marshal rose from the ground farther away, dust covering the white cloth
on his eyes.
“We have only two options,” the young man declared as he helped Bahgdon up.
“Either we open these chainvests, or we pull the carriage forward for it to destroy the
rest of them.”
Daas’s eyes caught sight of the man he had seen standing next to Teran a few
minutes ago. His head was half chopped off, his neck hanging by a thread. Half of his
body was roasted—he had been dead before he could take cover.
“Everyone’s, everyone’s dead.” Kaamaareh appeared sick, crouched down.
The cadet looked away, stomach churning at the corpses heaped on top of each
other where the original battle had taken place. So much death.
Paaneh’s firm voice broke him out of the prison of his fear. “What are they?”
The young Lianese man made eye contact with his comrades. “No idea. I thought
Perigaad was clear of magic.”
“Maybe there’s a crack in the Shield?” Eskeem’s shaky voice cut in.
Daas’s thoughts went to his best friend. If only Petro had been here to see Eskeem
miserable and defeated … Then he remembered that if he’d been here, the boy would
have already been dead. That sobered him up nicely.

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 Aashaaraa addressed Eskeem, “There couldn’t possibly be a crack in the Shield.”
“But why would they even attack us?” The black-haired girl looked between them.
“These negotiations are important, yes, but who would want to stop it? And why?”
Her face was serious. Authoritative. Daas felt that, despite his initial idea, she played
an important role in the Lianese embassy.
“Enough talk,” Bahgdon growled at them, “how do we get out of this?”
“Staying close to the carriage is our best bet. We need to hold ground until
reinforcements arrive,” Aashaaraa replied.
The girl frowned. “Don’t you have any other means of communication? Like that
board?” She kept her gaze on the lurking enemies.
Paaneh shook her head. “That’s advanced Architecture. Way beyond this carriage.”
The sound of breaking trees shut everyone right up.
They all spun toward the woods. Daas traced the cracking. Beyond the grass field,
deep in the woods, the trees were moving. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he
whispered. In the dead of night, he could not make out a thing.
Finally, the massive beast stepped out of the trees.
Nine shallow intakes of breath echoed in the silence. No one spoke.
The thing was a black spider the size of a house, barely visible under the moonlight.
A black orb—the same halo as the scarecrows’—hovered over its body; it must be its
head, Daas observed in his fear. The fur on its eight legs and entire revolting body was
covered in branches and leaves. With a violent shake, it shook them all off. Daas
thought he might throw up as it stretched its long legs.
And then it moved.
“Everyone! INSIDE!” Paaneh shouted as she ran toward the carriage.
The spider was fast. Too fast. It will reach us in moments. We’re all gonna die, the
terrifying thought ambushed Daas.

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 “We’re not coming in that thing! It will crush it!” The girl protested as the Architects
followed Paaneh into the compartment.
Paaneh looked back. The spider was too close. “On the ground!”
Everyone dropped down as waves of fire flew from the carriage. Daas thought his
meat would melt off his bones. It was unbearable.
The monster did not seem to agree.
It ran toward them, unaffected by the burning flames. Without pausing for Daas,
Teran, and the Lianese, all lying down at its feet, the spider rushed the carriage. It
raised its two front legs onto the Structure and pulled its disgusting, rugged body up.
It’s twice the size of the carriage. They don’t stand a chance. Daas felt nauseous.
The spider hugged the compartment. Its halo head turned green and lit up in
flames. Suddenly, the carriage’s fires disappeared. It lay there, trembling. Daas realized
in horror that the beast was sucking out the energy from it.
Teran seemed to have come to the same conclusion. He was on his feet in a flash,
roaring as he ran toward it.
“TERAN,” Daas shouted, watching the man climb the Structure. He struggled to
maintain his balance as he unsheathed his blade. The man paused for a breath, then
leaped at the towering spider.
His sword plunged into the flaming orb.
As they all stared, the monster started to shake. With every passing second, the
shaking intensified. “Get back!” the girl yelled. “It’s going to explode!”
The carriage door immediately shot open just as Daas and the Lianese rose and ran
at top speed. The Architects were right on their heels.
His muscles screamed, his lungs crying out in pain. And yet, he ran like his life
depended on it—because it did.
He looked back only once.

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 There was Teran, standing on the carriage, his blade all the way into the flaming
halo. And then, as the spider erupted like a horrible ripe fruit, as they were all sent
flying into the air, the warrior was no more.
Daas hit the ground meters away. He felt dizzy. And everything went dark.
***
He opened his eyes to find the world in a blur. Slowly, shapes began to take form
and he saw that it was still night. He lay right where he had passed out. I must’ve been
unconscious for only a few minutes, he thought while struggling to rise. He looked
around.
The Architects were thrown all over the place, unconscious. Next to him, Bahgdon
got to his feet. “Are you alright?” Daas nodded dismissively at the giant’s concern as
the young man also got up.
The big man looked around and spotted the girl. Walking to her, he helped the
girl up. She held her head in her hands, as if in pain. Her worried eyes searched for
Daas. Bahgdon seemed to understand her concern. “He’s alright. Behind yo—”
From the corner of his eye, Daas glimpsed a swift-run. “YOUR LEF—” he began.
But the creature’s sword severed Bahgdon’s good arm clean from the elbow.
“NO!”
Daas spun and cursed. The explosion had thrown them closer to the edge of the
woods. Another blow landed on Bahgdon’s side but the armor held.
With a roar, the young man charged at the scarecrow. He kicked it down as the big
man knelt in pain. “Go,” he shouted at the girl. “Get him away!” One of the creatures
lit up, attacking the young man with a swift-run. He tried to dodge but he was too
slow. His side split open. He stumbled, blood gushing from his body.
Bahgdon rose from the ground, his shouted order shaking Daas from his daze.
“Get to the center of the siege!” The girl grabbed Daas’s hand and pulled him behind
herself. As they ran, Daas turned his head.

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 He saw Bahgdon standing in the melee, taking hit after hit. Mustering all his
strength, the Lianese roared. All of a sudden, it was as if a force was unleashed.
He had released his magic.
The chainvest turned red. Then, with a deafening clap of thunder, it imploded.
“No…” the girl moaned. There was almost nothing left of the warrior.
Daas spun around, unable to look. And they ran.
But they had not gone more than a few steps when another scream sounded from
behind. Daas looked back unwillingly—it was the young man. He was on his knees,
bleeding from too many wounds. No strength was left in him. He raised his hand and
Daas saw his lips move. Good luck.
A sword fell. Daas looked away before it landed the killing blow.
The girl pulled her hand. “Come.” They ran toward the center of the clearing, to
the site of the original battle. The scarecrows would take a while before they closed in
on them here.
Daas and the girl passed through the red hills of corpses, the stick-bodies of the
creatures strewn amid the devastation. The stench of blood and gore and burnt bodies
was overwhelming. The sight and smell blanketed Daas’s senses and he tried not to
think of how he would be joining his comrades soon.
He gazed at the creatures surrounding them. They were slow but many. Hundreds
moved through the clearing, more coming out of the woods. There was no way out.
The cadet’s eyes caught on Ashliyah’s body. He lay there, cut nearly in half. He’d
been one of the first to go. To think they’d all been alive just a few hours ago. Now,
every single one of them would be dead.
If only there was a way to break the siege…
Daas stopped short. He spun back toward the bodies and ran. The girl followed
him. “What are you doing?”

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 “It’s got to be here…” Daas whispered as he pulled up. Then he began frantically
searching the ground, moving dead men around.
“Have you lost your mind?” She watched her in disbelief. When Daas didn’t
respond, her tone turned desperate. “They’re closing in, Daas!”
“If there is a way out,” Daas finally stopped, finding what he’d been looking for,
“it must be you.” He rose, holding a severed hand.
“Me?”
“Yes.” Daas stepped toward her, brandishing the piece of meat and bone that had
turned blue from dried blood. “You.”
The girl looked like she’d lost faith in Daas’s sanity.
Daas took the key out of his pocket. “This is the key, but the lock can only be
opened by Aaron’s hand.” He waved the hand. “This is Aaron’s hand.”
The girl opened her mouth and closed it. Hesitantly, she took a step forward. Daas
knelt in front of her and slipped the key into the lock hanging on her stomach.
Gripping it with Aaron’s dead fingers, he looked up into her eyes. Silently, they stared
at each other. Then he turned the key on a whim.
A crack, and the chainvest fell. Free—their salvation was free.
Suddenly, the girl broke into a smile. She did not waste a second before calling on
her inner ravaan. Daas felt the wave of energy release from her. Goosebumps traveled
on his arms. The girl’s skin rippled as Hilmah’s had, turning a fainter shade of blue
than the angry woman’s. She raised her right hand high, a large green cloud taking
shape around it. And then the girl began to float.
She looked down at him as he knelt there, speechless. “My name is Naysiyah,” she
said, right before a silent dark lightning bolt erupted from her hand.
Daas whirled. A group of scarecrows burned in a flash.
Naysiyah raised her left hand next. A swarm of butterflies—or what seemed to be
butterflies—appeared with each wave of her fingers. The little insects spread out in an

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instant, each sitting on one of the creatures. As soon as one landed, a green bolt of
lightning would hit the butterfly and burn the creature it sat on.
The scarecrows did not stand a chance.
The young cadet stared up at the mage—the Lianese warrior—now completely
suspended in the air. With every moment, tens of lightning strikes shot from the
cloud and burned down the scarecrow creatures until, finally, none were left.
Slowly, Naysiyah drifted down and landed on the ground, a pale smile sitting on
her lips and Daas’s awestruck gaze locked on her the entire time. He got up, and they
looked at each other in silence—that is, until Daas remembered himself and look away
awkwardly. They were left with tens of bodies.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“We need to wait until the Architects send reinforcements. There’s nothing else
we can do. I don’t think there are any of those creatures left.”
Daas sighed. “Let me go check up on the Architects and see if anyone survived.”
Naysiyah did not look away from her friends’ bodies as she nodded. The Architects
were a few hundred meters away and all seemed to be unconscious still. Being closest
to the explosion, they had clearly taken the brunt of the shockwave. Daas jogged
toward the group.
He’d almost reached them when, suddenly, the world stopped turning in his eyes.
He felt a movement from far away. It was a strange feeling. He could hear the flapping
of a creature from afar. Much, much farther than he should have logically been able
to.
He whirled toward the source—it was a dark silhouette in the sky, resembling a
mosquito. And it was flying with impossible speed at its target: Naysiyah.
“Look out,” Daas shouted, pointing at the creature.

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 Naysiyah immediately saw the large insect. A shield formed around the mage just
as the creature was about to reach her. It struck the shield, unable to go through. It
must have been the same shadow that stole Aaron.
The mage shot a bolt of lightning from her hands but failed to hit the monster.
Magical attacks flew at the creature but it remained evasive still. It was only a few
moments before the insect understood the feebleness of its attempts at getting to the
girl and changed targets.
And flew right at Daas.
A bolt hit the mosquito and it lost a leg, letting out a tormented scream. Still, it
did not change course.
Daas stood frozen facing the unnatural insect, unable to do anything to defend
himself. He heard Naysiyah scream. And then she was right in front of him, appearing
out of the blue.
A large claw stuck out of her stomach.
For a moment, they locked eyes. Daas could not fathom what he was seeing—
Naysiyah was dying. Because of him. All because of him. She had sacrificed herself to
save him.
Then the creature tossed her aside like a broken doll.
In his wretched horror, Daas gazed at the murderous thing. It looked like a human,
thin and covered in skin like tar.
A spike of pain went through his head. He fell to his knees.
Daas held his ringing head in his hands. He did not understand what was
happening—he could hardly see anything around him. Distantly, he was aware of a
fight occurring next to him. A flash of light. Fire. An unnatural scream.
The sound of the creature’s pain brought Daas an odd kind of satisfaction, piercing
through his sorrow. Gradually, his headache subsided and he regained his focus, but
his eyes still struggled to see. He heard a weak moan and looked up.

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 It was Naysiyah.
He dragged himself toward her as fast as he could, hating his slow, half-asleep limbs.
He sat next to her and grabbed the girl’s head in his hands. “Naysiyah…” A gaping
wound on her stomach spit blood, stealing her life away with every drop. Hopelessly,
he tried to help. It was no use.
“When, when I die,” she struggled out between short breaths, “our corpses will be—
will burn. When I’m gone—” She gasped, coughing. “When I’m gone, move … move
away. Keep a … hold of yourself, and your hope. Never, never lose it—hope … never
lose hope.”
“You’re going to live. Do you hear me?”
A drop of blood fell from Naysiyah’s lips as she smiled and closed her eyes. “That
… That was the last of them. You’re … safe now …” Then her breathing stopped, her
hand falling lifeless on the ground. The sound of it was thunder in Daas’s ears.
She appeared so small, so fragile in his arms. Daas tried to find some meaning in
her death—anything to help him make sense of this night. To explain all this suffering.
All the lifeless bodies scattered around him, alive and dreaming of a life only hours
ago; fighting fears and listening to speeches and finding their resolve. He tried. He
tried so hard.
But he failed.
Carefully, he set her down and stepped back. As Naysiyah had said, her body lit
up, blue flames swallowing her, the young man, Ashliyah, and what little was left of
Bahgdon.
Daas sat on the cold hard earth ruthlessly drinking in the dried lifeblood of so
many souls. All around him lay a carpet of the macabre; sticks and bones and flesh
ornaments on the reddened grass. Holding his knees, he stared at Naysiyah’s burning
corpse. The flare reflected in his glistening eyes, tears making their way down his soot-
covered face and leaving a path of despair. He wept—for Naysiyah, the Lianese, and
all the warriors who had fallen that night, he wept.
215
And there he sat, a speck of agony on that tapestry of violence, waiting…

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INTERLUDE

217
 INTERLUDE 1

Was the time at last at hand?

The haunting silence that echoed through every corner of the hall sent fear through
the heart of the most courageous of warriors. The hall’s sculpted pillars and tall ceiling
looked as if they were one with the dark, seeming to have not seen the light of a torch
in millennia. But the stillness was not only due to the quiet, but also the air—the
freezing, heavy air that drained the joy and life from any who stepped in it, swallowing
it up like a beast. Days were meaningless, the passing of time never felt. The
everlasting standstill leaked fear and phantoms.
And deep in the shadows of the vast hall, in a place no one dared venture, a figure
was walking, slowly coming out of its depth. A figure who had spent years sitting still
on the unseen throne in those shadows, but had lost none of his strength as he now
finally rose. A figure who clanked with every measured step, the chains attaching his
faceless mask and helmet to his armor sending waves of sound to disturb the years-
long silence.
It was Shah Menron, the Mountain King, and to him, this day was no longer
meaningless. No longer captured in a standstill, unchanging. To him, this day was
change.
***
“Don’t worry,” Pieper soothed. The old attendant faced his untried young
companion as he opened one pair of the tall double doors to the Hall of the Mountain
King. “You have trained for this, do not let fear take over. Do as we’ve practiced: just
walk down the hall, stop before the throne, and enunciate each word carefully as you
deliver the news of the traitor. Simple.”
His torch was held away from the entrance as if he feared even the slightest light
would disturb the peace reigning in the hall. To him and the many old attendants of

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the castle, the Hall of the Mountain King had become a sacred place as the years of
silence had stretched to fifty, and none would dare anger their sleeping shah.
The young attendant took in a deep breath. In the flickering light, his features
spoke of worry, but he shook his head to try and clear it. He nodded at the old man
and faced the darkness. This was the first time he was taking the path on his own,
and he needed to gather himself. He was an attendant to the shah, tasked with
bringing news to him, and he had taken this walk many times with supervisors—he
knew how to navigate the blindness. And so, with a few last words of caution and
encouragement from his mentor, the young attendant took his first step into the den
of the beast.
One, he counted in his head, a thousand and sixteen more to go. He forgot his own
self, his past, present, and future. He forgot his loved ones and his hopes and dreams.
He abandoned all thoughts but the counting of steps as he approached the throne he
could not see, just as his mentor had taught him.
Not that he agreed with the superstitious beliefs of the old attendants—he saw
nothing sacred about the place—but the job paid well and, besides, the thought of
being mere meters away from the sleeping shah with news of the great traitor was
terrifying enough for him to not want to take a step out of line. Better to err on the
side of caution.
“Two hundred and twenty,” he whispered. “Two hundred and twenty-one. Two
hundred and twenty—” He stopped short, listening. What was that? He could have
sworn he heard something.
Suddenly, he remembered Pieper’s warning of hallucinations and shook the
thought away. He took another step, refocusing on the count. But he had barely
moved when the sound reached him again. Is that a clanking? he thought, drawing up
short. Cold sweat sat on his brow and he prayed he was wrong. His feet had gone

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numb, his ability to move long forgotten. Terror made his eyes spin frantically, but
the dark was impregnable.
He heard the clanking again, and he knew he was not wrong. He knew, because
the sound grew closer and closer until, at last, it stopped right in front of him. The
young attendant felt the presence just before two burning eyes opened before him,
sprouting green dancing flames.
With a choked, silent scream, the young attendant ran in the opposite direction.
His breaths came out in short gasps, his feet almost flying. He did not count. Did not
look back. He ran with all his strength until he hit the vast door.
Shaking hands felt around for the handle, his panting drowning out all sound. He
almost cried out when the door swung open without his urging.
Pieper’s glare stood out sharply in the faint light. “What in the Mountain’s name
are you doing, you idiot?”
“Someone—” the young man panted. “Someone … is … here …”
“Didn’t I tell you to not be fooled by the hall’s illusions?” The old man was visibly
struggling to keep his voice low. “A hundred times you have—”
“I swear!” he begged, grabbing onto his mentor’s robe. “I swear someone is in there.
They’re coming. Listen!”
Disgusted, Pieper tore away the boy’s hands and pushed his shaking body away. He
stared into the hall for a moment before turning back to the young attendant. “You’ve
messed up and messed up b—”
The rest of the old man’s words stuck in his throat as the sound of clanking chains
rose again. He spun sharply, squinting. And then his failing eyes finally saw the two
green flares growing closer by the second.
He stumbled, leaning against the closed companion door for support. The door
swung forward under his weight and he fell hard on the ground. The young attendant
rushed to help him, but Pieper pushed him away. His eyes were glued onto the parting

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shadows. “Go … Go back up and tell them … tell them Shah Menron—” He
swallowed. “Shah Menron has risen.”
The young attendant stared.
“GO!”
The boy shook himself and was instantly on his way. He ran down the corridor
toward the stairs, not turning back to see his mentor drag across the hard ground,
shaking as he propped himself against the stone wall. Pieper’s eyes stayed on the
shadows, his face open in awe. And he kept on staring as the darkness flew away to
reveal the form of his shah.
Beneath the single torch the old man had hung from the wall, Menron the
Mountain King was a towering figure—broad-shouldered and musclebound, the shah
walked forward. A heavy black armor covered him from the neck down, a grand and
crown-like helmet on his head. His features were hidden behind a faceless mask and
only his eyes shone through the two slits; eyes that flared.
Curled on the ground, the old man pulled himself back to make way. His
expression spoke of pain from his fall, but his mouth formed other trembling words.
“Long live the Mountain King. Your reign continues on strong, sire.”
Shah Menron stopped, seeming to just notice the attendant at his feet. He tilted
his head, his flaming eyes settling on the old man. “My reign,” he replied softly, his
sharp and cold voice speaking of magic, “has just begun.”
His gaze turned to the corridor, noting the warm fire of the torch. And like the
frozen, merciless wind of the mountains, he swept the warmth and light away.
***
The castle was in upheaval. Bodies ran in every direction around the formidable
space, hiding or taking messages around. The rumor had traveled from mouth to
mouth, taking the shape of reality with every passing moment.
The youngest attendant to the shah had gone insane, people had whispered at first.
He had run out of the Hall of the Mountain King after his first solo task, yelling of
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an impossibility. “Shah Menron has risen!” he had shouted as he ran. “Shah Menron
is awake!”
The older servants had only smiled, shaking their heads. The shah had descended
into his hall after his last period of raining death half a century ago and had not
reemerged. Some said he was asleep on his throne, with only his attendants getting
the chance to see him. Others, many of the people and nobility, considered him dead.
The rumor of his rising seemed ridiculous to most—perhaps a deception by some of
the nobility playing at politics. But then the rumors grew.
“The guards are whipping anyone they see in the corridors! Hide!”
“The high attendant is here! Fifty years and he’s now returning?”
“I heard General Pata is heading toward the Council Hall as a dark phantom.”
“I swear it, I saw the khazhir handlers all at the ready!”
“The Silver General has ordered for the unbound khazhirs to be made ready!”
With every whisper, it became more apparent that something was afoot. And it was
soon impossible to deny the truth when the old seneschal rushed into the kitchen
where many of the servants had gathered and confirmed their worries.
“I saw him,” she gasped. “I saw him with my own two eyes! It was Shah Menron in
the flesh!” Fear and awe made her voice shake. “He was covered head to toe in black
armor and his eyes—oh, his eyes spat eerie green light! I couldn’t believe it!”
“Where? Where is he?”
The old woman swallowed. “He was headed to the Council Hall, I think. I barely
escaped the guards!”
As the truth dawned on the residents of the castle, from servant to nobility all
wondered the same question: why? No one knew the answer, and no one tried to find
out. Terror had them paralyzed. Man and woman, young and old, everyone waited to
hear the screams; hear news of death raining on them all.

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 Fainar had just begun to see peace under the regime of Borg. The elders
remembered when Menron had let his khazhirs loose on the people of Fainar to
solidify the roots of the Borg Empire with blood. The Mountain King was a fire that
fed on blood and death, raging across lands and leaving destruction, and the people
began to wonder what he would do now that he had risen out of a decades-long
slumber. Had the darkness of his hall tainted his mind? Made him insane and even
more ruthless? Were they going to make it out of this alive?
Of course, they all knew the answer: the period of peace was over.
***
The silence of the Council Hall was riddled with tension. All twelve renowned
generals of the empire were present—from the Silver General who always did as he
wished to Fenron the Mistform who had always found the effort of making herself
present for councils purely ridiculous. They stood in two rows at the sides of the hall,
facing one another, but their eyes were glued on the rough iron throne at the head of
the room.
Because the throne that had been vacant for fifty years was no longer so, and on it
sat its true owner, his eyes closed and body unmoving like a statue of black iron.
The sound of a knock on the hall’s double doors broke the brutal hush before a
young attendant walked inside. The boy bowed at the waist before addressing the
shah. “Sire, with your permission,” he said, “the last member of the council, Karaka
the Merchant, has arrived.” At the shah’s silence, he stepped aside, ushering the
merchant inside.
Karaka swept inside in a sea of expensive colors, his terror evident in the large eyes
set in his dark brown face. He was not human, nor a general, but his shrewd insight
was an asset that made him be called for councils. His slight form bent in a quick
bow, his long fingers knitting nervously. “I apologize for my tardiness, sire.” Trying to
hide his trembling, Karaka swiftly made to take his usual place beside Moldag the
Ironmade. And as usual, he was dwarfed by the man.
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 Moldag was almost three times the size of the merchant, looking as if he was made
of iron as his name suggested—no one knew if he really was, or if it was body armor
covering every bit of his skin. He stood resolute, his eyes—black hollows that they were
with red flares deep with them—staring forward. Not even the shah’s waking and
presence seemed able to shake him.
At last, the Mountain King opened his burning eyes.
He swept his gaze around the Council Hall, taking in the members present. Then
he turned his head toward the high attendant who was standing by his throne, causing
the chins around his head and shoulders to clank melodically. “Where is Galikan?”
The magic in his quiet yet sharp voice sent a tremor through them all.
The old man made a short bow, his long white beard swinging slightly. “The
Faceless has not been at the castle for a long time, sire,” he responded, his serious face
and calm voice unchanging. “We have informed him of your ascent from the Hall—
he will surely present himself to Your Majesty shortly.”
The shah slowly turned back to his generals. Even though the green flames of his
eyes hid the direction of his gaze, it was clear he was weighing them all one by one.
“What is the matter at hand?”
A smile bloomed on the high attendant’s face, visible even through his full beard—
he was evidently pleased by the shah’s mental clarity after that long slumber. “Your
Majesty,” he began, “the council intended to convene today to discuss the traitor
Varen. We have received word that the traitor is in the Rediv Caves. Those caves are
dangerous and we do not know if he is alive or not, and searching their menacing
passageways would cost the empire much. The council intended to contemplate the
possibility of beginning such a search.”
The green light of the shah’s eyes flared and his bulky form unfolded from the
throne. His heavy steps echoed through the hall as he descended the steps of the dais,
his posture and movements commanding respect. “Well, well,” he said, standing still.
“The Rediv Caves. That charlatan has finally—”
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 With a forceful push, the doors of the Council Hall swung open inward, a figure
sweeping in. All eyes spun toward the intruder, horrified for whoever had dared
interrupt the Mountain King.
The newcomer came to a stop in the hall, his dark cloak billowing around him. He
pulled back his hood to reveal a pale young face. A trimmed and full beard, a long
nose, blue eyes that spoke of eternity and centuries-old wisdom; despite his long
absence, all knew the ancient man at first glance—he was Diramia, grand vizier and
closest advisor to the shah.
Diramia paid none of the generals any mind, his unreadable eyes focused on the
person across the hall. His features showed no emotion—no joy, fear, or surprise. Shah
Menron stared back in silence.
Finally, in a graceful movement, the man went to a knee. “Liatisa,” he declared,
voice old with unknown age, “dimega dimesiss.” Welcome, shah of shahs.
This time, the flare of the shah’s eyes sent flames across his hood, lighting all the
corners of the hall in green. At that moment, Menron resembled a demon with a
head of fire, striking fear through all. The high attendant clutched his tome to his
chest, the generals watching with wary eyes. Even Moldag had put his hand on the
hilt of his sword.
Before any could act on their worry that the flames would burn them down, the
fire receded, drawn back into the slits of the mask. The shah stood tall at the head of
the hall, basking in the awe and fear of his subordinates. He remained facing his
kneeling vizier, the only person still unafraid after his display of power. Then he
turned back to his throne, slowly climbing up the stairs, and sat down smoothly. He
made a striking sight in the shadows as he leaned back.
“Bring me the traitor Varen, no matter the cost.”
The high attendant bowed his head at the shah’s stare. “Rest assured, sire. Your
loyal servants will begin the efforts to carry out your command immediately.” He

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turned to the generals, knowing there would be no further discussion. “With the
permission of His Majesty the King, I hereby declare the council dismissed.”
Menron closed his eyes, cutting off the light. His audience began to take their leave,
the mighty generals all but tiptoeing as to not disturb the shah. The last to move was
Vizier Diramia. Slowly, he rose to his feet, wistful eyes on the shah of shahs. Then he
spun on his heels and quietly disappeared out the door.
In his wake, the hall descended into a dark reverie.

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PART TWO

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 CHAPTER 1
Clora

T
he tree stared at the girl with its three wide black and green eyes. They were
like two stones, set amid the twists of its ancient skin. Perhaps they were
not even eyes; in fact, Clora doubted fillas could even see. Whatever the
case, she needed to be careful not to startle it while picking its leaves—even though
the creatures were not intelligent, they were known for becoming extremely
dangerous if angered.
In the month she had spent with the Storm’s Mane Caravan, Clora had learned
much about surviving and navigating this world of magic, and picking a filla’s precious
leaves was one of them. It had surprised and delighted Taaless to discover her knack
for the task.
This particular one was slightly taller than Clora and of medium height among the
fillas. Its age leaned slightly toward the average to older side, which made it a great
target; apparently, the older a filla, the more valuable its leaf.
Cautiously, Clora raised her left arm. The creature brought a right branch forward
in response, seeming to enjoy mirroring her movements. Her hand was now right
beside the tree’s. Quick as lightning, she grabbed a handful of leaves and threw them
into her sack, moving as little as possible. Then, she took a small step back. The filla
followed suit, lifting its two thick feet one after another and moving toward her. Clora
picked a few more leaves.
“That’ll be enough,” Taaless’s quiet voice called from behind.
The girl turned to the right and stretched both arms in front of her. Still mimicking
her, the filla turned to its left. As soon as it was facing the other side, Clora bolted.
Blink, and she was hiding behind a tree out of the creature’s sight before it turned to

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find her missing. For a moment, the tree twisted its stump of a head around in clear
confusion. Then it gave up and slowly faded into the forest.
A rustling of branches announced Taaless’s arrival from his hiding place. He had
lowered his ravaan-powered bow—which must have been at the ready the entire time
Clora had been with the filla—and was putting an arrow into his quiver. The afternoon
sun lit up half of the broad grin on his face. “Well done! We’ve done a couple of
months’ worth of work in the past two days!”
His enthusiasm always surprised Clora. It appeared the caravan had been struggling
with gathering enough filla leaves in the three months before her arrival, but her
assistance had quickly remedied that. “It’s really not that hard. I don’t know why
you’re all so scared,” she said, straightening her ponytail.
“Tsk tsk, you shouldn’t brush off the danger like that. I hope you never see a filla
go feral but it might be good for you. I swear, one just about killed me once!”
Clora looked up from obsessively shaking twigs and dust off her brown leather vest
and threw the man a wry glance. “Do you have any non-fatal adventures? You’re always
like ‘oh, I did this and I almost died!’ and ‘man, I went there and I barely escaped
death!’”
“Well, that’s the reality of it,” Taaless shot back, shielding his eyes as he checked
the sun’s position. Clora noticed how he said reality and not truth. “Never mind, we
need to get back before dusk falls.” He reached for her sack. Weighing it up, a smile
of satisfaction curled his lips and he fastened it to his belt. And then, they were on
their way.
Taaless was a farwatcher, essential for entering and navigating the magical
wilderness of Serinor; like all farwatchers, he had learned to sense lurking creatures
and could communicate with them using ravaan. But farwatchers were not mages;
instead of disturbing the forest, they became one with it, eluding danger and laying
traps rather than engaging the wild beasts. Of course, they were more than competent

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with weapons, but it was not their preferred means of dealing with things. Since that
was the caravan’s approach as well, it made sense why it was home to so many expert
farwatchers.
The main purpose of Storm’s Mane Caravan was to explore Serinor’s wild forests
and discover their treasures. Many merchants, travelers, and medicine practitioners
joined the caravan on its journeys, seeking protection and magical goods, especially
because its domains were the more menacing and fantastical parts of the continent.
Right now, they were still in the Saanaaka Jungle where Clora had turned up a
month ago—it was set in the kingdom of Hiti, Trinaar’s western neighbor. As soon as
she’d been allowed to stay, Taaless had made it a point to take her with him more
often than not as he ventured into the trees. He’d taught her many things, from
finding water and making a fire without the use of magic, to tracking and evading the
forest’s creatures; basic skills, yes, but necessary for survival.
He was a simple man—a modest and lighthearted companion whose tremendous
skills surpassed his friendly bragging. Clora rather enjoyed spending time with the
farwatcher but had first found his too-careful behavior in the forest to border on
obsession. A few barely averted disasters later and she was all ears and regret.
The pair dodged branches and jumped nimbly over roots, and Clora was again
awed by the fact that she could almost keep up with Taaless—a month of constant
practice seemed to have paid off in the end. The rare beams of light that managed to
pierce the natural roof of the jungle were like threads sewing sky and earth together.
Trees of cracked bark stood as pillars of a grand green mansion, some so old the algae
covering them were centimeters deep.
They were close to the edges of the forest, no greatly bizarre animals to be seen.
Still, the air buzzed with life. Rodents and reptiles, insects and birds; everywhere she
looked, there were more. Some beautiful, others hideous; some malicious, others
benign.

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 Taaless knew them all, tiptoeing around some and kicking others away. And he
had his own rules, too, which he made sure to repeat to Clora every chance he got.
For example, the farwatcher always went back the same way he’d come and never
entered an unknown, new spot without extreme caution.
When they arrived at a stream, Taaless stopped and beckoned her to the left, away
from the path they’d come. Ahead was a towering tree with a twisted trunk. From its
branches swung leaves that gleamed a soft pale-green. Clora followed behind as he’d
repeatedly reminded her to do—one of his rules, he claimed.
“That, is a maple tree. They’re rare around here and their leaves turn translucent
only twice a year at most,” he explained when they stood beneath it. “Come, let’s pick
some of them.”
Clora reached up and took hold of a branch. Dragging it down, she touched a leaf
and realized that it was see-through, her fingers visible in the light passing through
the green layer. “What are they good for?”
“Honestly, not much.” He took out an empty sack and opened it. “Their only use
is in decorative objects since they remain fresh for a year if picked when translucent.
No harm in collecting a few.”
For the next few minutes, they gathered handfuls of leaves in silence. About half
of the sack was filled when the sound of flapping wings interrupted them. It was a
parrot, jumping on a high branch of the maple tree. Its vibrant head twitched toward
them before it attacked the leaves with its dark beak.
Clora pointed at the parrot. “Does that one have magic, too?”
Taaless did not look away from the branch he’d been stripping clean. “Good. Looks
like you’re learning to look past a creature’s appearance the moment you see it.”
A shrug. “Well, it wasn’t that hard a conclusion to reach, considering everything
in this jungle seems to have a trace of magic in it.” She grabbed another fistful of
leaves. “But why is that? Are all of Serinor’s parts like this?”

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 “No, not all. Some have less magic, some more. Take forests, for example. Every
forest has a character of its own. Before you venture deep into one, you must
understand it or you will not be welcome there. Or even survive it.” He stepped back
from the tree and brushed his hands together to get the pieces of bark off. “As for
why all the creatures seem to have some type of magic, well, there are two hypotheses.”
Clora raised a curious brow, waiting.
“The first one is Tetra’s hypothesis which believes it has to do with the earth’s
magic. We know that more ravaan flows through the earth in some parts of Serinor
compared to others. The idea is that it must slowly affect the creatures living there,
with them channeling that ravaan as they try to survive, thus evolving. But—,” he
shook his head as he sat down on the grass, “—I don’t think that’s right.”
Clora frowned; she did not see what could be wrong with it. “Why do you think
that?” she asked. The girl was glad she’d found someone she could finally ask her
questions from; Taaless knew at least the basics about anything that had to do with
magic and was more than happy to share. Though he did bluff from time to time.
“How can non-magical beings learn to channel ravaan? They didn’t have the ability
to connect with it in the first place, so how can it affect and change them when they
are cut off from it?” He threw up a shoulder. “There’s a reason the human species has
the two divisions of ripe and unripe.”
Chewing her bottom lip, Clora put a few more maple leaves into their sack. She
was sure people had an answer to that, but she didn’t think Taaless was going to
discuss it. Or if he even knew enough about it. Still, the girl was soaking up the new
information like a dry sponge, thirsty for knowledge. “And what’s the second
hypothesis that could explain that away?”
Taaless stared eagerly into her eyes. “They call it the Blackmane Tiger hypothesis,
after the animal that inspired it. It’s rather simple.” He leaned forward. “Only those
with magic have survived.”

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 She abandoned her task and fully turned. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Her brows shot up. “Are you sure that’s not just one of your nonsensical theories?”
He threw her a sour glance before sighing. “Look, you know the blackmane tiger?”
“No.”
“It’s a type of tiger—four-legged carnivorous mammals who are descendants of cats—
with thick black manes. Swift, strong, and so large it easily towers over a human. What
makes this beast dangerous is its impossibly sharp teeth that can cut through almost
anything. Now, blackmane tigers are native to the Gaagira region of Taahaaita, but
they are the only carnivores that large to have lived in those parts for the past
hundreds of years, even though fossils of others have been found. Why do you think
that is?”
Clora raised both hands cluelessly.
“You see,” he went on with a broad smile, “the only other animals in Gaagira
enormous enough to sustain a beast that big—that is also not cannibalistic—are the
Gaagiran cows. But these cows have skin so thick almost nothing can pierce it.” He
snatched a tiny twig off the ground and, with a delicacy that seemed impossible from
such callused fingers, began stripping its bark.
Taaless continued as he worked, “Because of this, the many other carnivores of
Gaagira had to feed on undersized animals to survive. But those were not sufficient
food sources and so, finally and slowly, the other predators became extinct. The
blackmane tigers, though? Oh, with teeth that formidable, nothing could stand
against the bastards.” He dusted off his hands and the twig. “Same goes for magical
and non-magical creatures all over Serinor. Survival of the fittest, my friend, survival
of the fittest always,” he finished, then used the stick to clean his teeth.
Clora looked at the maple tree, thinking. “It does make sense. In an odd way.”
“Exactly,” the man stressed, dropping the now wet stick. Then he got to his feet.
“Do you want to catch the parrot? Its venom is deadly though.”
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 “Ha! So that your next memory will be of the time you were picking the leaves of a
maple tree and you almost died?” She gave him a knowing smirk.
His brows creased in annoyance. “Great. All I needed was a kid mocking me.”
She made a face. “I’m not a kid.”
Taaless ignored her. He took in their surroundings, watching for threats. “I guess
the parrot’s not worth it. Come on, let’s go.”
“Oh, my hero,” she called dramatically. “I do have a question though.” At his
exasperated and expectant gaze, she went on, “How come wise, careful folk like
yourself and Silliss were trying to catch a pekeen?”
“What?” he burst out, eyes wide. “Who wanted to capture a pekeen? Us?”
“Yes, you sir! The night you found me.”
A laugh. “Oh, we never intended to trap the pekeen.” He shook his head with
another chuckle. “We just wanted the eghvaagar butterflies.”
“The butterflies?” Clora was confused. Aakaa had forbidden anymore talk of the
night she’d been found after she’d told them all she knew—making it clear she had
no idea how the lures had been killed and was too feeble to have pulled it off herself—
so the girl had never had a chance to ask more about it. The only people who knew
of how she’d joined them were Silliss, Taaless, Esnoz, the two men who’d left, and
the head of the caravan himself.
“Of course! Pekeens are crafty creatures. We’re not insane enough to go after one!
But the eghvaagars … They’re not as intelligent and impossible to capture. Pekeens are
awfully slow animals, that’s why they need the lures to render prey useless and
incapable of fighting back. I don’t know how it creates the butterflies, but they’re
wondrous enough to fetch high prices and dangerous enough to be a challenge.”
“Dangerous? Why?” They’d seemed calm and more or less harmless to her.
“How do I explain it?” He squinted at the maple as if trying to count all its leaves.
“It’s all about magical instinct, be it Infinite or ravaan. All ripe beings have the

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intrinsic ability in various amounts, but generally, animals’ magical instinct is purer
and thus powerful than that of us ensaans. The eghvaagar butterflies, now … They have
Sight magic, which is a type of Infinite magic that has to do with how what we see can
enchant us in one way or another.”
A shiver slithered down Clora’s spine as she remembered Elikaar’s Illusive Gaze.
“But with the eghvaagars, it’s stronger than any human’s could ever be. One glance
at them and you’re gone, lost in a trance. Resisting the magic requires extensive
training and even then, it’s unlikely to last for long. A group of ten could attack it at
once and the butterfly might magic them all in a flash.” He shook his head and turned
to her. “And that’s not even all. The pekeen’s lures can disappear into thin air. The
only way to catch one is with special nets and that’s only if we’re lucky.”
Clora was stunned into silence, but something in his words bothered her. “I think
you’re wrong about how just a look at the butterflies could cause a trance.”
“Oh, yes,” Taaless said with a mocking smile, “you are certainly more
knowledgeable than us in this area!” A shake of his head. “Just because you got caught
in one’s trap doesn’t mean you know everything about it.”
The girl gave him a dirty look. “That night, after the first butterfly was killed and I
was freed, I spotted a second one approaching with something like a bull. I’m pretty
sure I looked at it and didn’t fall into a trance!”
That gave Taaless pause. He quietly mulled over her words for a few moments
before speaking up. “Hmm. Maybe that eghvaagar was different. Or perhaps you were
too far away to be—” He stopped short, eyes catching on something to her right.
“What is that?” he exclaimed as he strode forward.
Clora spun around. Next to a boulder and amid a cluster of plants, there stood a
large flower dwarfing all the rest. It seemed almost half a meter, bloodred petals
drawing her gaze with their bold color and oddly thick and stiff appearance. Its stem

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was like multiple interwoven stems, as if it was a miniature tree and not a flower. “Oh,
look what we’ve discovered! A flower!”
Taaless ignored her sarcastic tone. “Yes, but—it’s strange…”
“Why?”
He turned back to her. “I’m a farwatcher, Clora, I make it a point to be aware of
everything around me. This wasn’t there when we first got here. Neither when I
checked a little while ago.”
“So you missed a single flower, com—”
Suddenly, two black eyes blinked at her from the flower’s petals. She yelped,
jumping back. Taaless did not move, though shock was visible on his face.
“Is it a filla?” she asked, keeping her distance.
“I don’t think so … Fillas do have eyes, but not this aware. They use their branches
for finding their way.”
Still staring at Clora, the creature shook its two opposite twigs. They were topped
with leaves, making them look like hands. Then it yawned, showing off a huge mouth
on what had to be its face disguised in the shape of huge flat petals.
Taaless drew back at the sight. “This is exactly what keeps me so on edge in these
forests—you never know what unknown thing watches you from the shadows.” A
frown sat on his features. “C
ome on, we better get moving.”
Reluctantly, Clora took his eyes off the odd creature. Its presence gave Clora a
pleasant warmth and she did not want to leave it behind. But Taaless had bolted into
the trees like an arrow let loose, and she could not afford to lose him. Finally, she
made herself spin on her heels and follow the man back toward their camp.
Right before a turn in their path could block the maple tree, Clora glanced back.
The flower-like creature was still watching her with its wholly dark eyes. When it
noticed her gaze, a smile widened its mouth, revealing rows of sharp long teeth.

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 Feeling strangely safe, the girl threw back a grin at her new friend before vanishing
within the labyrinth of the jungle.
***
The sun had fallen close to the horizon when they arrived at the caravan’s campsite.
She was getting used to the numerous monochrome tents and colorful people. At
first, she’d felt distrustful glares thrown her way. But now, the looks were almost
friendly.
Taaless walked over to a group of guards, Clora on his heels. A gigantic skinned
animal hung over the fire, a green incense stick protruding from the ground next to
it to banish both unpleasant smells and annoying flies. The rising smell of roast beef
made the girl’s mouth water.
“How went your day?” Sidi, a young guard, asked Taaless. After a month of dwelling
among the people of this caravan, his pale-yellow skin and strange but beautiful
crimson hair no longer snared Clora’s eyes. Apparently, he was from Tetkaar—a tribe
that lived in the southern regions of Serinor.
The farwatcher did not take his hungry gaze from their spinning dinner. “Thanks
to our new friend”—Taaless pointed at Clora—“our stores of filla leaves are
overflowing.”
She felt their curious eyes settle on her and she turned pink. Sidi’s voice made her
look up. “How old are you?” Orange and red danced on his saffron complexion,
turning him into a living flame.
“Twenty.”
A from. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Who doubts their age? she wondered to herself.
“But you look so much younger…”
“Ah, Sidi,” one of the older guards, a woman with gray hair and wrinkled face,
scolded. “One’s true age is not the number of years they’ve lived but the battles they’ve

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fought. And this young lady? Oh, she has no doubt fought many.” The woman stood
tall despite her many years, back straight and shoulders broad enough to carry the
weight of a world. She gave Clora a kind smile, skin wrinkling further. “I have a
daughter your age. Or had. It’s been seven years since I last saw her.” A sigh. “She’s
probably married now.”
Silence followed in her words’ footsteps. Taaless did not seem to like it. “Ugh,” he
groaned. “When will the damn thing be ready to eat?”
They spent the next hour with the guards. Clora kept quiet as she ate, but Taaless
never ran out of words. When they were done, the man announced it was time to go
look for Silliss. So the two excused themselves and walked deeper into the tents.
“Why do I need to come?” Clora pouted. She had no interest in crossing paths
with the terrifying woman.
“You’ve helped a lot in the past few days. Silliss and Aakaa need to know.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Just tell them you picked the leaves by yourself.”
“And why should I tell such a lie?” He looked shocked.
“I mean, who cares? It makes no difference to me.”
“It should, because everyone does. There is a distinct line between truth and lie,
and you must take care not to cross it so carelessly.”
The girl made a face. She was not in the mood for the farwatcher’s unasked-for
advice and common admonitions, so she made no reply. As they continued farther
into camp, warm greetings were sent their way—or Taaless’s way, to be more accurate.
It was clear the man was well-liked among the people of the caravan; certainly more
than Silliss, whose passing had brought with it a wave of quiet nods and wary glances.
Clora’s eyes caught on an array of numerous cruses in front of one of the pale tents.
A wisp of an old man was bent over them. At their approach, he looked up.
“Ha!” Taaless called as he changed path toward him. “How are you faring, Deroba?”

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 The stranger—who Clora was sure she’d never seen before—gifted them a smile that
put his missing teeth on display. “Look who it is! Our young Taaless and—,” his eyes
shifted to the girl, “—a beautiful young lady I have not had the honor to meet!”
Clora inclined her head respectfully.
“This is Clora,” Taaless explained, not divulging any specifics. Then he quickly
changed the subject. “When did you arrive?”
“Oh, just after dawn.”
The pair exchanged pleasantries for a few moments. Clora could see they had
known each other for some time, which was not at all strange since the Storm’s Mane
Caravan had its own special and regular clients.
“What’s going on?” Taaless asked finally, dipping his head toward the cruses.
“What are these for?”
“I’m the old one yet you have grown absent-minded? Did you forget the Flight of
Shabgard Swans?”
“No, I didn’t forget. But you seem to have gotten your dates messed up, old man.
There is still a week left until they emerge.”
“I am aware. I had time on my hand and it never hurts to be prepared early.
According to the Seraajian calendar, the shabgard swans start their journey on the
fifteenth night of the seventh month.”
Meanwhile, Clora watched their back and forth in confusion. She’d long since
become used to the many strange names of creatures she had never heard of before.
Still, it didn’t hurt to ask. “What are shabgard swans?”
“Oh, my dear young Clora, just a type of mystical swans that fly only at night during
a specific period of time annually. They emerge with dusk and vanish come dawn.”
A pause. “But what’s a swan?”
Taaless looked at Clora like horns had sprouted from her head.

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 “A swan, my dear,” Deroba said with a hesitant smile, “is a stunning large bird with
a long neck. Though I doubt shabgards are actual swans. They are probably called that
for their similarity in appearance.”
“And what’s so special about these shabgards that you’ve arrived a week early?”
“Caution is a wise man’s greatest friend. And the shabgard swans are a wonder all
across Serinor. When in flight, they scatter a unique powder that can be found
nowhere else in all these fantastic lands. It has miraculous effects when used in
medical practices.”
“That’s it?” Clora threw up her brows. “That doesn’t sound anything unusual
compared to all the other magical creatures with their many useful products.”
Deroba exclaimed in delight and pointed an index finger at the girl. “You, my new
young friend, are quite perceptive.” He watched her approvingly. “You are, of course,
right. That powder is not why the shabgards are revered throughout Serinor. The
reason for that is the inclusion of these mysterious beings in most of the recorded
prophecies. What’s more, they are a symbol of peace and are also believed to be
travelers between worlds.”
She was suddenly intrigued. “Worlds? What worlds?”
“Ah, wouldn’t everyone like to know!”
Clora stared, now even more lost. Taaless saw her visible confusion and came to
her rescue. “Don’t listen to this old man. They’ve made a big deal out of these birds
for no reason. Just because they disappear into thin air and suddenly reappear,
Serinorians think they cross over to unknown worlds. Ravaan save us from
superstitious people.” He shook his head and turned to Deroba, clearly having
decided the discussion was over. “Is that rainwater from the White Mountain in those
cruses?” he asked, returning to the conversation she’d interrupted.
Unruffled by Taaless’s rude remark, the old man wiped his forehead. “Indeed. And
it cost me a fortune, mind you.”

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 “Wait!” Clora cut in again. “What does that mean? They disappear while flying?”
Deroba nodded. “That they do. At sunset. And they materialize at sunrise.”
“Well, why hasn’t anyone caught them to solve the mystery of their existence?”
For a moment, the two men could only stare at her. They looked speechless. “Catch
them?” the soft words burst out of Taaless. “Are you out of your mind? Never again
say such a thing!”
Clora’s eyes swung between them, noting the sudden serious cut to their features.
“Why not? If you catch one, you solve the mystery and also won’t have to go through
so much trouble for their magical dust.”
“What an ingenious idea,” a familiar, sharp voice said from behind.
Cold sweat slid down the girl’s back as she instantly spun on her heels, and came
face to face with a smirking Silliss.
The woman leaned forward. “How about you try it yourself?” she suggested.
“Perhaps you will succeed and save Serinor from the conundrum and trouble!” Even
though her face appeared calm and even friendly, the dry tilt to her lips and angry
gleam to her eyes made Clora take a step back.
Mindless of the girl, Silliss turned to Taaless. “You were looking for me.” It didn’t
sound like a question.
All warmth had drained from Taaless’s usually jovial tone. “I meant to give you the
filla leaves Clora helped me gather. The stores will be more than full with this.” He
unlatched the sack from his waist and offered it to the woman, a self-satisfied look on
his face.
“Full?” Silliss took the sack with clear doubt. She weighed it up, suspicious. Her
eyes went from Taaless to Clora and she stared in silence. Finally, she spoke. “Very
well. We need ten charkhaan chicken eggs as well; can you get it?”
“Sure, not a problem.”
Satisfied, the woman addressed Deroba. “Everything alright there, old man?”

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 He gave her a light bow. “Fortunately, all is well and according to plan.”
“Good,” was her toneless reply. Without another word, she vanished between the
rows of tents, forest-green cloak billowing behind her.
At last, Clora relaxed.
“Curse that woman!” Taaless muttered under his breath, bitter eyes lingering on
where she’d disappeared out of sight. “I can never see her coming. She’s like a ghost.
Literally impossible to sense.”
That gave her pause. Taaless was a farwatcher, an expert at sensing the position and
approach of all living beings—from flora and fauna to humans and the rest. And if a
farwatcher managed to catch another one unawares, that could only prove their
superiority in the job.
A laugh from Deroba broke through the tension. “Well, that woman has never
been natural, so don’t upset yourself.” He shifted his focus to Clora. “As for you, our
little charmer, never repeat those words about shabgard swans. Those creatures are
sacred in this continent and the mages of the White Union are tasked with protecting
them. A whisper of someone meaning to hunt them is enough for hundreds to be
dispatched from Kena to capture the offender.”
“But why?” Clora was bewildered.
Taaless raised a palm. “Let me ask you something. How many unexplainable things
have you witnessed or heard of in Serinor?”
“A lot, obviously.” And it was the truth—the trickster pekeens with their alluring
lures; the tree-like fillas; the shabaangaah ponds that materialized in the night, glowing
and dangerous; the aavaazaan birds whose ecstasy-inducing song could be heard for
kilometers as if they were sitting on your shoulder … the list was unending. Just in the
one month Clora had spent with the caravan, her knowledge had doubled.
“Exactly. Now add the shabgard swans right next to those. Why do the Protectors,
the Kenese, and so many others care so much about these swans? Who the hell knows?

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Maybe it’s the prophecies, maybe something else. It’s not like they are going to explain
their intentions to us.” Seeing her opening lips and unconvinced gaze, the man
continued before she could persist further, “It is odd. But look at all the oddities
around you—this is just one more oddity on top of all the rest. Is that odd?” A grin.
“Or is it just normal for everything to be odd? Odd and odd and even odder until you
cease to gape at each other, so it goes.”
The girl shut her lips, head spinning. Taaless and Deroba were gloating—it seemed
the more confused she got, the more the two men enjoyed themselves. “Fine, fine.”
She let out a sigh. “I guess strange things make their own strange kind of sense.”
The old man laughed out loud. “Didn’t I say this young lady is perceptive?”
Clora ignored him. “Are you done?” she asked Taaless. “Can I go find Esnoz?”
“Yeah. Alright.” He lifted both arms, stretching. “I’ll talk to Aakaa myself. Be ready
for tomorrow though. We’ll be fighting those restless, forever-spinning charkhaan
chickens for their eggs and you’ll need your full strength!”
With a nod, Clora left them to their inspection of the cruses and headed to Esnoz’s
tent. Thoughts of magical birds had quickly left her mind, replaced by more pressing
worries, the most important of which was Elora’s fate.
For the last month, she had tried to discreetly gather information about the attack
in Trinaar from Esnoz. He was the best (and most accessible) source of intel to Clora,
being the only educated mage around there—the caravan, as it happened, was a home
for farwatchers, not mages. And, unlike mages, farwatchers did not have proper
higher education and instead came into their profession after apprenticing for an
older farwatcher.
A colorful cloud of pollen flew past her ear, mussing her ponytail as it rode the
wind. It drew her gaze upward and she was greeted by a rainbow of dust swirling about
her. She had still not grown used to the arresting scenes the Thousand-Bloom Plain
had to offer; she doubted that she ever could. It was like the fever dream of a lost

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man, a painting the wealthy would fight to own. And the girl wished her sister was
there to see it.
With all his knowledge and resources, Esnoz had not been able to give Clora much.
This time will be different, she thought. I’ll finally get answers. The young man had been
absent from the caravan for a few days and was supposed to have returned today. If
anyone was going to know anything, it would be him.
She found him spreading damp pieces of clothing on a plank in front of his tent.
His blond hair was combed and pulled back, gleaming in the waning light as if he’d
just bathed. Seeing her approach, he gave Clora a delighted smile. “I bet you’re
wondering which mage washes their clothes by hand, huh?”
“Oh, but the answer is obvious! I believe that certain mage responds to Esnoz.”
A startled chuckle escaped the young man. “You witty troublemaker!” He shook
his head. “How goes your education at Taaless’s hands?”
“Not bad. I only do basic things but for some reason, he all but floats in glee.”
He squinted at Clora. “Taaless doesn’t praise just anyone. He knows full well what
carelessness could lead to in these forests.”
Clora made to reply but her eyes fell on a flower growing farther away by the tent.
“Wait, that flower looks familiar.”
“Does it?” He stared at its bloodred petals, rubbing his chin. “It doesn’t to me. In
fact, I don’t believe I’ve seen that flower before.” His brow furrowed. “Odd…”
“I saw one just like it a little while ago in the forest.” A hesitant pause. “They’re so
similar they could almost be the same. But it couldn’t possibly—”
Esnoz’s yelp cut her off. His eyes were glued to the flower’s blinking ones.
“Oh,” Clora whispered in shock, “it is the same one.”
Cautiously, the young mage walked forward until he stood close to the creature.
He watched it, and it watched him back. “Hmm. It can’t be a filla.” He tilted his head.
“It must be a raqsaan flower.”

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 “Ra-what?”
“Raqsaan flowers. Unlike fillas, they have proper eyes and a mouth, but they are
both unintelligent. These flowers are called raqsaan for their incessant jiggling around
and are said to bring good luck. But I don’t understand what this one is doing here.
They’re mostly found close to the White Mountain.” He stared, perplexed. “Huh…”
“Jiggling around? You mean they walk?”
Before Esnoz could reply, the object of question gave the girl a wide, infectious
smile, the large black circles that were its eyes reflecting the sun’s last attempts at
brightening the plain. Then it wriggled its twisted body of delicate leaves and twigs
and lifted a root-like branch from the ground, another staying in place to support its
weight. Clora watched in wonder as it repeated the process for the second foot until
both feet were on the surface, clear as day.
Its feet ended in a crescent, the sides slightly off the earth. As her gaze followed its
two feet upward, she saw they twisted together to form a body, brown giving way to
green at its waist and leaves multiplying. Lifting the right branch set above its waist—
or its right hand, she supposed—the flower let out a loud scream.
Clora jumped. Its voice was sharp yet hoarse. “Do you think it talks?”
“No. They’re not intelligent, remember? They can’t talk.”
Anger curled the corners of the flower’s eyes for a moment before it pointed to the
side. Clora followed its leaf finger and saw a butterfly flying away. With another
scream, the raqsaan flower ran at it quick as lightning.
“Whoa, that’s fast!” Esnoz breathed.
In a mighty leap, the flower tried to snatch the butterfly. The winged insect flew
up, escaping the creature’s clutches. Unperturbed, the flower bent and, in front of its
audience’s bulging eyes, leaped three meters into the air. Its sharp teeth sunk into the
butterfly’s. A blink, and the poor thing was torn apart.

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 Shock went through her spine as images from a month ago flooded her mind.
Night in a vast plain. A shinning butterfly. Trees just ahead. The sound of something
running toward her. Rows of teeth flashing in the dark. A small fleeting savior.
“Could it have been this flower?” she whispered to herself.
Esnoz turned to her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Clora dodged the question, but her own would not leave her. Why had
this raqsaan flower helped her? Had it been watching her for the past month? Her
thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the creature spinning around to stare at the
girl with curious eyes. Clora stared right back.
As if satisfied with what it found, the flower suddenly ran at her on quick feet.
Before she could react, it was already climbing up her body and settling on her
shoulder. Panicked, Clora made to get the elfin thing off her without throwing it on
the ground, but the creature had latched on to her for dear life, refusing to budge.
Nervous laughter escaped the girl. “What do I do with it?”
With apparent difficulty, Esnoz took his eyes off the flower and glanced at her.
“They’re harmless creatures, so I don’t think it will make any trouble for you. Leave
it be—it’ll probably leave you alone after some time. If not, it could be a good friend
to you.” He rubbed his chin. “Had you seen it before?”
Clora turned back to the flower, using the excuse to break eye contact with the
young man. Its serene black gaze was on her as it sat there like the girl’s shoulder had
been its home for years. “Well, as I said, I did see it the forest.”
After a short silence, Esnoz scratched his head as if tired of mulling over the issue.
“You know, raqsaan flowers are usually known as placid, aloof creatures. But this?”
He pointed at where the butterfly’s remains lay on the grass, then laughed. “Things
about you just keep getting curiouser and curiouser, don’t they?”
The raqsaan flower climbed down her arm and hopped onto the grass. Clora’s eyes
stayed on the small creature as it began to play, gathering stones of all shapes. “One

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of the royal mages of Trinaar,” she finally added, “had a goldfish on his right shoulder.
What magic is that? Does it have anything to do with…” She gestured vaguely around,
not knowing how to finish the thought.
“You mean Khaavira.”
Clora looked up, stunned. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Well, that type of magic is rare but useful in battle. Through a series of lengthy
processes, a magical creature can be persuaded to obey a mage.” A shake of his head.
“It has nothing to do with this raqsaan flower seeking you out.”
“Huh.” She turned back to the dancing flower. “And how do you know Khaavira.”
One of Esnoz’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “He is the Grand Royal Mage
of Trinaar, Clora. Of course I know him.”
“That makes sense. Sorry.” It was as good a time as any to fish for news and soothe
her worries. “Have you heard anything about him recently?”
“No. Why?”
“No reason,” she replied nonchalantly. “How about the academy? Did you manage
to confirm my claims and find out what happened after I got away? About the
Protector and everything?” What she really wanted to know was if Elora had escaped,
but she couldn’t possibly ask that without raising his suspicion.
Esnoz picked up a smooth oval stone and tried to catch the flower’s attention. “I
did do some digging and something important has certainly happened there. But
Trinaar is keeping things as quiet as they can.”
The flower ran back and stood in front of the bending young man. Eyeing the
stone curiously, it took the offering in its tiny hands. Esnoz nodded with an
encouraging smile.
In response, the creature gave an adorable laugh and, with a sudden swift
movement, threw the stone at his head.

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 “Ow!” Esnoz shouted, straightening as the naughty thing ran away. He glared at its
back and rubbed his forehead before he looked back at Clora. “If you tell me what it
is that you’re truly after, I might be able to help you.”
For a moment, Clora hesitated. The young man—and most of the caravan’s people,
really—had proven trustworthy in the past month. She considered just telling him
outright, but then Christis’s words echoed in her ears: Never tell anyone of your relation
to Elora. You must never forget that.
Instead, the girl shrugged. “It’s nothing important.” Since her inquiry had been
fruitless, she made to say her farewells and depart, but a question Taaless had failed
to answer suddenly intruded on her thoughts. “Esnoz? Do you know who Peraasians
were?”
“Of course! Learning about the various peoples of Serinor has been an obsession
of mine, be they old or new. As for those of Peraas…” He faced the setting sun, eyes
following a dancing cloud of black and white pollen. “Peraasians were a people of old
who lived in the eastern parts of Serinor hundreds of years ago. They were powerful,
immensely so, both in wielding magic and as an influential nation. But all of a sudden,
they began to die one after another. And not just any death, but gruesome ones.
“Some believed it to be the work of Black Death, the elusive monster, but”—he
shook his head—“that creature never hunts down specific people, so it’s unlikely to be
its work. Their western cousins are of the same belief.” A regretful sigh. “Anyhow, the
slaughter continued until, at last, the Peraasians were no more. The genocide was so
swiftly done you could not believe they had once been of the major powers of this
continent.”
Clora’s blood ran cold. “But why?”
“You know about intrinsic magical instinct, right?”
A nod. “Taaless told me it’s the distinction between the ripe and unripe. The ripe
have that ability to wield magic inside them from birth, which we call the magical

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instinct. Those with a stronger magical instinct are inevitably more powerful when it
comes to wielding it. This is true for both ravaan and Infinite magic—the unripe don’t
have either instinct, the ripe have one or both.”
“Precisely!” Esnoz beamed at her. “Now, about six hundred ago, two peoples lived
on the opposite sides of Serinor whose instinct for Infinite magic was stronger than
any could dream of—two nations that were the envy of all: Peraas and its western
cousin, Liano. Have you heard of them?”
A pause. “Just a little. I don’t know much.”
“Well, some say these two races are related while others disagree. The Peraasians
and Lianese certainly had their amount of power in common—so much so that they
had left all other Serinorians in the dust. Their relations were tricky and conflicts
between them often, but their support of any side could turn the tides of war. Their
difference, however, was in their two magical specialties.”
He lifted his right forearm, palm up. His face set in concentration and a piece of
ice took form in his hand. “Do you see this?” His ring was glowing in the dark of the
evening. Suddenly, the ice burst into flame, flares of red and blue twisting to throw a
violet shadow on the young man’s face. Clora could not tell if it was ice or fire
anymore. Finally, with an abrupt sharpening of the blaze, the war of two elements
came to an end and the ice and fire evaporated.
Esnoz dusted off his palms together. “That is what we call ‘performant magic.’ It
means magic that is performed in a moment and ends soon after. But all magic—
ravaan or Infinite—has two types: performant and permanent. Unlike performant
magic, the permanent kind is lasting. It could be rooted in magical tools that align
with the wielder’s intrinsic abilities or be a charm whose effects remain long after.
These are the two divisions where Peraas and Liano differed.
“Peraasians were masters of performant magic, unmatched in all of Serinor, and
the Lianese were the same in permanent magic. Lianese warriors wield a kind of

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weapon called kahbod, which is the manifestation of their powers and comes in all
shapes and sizes, made specifically for a warrior’s specialties. That’s too complicated
a topic to dive deep into right now, so let’s leave it at that and get back to your
question.”
He stared right into her eyes. “Why, you ask? Why kill off an entire race? Well,
when you think of their significance and ensaaniat’s inherent tendency for envy and
greed, that’s not so difficult a question to answer, is it? The massacre was too organized
to be random; too calculated to be the work of anyone but other powers of Serinor.
The attackers hid their footsteps well—no one could figure out whose work it was. But
it doesn’t take that much a stretch of imagination to guess.”
“But you just said Peraasians were of the most powerful! How were they defeated?”
A pained, halting laugh escaped the mage. “Guile has always conquered strength,
Clora; it always has and forever will.” The corners of his lips curved up. “But never
fear—the Peraasians did take their revenge, in the end. When Peraas was destroyed,
other rulers fell on their lands like vultures. That was when Maalaano’s curse struck.”
“Maalaano?”
“He was the leader of Peraasians. They were slow to respond, compared to the
speed and efficiency of the slaughter. But they did strike back. Still, their own race
was lost, becoming a myth on the wind. Rarely do people know of them these days;
mostly only those with an interest in history. That’s why no one recognized your
Peraasian ancestry. I bet they think the black skin around your eyes is just a
birthmark.”
At first, Clora did not reply, too confused. Then she voiced the question that
baffled her. “You’re saying that I’m of an extinct people? How is that possible?”
Raising his index finger, he softly knocked on the girl’s forehead. “My question
exactly. The only reasonable answer is that Peraasians are not, after all, extinct. There

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were always rumors that some had survived, but it was all just rumors. You, Clora, are
the evidence.”
Silence again. “What about the Lianese? Didn’t you say they were of the major
powers of Serinor? Then why is there so little word of them around compared to
others like Kena?”
“That is because, after the genocide of their eastern counterparts, Liano cut itself
off from everyone else, throwing their people into poverty with their mistrust. They
were of the belief that a group of nations had plotted against Peraas and would come
for them next. Word is that even now, the conspiracies to end them once and for all
continue.”
“What do you mean? What conspiracies?”
A mournful twist of his mouth dragged his features down until his face spoke the
pure language of sorrow. “There is no evidence but—” An audible swallow. “Lately,
an epidemic has been ravaging Liano—help sent from Keroneh and Kena is all that
keeps them standing. I don’t think the epidemic just came about naturally.”
Clora watched him, lost in thought. Before she could ask about the disease, the
flower’s scream made her jump. “Ugh!” She had not noticed the light creature coming
to sit on her shoulder.
That made Esnoz chuckle. “I should go and finish my tasks,” he said, sounding
ashamed. Clora got the sense that he was escaping any more talk of death and
violence, and she understood. Esnoz was a rather sensitive soul and got mocked for
it, too—not that anyone dared say it to the mage’s face.
She decided to leave him be and perhaps return later to ask more about Peraasians
and the Lianese. “Thank you for all that,” she replied with a grateful smile.
With a tiny wave, she headed into the rows of tents toward her own, her mind
preoccupied. It seemed the more answers she got the more questions followed in their
wake. Thoughts of the Peraasians’ genocide refused to leave her alone. This is just great,

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she sighed internally. The Castle of Illusions, my mother’s backward family, greedy mass
murderers … What else? What other homicidal hunters do I have to worry about? What other
threats dogging my shadow?
Like a dark, suffocating wave, loneliness swallowed her up. She could not imagine
fighting all these demons on her own, with a sword she had no idea how to swing.
But, lost as she was, who was there to help her now? Elora and Christis might not be
even alive and if they were, the chances of her finding them were so low as to be
nonexistent. There was Taaless though, and, perhaps…
Her eyes involuntarily sought the raqsaan flower perched on her right shoulder.
She wondered if she could count it on the list, too. Who else would dare anger a
pekeen to save her? Maybe it was just there by chance and felt like eating the butterflies out of
hunger. The thought sounded ridiculous even in her head—it had attacked exactly the
eghvaagars that ensnared her, not the other one.
Could she trust it, then? She wanted to—the jolly, jaunty, jovial flower soothed her
frayed nerves, but the mystery of its strange behavior made her apprehensive. Yet,
hadn’t she learned that strange was the true normal? That the world was an odd place
and the more she’d see, the more mysteries would haunt her?
Decided, she gave the little creature (which was yet again yawning) a bright smile.
“Yes, I can trust you! After all, what’s one more curiosity on top of all the rest?”

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 CHAPTER 2
Daas

W
ith a sword hanging from his belt and his back leaning against a brick
wall, Daas considered the three-story building on Naigaa’s Fifth
Avenue. It was newly built and colored pale-green, rising from the side
of the cobbled street and trying to imitate a normal house—poorly, at that. A terrace
with no door; three dark windows looking down on the bustling path; crude and basic
carvings on the corners.
No one was fooled. Every single person on that street knew the house was really a
three-layered Warfare Structure, capable of reducing a whole section of the city into
ashes in a matter of seconds. It just so happened that no one cared.
After the horrendous deaths of close to seventy marshals just outside the city,
Naigans had spent the last month quivering in fear. The addition of the destructive
Structures next to their homes had pleased most of the citizens; they did not care that
the Structure’s simple appearance could transform in a flash (to do what, God only
knew) so long as it looked inconspicuous and did not intrude on their safe little lives.
Others, of course, strongly disagreed, believing such weapons did not discriminate
between friend and foe and would set fire to the quilt trying to get rid of the louse.
Among the dissenters was Elder Aaron—miraculously, the marshal had survived the
meters-high fall into the depths of the woods.
The sight of Petro stepping out of the bakery broke Daas out of his brooding. For
someone who made it a point to enjoy every minuscule thing in life and whose hands
were filled with iced buns, the slim cadet looked rather sour. “Asshole,” he was
muttering to himself, “it’s not like it’s my fault your sales have dropped!”
Still grumbling under his breath, Petro reached his silent friend and followed
Daas’s eyes to the new Structure. “They no longer even bother with discretion, huh?”
He threw Daas a cautious sidelong glance. “Rightfully so, of course,” he added.
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 Daas knew exactly where Petro was trying to lead the conversation and did not take
the bait. He had talked enough about the day when the red of his comrades’ blood
painted a scene of death on a green canvas; the day lives were lost and limbs cut off,
all for nothing—the Day of Butchering, people called it. And it did not matter that
none of that talking had been with Petro, the friend he’d only been reunited with two
days ago.
After the bewildered Architects had slowly awoken to find a kneeling Daas at the
center of the carnage, the reinforcements had arrived within the hour and taken them
all to the city guards’ station. The four Architects had been released instantly, but
Daas was a whole other story. They’d moved him to a layered Structure where he was
to be held in custody, then the unending stream of questions had begun.
Who were the attackers?
Why are you the only one to remain alive?
How did the Lianese girl’s chainvest open?
And on and on and on. They repeated the same questions again and again as if
expecting his answers to change; first each of the city guards, then their officer, and
then six days of silence as he stayed imprisoned in the Structure. But all of that was
nothing compared to when, after the six days of anticipation, a group of Maazini
investigators arrived and Daas’s true problems started.
His greatest crime was opening Naysiyah’s chainvest, the responsibility of which
Aaron immediately took on himself as he’d been the one to order it. But when the
investigators brought up his past with Serbino, an executed spy, no one could
dissuade them.
The need for further investigations was announced in the coming months, during
which Daas was to stay in confinement until his name was cleared. Only with the
support and guarantees of Aaron and Paaneh and the help of their friends in the
capital was Daas able to earn his freedom after twenty-nine days of captivity—and even
that temporarily.
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 His arrival at the dormitory was met with an uneasy hush. He had expected the
other cadets to immediately pounce on him but, apparently, the Elder had paid a visit
to his brothers the day before, explaining the young man’s predicament and asking
them to leave him alone. To be fair, the cadets had listened more than expected; other
than brief mentions, nothing had been said to him about the slaughter of a month
ago and Daas was quietly grateful for that.
Now, after two days of holing up in their room, Petro had dragged his best friend
out in the hopes of saving him from his own mind. And, it seemed, also to get a word
out of him about the Day of Butchering.
No, he was done reliving those memories.
At the thought, images of chopped-up limbs and shattered skulls flashed before his
eyes. He blinked, sweat coating his brow as he struggled to keep himself from
spiraling. Easier said than done. “How many more of these Structures are there now?”
he said out loud to distract himself.
“Four, I think,” Petro replied bitterly. “Each in one section of the city. Though
these are only the ones inside Naigaa. I’ve heard there’s outside.”
Without a word, Daas began to walk down the paved path, Petro keeping up with
his unhurried pace. There was no need to be in a rush since the cadets’ finals had
been postponed due to the recent events—not that it made a difference for Daas either
way.
Petro took a big bite out of one of the buns as he passed another to Daas.
“Tonight’s the big arm-wrestling finale.”
“Between who?” Daas asked with as much enthusiasm as he could muster; which
was none, in all honesty.
“Aarmaan—the big guy, I mean—against our brainless Nimaan.”

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 Daas’s efforts to be present hit a dead-end, and he could not even hum in reply.
Sensing his need for silence, Petro stopped talking as well and they continued their
silent stroll down one of the most beautiful cobbled streets of Naigaa.
Even though the cold bleached the soul from the colorful stones, Daas still took a
small amount of joy in the simplicity of the life bustling around him. His gaze followed
a pattern on the ground, settling on a batch of stones, painted red—red, like the blood
dripping from Naysiyah’s trembling lips.
He inhaled sharply, bringing him back to his body. When he gazed around this
time, he saw not the contentment he’d assumed but what lay beyond the veil. He saw
worried glances and nervous feet; he saw the lie they repeated to themselves to cope
with their fear, written clearly on their faces: the power of the Architects will keep us safe.
They ignored the deaths, the defeat, thinking that would simply make it all go away.
Daas had heard of their made-up ceremony, gathering around the Betrayer Architect’s
statue every sunset to pray for the Shield’s health.
The government did its best to maintain the façade, too. No one knew the details
of the Day of Butchering, the reason for the creature’s attacks or their source, and any
and all investigations were done in secrecy. “It was a fluke,” they said. “A small attack
that will never happen again. The new Warfare Structures, the limitations on exiting
the city’s borders, the dusk-to-dawn curfew … They are all only precautions taken for
your safety.”
Still, the air was thick with tension. Even with all their attempts at going about
their normal lives, the people went out less and partied less than that. From cadet to
marshal and officer, all the members of Perigaad’s Armed Forces spent every moment
with hands on their swords, awaiting another attack.
The only thing that did not make sense to Daas was Petro’s endless glow of life.
His high spirits were a constant in the chaos, only occasionally interrupted by a little

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grumbling. From the moment Daas had walked into their room again, he had been
the ecstatic soul of those dreary walls.
Confused and suspicious, Daas had asked him about the reason. In response, Petro
had guffawed. “Why shouldn’t I be? Finally, finally, we can hold our heads high!” Seeing
the look on his giant friend’s face, the boy had gone on, “Just look around! No one
ever cared for us. The Azure Army was the butt of all jokes—the useless nobodies of
Perigaad who never had a voice in this land of Architects. But now? They say the only
person who could fight the invaders and come out alive was an Azure Army cadet—a
cadet. People respect us, Daas. Respect!”
Daas had just looked at him, full of reproach.
“Look,” the boy had added placatingly, “I’m not saying the fact that so many people
died is something to celebrate. I’m just pointing out the half of the glass that’s full.
You have no idea how many Naigans have asked me if I know the cadet who lived,
and I’ve told them all proudly that yes, that guy is my best friend! An old lady stopped
me just yesterday to pray for me, man.”
He’d had nothing to say to that, because Petro was right. In the next two days, Daas
had quickly realized how much of a hero he had become among the people.
Dormitory, training grounds, alleys and streets and shops—wherever he went, eyes of
those who knew who he was followed him. A hush fell whenever he walked into their
common room, whispers rising as he left. His friends eagerly awaited the day he would
open his lips and tell the tale of the day all their lives had changed.
But he was not a hero, and he had done nothing heroic on the Day of Butchering.
He was a liar, a deceiver, who had watched as true heroes died to save him.
“Daas, what is up with you?” Petro’s concerned voice pulled him out of his self-
hatred. “It’s like you’re always lost in another world. I leave you alone for a single
moment and poof! You’re off to dreamland. God knows when you’ll come back down
here if I don’t forcibly drag you down.”

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 Daas did not respond, looking straight ahead.
“Look, I get that you’re hurt and all that must have been a lot to handle. I mean,
that massacre’s left everyone shaken, but you were there and saw it first-hand—it’s
different. But we’re warriors, Daas. You know how it goes: Warriors must kill or be killed.
Or my favorite one:”—his tone turned dramatic, hands lifting—“Warriors walk a knife’s
edge—one side life, one side death.”
For the first time in days, a smirk twisted Daas’s lips. “Aren’t you the one who
threw up your guts into a bucket after a certain execution more than a month ago?”
Squinting at his treacherous friend, Petro raised a threatening finger. “You can
stop bringing that up for every little thing! I had food poisoning, alright?”
“Ah, really? But that’s the first time I’m hearing of this”—he curled his fingers in
the air—“food poisoning.”
Petro swatted at him, annoyed. “Whatever. Where to now? The library?”
He threw up both shoulders. “Makes no difference to me. Wherever you like.”
“The library it is, then.”
Daas could tell his cheerful friend assumed a little reading would do him some
good. But to his surprise, Daas felt no spark of enthusiasm at the thought of diving
into a book. The lack of interest was so shocking he almost stumbled.
A month later, and he was only just understanding how badly that day had hit him.
For the first day after the slaughter, Daas had been utterly numb. He’d watched
guards march him over to room after room, half-delirious. But that first night when
he lay in his cell, nightmares pounced on him and he woke, soaked in sweat. It was
then, trapped in those walls and answering question after question, that the truth had
begun to sink in. Slowly, his fear and revulsion mounted. Each question took him
back to the meadow, each night painting the scenes of violence in bold strokes of a
cruel brush. Again and again, he was reminded of his failure—of the lives lost because

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of him. With every passing day, the walls of the interrogation room closed in around
him more tightly.
He’d had two days of freedom since then, two days to try and find himself and walk
away from the fear and suffocation, but this feeling did not seem willing to leave him
so easily.
He had not contacted the Voice, either. He couldn’t; not yet. Doubts were all he
had for now. Why this war? Why so much death? What was the reason for the murder
of the Lianese? What was the reason he’d been the one to stand witness to the
Butchering and remain to tell the tale? Five million people live within this damned Shield—
why me? Why do I have to be a spy at all? Why all these secret—
“From Serinor to Mister Daasiaac Benor, do you copy? I repeat: from—”
At Daas’s glare, Petro stopped midsentence. A shameless grin was sitting on his soft
face. Daas ignored him, turning to look ahead. He was greeted by the sight of the
Grand Library towering over all the other buildings. It was surrounded by numerous
bushes and trees, its pale, smooth walls shining in the light of morning. The young
cadet had used to come here every day before the Day of Butchering, but it had been
a month since he’d laid eyes on the library.
An unexpected serenity filled him, a faint smile lifting the corners of his bloodless
lips. Perhaps Petro was right—some reading might very well help him crawl out of this
hole. Without thinking, his mind flew to the books he could read. It was as good a
time as any to learn more about the backstory behind the Lumaakia Uprising, or seek
the myths of the Holy Mounts, or even complete his lacking knowledge on the
Mounts of Might.
As if reading the life slowly seeping into his heroic friend’s veins, Petro puffed up
his thin chest. Gloating, he swept his left hand forward. “Ladies first.”
A hoarse laugh escaped Daas, startling them both. Pure delight danced in Petro’s
green eyes at the sound. Together, the two young men approached the building,

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meaning to lose themselves in old tomes. But they had not yet reached the steps when
a high voice rose from behind.
“Daas!”
Shocked, the pair spun on their heels, even though they didn’t need to turn to
recognize its owner. It was Paaneh, running toward them with a broad smile. She was
panting when she finally reached them, her cheeks red and inky wide-open gaze
glowing. “Hey, you two!”
Petro’s answering “Hi” was lively and eager, Daas’s the exact opposite. “Long time
no see, our mighty Architect.” Petro’s innocent poking brought a small curve to
Daas’s lips—he spoke as if he’d known Paaneh for years and not only two meetings.
“Indeed,” she replied breathlessly, her eyes remaining locked on Daas. Her black
hair had grown to hang slightly beneath her ears. Today, her formal long tunic and
pants were a vivid mixture of jade and amber. “I thought you would come here sooner.
Was there an issue?” Her words were for Daas this time.
He gave her a ghost of a smile, but no response. “Oh, yes,” Petro cut in instead,
“an issue the size of a massacre.”
A nod of understanding. The woman was clearly not in the mood for the boy’s
quips. “Sorry I couldn’t come get you when you were released,” she added to Daas.
“How are things?”
“It’s alright,” he said at last. “There is nothing else you could do.” The cold
indifference of his tone gave both his companions pause.
Petro chuckled, bumping his shoulder. “Our boy is such a delicate flower. Don’t
worry, Paaneh, it’ll take some time.”
That made her laughed along. “You might just be right, Petro.” A wink. “Off to
the library, are we? I’d love to tag along.”
Daas was amazed by how little she’d changed despite everything—it was as if nothing
had happened. Or perhaps I’m the one overreacting. He shook away the thought.

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Whatever the case, he was still partially to blame for those deaths. Him, and the
eternal battle of Architects and the Lianese. The truth was that, no matter how or
where their two peoples clashed, the inevitable result had always been and would
always be devastating. It was the polarity of the two opposing forces. Their nature.
And he was a Lianese and Paaneh an Architect, and to think there could ever be peace
between them was an illusion.
“There he goes again. From Serinor to Mister Daa—” A glare from Daas made the
boy swallow the rest.
Paaneh tittered at their exchange and put a playful hand on her waist. “What’s the
matter, Daas? Could it be that my company is bothering you?”
Rage bloomed inside Daas’s heart; he could not believe the woman’s nonchalance.
“You know what?” he said, keeping his tone level. “It actually is. I see no reason why
you’ve been waiting for me here. Or why we should keep seeing each other.” Disbelief
and hurt dawned on Paaneh’s face. As the usual light left her eyes, guilt squeezed his
insides.
“Daas…” Petro warned. He looked confounded, and rightly so—Daas was known
as the calm, polite warrior. The model of composure.
A moment passed as Architect and Army cadet stared at one another. “Petro,” she
finally said, “could you leave us, please?”
The boy straightened. “Sure, sure!” With a last baffled glance sent Daas’s way, he
headed back down the street and into a shop.
“Daas, what’s the matter? Why are you being like this?”
“Like what? What have I done? Is it a crime to not come to the library?”
“Now is not the time to act childish, Daas.” Her words lacked her ever-present
warmth with that laughter perched just underneath. Instead, they carried a weight he
was not used to hearing from Paaneh. “You cannot back out, don’t you see?”
“I am not a child, Paaneh, and I’m well aware of my circumstances. There is no
need for your assistance.”
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 The woman seemed to be struggling to maintain her cool. “I know things have
been extremely difficult for you lately, but these are crucial times. I’m sure you
understand that.” Two piercing dark eyes looked into his, aware and inescapable,
saying words her mouth could not. “Don’t you?”
Daas’s blood curdled. Crucial times? What does she mean? He tried to appear
unperturbed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There was no sign of the gleeful girl of only a few minutes ago in the serene and
silent woman standing in front of him; almost as if a veil had been abruptly torn away.
“I don’t believe you require clarification, Daas. You and I both know you have much
to hide.”
It was like a bucket of freezing water had been dumped on his head. How does she
know? How long has she known? His mask slid from between his fingers before he
immediately tightened his grasp. “Well, you’re wrong.” He took a step back. “Farewell,
Paaneh. Thank you for ensuring my freedom from imprisonment.”
“They’re coming for you,” her firm voice stopped him in his tracks. “Already, a
group of Maazinaan’s fiercest investigators are in Naigaa; you need to be more
cautious than ever, Daas. They don’t intend to let you walk free. They’re coming for
you and soon—you’ll be taken to the capital for a ravaan test.”
The words hit him like a brick, one after another. For a ravaan test. A ravaan test.
Horror filled the young man to the brim. That test will reveal everything—my bloodline,
my connection with the Voice. A ravaan test will be my ruin.
As the news settled in his mind, another emotion followed in the wake of his
horror—one he could not have anticipated. Calm took over his nerves and a whisper
escaped him, “Perhaps it’s better if they do.”
At that, Paaneh lost her control. “Don’t be a fool, Daas! Do you even know what
they will do to you if your role is revealed? There is no mercy in their blood, do you
get that?”

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 He could read the fear in Paaneh’s eyes as easily as if she were an open book,
deciphered and ready to be discovered at last. Daas looked up, his rough fingers
tracing the bronze hilt of the cadets’ sword. It was then that Serbino’s words came
back to him. “‘One way or another, the truth will always find a way out from under
your bed of secrets.’” He shook his head, gaze glued to the woman’s. “There is nothing
I can do to stop it, Paaneh. So let it come.” Without waiting for a response, the lost
spy turned and took off for the dormitory.
***
The west-facing window of their room let in the golden rays of the setting sun,
falling on their simple accommodations: two single beds with bleached coverings; a
shared closet of dark wood, a small oaken desk, an immaculate full-length mirror, and
two worn chairs, all set neatly around the place.
Sitting on his bed with knotted hands, Daas eyed the sword he’d laid against the
side of the closet. Hours had passed since the failed venture to the library (he’d even
had lunch), and yet he was still haunted by the puzzle that was Paaneh. There was no
doubt in his mind that she knew his secret, but this raised two questions: how had
she found out and why had she kept quiet about it?
He put his face in his palms, feeling defeated. All of that was nothing against his
true fear: the ravaan test. What do I do what do I do. Panic threatened to drown him. If
they put him in the path of those ravaan radiations, not only would its reflection on
the screen—his innerprint—not be a straight line, but the anomalies would show his
exact heritage. And if they decided to continue to the more advanced tests, then all
the magic performed by and on him would be revealed—including his link to the
Voice, established for telemind communication.
After that, his only fate would be a gruesome beheading.
I have to tell the Voice, he realized. Because of his doubts, Daas had avoided speaking
to his contact despite having been released from captivity. But this was no joking

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matter. They had to find a way out of this. Maybe they already know and have a plan.
The sudden flare of hope was a balm to his tense muscles.
The sound of an opening door startled him out of his thoughts. Kaari strolled into
the room, Petro on his heels. It seemed knocking was still not in fashion among the
cadets.
Kaari drew up a chair, plopping down. “What’s up, Daas?” Petro followed suit.
Daas gave his friends a cursory look, squinting as the slight boy grinned. “Not
much. What brings you here?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to see how our hero is doing.” Kaari scratched his nose,
grinning as well. That wide smile was the only thing the two had in common. One
was short and slim, the other tall and broad-shouldered. One’s eyes drew all the
attention in his round face, the other’s were dwarfed by his thick brows and long
nose. In one’s features danced innocent mischief, while the other’s bore a serious
undertone. Where half of Petro’s buttons were open and his sword nowhere to be
seen, the regard for responsibility was visible in the way Kaari’s vest remained straight
and fully buttoned with his sword at his side.
For all their relative smallness, though, Kaari’s eyes were sharp as a blade—and they
were focused on Daas. “Everything alright?”
“I wasn’t aware there was even such a thing as an ‘alright’ these days.”
He ignored the remark. “You seem better. Compared to a couple of days ago, at
least. When you arrived, you were more like a walking corpse than anything else.”
Petro bobbed his head vigorously. “Tell me about it!”
Daas did not reply. It was apparent the two of them had come for more than simple
chitchat, and he was going to keep quiet until they revealed their intentions.
When the silence had stretched long enough to be awkward, Kaari finally spoke
up. “Are you wondering why we’re here?”
“I’m more concerned with the reason behind that stupid smirk on Petro’s face.”

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 Quick as an arrow, Petro reached for a comb hanging beside the mirror and acted
as if to throw it at Daas. Kaari laughed at his antics. “I’ve brought a message from
Aaron. He said you are to go to Maazinaan.”
Daas did not notice the cold seeping into his bones. “When? And what for?”
“In two days. I don’t know the exact reason, but I’m sure we can both guess.” A
shake of his head. “Those events are not something to be brushed away so easily, and
you are the only living witness to have seen it all. I doubt there will any problems,
though.”
Daas frowned at his certainty. “And what do you have to do with this?”
“My family live in the capital, Daas. They’re all Architects.”
“They what?” Petro jumped. The roommates gaped at the mysterious friend whose
life they knew nothing about.
“Hadn’t I told you before?”
“Oh, of course you had,” the boy shot back sarcastically. “We just happen to be old
men with memory loss.”
A smile. “Doubtlessly!” He rubbed his nape, looking away.
“What are you doing here?” Daas whispered in puzzlement. “You could’ve had a
comfortable life in Maazinaan.”
A dark shadow fell on the young man’s face. “It’s not exactly fun seeing your whole
family compete with each other to move up the ladders of a society that only values
their existence, all while you watch from the sidewalk—a nobody, a nothing in a
country built for the few, tolerating the pitying looks of those who share your blood.
They treated me well enough, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. That’s why I joined
the Azure Army.”
He let out a long breath then and leaned back. “Never mind, I’m not here to talk
about my family. You ask what I have to do with any of this?” His eyes sought Daas’s.
“Aaron came to me, saying he did not want you to be treated as a prisoner again while

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in Maazinaan, and I agree. We’ve decided you’ll reside at my family’s house during
your stay.” At his audience’s stunned silence, he tilted his head. “Is there a problem?”
“Well, no, I mean, yes,” Daas stammered. “Not that I wouldn’t love to. But … I
think it’s best if I go to the residence they’ve arranged for me.”
Kaari nodded. “Aaron thought you’d say that. He told me to let you know that you
do not have a say in this.”
Daas let out a breath in response.
A grin set Kaari’s feature alight. “They’re a goofy bunch, but decent enough. And
don’t worry, Petro and I will be coming with you. It’s been a long time since I last saw
my dear mother and, unbelievable as it is, I miss my father’s incessant nagging—I don’t
think I’d even zone out this time!”
Daas turned to his best friend. “Now I see what the smirk was about. Of course,
you wanted to tag along on a trip to the mysterious capital.”
Petro raised both arms in surrender. “Brothers in arms, brothers in blood,
remember? Brothers don’t leave brothers behind.”
Rising, Kaari straightened his vest. “Well, that’s it for now. And keep the family
thing to yourselves or we’ll have words. I’m talking to you, Petro. Understood?”
“I swear it on my life! Unless my life is in danger, of course.”
He rolled his eyes. “We shouldn’t miss the arm-wrestling match,” he added,
steeping through the threshold. “You guys coming?”
***
For a few hours after the duo departed, Daas lay on his bed. The sun had said its
final farewells a while ago and now the room was home to shadows and gloom. He
could not even bother with lighting a candle.
Shivers had taken over his body, breath coming out in halted gasps. What would
they do to him when they found out? What do they do when they realized Daasiaac
Benor, the exemplary Azure Army cadet of Naigaa, the hero of the Day of Butchering,

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was a spy? Would they understand his predicament? Would they care that he’d never
had a choice?
Or did I? The thought gave him pause. No, no I didn’t—I don’t! Since he’d been a
child, Daas had been taught to be careful and responsible. His only ally, his guardian,
had weighted his shoulders down with secrets that were the difference between life
and death. He’d put the child in Daas on a tightrope and warned him to never slip,
never falter.
He did not blame Serbino. He knew the man well enough to know that he would
have taken the weight of the entire world on his back to avoid putting this burden on
Daas’s. But the world betrayed Serbino and he was captured. How, Daas did not
know, but he knew his guardian’s fate—he’d watched it with his own two ten-year-old
eyes. It was a fate that would soon befall him too.
Abruptly, Daas sat up. He was not brave enough to look death in the face and not
tremble in fear. Perhaps that fear of death would be his downfall, his worst shame.
But still, he was afraid.
Sliding off the bed, he went to the mirror and combed his hair, as if preparing for
an important meeting. With a deep breath and a last look at his pallid reflection, Daas
grabbed a notebook for cover and left to seek an escape from his fate.
***
The door of his usual second-floor hideout swung open on silent hinges. He went
through the motions as if a month had not passed in his absence: stepping on familiar
footprints; closing the door; striking flint and steel; and, at last, beginning to inspect
every corner of the room.
In the flickering light of the torch, Daas could see the fine layer of dust coating
every surface. On the desk and the floor, the places where his prints had been were
now, too, covered by the passage of time, though still visible as lighter batches amid
the rest. Satisfied, he moved.

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 When he eventually sat down on his chair, having carefully walked on the same
prints to light the candle and return the torch, he exhaled. The candle flame was a
beacon in the aged darkness of those four walls and Daas’s eyes a moth. In it, he could
see his whole life burning to ash. There was no choice. Determined, he let blood join
fire once more, cursing the red that flowed in his veins as he did so.
If only it was not mine—this heritage, this task. Damn you, Voice. Damn all of Liano, he
thought, but the words he spoke begged to differ. “Long live the Lianese.”
Moments ticked away in silence until, after more than four weeks of silence, the
Voice spoke in his ears again. “Liano indeed deserves our salute.”
“Liano deserves our lives,” he whispered back, and the connection was confirmed.
“So, you have been freed. I am elated!” It certainly sounded like it to Daas. Still, he
could not muster any joy in response. “I know how hard the past month must have been
for you, my friend. What happened was horrendous, the fact that you had to see it even more
so. I, too, am mourning the loss of our comrades. But time is short and our people need us.
Urgently.”
“I understand, but there have been complications.” A deep breath. “I am to be
taken to Maazinaan for identification.”
“What? How do you—”
Then the strangest thing happened: a sudden whine drowned out the Voice and,
for the first time ever, the connection fell apart on its own.
For a breath, Daas sat in the following silence, stunned. Then he quickly squeezed
another drop of blood out of his finger and onto the flame. Concentrating, he
instantly began to hear the hesitant voice of his contact, calling for him. “Is anyone
there?”
“I can hear you,” Daas replied quickly.
“What happen—” the Voice began, but cut themself off midsentence.

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 The young spy frowned—a distant sound was coming from afar. It was like a
whisper, growing louder with every passing second. He caught the word both and
squinted, trying to make out the rest.
At last, the whisper rose loud enough for him to hear the seven words being
repeated again and again: You will both pay for your crimes.
The Voice’s shout broke into Daas’s dawning horror. “We’ve been compromised!
RUN! NOW!”
With a bang, his chair hit the floor as Daas shot to his feet. His hand hit the desk
and it shook, making the candle fall over the side and go out. The connection went
with it. Snatching up his notebook, the shaking spy abandoned all caution and ran
out the door.

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 CHAPTER 3
Clora

T
he sound of crackling fire filled the cool night air, hissing at the dripping
fat of the bull being roasted atop it. Clora stared at their dinner, surrounded
by the chattering guards. Next to her, Taaless’s stomach grumbled loudly,
earning him a few amused glances and friendly quips. The girl paid them no mind,
lost in thought.
A day had passed and the raqsaan flower had still not left. It sat on her left shoulder,
jiggling its feet in boredom. Clora had so quickly become used to its presence that it
was almost as if they’d known each other for years. Taaless claimed he’d heard
somewhere that raqsaan flowers made the most loyal of friends. He was fascinated by
it, too—apparently, he had never seen one with his own eyes and that was also why he
hadn’t recognized it that first time.
He didn’t know about the flower’s involvement in the pekeen incident, of course.
Clora had contemplated telling him and decided to wait for now. At a better time,
maybe, she promised herself.
Approaching footsteps made her look up. It was Deroba, coming to join them for
dinner. She hadn’t seen the old man since last night. At the sight of the flower,
Deroba stopped in his tracks. A smile lifted the corners of his lips.
“Hey, Deroba!” Taaless called to him. “Had you ever seen one of these creatures?”
He beamed “Of course! There are many of them around the White Mountain.”
“Oh,” a low voice jumped in, “so you must visit Kena a lot. Right?” Clora tried to
make out who it was, but the guard’s dark complexion blended with the shadows on
the other side of the fire.
“That I do. I used to live there, actually. Long ago. But now, I spend my days mostly
on the road.”

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 A delighted “Ha!” from the guard checking the beef put an end to their short
conversation. “Our bull is ready to be devoured, everyone!” The light of fire danced
on the long scar closing his left eye shut.
As a muscular woman rushed to help him cut up the sizzling meal, the other guards
went back to their own discussions and Clora to her role of silent observer. She loved
these nights—the comradeship, the company of friends, the contrast of the heat of fire
and the cool breeze of the night, the smell of a meal she could eat in peace. The girl
knew these were simple things but still she savored them; in the Castle of Illusions,
no such pleasures were allowed.
At the thought of her prison, unwelcome memories rose up from the depths of her
mind: dark tendrils of shadows all around her, reaching; a laashkhaar groaning close
by; Elikaar, sitting across from her, staring into her eyes—
A sudden squeal at her ear made her jump. Clora’s head spun to the right and she
came face to face with the flower. For a surprised moment, girl and creature looked
at each other before a grateful smile bloomed on Clora’s lips. As odd as it sounded,
she had a feeling the flower had understood her change in mood and knowingly
fetched her out of the drowning sea of her thoughts.
“Does your new friend have a name?” Taaless was watching them with eager eyes.
“You mean I should name it?”
“Is that a question?” The man eyed her like he was contemplating how such a fool
could even exist. “Of course you should name it! Any creature with an ounce of
intelligence or sentience needs a name. Let me show you.” He got to his feet and
gestured for Clora to follow suit.
The girl obeyed without a word.
“Now, ask it to climb down from your shoulder.”

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 Baffled, she turned to the flower. “Come down.” Without a pause, the creature
quickly climbed down her arm and jumped on the ground. It stood in front of her
with expectant eyes.
“See?” Taaless was looking at the flower in amazement. “It listens to you! There’s
certainly some intelligence in there, however little. You have to name it.”
“Well, umm.” She gazed at her small friend. It gazed back with innocent wide eyes,
its branch-hands held behind its back in an oddly human-like gesture. “What’s your
name?” the girl asked.
There was a moment of silence as the creature simply stared. Then—
“Booooo!” the flower cried out suddenly.
Taaless turned accusatory eyes to Clora. “Were you truly expecting an answer?”
“Well,” she said hesitantly, “maybe its name really is Boo?” In response, ringing
laughter sounded from the flower. It began bouncing up and down in clear glee.
Deroba, who had been watching their exchange with great interest, spoke up, “It’s
a beautiful name. Go on, try it and see if our friend answers to it.”
The girl looked down and patted her right shoulder. “Come on, Boo. Get up here.”
Immediately, Boo stopped laughing and grabbed on to Clora’s tunic. A blink, and
it was back on her shoulder with a beaming smile.
“That doesn’t count—it already listened to you,” Taaless cut in. “Boo,” he said,
focusing on the flower with intense eyes, “Come sit on my shoulder.” Boo did not
move, wiggling its small feet carelessly instead. The man started to look annoyed.
“Come on!”
A loud belch was the only reply he got. Clora and Deroba guffawed, shocked at the
impossible sound bursting out of the flower’s tiny body.
“You rude little thing,” Taaless muttered and sat down.
Ignoring his scowl, the girl turned to the old man. “How long do raqsaan flowers
live? This one looks so fragile.”

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 “Don’t worry,” Deroba said, stroking his beard. “They are stronger than they look.
Their branches might seem brittle but they’re quite difficult to break. Their petal-
shaped heads never wither, either. And when their leaves fall, they soon grow back.
All in all, they are resilient creatures.”
That gave Clora some comfort. Good friends had been rare in her life. Now, she
had one who loyally had her back and maybe even understood her. Noticing her stare,
Boo grinned at her and an unexpected warmth embraced the girl’s insides. She sat
back down next to Taaless.
“I have a question, Deroba,” the dark-skinned guy from across the fire called out.
“You said you’ve seen the White Mountain. Yes?” A nod. “What was it like?”
Deroba took his time looking ahead. “Breathtaking,” he finally said. “Mythical.
Enormous and impossible to miss as it pierced the sky.” He shook his head. “The
mountain is not actually white but green as kale for the countless trees that cover its
surface. It’s the pale mist that flows down from its summit, shrouding the mountain,
that turns it white with patches of green in the middle.
“At night, it glows, illuminating the land like a midnight sun. Creatures of all kinds
have made it their home, many never having ever come down from where they live at
its top. And in the air surrounding it … Ah, what a sight …” The old man drifted off
for a moment, eyes glazed. Then he continued dreamily, “Dancing tendrils of white
and green light. Phantom birds, painted any color you could imagine. And oh, the
moons! Three floating islands dwarfed by its immensity, spinning around the
mountain high up in the sky. Majestic—that’s the only way to describe it.”
A hush followed his words as they all tried to imagine the magical sight. The two
guards got up to distribute the chopped-up beef in silence.
Finally, Taaless’s voice joined the fire’s crackling against the quiet. “Your words are
cruel, old man—yours and every single person who’s whispered of the White
Mountain’s beauty to me.” A sigh. “I have to see it with my own eyes at least once
before I die. And I will. One day.”
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 “What about the Laayeq?” the woman helping hand out their meal changed the
subject, probably to banish the heavy mood descending on the group. “It’s Mage
Caalinaag now, isn’t it?”
Deroba gave a nod of affirmation.
“How many years has this one been in power?”
“This year will be the nineteenth one since Caalinaag was chosen.”
Clora had no idea what they were talking about. “What’s a Laayeq?” she asked
when her bite of roast beef had gone down. Instantly, more than ten gawking pairs of
eyes were on her. “What?” She looked around in confusion. “Is it something I’m
supposed to know?”
Deroba let out a small chuckle. “It’s alright, my child. This subject is one many are
still not very familiar with. To put it simply, Laayeq is the ruler of Kena and leader of
the White Union. The eight nations who are part of the Union are all independent
and have their own governments, but in the matters of international trade and the
keeping of peace, all obey the Laayeq, the chosen of the White Mountain.”
Clora was now even more confused. “What do you mean by ‘chosen’?”
“Someone deemed worthy, of course! The title is quite self-explanatory.”
“But worthy of what?” she insisted. “And who decides who’s worthy of whatever it
is and who’s not?”
The old man smiled, apparently delighted by her curiosity. “Worthy of being
followed. Of holding that much power. And it’s not any of us ensaans who chooses
who is worthy—it’s the White Mountain; a mountain the nations in the Union rely
on and keep sacred. It could be a mage, a farmer, it doesn’t matter. What matters is
the mountain deeming them worthy. Laayeq,” Deroba finished and took a bite out of
his dinner.
Clora’s brow creased. “You mean the White Mountain is intelligent? It can actually
come and choose someone?”

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 “No, no, not like that,” he said with a laugh. Then he took a moment to swallow
the mouthful before explaining. “When the previous Laayeq passes away, the
contenders for the title (who can be anyone and from anywhere) head for the
Phantom’s Cave set in the side of the mountain and attempt to enter it. Whoever
succeeds—or is, in other words, allowed to enter the cave by the mountain—takes up
the mantle of the Laayeq.”
“But how is the choice made? And why? Why this person?”
“I do not know. There are certainly many mysteries and even secrets that I’m
unaware of.” He watched her with raised eyebrows. When Clora kept quiet, he went
back to his meal.
The man with the dark skin contemplated his bull leg. “But it hasn’t always been
like this, has it?” he asked out loud. “Our history goes back thousands of years. There
can’t have always been this system of Laayeq and White Union.”
Deroba did not respond immediately as his mouth was full. Clora waited for the
answer as she ate her own dinner—she could understand the guard’s curiosity.
“Yes and no,” Deroba finally said. “The details are too much to get into but, in
short, the Laayeq has been known as the leader of Kena as long as there has been a
Kena—except for some insurrections and challenges throughout history. The same
goes for the White Union. However, the Union has not always been as we know it
today, made up of eight countries.” A shake of his head had his beard blowing.
“History is a tome of repeating twists and mysteriously missing pages, my friends.” At
that, the guard became lost in thought and Deroba went back to eating.
A relative quiet settled on the group as man and woman, old and young, all saw to
their stomachs. Soon, Clora felt full, even though her piece of meat was not yet
finished. She noticed the old man eyeing her—no, her flower friend who was sitting
on her shoulder. “Your Boo appears to be still hungry, child,” he noted.

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 Indeed, when the girl turned her head, she saw Boo staring at the remaining meat
in her hands. It had gobbled down its own share a while ago, but it didn’t seem to
have been enough. A flower that eats meat, she thought in wonder. Seeing the gleam
in its black eyes, Clora chuckled and offered Boo the rest of her share.
With a cheerful cry, the flower took the meat in its greasy leaf fingers. But as it
made to dig in, Boo suddenly hesitated. Its petals withered slightly, wrinkling and
losing color as the outer edge of its face bent down. Stretching the food toward the
girl, it let out a soft and lengthy “Vooooo.” Clora doubted the sounds the creature
made had meaning, but she could read the “But what about you?” in its shame-filled
eyes.
She caressed its petals with her other hand. “I’m not hungry. It’s all yours.”
That seemed to be enough for the flower. Boo brightened and attacked the meat
with both hands and face, devouring it with an insane speed.
“I must admit,” Deroba added, “I’ve never been much interested in raqsaan flowers.
But this one truly fascinates me.” With a last look at Boo, the old man turned to
Taaless and struck up a conversation about hunting with haans dogs.
“Let me put it like this,” Taaless was saying. “Haans dogs are not hunters but
trackers. They have the ability to smell the trail left by the ravaan of something specific,
be it a magical device (something whose ravaan has been tinkered with by ensaans) or
a magical being. And they also have a very useful characteristic: they change color
according to the changes in the surrounding area’s ravaan.”
Clora was drinking up the information, some new and some already explained to
her by Taaless. She would have been content to sit there for hours, listening and
learning, if not for the boy who chose that moment to show up and announce that
Aakaa wanted to see her in his tent.

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 Taaless broke off his conversation and glanced at the boy. “Did Aakaa himself send
you?” Getting a nod in response, he met Clora’s surprised eyes. “It’s alright. Go on,”
he urged.
“What do you think he wants with me?”
“Perhaps he’s found out something he wants to share.”
“Hmm. Aren’t you coming?”
“No,” Taaless shook his head. “He probably wants to speak with you alone.”
As the girl doubtfully rose to her feet, Boo hopped off her shoulder and followed
in her shadow. Clora contemplated telling the flower to stay behind, but she didn’t
think its presence would cause a problem and her mind was too preoccupied with
what Aakaa had to say to give it more thought. Did he have news from Trinaar? What
about Elora’s fate? Hope kindled in her heart and she sped up.
On her way, she inclined her head to those she passed—by now, many knew her
and acknowledged her presence somewhat warmly. A little more walking took her to
the entrance of Aakaa’s tent and she softly rang the bell hanging next to the flap. At
the low “Come on in,” Clora breathed in deeply and stepped in carefully, Boo on her
heels.
The inside looked exactly as it had on the first day: shelves filled with books upon
books, various flowers and twisting plants, a relatively large desk of dark brown wood,
and Aakaa sitting with a relaxed posture, watching her and Boo with penetrating eyes.
The flower was clinging to Clora’s right foot, staring at the man with childish
curiosity.
“Did you send for me?” Clora asked.
He smoothly got to his feet. “Come here.”
The girl hesitated for a second before internally scolding herself and walking
forward. She looked on in surprise as Aakaa stretched his hand to her. In them were
a few coins of silver and gold.
Clora took them from him, feeling their weight in wonder. “What are these for?”
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 “Your work. You earned it.” At her bafflement, he gave a faint smile and
straightened his collar. “We don’t force people into unfair servitude here, Clora.
Now, are there any issues? Anything you’d like to say or report?”
“No.” Her reply was absentminded, her focus still fixated on her pay.
“Then you may go.” He waved a hand. “I have much work to do.”
“That, that’s it? But I thought it was something important.”
His answering smile was so frail she could not tell if he was amused or upset.
“Giving people the fruits of their labor is important, wouldn’t you say?” He made to
sit down, but stopped. “I almost forgot,” he added breezily. “Your claims have been
confirmed. It appears one of the Protectors did indeed attack the Great Academy of
Trinaar. And if it’s of any importance to you”—he looked her dead in the eyes—“they
were not apprehended.”
And just like that, the fear that had been gnawing away at her for an entire month
evaporated with four words. An involuntary sigh of relief escaped the girl before she
put a lid on her emotions. “Well, thank you.” She put the coins in her pocket. “I
should go. Is there anything else?”
Aakaa sat down and leaned back against his chair. He looked exhausted but, for
the life of her, Clora could not understand why. She had no idea what the man did
during the day—he rarely left his tent and when he did, it was to leave the campsite.
What for, the girl had no idea.
“No. Except for what we are to do with you, of course. If people dispatched from
Trinaar find you here, we will all be in immense trouble.”
Clora shifted on her feet uncomfortably. She knew she owed Aakaa and the whole
caravan a great debt—a life debt. “I, I just want to say that I’m really grateful you took
me in. I couldn’t have survived without your help.”
An uncaring nod was what she got. “I will not claim to have done it out of the
goodness of my heart. To be completely honest with you, Clora, I helped you because

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I believe I will need your help in the future. So don’t put it down to my noble heart,
because I do not have one and such hope will only break yours. And while I might
have a heart of ice, I have no interest in doing such a thing. People who have faith in
my kindness always end up disappointed, and their pain is not something I am fond
of. Do you understand?”
“No, not really.”
“Good. The door is behind y…” Suddenly, his eyes glazed as his features sharpened.
“Oh,” he muttered to himself, “looks like someone is furious.”
At first, Clora did not understand what he was talking about, but the formidable
figure of Silliss storming in with a fluttering cloak and almost tearing off the tent flap
in the process gave her the answer she needed.
“Why,” she began, her voice sharp as a blade, “did you let Sen go?” Clora winced—
every word felt like a contained punch, even though it was not directed at her.
“When did you find out?” Aakaa replied in his usual level tone.
“Why?”
A pause. “I cannot force people to stay, Silliss.”
Moments passed in heavy silence as the pair stared at each other, one serene and
unmoving, the other tightly bound as a wrathful viper. Clora wanted nothing more
than to disappear, but the suffocating weight of the tent’s atmosphere rendered her
immobile.
Silliss’s coiled voice finally cut through the hush. “How much longer are you going
to keep waiting? Keep silent in front of that bitch? Many are still loyal to you as I am
and are waiting for just one hint.”
“We have waited this long; we can wait longer. One hasty move is enough to ruin
everything, and then it will be all for nothing.”
The woman closed her eyes and continued as if speaking to a child. “Things are
already a ruin, Daisess.” Daisess? Clora thought in confusion. Does she mean Aakaa?

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 “Not enough to warrant abandoning caution,” he said firmly. “Not yet.”
“You think to give me that nonsense?” Silliss barked. “Have you forgotten who I
am? That I sense magic and its workings and whims better than anyone across the
whole of Serinor? Better than those ravaansmiths? Better than the votaries of the west
and the east or those bastards on top of that misty mountain? Better than anyone and
everyone you could think of?” She turned a threatening finger toward Aakaa. “So
don’t give me that nonsense and heed what I am telling you. I sense things that are
in motion, a torrent of Summonings—and they are not coming from the White
Mountain.”
For a moment, the man stared at her in silence. Then he turned his eyes to Clora.
“It was nice meeting you. You may leave now.”
Clora felt numb and staggered. Still, she nodded and made to spin toward the exit
as fast as she could. Boo quickly let go of the girl’s sturdy trousers and climbed up to
her shoulder.
“What the hell is this?” Silliss hissed. Her gaze was locked on Boo.
A corner of Aakaa’s mouth lifted. “A raqsaan flower. It’s been our guest for a little
more than a day now.”
Chills slithered down Clora’s spine at the sharp, rancid look in Silliss’s shadowed
eyes as they stayed glued on Boo. “Thank you,” the girl said hastily, “and have a good
night.” Aakaa gave her an encouraging smile in response and Clora took that as her
cue to immediately get out.
The cold night air bit into her sweaty cheeks and Clora shivered. She rushed toward
the fire and their tents, seeking the safety she felt at Taaless’s side. Thoughts and
questions bombarded her mind as she relived the conversation again and again, not
even noticing Boo climb down to run at her feet. Daisess? Is that Aakaa’s true name?
And what about Summonings? What are they? What is she? What does she sense?

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 The woman’s words rang through her head. I sense magic and its workings and whims
better than anyone across the whole of Serinor. Horror filled her veins, making them run
cold. What does that mean? Does she—could she sense a connection to the Curse Tree? If I have
one? She knew I was a leokaan with one look—can she figure out all my secrets if she looks at
me long enough? And then the last and most important one, the question that spelled
out her deepest fears, echoed in her ears like a funeral bell: What will she do if—no,
when—she finds out I have escaped the Castle of Illusions?
Clora watched her raqsaan friend, dancing around jubilantly as its name suggested.
Suddenly, the memory of Aakaa’s words from a month ago flashed in her mind: I
strongly advise you against doing anything that will make you cross paths with Silliss.
And she had a feeling the words were more than a simple, offhanded remark.

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 CHAPTER 4
Daas

T
hrough beaten tracks and plains, down the Neverending Trail, they rode,
and rode, and rode, stopping only to sleep.
Daas pulled on his horse’s reins and got it to stop smoothly. Bending, he
brushed its graceful neck and got a whinny in response. Petro stopped next to him—
or tried to, since his jerky and harsh movements only served to upset the animal and
lead to him being almost unseated. Daas quickly reached for the reins and snatched
it from Petro, calming the balking horse before it reared.
With a glare, Daas offered the reins back to his poor rider of a friend. Three and a
half days on the road, and Petro still showed no improvement; Daas and Kaari could
at least control a trotting horse by now. The boy let out an annoyed breath and took
the strap.
Their caravan was trudging behind, slowed down by ten carts and carriages pulled
by fifty exhausted horses. It was not a major party though; only one of the
government’s small caravans responsible for transporting basic cargo. Even their ten
guards were solely ceremonial—the true task of protection lay on the Warfare
Structures set beside the trodden path every ten kilometers.
The closer they got to Maazinaan, the higher the temperature grew. Daas let the
warm rays of sun wash over him from between the reaching trees, basking in its
pleasant warmth. Birds jumped from branch to branch, filling the afternoon air with
song. The occasional breeze passed through the natural sentinels, the aroma of various
flowers on its heels, creating a roofed corridor of green and brown as far as the eye
could see.
Farther into the plain, behind the row of towering plants bordering the famous
road, smaller trees could be seen scattered around. They looked more interesting,
their leaves leathery and shaped like tiny bowls. They were called raintrees, Daas
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knew, named for how they collected rainwater in those leaves and later in their fruit.
When the air grew dry and there was nothing for the neighboring plants to feed on,
the raintree fruits would fall and break, providing sufficient water and nutrition for
the plain. Very useful trees, but scarce, since raintrees could not grow just anywhere
or allow anything other than small plants to grow in their proximity. It was all due to
their strong roots that sucked everything right up.
“Damn you, Daas,” Petro cursed, dragging the cadet away from his thoughts, “this
thing seems to listen only to you.” Daas turned to see him gripping the horse with his
legs while leaning back, apparently trying to get it to move forward. Of course, the
horse did not. “And Kaari,” he added.
“And everyone in this entire caravan other than you.”
“Well maybe this horse is just a stubborn one, huh?”
A glare was Daas’s only reply. The boy had changed his horse three times since
setting out for the capital, claiming the previous one had been calmer every single
time. The head of the caravan had eventually suggested a mule, but Petro would not
have it. He would ride a horse like a true warrior, he had declared.
Kaari’s white ride drew up on Petro’s other side. “It’s not the horse that’s stubborn,
it’s you. Settling for a mule is the only logical choice here, man; you just don’t have it
in you. Though I doubt you could even handle a mule properly. Do you even know
what a mule is?”
“Oh, I know what a mule is—it’s you and that cursed head of the caravan. If you
don’t shut up, I’ll put a rein on you and ride you all the way to Maazinaan!”
Kaari guffawed. “Alright, alright.” He shook his head in disappointment. “As you
wish. Let’s see what respecting the decisions you make with your chalk-filled brain
will get you.”

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 Grumbling under his breath, Petro stared at Daas, “And you!” he barked. “Get out
of that dreamland before I get you out myself. Why are you just getting worse day by
day? Aren’t you supposed to get better?”
Daas ignored him and urged his horse into a walk, leaving Kaari to point out the
boy’s mistakes with the horse again. He knew Petro was right—he was getting worse.
Clearly, time did not heal all wounds if they were left to fester. And it did not help
that anxiety had been dogging his steps since the connection was found out.
We’ve been compromised! RUN! Every time he thought of the Voice’s last words, a
tremor took over his limbs. How had it happened? How had they been able to breach
the telemind link? He hadn’t had time to wonder. He’d run to his room, locking
himself in for two days after the event, waiting for soldiers to march in and drag him
out. Still, no one had come; it seemed only the connection had been compromised
and not Daas’s own identity—a stroke of good luck amid the disaster that was his life.
So he’d sat, alone and cornered, waiting for the end and punishment for all his
crimes.
They’re coming for you. The Architect had warned him, of course, of what had come
and what lay ahead. But what good did it do him? He needed a miracle to escape the
fate written for him. Two days of hiding in the Army cadets’ dorm had inevitably
come to an end when he’d had to depart for Maazinaan with his friends. He just
couldn’t catch a break.
“Ugh,” Kaari groaned, moving slowly beside Daas, “these carts are really slowing us
down. I wish they’d get a move already.”
Petro did not take his eyes off his walking horse, who was calmly obeying him for
once. “Why did we have to drag them along anyway?”
“We’re not dragging them along, you idiot. They are dragging us along.”
Daas did not add to their bickering, but his mind flew to Elder Aaron and all that
the man was doing for him. The Elder had not allowed Daas to be accompanied by

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an escorting party of soldiers, believing he would be treated unfairly and put under
unwarranted pressure. That is why he had arranged for the three cadets to join a
traveling caravan headed for the same destination. Daas knew the support of an Elder
was an honor for even the marshals and soldiers of the Azure Army, let alone Daas
who was just a cadet. But all that the thought gave him was fear and shame. What
would happen if he was found out? He would die, of course—die with no honor, not
even having lived with an ounce of it.
Kaari’s laugh brought him back to the conversation. “You don’t actually think
Maazinaan, the Architects’ most prominent city, is that defenseless. Do you?”
“But why?” Petro frowned. “What makes it so different from the other three major
cities of Perigaad?”
“What makes it different? Oh, let me think. Hmm.” He rubbed his chin mockingly
as if it was a difficult question. Then he sent a sidelong glance at Petro. “Well, it might
have to do with how it’s the most populous and houses not only the government but
also two million citizens, hundreds of thousands of whom are Architects, better
known as the jewels of Perigaad who own this republic. Oh, and perhaps because it
holds all the science of Architecture in its university and libraries—knowledge the
councils would not risk getting out.” He lifted his brows.
The boy let out a whistle. “What do they even want so many Architects for?”
“This country is the land of Architects, my friend, the republic of the gifted. It is
rooted in their existence and science—a science that is growing more advanced every
day. I don’t know why they need so many of them, but it must be the efforts of this
mass of Architects that’s causing the advancements.”
Drawn by their words, Daas cut in, “Have you seen that university yourself?”
Kaari paused, staring at him for a breath. Daas had grown ever quieter during their
journey and it was a rarity that he had entered a conversation. “Of course!” he said a
last. “My dad took me many times. It’s a sight unlike anything you’ve ever seen. As is
the entire capital, really. Just you wait.”
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 The young man said nothing more, mind on all the wonders lying ahead. Seeing
Maazinaan had long been his dream—from the unbelievable Structures, big and small,
to the vast libraries of impossible knowledge. The thought of enjoying a little
sightseeing before life buried him beneath its tragedies brought the absent smile back
to his lips.
Next to him, Petro cursed at his horse.
***
Come dusk, they stopped like they had every night, the caravan pausing to set up
a temporary camp. Then they got to preparing dinner and seeing to the horses.
Riding all day had drained Daas’s already waning strength, his legs stiff and thighs
aching. The pain had been enough that they sometimes preferred to dismount and
walk their horses from the ground; in fact, they had spent most of the first day doing
just that. The cadets had had a brief lesson on horseback riding before, but that had
been two years ago. And besides, that would not help with the years of experience and
built-up resilience they lacked. It was as good a time as any to learn it properly and
grow used to it—a warrior who did not know how to ride could not even be called a
warrior.
Having finished putting salve on their blistered hands and legs, the three cadets
joined the few guards perched around a fire. It was the first night they were doing so—
they had preferred sitting alone the previous times, but Petro had made friends with
some of them and brought Kaari and Daas along. So, warm wooden bowls of stew
held in hands, the cadets huddled close and let the fire banish a little of the darkness.
“What’s your business in Maazinaan?” It was a young man to their left. The orange
flames danced in his pale eyes, lighting his short blond hair.
“Cadet business,” Kaari replied offhandedly.
“But we didn’t have such a thing when we were cadets.” His burrow furrowed. “All
your business was done in the city whose Academy of Armed Forces you joined.” Daas
knew the man was right—it didn’t matter if you signed up for the Azure Army or
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Domestic Security when you entered the academy, meaning to become a soldier or a
guard; while you were a cadet, you were the same.
Kaari shrugged. “Orders are orders.” He put a spoonful of stew in his mouth to
avoid talking further. Aaron had made it clear they were to speak of their true reasons
to no one.
Before the young man could ask anything else, Petro jumped in. “Ugh. Forget that,
Kaakor. Tell me about your position.” The boy leaned forward eagerly. “Do you guys
travel often?”
The guard relented. “About once a month. Sometimes more.”
“So it must be a pretty easy job, right?”
A nod. “More or less.”
“Was,” a bald man sitting across from Kaakor spoke up. “Was a pretty easy job. Not
anymore, boy.” His eyes never left his dinner as he slurped.
Kaari watched the man. “Why is that?”
“They’ve been tougher on us lately; more spot checks, background checks,
everything checks. A pain in my ass is what it is.” Mouth still full, he took a bite of
the bread held in his huge hand and guzzled down the last of the stew right from the
bowl. “Because of the Butchering, I reckon.”
Petro’s gaze flitted to Daas and back. It was better if they quickly changed the
subject, but Kaakor did not give them a chance. “You wouldn’t happen to know what
it was about, would you?”
“No, we’ve got nothing.” Kaari sounded clueless—he was good at lying, it seemed.
“Huh.” The young guard grumbled inaudibly before continuing in a louder voice.
“But Shield’s sake, how in the world did the Lianese get slaughtered like that? They’ve
been pestering us about how monstrous and undefeatable the Lianese warriors are.
Well? I don’t see any survivors?”

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 “They had chainvests, you idiots!” another guard shot at Kaakor from the other
side of the fire. Daas had heard them call him Beridaar before. “Just a little bit of
magic and the vests would have blown them into smithereens.”
The bald man began cleaning his beard. “He’s right, Kaakor. Architects aren’t
stupid like me and you. Of course they wouldn’t let the bastards prance into Perigaad
with their magic and no safeguards!”
Kaakor’s expression soured. “Whatever. The trouble’s still coming down on our
heads. As if we know anything about how the Lianese died.” He took off a boot and
started shaking it upside down—to get rid of a stuck stone, Daas assumed.
“No, they don’t care about the ambassadors’ death,” the bald man wagged his head.
“I’d wager they just want to know how the attackers got past the Shield.”
A murmur of agreement went through the other guards. Kaakor did not join in,
focusing on tying up his bootlaces instead. “Well,” he said without looking up, “I’d
wager it was them who did it.” He lifted his head. “The Architects. I’d wager they
killed the Lianese themselves.”
“That’s just absurd.” Kaari waved a hand. “Why would they do that? The death of
guests on Perigaadian soil can only end poorly for Architects. They sell their ravaan
Structures to other nations, you know. Who will want to buy their designs now that
they’ve proved incompetent even in their own hands?”
A sudden chuckle burst out of the bald guard. “See, Kaakor? Unlike you, this kid
has brains.”
Unconvinced, the young guard threw up a shoulder and turned to speak to the
person on his left. The bald man paid him no mind, looking at the three cadets.
“Don’t you lot get tired of trudging around with that thing on your hips?” He was
pointing at their bronze-hilted swords. “Bah! Throw it aside!”
It was Petro who responded this time, his tone cold. “Wearing our sword at all
times is compulsory. It’s the rule.”

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 From across the circle of comrades, a barrel-chested guard guffawed. “It’s the rule,
he says.” He punched the bald man’s shoulder. “Remember when we were like that
for our first two years after graduation?” Their laughter rose up in the night, sounding
more like a donkey braying. Daas watched them, noting their age. They were old
enough to have been promoted from guard to officer, but clearly remained guards
still. He guessed disobedience and poor performance had most likely led to them
leaving the Academy of Armed Forces as lowly guards no one considered for serious
posts or promotion.
Barely a few moments of silence had passed when the bald one eyed Daas curiously.
“And what’s your name, boy?”
It was only natural—after all, Daas had kept quiet for the past four days. He was
wont to pique their interests. “Daas, sir.”
“Sir?” The man laughed out loud. “He calls me sir!”
“Oh?” Daas said tonelessly. “Would you rather I call you a stinker of a bald-bag?”
A roar went up from the guards as the man’s smile faded. He glared at Daas,
scowling at the cadet’s large build which served as a warning by itself. “It’s Aariss,” he
spat. Rubbing his thumb on his bottom lip, he squinted and turned away.
The guards scattered after an hour, some switching posts, others going to sleep or
seeing to their business. Laying his bedroll on the ground, Kaari sighed and stretched.
“We’ll get there tomorrow.”
“And are you excited?” Daas inquired, unbuckling his belt and putting his sword
in reach as he bedded down.
There was a pause as the secretive warrior twisted his lips to the side. “To be honest,
I wasn’t. Not at first. But the closer we get…” Another sigh. “I guess I’m worried.”
Petro yawned. “Worried? About what?”

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 “I don’t know.” Without another word, he turned his back to them and pulled the
blanket over his head. Daas kept quiet but, inwardly, he was smiling bitterly. If you’re
worried then I should just walk off a cliff.
His best friend was still standing over him. “Daas,” Petro began in a low voice, “you
need to watch those guards. That bald brute was looking at you funny.”
“What? Those cowards?” Daas smirked. “Don’t worry, Petro, they won’t be making
any trouble. Even our second-year cadets have more guts than those idiots.” Then he
turned away as well and ran off to the land of sleep before his fears could pounce and
steal him away.
***
The Neverending Trail finally ended the next day and Maazinaan loomed up
ahead. With the massive, thick wall of stone surrounding it, it was impossible to make
out anything of the insides except for the four tall buildings rising over the wall for
over a hundred meters to pierce the sky from somewhere deep in the city. Even with
the distance, Daas still felt dwarfed by the sight.
A long whistle escaped an awed Petro. “By the Betrayer, how did they build those?”
Slack-jawed, Daas did not turn away. “Hell if I know.”
From this far off, he could not see much of the details, but the odd designs on the
towering buildings still stole his breath away. One appeared to have a slowly-spinning
cap, another seeming to have become one with the gray and green tree twisting around
it—it was exquisite and colorful, flickering in the light of the sun. Daas wondered if
the play of colors was due to the blossoms and flowers adorning the plants or
something else. The other two towers, identical and clustered closer together, seemed
to be made entirely of glass glittering in the day.
“Look at your faces!” Kaari chuckled deeply. “Allow me to introduce you to some
of the Architects’ most renowned hubs: Perigaad University of Architecture, which
owns the two similar towers to the side; the Tree Tower, the den of government

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offices; and the watchful tower with the animated top, which is the infamous Science
of Ravaan Research Institute or SoRRI for short,” he finished, gesturing as he went.
“But how?” Daas wondered out loud, completely mesmerized. “How did they build
something so—,” he fumbled for the proper word, “—tall?”
“If you don’t know it then you can count me out as well.” From the corner of his
eye, Daas saw Kaari shift on his horse before continuing thoughtfully, “Architects
have many secrets, as I’m sure you know, none of which they deem fit to share with
anyone. Least of all us.” He was right, of course. All lands of Serinor were equally
greedy when it came to magic—after all, a well-kept secret about magic could be one’s
trump card.
“Do you … do you think they’ll let us see the buildings up close?”
“Oh, yes! They will probably make a fuss, but yes, you can even wander inside
them—to the allowed areas, of course.”
A sudden smile bloomed on the young man’s face.
As they neared the gigantic metal door set in the city wall, the head of the caravan
detached from the group and trotted forward. He paused at the side of the closed
gate, holding up a badge in front of a part of the stone wall. Then he waited. Daas
looked around, unable to make out anyone over or around the walls.
Petro shared his curiosity. “What’s he doing?”
Kaari pulled on his reins as the caravan pulled to a stop a few meters behind the
man. “He’s showing he has an entry permit. They’re required for passing through
Maazinaan’s gate.”
A confused frown. “But to whom?”
“Technically, no one. He’s holding it up in front of the paler section of the wall
until it gets confirmed.”
Finally, a voice rose from behind the tall dark brown door. “Identify yourself.”

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 “Ekilaas Royenda, head of caravan forty-two with the pass number two hundred
forty-one, currently containing ten guards, seventy maintenance crew, and three
guests. We departed Naigaa four days ago to transport a number of simple agricultural
Structures to Maazinaan.”
A few minutes of silence followed before the voice responded again. “Put your
blood on the handle.”
The man unsheathed a knife and made a shallow cut across his palm. One of the
huge sphere handles of the iron door was glowing red and Daas almost expected it to
burn Ekilaas. But no signs of pain showed on his features when the head of the
caravan brushed his palm on the sphere, leaving a trail of blood.
Daas noticed his slim friend was still peering at the events, baffled. “It’s for safety
reasons,” he explained. “From what I’ve heard, only a select group of people can
request the opening of Maazinaan’s gate. Ekilaas must have a permit because of
working for the government. I hadn’t seen the process before, though. I expected it
to be more…” He hesitated. “Well, more magical, I guess.”
Kaari’s loud laugh made a few of their traveling companions send disapproving
looks their way. “Oh, never fear. There will be more magic inside than you could
dream of.”
“Hush,” Daas scolded. “You don’t need to be so vocal about it. I’ll see it in time.”
Another cackle. “Screw you and your manners, man. You were just starting to get
tolerable! Did you have to go back to being your annoying self?”
Petro gave Daas a sideways glance. “He’s right, though. Someone’s perked up!”
“Shut up.” Still, an involuntary smile curled his lips. There really did seem to be
some merit to their words; a warm feeling had hugged his insides—or to put it more
accurately, some of the cold had seeped away from his bones. It gave him hope.
Ahead, the gate began to open with a booming groan and completely grabbed his
attention. It was opening not from the middle and not inward or outward, but to the

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side—somehow, it was being pulled back, drawn into the thick wall. Far on the other
side, he could barely make out buildings and bustling streets.
The head of the caravan gestured for them to get moving. As they passed the
threshold, Daas saw that the metal door had retreated into a cavity in the wall. A
strange device of large gears connected by chains was set behind the door. When the
caravan was through, it began spinning noisily and the door slowly slid back into
place. Daas stayed rooted to the spot, examining the mechanical invention.
“Well, well,” Petro muttered, “the wondrous capital of Architects.” A deep,
satisfied breath. “Not that different from Naigaa, from the looks of it.”
Daas spun around and was faced with a sight that was all but ordinary. The wide
dirt path leading into the city was surrounded by official-looking buildings and ended
in an open square, three paved streets branching out from it toward the inner city.
Worn brick houses and stores lined the streets as far as the eye could see, and Daas
noted the dirt and scarcity of people with mild surprise.
Behind them, city guards were leading the horses into one of the larger and shorter
buildings with a wide door (as expected, since horses were not allowed onto cobbled
roads), and a woman with a star on her shoulder who had to be an officer was talking
with the head of the caravan.
As he dismounted and handed his horse’s reins to a guard, Daas waited for
someone to approach and apprehend him. No one did. It looked like he really was
going to catch a break this time—thanks to Aaron, no doubt. So he stood there, quietly
waiting for Ekilaas to coordinate the delivery, and his gaze again sought the curiosity
of the city gate.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Petro nudged him, squinting up with a hand shielding his eyes
against the sun. “I’d never seen a door open and close like that, let alone one this
huge.”
Daas made no reply, staring thoughtfully at the construction.

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 “You look like you’re struggling with something. What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said, turning away. But it was not nothing; the gate—or, more
specifically, the gate’s working—was bothering him. It did not seem like a ravaan
Structure and was more machinery than anything, and that confused Daas. Why would
the door to the den of Architects not be one of their magical Structures?
“Come on, you two.” Kaari sidled up next to them. “The check-ups are complete
and the cargo’s been handed in. We’re good to go.” And so the three cadets headed
toward the inner city, taking the street in the middle on Kaari’s cue. And slowly, the
differences and oddities that set Maazinaan apart became noticeable.
Petro pointed at a window, a lamp that did not seem to use fire to produce light
visible inside. “What’s that? How does it work?”
“A ravaan Structure,” Daas said. He’d read about it before. “And it’s complicated.”
The deeper they went into the city, the denser and richer the crowds and buildings
became. Apparently, it was the poorer people who lived close to the gate, and other
than a few grand stores situated strategically close to the path of travelers, most of the
structures there had been poorly kept. Not here, though. Here, houses rose up for
four stories and wares of all shapes and sizes flashed through the shops’ windows.
People walked with straighter backs and adorned clothes, signaling their privilege to
all who could see.
In terms of style, there was not much difference from what Daas was used to in
Naigaa—men in coats and hats, women in long skirts and braids. But the quality of
the fabric and the shine of the shoes made the difference in wealth abundantly clear.
Not to mention the people going around with capes of various sizes on their shoulders
to mark them as Architects. To the citizens of Maazinaan, though, all that was
normal—unlike the three cadets whose swords and leather vests made them stick out
like a sore thumb. They drew the eyes of the pedestrians at every turn, the surprised

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glances making Daas stiffen in discomfort. He tried to focus on the wares put on
display to distract himself.
The trio passed a shop hanging ravaarnished clothes for all to see. They had to drag
Petro out before he bought one from the overenthusiastic shopkeeper. The man
claimed they had been worked on with ravaan and could provide warmth in the cold,
but Kaari told the boy they were either fake or would only work for a short amount
of time. Next to draw Petro’s attention were the horseless carriages and wagons
navigating the street among the pedestrians. The boy almost made to climb onto them
before they stopped him. Not that Daas blamed him; he was fascinated. The drivers
were sitting in their usual seats, but instead of reins, they held on to strange wheels
and levers.
Daas was doing his best to act normal and not like an awed tourist, but Petro had
no such inhibitions. He would stop and gape openly at whatever new wonder they
encountered next and make it clear they were clueless outsiders.
And the wonders were unending, each more baffling than the one before. Kaari
indulged them from time to time with quick but useful notes on what they were
seeing. When they walked past a glass box that people had lined up to enter, money
in their hands, he told them it exposed the person inside to a type of ravaan radiation
which supposedly helped their physical health. Daas only stared, unable to fathom
how it worked.
The street ended at a square, the center of which was occupied by fountains not
spouting water but fire without heat, flaring in numerous colors. A group of children
were playing around them, laughing and hopping between them. Suddenly, one of
them jumped right into the path of one and green flames swallowed her whole body.
Petro shouted, about to run to the girl’s help when she stepped calming out of the
fire. Completely unharmed, she laughed at them before rejoining her friends. The

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cadet stared slack-jawed, looking helplessly to Daas as if for an explanation. A shrug
was his only response.
In the next street, a street-seller caught their attention. He had laid his wares next
to the road and was chanting about his small and second-hand Structures, from
trinkets to pens and the likes, and claiming they all had Competency Certificates from
the University of Architecture.
“What’s a Competency Certificate?” Petro whispered to Kaari so the young man—
who had noticed his unfamiliar audience and was calling to them—would not hear.
“CC. Certain government agencies and institutes give them out after examining
Structures. It means the product is guaranteed to work well and if it doesn’t, the
authority that issued the CC—here, the University—will replace it for you.”
They moved down the street, passing more and more street-sellers with odd items—
a device that supposedly cleaned the ground on its own, a closed container for
cooking food without a need for fire, a hat with small real flowers growing on its brim,
bracelets and necklaces giving off heatless light. Daas knew all Structures had a core
that powered them and provided the ravaan they used, and it was fascinating to see
how small it could get. The inventions were unending, each stranger than the one
before—at least to Daas and Petro who had never seen such things, not Kaari or the
citizens of Maazinaan who walked by without a second glance.
Petro’s face had long stopped brightening and was now the epitome of sourness.
“Everything is so different, except for the people—they’re just like us.” He said it as if
it did not make any sense to him.
Kaari threw him a look. “Did you expect Architects to have four arms?”
“Well, no. But there has to be a difference. Some get to be Architects, some don’t,
and their lives become incomparable. So why?”
“There is.” He sounded suddenly glum. “The difference is in ravaan acceptability.”
“What’s that?”

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 The young man groaned. “Ask the professor, I don’t have the patience for this.”
“Well?” Petro immediately turned to Daas. “What’s ravaan acceptability? Didn’t
you once say Architects are not mages? Then how can their bodies accept ravaan?”
Daas shook his head. “And they are not. To be a mage, you need to have magical
instinct, be it for ravaan magic or Infinite magic or both. When you do not, that
means you are an unripe. But even the body of an unripe can be attuned to ravaan
and able to work with it through certain tools. That is ravaan acceptability, and those
who have even a little of it can become Architects.”
“Huh. Is that what lets them live a second life?”
“Exactly.” Daas gave him an impressed nod. “To wield ravaan, it has to first enter
your body, and that is possible if you have ravaan acceptability. Then you can either
use it directly if you have the instinct, or indirectly if you do not. Second life is less
about your ability to wield and change the ravaan that enters your body and more
about the amount that does so. If someone has a higher ravaan acceptability and their
body becomes mixed with ravaan more than a certain amount, then they can pass into
second life.”
The boy made to ask more questions, but Daas turned to Kaari before he could.
“Where should we go? Where is your house?”
Kaari’s eyes went to the end of the street as he worked his jaw. “It’s in another
neighborhood. There’s still a way to go. Probably another half an hour on foot.”
A pause. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no,” Kaari was quick to add, “Nothing’s wrong. I just … It’s been a long time
since I last saw my family.”
“So what?” Petro lifted his brows. “I haven’t seen mine in a long time either.”
Daas gestured for his friend to be quiet. “Look, Kaari, are you sure you want us to
come along? We can still head to the guesthouse.”

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 “No, it’s not that.” The young man hesitated. “It’s just hard for me, you know. My
brothers and sister are all now proper Architects…” A shaky laugh escaped him.
“Whatever. It’s nothing. Let’s just go.”
As he was about to take off, Daas gripped his shoulder to stop him. “Perhaps it’s
best if you go ahead and have your reunions alone. We’ll join in an hour or two.”
Kaari took a moment to think, scratching the stubble he’d grown on the road.
Then he shook his head. “No. I might not know how much they have changed in the
past years, but I do know that my parents would never want their guests wandering
around in an unfamiliar city.” His gaze went to the sun slowly nearing the horizon.
“Come on now, it’s getting late.”
***
The light was waning when the three cadets walked into Kaari’s neighborhood.
Daas almost stopped in his tracks at the sight; the houses lining the street were each
grander than the other, speaking of aristocracy and privilege.
Kaari noticed his stare. “Everyone living here is an Architect,” he admitted. “They
have their own exclusive neighborhoods in different parts of the city.”
Daas had nothing to say in response. The social class discrimination was clear as
day—even here, in the heart of Perigaad where the wealthy and the lucky lived
comfortable lives, the divide between Architects and the rest remained impossible to
ignore. Kaari bobbed his head, understanding his train of thought.
After some minutes, the trio came to a stop in front of a majestic house rising up
even higher than the ones at its sides. “Home sweet home,” Kaari said with a sigh.
“Doesn’t seem to have changed at all.”
Petro was gaping. “This is your home?”
“My entire family are Architects, Petro. Of course they would live like kings.”
“Well—,” Daas let out a low whistle, “—it is nothing if not beautiful.” And it was.
Cream and brown granite gleamed on its hard walls, strange and twirling carvings

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visible on every surface. Three long windows were placed on each side, one on top of
the other, with one large window rising in the middle from above the grand double
doors until the twenty-meter roof. And on either side of the doors stood two stone
eagles, painted with striking designs and wings raised behind. The house was easily
the most lavish on the street, and it was difficult to imagine this was where Kaari, the
unassuming and modest cadet, had grown up.
When Kaari made no move to approach the double doors, Petro threw him a
confused glance. “Are we going in or not?”
The young man straightened, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to
make himself presentable. Then he climbed the stairs and, taking in a deep breath,
lifted a fist to knock.
“Hey!”
Kaari immediately drew back his hovering hand and the three men whirled around,
coming face to face with a teenage girl. Her lanky form was covered in trousers and a
gray tunic, a sage green cape flowing from her shoulders down to her waist. Light
blond hair fell around a pale, freckled face. While the blue eyes were nothing like
Kaari’s, a shadow of his looks was reflected in her features.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? Leather vest … sword holstered on the
hip …” She gave them a smirk. “Soldiers, huh?”
The corners of Kaari’s lips lifted slightly. “Someone’s grown up.”
With a delighted laugh, the girl ran past the other two cadets and up the steps. A
blink, and she had Kaari held tightly in an embrace. When neither moved, Petro
cleared his throat, awkwardly looking to Daas. Daas sighed in response.
Finally, the figures broke apart. “Wow, Elia, you’ve changed.” Kaari’s face had
reddened noticeably. “I almost didn’t recognize my little sister.”
“Duh. Did you expect me to not change? Whatever hellhole did you run off to hide
in for the last three damned years?” Without waiting for a response, she turned to the

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other two. Petro instantly squared his slim shoulders beneath her gaze and Daas
opened his mouth, a serious look on his face. “And who are these two apes?” she
demanded before he could make a sound.
Kaari’s eyes grew wide and a laugh burst out of him. “I’d blissfully forgotten about
your foul mouth. I thought Mom and Dad would have snuffed that out in you.”
Elia sniffed. “In their dreams.”
Still chuckling, Kaari pointed at his shocked friends. “Petro and Daas, two of my
closest friends.” Then he gestured to the teenage girl. “And my jaunty, obnoxious,
vulgar, troublemaker of a sister, Elia.” He gave them an embarrassed smile. “Please
don’t get offended by her crass behavior and constant swearing—she’s always been like
this.” Petro bobbed his head hesitantly as Daas forced a smile and a “Hi.”
Elia’s piercing gaze swung between the duo, eyeing them as if they were two
entertaining curiosities existing for her pleasure. “Good thing you brought these two
fools along. Life was getting so boring around here.” She spun around on her heels
and pushed open the others, marching inside without hesitation.
Kaari threw another embarrassed smile at them. “Come on in, I guess.” Then he
turned around and, with a deep breath, followed his sister in.
Petro stayed right where he was, his eyes seeking Daas in desperation. “Isn’t the
guesthouse option still on the table by any chance?”

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 CHAPTER 5
Daas

Y
ou have got to be kidding me!”
Daas did not have to turn to know Petro’s jaw had dropped almost to the
floor, because he shared the sentiment—the interiors were just as
magnificent as the outside, if not more so.
The main hall’s ceiling reached up all the way to the top, standing at twenty meters
high. From it hung a grand chandelier, its many lightbulbs—which Daas assumed to
be powered with ravaan—shedding light on the regal armchairs and sofas set around
the place. Two curving staircases rose up in the air from either side to the jutting
mezzanine dividing the high ceiling a little farther off, an intricate banister closing off
the edge and a door to the second floor visible above it. Right beneath the mezzanine
was another pair of double doors; it stood ajar, showing off a large room with a long
table clearly for meals. Daas noted multiple candelabras on the shelves and small
tables, and a few other doors set in the walls to the sides. Swallowing, he could only
stare—mansions like this were nonexistent in Naigaa.
Kaari paused ahead, breathing in. “Home sweet home.”
Elia unhooked her cape and threw it on the back of a sofa without ceremony before
plopping down next to it. “MOM?”
“What is it?” a feminine voice called from the left.
“Your antique moron of a son is back!” Her eyes went to Daas and Petro then.
“And he’s brought two other antiques along!”
Instantly, a door farther down the hall swung open and, in a rush of black and
white and the delicious smell of food, a petite woman burst out of what had to be the
kitchen. She came to a stop in front of Kaari, her worn white apron billowing around
her dark trousers. Longing creased her already wrinkled skin, the youth still visible on

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her features giving way to the burden of a mother weighed down with worry. She
pounced on his wayward son and squeezed him in an iron embrace as she let out a
sob.
Kaari’s arms went around the woman, lowering his head in shame. “Hey, Mom.”
The sight made Daas shift uncomfortably, unaccustomed as he was to such
emotional displays, and he looked away to see Petro shared his awkwardness. But
when mother and son finally broke apart, the two cadets straightened with a smile,
inclining their heads in greeting to the woman.
“Mom, meet my friends Daas”—he gestured to him before moving his hand to the
other—“and Petro.”
Kaari’s mother smiled back, wiping away the faint traces of tears from her makeup
and tidying her blond ponytail quickly. “You are most welcome, my dears! Though”—
she turned to Kaari—“I wasn’t expecting you until long past sunset. Your father will
be home any time now.”
“Is Father’s job still the same?”
“Yes, it is.” Her lips curled in embarrassment. “You know how he is—he hasn’t
changed even a bit. Only the white in his hair has spread.”
Elia chose that moment to lift both legs and put them on the table in front of her.
Rolling her eyes, she waved to their guests. “Come on, you two. Take a seat.” Her
hand indicated the sofa next to hers. “My mother forgets the whole world when she
sees her precious sons.”
“Oh, of course, of course!” Kaari’s mother began to sputter. “Elia, honey, please
see to our guests and make sure they feel at home.”
***
Six figures sat at the long dining table of the Etkaars that night, dwarfed by its
length. Daas and Petro’s awkwardness had been swiftly banished by the family’s
hospitability in the time they had sat in the main hall, refusing sweets and all kinds
of delicacies from Elia and her mother, Ms. Aashia (Daas refused to call her anything
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other than her surname with a proper title, despite her insistence that there was no
need for such formality).
Kaari’s father had arrived shortly, making it clear who the young man had taken
after, though his hair had thinned out and grayed considerably. And despite his
formal, stiff behavior, Mr. Etkaar’s joy at his son’s return had been evident in his
gleaming eyes, his heart laid bare for all to see.
After the greetings had come to an end and Kaari’s father had gone to change at
his wife’s command, Ms. Aashia had ushered the boys to the dining room and Daas
had watched two maids set the table. The dishes shone in the light, all manners of
meals—from soup to pot roast—set in vegetables and cut onions. This is enough to feed
us for three days, Daas reckoned. But even though the smell was making his mouth
water, he refrained from reaching for the food—Perigaadian tradition demanded he
wait for the man of the house to begin first, and Daas was nothing if not courteous.
Mr. Etkaar seemed to notice, drawing back a chair next to Ms. Aashia to sit. “What
are you waiting for?” he all but barked at the cadets. “Eat! Go on!”
A chuckle escaped Kaari. “Ah, Dad, you never change.”
“Of course I don’t. Though I can’t say the same for life in your absence. Or even
you, son, for that matter.” He pulled his chair forward and began.
Daas still did not reach for the food, choosing to turn to Kaari instead. “Won’t
your brothers be joining us?”
He hesitated. “I don’t think so. Elia?”
The girl did not look up from the silver bowl of soup as she served herself without
waiting for anyone else. “Well, Aagira’s still in Gorgaa even after graduating—mind
you, he dragged his six years of training because of being so damn lazy, but the idiot
got there in the end. You see, he didn’t just find a job—he found a wife.” She gave his
stunned brother a grin. “And Paarik’s of course still in the southern cities for training,

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so we barely see him; he’s got a year and a half or so until he can get his Mastery
degree.”
Kaari hummed. “What about Aikaar?”
“Oh, your older brother will soon begin his training,” Ms. Aashia said, handing
Kaari a bowl full to the brim with soup. “Though you would not guess it from how
attached he is at the hips to his wife. And yes,”—she noted his wide eyes—“Aikaar has
also married. They live just a few hours away in the city, but he rarely visits.”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Etkaar added at his son’s bewilderment, “your brothers are all busy
working and have all begun to settle down.”
With a nod, Kaari dropped his head and spun his spoon in the liquid, reluctantly
taking a sip. Ms. Aashia glared at her husband, making a cutting gesture with her
hand. And even though the formidable Mr. Etkaar was supposed to be the head of
the family, he visibly relented at her silent rebuke. Daas noticed the pattern repeat
itself as the family ate and chatted at a leisurely pace as if used to stretching the course
for an hour, with the husband letting Kaari’s mother have the final say on what to
talk about and when to stop. The slow pace of the meal and the personal topics were
unfamiliar to Daas and Petro, and the cadets began to draw into themselves, feeling
out of place.
Ms. Aashia took note. “So,” she tried to change the subject, “you three are all
soldiers of the Azure Army now, aren’t you?”
“Not yet.” Kaari shook his head. “We have at least two more years as cadets.”
That made Mr. Etkaar sigh. “You could have stayed here and attended the
Maazinaan Academy of Armed Forces. There was no need for you to go all the way to
Naigaa.”
The young man took a moment to swallow the bite of meat in his mouth. “Well, I
preferred to be farther away from home.”

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 Mr. Etkaar straightened in his seat, glancing at Ms. Aashia then back at his son.
“It’s not too late, my boy. You might still be able to become an Architect. Take the
test one more time, it wouldn’t hurt.”
Kaari stopped short, fork halfway to his mouth. In the ensuing silence, Daas and
Petro eyed each other awkwardly. Even the cheery, usually-unperturbed Elia seemed
suddenly uncomfortable.
“Raaigaar,” Ms. Aashia berated firmly, “we have talked about this before.”
“Yes, but there is still a chance!”
“Father,” Kaari softly cut in, “I no longer have any interest in becoming an
Architect.” His tone dripped hurt. “And do you really expect me to sit for a test next
to twelve-year-olds?”
“Your pride does not matter, Kaari,” he snapped. “What matters is for your talents
to be discovered and your life to not be wasted!”
“You know there are no such talents in me, Father.” Kaari’s response was patient.
“Do you really want to—”
“Raaigaar!” his wife retorted. “Stop insisting! He has grown up enough to make his
own decisions and we must respect his choices.”
Husband and wife stared at each other, having a silent conversation of their own.
Then the man leaned back and Ms. Aashia proceeded to change the subject in the
deftest way possible. “Yes, our son is all grown up now. Perhaps it is time to talk of
other certain things.”
Five pairs of eyes focused on her in curiosity. “Other certain things?” Mr. Etkaar
wondered out loud.
She gave them an embarrassed smile. “Oh yes! Kaari is a grown young man now,
at an age ripe for marriage.”
The said grown young man spat out his food in shock. “What?”

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 “Marriage! Have you never heard of the word before?” Her eyes sought her husband
and she gave him a sideways look; it looked threatening.
“Yes, yes, certainly!” the man added suddenly, shifting in his seat. “Why not? We
can find you a proper young lady.”
Kaari’s mother elbowed Mr. Etkaar softly and gave them a conspiratorial smile. “I
know just the girl. Of course, if you don’t have anyone in mind yourself, Kaari?” Daas
only stared at his spoon, wishing he could just disappear. From the corner of his eye,
he could see Elia cover her mouth with a hand, shaking with poorly contained
laughter.
“Mom, I’m just a cadet. A nobody fated to join the Army who will only ever be of
worth to this country in name. Not an Architect who—”
“Don’t you ever repeat that again!” his father barked. “If you think the Army is
good for nothing then why did you rush off to join it?”
Even Elia had stopped laughing now. Ms. Aashia tried to calm her husband.
“Raaigaar, it has barely been more than an hour since Kaari arrived. Will you give
him a break for once?”
“Thank you, Mother, but I can speak for myself.” He turned to his fuming parent.
“Father, I’m sure you’ve understood in the past three years why I chose to join the
Armed Forces. I don’t see the need for explaining myself again. Is there one? Is there
a need? Or am I in the right?”
Father and son faced down one another across the dining table. Surety and
vindication were etched into the latter’s face and the sight of it took away some of
Mr. Etkaar’s fury. Still, pain shone from the man’s eyes, his shoulders weighed down—
he seemed to have aged years in just the past hour and a half.
With a nod, he dropped Kaari’s gaze before continuing. “You are right, but that is
still no reason to treat your life as if it is a plaything, son. I will not—cannot—allow it.
Just because you did not get to be an Architect and no longer want it does not mean
you must then be a worthless nobody as you claim you are.”
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 “Kaari, my dear,” Ms. Aashia took up where her spouse left off, “you are our child.
Whatever we did for the rest, we will do for you too.”
When silence followed in the wake of their words, Elia finally whispered without
looking up from her half-empty plate. “Mom, there are other people at this table as
well.” She raised her head. “Perhaps you should leave this discussion for later?”
The woman’s gaze instantly swung toward Daas and Petro, startling as if noticing
them for the first time. “Oh.” An ashamed smile bloomed on her downcast
expression. “I am … I’m so sorry. This is embarrassing—you must forgive us for our
inconsiderate behavior. Please, continue with your dinner.”
Daas seized that chance to push back from the table. “It’s alright, thank you for
your hospitality. Truly. We’ve eaten enough. If you would give us your leave, we would
like to rest. It’s been a long journey.”
“But you barely ate anything! Please, dear, don’t leave on our account. This meal
is all for you!” Ms. Aashia’s nervous eyes sought her husband, quietly asking for him
to back her up.
However, Mr. Etkaar did not cooperate this time. “I sincerely apologize that you
had to witness this. I hope such a thing does not occur again in the time you remain
with us.”
Elia took that as her cue to rise. “I’ll show them to their rooms.” Daas and Petro
followed suit with their last goodbyes and thanks, swiftly escaping the hurt on Ms.
Aashia’s face. Fortunately, the woman did not insist anymore as they turned to go.
“I’ll join you in a bit,” Kaari added as they departed.
Candelabras dotted the walls and pillars as the trio climbed the stairs, their
numerous small lightbulbs each giving off a soft glow that seemed too dim on its
own—but together, they were able to light the vast space. Daas wondered if that had
been intentional, to make the shine less blinding and the hall even more stunning
with the multitude of pinpricks of light.

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 Up on the mezzanine, Elia opened the door to the second-floor hallway and
ushered them in. When they had walked deeper into the mansion, passing closed
doors and an open sitting area in a larger part of the hallway, Elia stopped.
Her serious expression made her seem older than she was. “I again apologize on
behalf of my parents,” she told them, finally breaking the silence as if she knew the
people downstairs could not hear her now. “It’s just that they’re really upset.
Especially Father. Kaari is his greatest pillar of support—he loves my brother too much.
I hope you understand their pain and find it in yourself to forgive them. They’re not
usually so inconsiderate. They truly didn’t mean to offend you with those words.”
The girl grew quiet, waiting for them to say something. Petro remained
uncharacteristically silent, but Daas finally gave voice to a thought he had been
harboring for some time. “Kaari has changed a lot in the time he was away training
in Naigaa; he is not the boy from three years ago anymore. Trust me, he would not
be here if he still wanted to stay away from his family. If he is here, it means he is
considering if he should return.”
Elia’s wide eyes stared up at the warrior solemnly but surely towering over them.
Then a delighted laugh escaped her. “I knew it! I kept thinking he is acting odd—odd
but better. If dad had spoken to him like that three years ago, he’d have already flipped
and gone off to stay with a friend for a couple of days.” She shook her head, back to
her jaunty self as she eyed him and Petro. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to
eat? You barely ate, I can go get you something.”
This time, Petro spoke up. “No, thank you.”
With a shrug and a grin, the girl spun on her heels and led them to two doors a
little farther away, she left them with a few last instructions. Daas said his goodnight
and slipped into his room, almost gasping at the inside. It was exquisite, vast and
magnificently furnished—from the canopied bed to the sofas and opulent closet and
dresser, it was a clear contrast to his shared room at the dorm.

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 It did not take long for the sound of Petro’s opening door to reach Daas before the
boy was walking into Daas’s room. His eyes swept over the furniture and he sighed,
closing the door behind him with a soft click. “What a life they live…”
Daas did not respond from where he was sitting on the bed. He took off his socks,
thinking he had to wash them but could not go fetch Kaari now to ask about the
bathroom. Balling them up, he reached for his vest next and slid it off, only just then
noticing the brooding Petro crouched on a chair. A wicked grin came to his lips.
“From Serinor to Mister Petro—”
“Oh, shut up.” He stood up and made as if about to throw his chair, then grunted
and sat back down. “I’m just thinking about all this, wondering why it’s like this.”
“What’s like what?” Daas asked, hanging his vest from a hanger.
Petro’s eyes were glazed, not exactly looking at the swaying vest. “This life Kaari’s
family have—why do they get to live so comfortably and luxuriously, their house filled
with gem-studded things half of which I’d never seen in my life, while families like
mine would feel privileged to have a meal to hand to their kids after a night of hard
work? This … isn’t fair.”
Daas gave the boy a sidelong glance as he opened a drawer, finding rows of folded
trousers as Elia had promised. “This mood again?”
“It’s not a mood! Are you saying I’m wrong?”
“No, of course you are right. But take it from me, your family is a lot happier than
Kaari’s because of not having all this on their minds.”
“Bullshit.”
He threw a glance at the door, ensuring it was closed. “You think those people
downstairs are happy? Because I’m telling you, they are not—that is probably only one
of their issues.” At Petro’s opening mouth, he raised a palm. “No, I am not saying
that struggling in a life without money or freedom is good or that your family is lucky

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to not have this privilege, because it is not and they are not and it is an unfair world
that holds so much divide.
“All I am saying is that the life everyone is given brings its own struggles. And those
people with all their money and status and power? They might have been fortunate
to be given a privilege they did not earn just because of how their bodies are built in
a way yours are not, but they get their own troubles on top of those; so don’t see their
life as perfect because it is not. True fortune is not an opulent house or a tasty meal,
it is the peace of mind—whatever you find it in, you are fortunate when you have it.”
For a moment, the boy only stared. Then a laugh burst out of him and he rubbed
his face. “You always have crap like this under your belt.”
He gave his friend a wink. “Courtesy of Serbino, as you know. But I guess it’s
enough for your tiny brain.”
Petro made a face and rose to stand by the window. Daas knew the boy was right,
of course; the Naigans could not dream of the Architects’ lives, and he was sure the
people of the other towns and cities were the same. But that was not what Petro had
needed to hear in his state—he had needed hope.
With an internal sigh, he finally inspected his new pair of trousers, noting their
unfamiliar light material. “Not bad,” he whispered under his breath, “not bad at all.”
In fact, it was incredible. Before he could check the other clothes in his wardrobe,
Petro’s voice interrupted him.
“Hey Daas? Get over here.”
“What is it again?”
“Come on, you’ll see!”
Frustrated, Daas went to stand beside his best friend. His opening lips froze when
he looked out the window, no longer requiring an explanation. Because from their
excellent vantage point through the glass of the grandiose mansion’s high window,
beyond the glittering neighborhood that housed only houses fit for kings and queens,
lay an enormous valley deep inside the city.
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 It was akin to a deep downward cone, houses built on its sides and going deeper
and deeper like a spiral staircase. And down, at the very center of the valley, was a
sun. Well, not exactly a sun, and not that blinding, but still a light so magnificent,
battling the moon and the stars and all the other small shinning pinpricks trying to
make a difference in the night, that Daas knew it must be one of the Architect’s ravaan
Structures. In its light, he could make out pedestrians and trees, small waterfalls
taking shape from the spreading branches of the river. The curtains of water shone in
various colors, demanding the attention of all who passed by, and the valley glowed
like a beacon in the dark.
It was the most breathtaking thing Daas had seen in his entire life.
“More than twenty damn years, and never had I ever laid eyes on something like
this,” Petro muttered.
Daas could only nod.
“Is this—all of this—because of ravaan? Because of their Architecture?”
Petro did not have to specify what he meant by “this” for Daas to understand his
line of thinking, his awe at the beauty and the wonders of this place—the Architects’
lives. “Must be.” His answer was faint, his eyes lost and soaking up the sight. Because
of course, nothing but the mixture of magic and human ingenuity could be
responsible for such splendor. “You wondered what made Maazinaan so different?
Well, I guess we now know what all the fuss was about.”

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 CHAPTER 6
Clora

E
ven though the sun had not yet reached its favorite spot up above their
heads, it still showered the wayfarers in the jungle with a pleasant warmth.
Clora and Taaless were returning from their hunting trip, a bounce in their
steps. The day’s hunt had been rather more hazardous than their usual ones and their
success a sigh of relief.
They’d set out at dawn to continue hunting a creature the locals called aapaataa;
or imitator, as Taaless translated. People believed its original form to be serpentine,
but Taaless disagreed (as was expected), claiming, “It’s due to how simple a snake’s
body is that it can stay in it the longest and prefers it.” Whatever the case, an aapaataa
could shapeshift into anything its natural size allowed—even humans. Not that Clora
was surprised to learn such a thing was possible; her time in the wild had begun to
numb her to her initial astonishment at the infinite possibilities magic from all across
Serinor brought to the table.
The true challenge of the hunt had been tracking the creature. They could have
traced its magical footsteps with a haans dog, if not for the fact that when an aapaataa
shapeshifted, not only did it change its appearance, it also simulated the magic of the
target, thus changing its own magical fingerprint and making itself practically
untraceable. To make things even more impossible, the creatures did not even have a
specific natural habitat they could seek out.
All in all, to stumble upon one, you had to be seriously lucky—or unlucky,
depending on your perspective.
“To catch them, though,” Taaless had explained enthusiastically, “you have to pay
attention to the other creatures of the forest. Because an aapaataa might make itself
look like a certain animal, but it doesn’t behave like them. Can you see where I’m

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going with this?” At the girl’s hazy eyes, he’d begun again. “Let me put it this way. An
aapaataa I once encountered had turned into a taikaan cow. How did I realize this?
Because I saw it devour a googir that had come hunting. A googir! Ah, the poor
creature,” he’d finished with a laugh. Clora had never seen these animals, but she
knew enough to understand the gist: Prey ate predator. Got it.
A few days ago, the pair had discovered the ravaged corpse of a shahmonkey while
wandering the area. From the bite marks, Taaless had realized another shahmonkey
had been the assailant. But since shahmonkeys were not cannibalistic, it was most
likely an aapaataa who had done the deed. The man had barely taken a breath before
they ended up hunting the monster at his behest. They started by searching the area
and detected more and more odd corpses in the following days until, finally, they
found the creature just this morning. Accidentally, as it happens.
Clora had been standing close to a tree, scouting around for more clues, when
she’d come face to face with herself. Her own features were set in the trunk of the
tree. That was when she’d realized the aapaataa was right there, wrapped around the
wood in the shape of a snake but camouflaged. Thankfully, it had also been asleep
and involuntarily replicated her face.
When she had silently notified the farwatcher who had been farther away, the man
had swiftly snuffed out the creature with a poisoned arrow. When dead, the
aapaataa’s serpentine form had lost shape and turned into a pulp-like substance filled
with scattered bones. Taaless had cut it up right there, taking the useful solid parts
and throwing them into a sack—and he’d done it with rare savagery, too.
“You know,” Clora said at last, gazing around the hill they were hiking, “that was
not very nice. Just horrible.”
Taaless gave her a blank look. “What do you mean?”
“The way you tore that aapaataa apart. It was disgusting. You’re usually gentler.”

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 He smirked. “True, but that’s because the other creatures deserve being treated
gently. I have a certain respect for living beings, but aapaataas are different. They don’t
have an ounce of warmth in their hearts, not like the rest. The bastards are utterly
ruthless. Born killers without families. I don’t even know how they multiply.” Hatred
curled the side of his lips. “I wish I could extinguish the entire species so not even a
whisper of them would remain. Poof! Gone. Extinct.”
Words failed Clora as she stared at the man with wide eyes.
Their haans dog ran past them then, distracting the girl. Riding proudly on its back
was Boo, posing like a renowned rider and laughing as if it was the happiest creature
in the whole world. At first, Taaless had been against Boo’s presence on their hunting
trips, thinking the flower would cause trouble. But he had finally relented at Clora’s
insistence that it would not. And she’d been right—in the past week, Boo had proven
to be quiet and inconspicuous among the trees, making sure not to upset Taaless or
their prey.
When they finally walked out of the forest and onto the plain, the noontime sun
lit up the lushflowers’ pollen—the grains were like jelly, riding the wind like clouds of
green drops. Passing through the pollen turned the rays viridescent and gave life to
flashing scenes of a lush, broken light show. The girl’s breath caught in her throat at
the sight—more than a month and Clora was still not used to the wonders of the
Thousand-Bloom Plain.
A light breeze swept past, stealing the pollen away, and Clora remembered herself
and what lay ahead. Taaless was watching the area, as careful as always. “What time
does the Flight start?” she asked, almost bouncing on her heels.
He took a twig out of his short wavy hair. “According to the calculations, this year
the shabgards will appear at about midnight.”

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 “Just appear? But how? Where? And for how long? Will they be gone at sunrise?”
The rapid-fire questions burst out of her without letting her pause for breath—she
could not deny that she was excited to see the legendary creatures.
Taaless chuckled. “The how is something you’ll have to wait and see for yourself.
But the place is a specific clearing close to camp. As always, the flight will continue
for three consecutive nights after that, lasting from dusk till dawn. It’s a major festival
so you can expect some proper celebrations!”
Clora had no idea what a festival was—she’d never been a part of one and was near
gleeful from the chance to see one for the first time. All these new experiences were
leaving her dumbfounded and yet, she could not help but crave more. The girl
caressed the flower coming to sit on her shoulder then followed Taaless across and
down the hill.
When they eventually arrived at camp, Boo clung to her clothes and climbed down,
running to the tents with childish delight. Clora noticed their number had increased
somewhat. “Who are they?” She pointed, always suspicious of new additions to the
caravan.
Taaless seemed to sense her worry. “Just people who’ve come to see the Flight of
Shabgard Swans, nothing important. Many join us in the Saanaaka Jungle at this time
of the year for the event; though here is not the only place where the shabgards take to
the sky. Neither do all who choose Saanaaka for watching the Flight and some extra
sightseeing decide to come to our caravan—these are just the ones who trust us. Others
have set up tents on their own or come with other crews.”
Strangers stood around, chatting in groups. The sight of them staggered Clora—
they looked like humans, but also didn’t. Some had luminescent eyes, others odd
skins. A group even had horns! “Wow,” the girl whispered in wonder, “how many
different people are there? Are these even human?”

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 A broad smile sat on the man’s face “Oh, too many to count! As for being human”—
he nodded at the strangers—“the ones you see are different from normal humans like
me and are separate species on their own. Still, they are ensaan like us.”
One group consisted of three men and two women, all abnormally tall with skins
in shades of gray. On top of each their heads were two large horns black as charcoal.
Ornate long clothes covered them from the neck down, stopping just above the
ground. The women’s seemed to open slightly beneath the waist, resembling a skirt.
They spoke among themselves in a strange tongue, blissfully mindless of anyone else’s
presence.
And Clora could not stop staring.
“I don’t get it,” she told Taaless. “There are these many diverse people in Serinor,
and you were still surprised by the mask around my eyes?”
“Yes, and rightly so! I’d never seen someone like you.” The farwatcher took the
bow from his back and put its end on the ground so it stood in front of him. It was
so big it reached up to his stomach. He grabbed the top of the bowstring with his
right hand, pushing down the bow with the other. The strange wood bent and the
string was finally released.
“Do you see the group with glowing eyes?” he said when finished.
How could she not? Their glow drew her gaze easily; and not just the glow of their
eyes but their everything. They had skin like opaque gold in different shades, slightly
glossy in the rays of the sun. Their hair came in numerous dark colors, from cherry
red to pear green and cobalt blue. Gem-studded clothes hung from their human-sized
body, signaling wealth and abundance.
“They are called many things but ‘dazzleye’ is the most common. While they’re not
the best, they are relatively easy to deal with. Their people’s specialty is trade but, if it
comes to war, dazzleyes are more than adequate at defending themselves. Oh, and
when it comes to ravaansmithery, they are unmatched in all of Serinor.”

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 Right then, one of the dazzleyes who was standing more than thirty meters away
turned and looked directly at Clora and Taaless. Her eyes shone from the distance,
clear like two precious sapphires. Curiosity sat on her golden features.
“And of course,” Taaless added, “they have a sharp hearing.”
The dazzleye grinned and went back to talking to her friends. Looking away, Clora
saw three of the gray-skinned people—two of them male and the other female—
approaching her and Taaless. The man straightened his leather vest and squared his
shoulders, facing the horned trio with an expression cut in ice.
Their willowy forms towered over Clora, standing at over two meters tall. She could
see the different patterns on their curved horns. The man who was positioned in front
of the other two spoke up in a low voice. “You must be Taaless.”
Taaless looked the man up and down. “And you would be?”
“My name is Âlârâ,” he responded formally, the others looking on blankly. “I heard
by accident that you are hunting an aapaataa. Is that correct?” He had a harsh accent,
his consonants biting and his vowels dim.
“Why are you asking?”
This time, it was the woman with lighter skin who replied. “If you succeeded in
capturing it, we would pay handsomely for its remains.” Her voice was high but firm,
turning the words into pinpricks with that sharp pronunciation. It fit her meticulous
appearance, too; her horns were polished and shorter than the others’, and her dark
clothes seemed tailored to match their patterns.
“I need to speak with Aakaa first. I will inform you later.”
The strangers watched the farwatcher silently. Then in a sudden simultaneous
movement, they all spun on their heels and left without a goodbye, their steps precise
parallels. Clora waited until they were far away before speaking. “Why didn’t you tell
them you’ve already caught it?”

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 “Damn meraanias,” Taaless cursed, his gaze glued to their retreating figures. “I don’t
trust them and they don’t trust us either. They are the most mysterious and odd
people across the land. Maybe it’s because of how closed-off they are, but they differ
from the rest of Serinor in almost every way possible—their mannerism, mages,
warriors, you name it. I mean, even Perigaad speaks the standardized language, but
meraanias only do so for communication with outsiders; not that they do much of
that, mind you. They have a good relationship with Aakaa, though, which is rare.”
He beckoned. “Come, lunch awaits.”
Clora pursed her lips and followed him toward their tents and the guards’ fire,
slightly farther away from where the strangers had set up camp. “But why don’t you
trust them?” she insisted. She was always unsatisfied with half-answers.
“No specific reason, I just don’t like their ways. Esnoz has told you about
performant and permanent magic, right?” She nodded. “Well, their species doesn’t
have performant magic, they only have the permanent kind. And they’re great at it,
too; their enchantments can last for centuries. The part I don’t like is how they use
the body parts of animals for those enchantments and are always looking for more;
the more magical the creature, the better.” He let out a breath, nose wrinkling in
distaste. “I’m sure they would lay down their own lives for the chance to get their
hands on an aapaataa’s bones—God only knows what they would do with its inner
ravaan.” His eyes sought hers. “Meraanias are dangerous, Clora; when they set their
eyes on a goal they deem worth it, they are not afraid of doing whatever they think is
necessary to get there. Do you have your answer now?”
Clora bobbed her head, taking it all in. They got their bread and bowls of stew and
dumplings, then sat down. But instead of eating, she glanced at the horned foreigners
in the distance, then back at Taaless. Opened her mouth, then closed it. Something
was still bothering her about the encounter.
Taaless noticed. “What is it?”

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 “I, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because they’re odd as you said but…” A shake of
her head. “Well, that was odd. Their blank looks. Their silence and synchronized
movements. I just…”
He laughed. “What do you think I meant by ‘odd’? Go on, think. There was indeed
something—but what?”
The piece of bread gave off a pleasant warmth in her hands. “I don’t know. I, it
was like—” The girl chewed her bottom lip. “It was like they each knew exactly what
the other two were going to say or do at any given time and were all in agreement. No
one led; they all moved together. Does that make sense?”
“Of course it does!” Taaless beamed at her. “Those three are psychtied—in other
words, their minds are linked so closely they are practically one. They think together
and when one speaks, it’s actually all three of them.”
Clora’s eyes were as wide as two of Boo’s large petals when she turned to stare at
the meraanias standing farther away. “But why? What’s the point?”
“What do you think?” he asked with a raised brow, clearly enjoying this.
“I don’t know, and I’m tired. Please just answer.”
The man, of course, did not, choosing to slurp down his beef stew instead. Clora
was not the least bit surprised; if Taaless decided on something, there was no changing
his mind. Ever. She sighed and dug in as well, pondering over the question as she ate:
what was a psychtie good for?
They can communicate privately? she wondered. But that seemed too small a gain to
sacrifice one’s privacy for. Taaless’s words came back to her: when they set their eyes on
a goal they deem worth it, they are not afraid of doing whatever they think is necessary to get
there. She just had to figure out what a meraania would deem a worthy aspiration and
she’d have her answer.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Boo running to her and impatiently signaling
her hunger. When the flower got its share, it disappeared back the way it had come.

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 Clora returned to the question at hand. Think! What’s the ultimate goal in this world?
The answer was obvious: power. To defend or to rise above, power was what everyone
seemed to seek. And in a world of magic, the true power was that magic. So if three
people chose to tie their minds together and lose all mental privacy in exchange,
then—
“It’s because the psychtie makes them more powerful in wielding magic,” she
replied when she swallowed her last bite of bread.
A beat of silence. “Ugh.” Taaless’s face scrunched in bitterness. “Why did you
figure that out so fast? My master gave me a whole day!” Pouting like a child, he left
his empty bowl and headed toward their side-by-side tents pitched close by. He
plopped down on the stone in front of his.
The girl watched him expectantly.
“Alright, yes, that’s correct,” he confirmed eventually. “You see, the permanent
magic meraanias are famous for is not something anyone can handle. It requires an
impossibly resilient mind. That’s what the psychtie makes possible; the shared mind
it results in is vast and formidable, capable of performing that kind of magic. Privacy
is a small sacrifice for that much power, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” she admitted.
At the sound of her voice, Boo ran out of Clora’s tent where it had hidden and
hugged the girl’s knees. She patted its head, her mind preoccupied with all the new
information. The variety and abundance of the living beings in Serinor was difficult
for her to digest—no matter how much she learned, it still felt like she had barely
scratched the surface. She wanted to ask why that was, why there were so many, but
she doubted even Taaless knew the answer to that.
Exhausted, her eyes flew to her tent and she thought of the soft blanket that awaited
her inside. They’d left early in the morning and she had not managed to get much
rest. “I’m going to sleep. Is there anything you need?”

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 Taaless did not look up, too focused on sharpening his knife. “No, you go rest.
You’ll want to be awake for tonight.”
With a quiet farewell, she moved toward the flap. Compared to Taaless’s, her tent
was small and not as useful for anything other than taking shelter. Still, she loved it
and felt oddly safe inside. Boo had seemed to share the sentiment too, because it
spent all the time it could in their tent and was always unexpectedly careful to keep it
clean and tidy. More so than even Clora, and that was saying a lot.
Taking off her shoes, Clora stepped inside and onto the mat that covered the entire
floor of her tent. She stayed half-bent as she turned, trying to avoid hitting the top of
the tent. Then she picked up her shoes and, careful not to dirty the place, put them
in her small cupboard. Boo followed suit with a grin, cleaning its root-like feet before
walking inside. The girl let the flap fall into place and turned back. In the light that
leaked through the thick fabric, she could barely make out her furniture.
A brown cotton mat, a neat white cot, an undersized warm blanket, and a simple
wooden cupboard with a few pieces of clothing; these, along with the tent, were all
Clora owned in the world—well, other than that blood casket her parent had
supposedly left her. On the first day, Esnoz had handed these to her and emphasized
that they were now hers and hers alone. The feeling of having something to call her
own had taken her by surprise with its intensity, almost bringing tears to her eyes.
They were probably worthless, but she still took care of them as if they were a trove
of treasures.
“Boo,” she called, “could you get me that moonleaf ivy?”
A series of incomprehensible sounds came out of the flower’s mouth in response.
After a few seconds, a small cubic box of ebony was in its branches, stretched toward
Clora in the dim shadows. The girl took it with a pleased thank you. Lifting its lid
painted the tent in azure blue light, revealing a twisted plant that sprung open to hang
from the sides of the box. Tens of tiny leaves covered its stem and gave off a soft light—

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weak, but sufficient for her and the many travelers who made sure to carry a moonleaf
ivy at all times.
Boo began hopping around in the ivy’s glow; Clora was beginning to understand
why they were called raqsaan flowers—it was constantly dancing. Raqsaan. The girl
wondered if there was anything in the world that Boo did not love and find joy in.
Well, I guess there were the eghvaagars and pekeen; it certainly did not love those!
Chuckling, she raised the box’s hook and hung it from the ceiling.
Clora lay down on the cot and her friend quickly joined her. She doubted the
flower ever actually slept, but she had no complaints to Boo lying in her arms every
night, since the creature took care to never disturb her sleep. So she hugged her friend
close as they both snuggled under the blanket, and exhaustion swiftly stole her away.

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 CHAPTER 7
Daas

A
fter days on the move, waking up on a soft bed at the break of dawn was a
comfort Daas had not expected to miss so much. Rubbing his eyes, he sat
up and again took in his extravagant room at the Etkaars’ house; it was still
too much to wrap his head around. He rose and walked to the window, wanting to
see if the magical sight from last night had been real as well or just a dream.
Yes, it was still there. Not as stunning as it had been in the dark—no sign of the
pale sun or the flashing lights—but it was still beautiful. The morning had thrown the
thousands of houses and hundreds of spiraling streets into sharp focus, and Daas was
still mesmerized by the stairway-like structure. And that’s not even half of it, he thought,
knowing many wondrous scenes awaited him in all corners of the capital city.
There, he wished for time, for his interrogators to not come knocking on the door
to whisk him away and be merciful enough to give him time—time to at least see a
little bit of the world he had only read about and been missing out on, before having
to face his punishment and, inevitably, death.
A wave of loneliness blanketed his senses, secrets weighing down his shoulders. He
had no idea how to dig himself out of this grave. The Voice would know a way, but
Daas could not contact them after their telemind connection was found out a week
ago—by the investigators, most likely. No matter how important Daas’s position as a
spy deep in Perigaad was, he doubted his contact would put him before their own
mission and the people of Liano. Besides, he did not know enough to hurt their
chances for them to want to save him. He was as good as dead.
Daas picked up his sword from the side of the bed and unsheathed it in the rays of
the sun coming from the window. He could see his own reflection in the gleaming
blade—just a boy with short black hair and a long nose that fit his large build. Nothing

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in his features set him apart from the people sleeping in this house, but the ravaan
test would certainly reveal his Lianese heritage with the anomalies in his innerprint.
With a sigh, he closed the curtains and stepped away, then proceeded to quickly
put on his outdoor attire and button his leather vest. Buckling his belt, Daas tied his
scabbard to it and headed for the door. There was no reason for him to stay indoors
and wait for Petro and Kaari to wake when he could be walking the streets right this
moment.
Daas opened his doors on silent hinges and, checking the hallway to make sure no
one was there, stepped outside as quietly as possible. Suddenly, a candelabra to the
left lit up, making him jump. He chided himself inwardly. It’s not like I’m trying to run
away. I’m just going for a stroll. Still, he kept his steps quiet as to not wake anyone while
he walked down the hallway, past the sitting area and the many doors, until he
reached the banister. Looking down on the main hall, Daas noted that it was empty.
Good, I can take a walk in peace.
That was when one of the doors behind him opened and a sleepy but fully dressed-
up Elia stepped out. She was tying her cape when she noticed him.
“Are you sneaking off?” she said with a raised brow.
Daas shifted uncomfortably. “No, I was just going for a walk.”
“Huh, so soon? Do you always get up so early?” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, I’d be
snoring in my bed if not for my assignment.”
“Well, sometimes. I like the early hours.”
The girl threw him an odd look. “You’re so weird. Come on, then. You first have
to eat breakfast or else Mom will have my head.” A bounce in her steps, she walked
down the stairs without a backward glance, expecting Daas to follow. He wondered if
it was too late to run back to his room but thought better of it and descended the
curving staircase.
Elia’s voice rose in the hush of early morning, “MOM!”

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 “Here!” came the response from the door closest to the end of the hall—the kitchen,
Daas had presumed yesterday.
“Can we come in?” she yelled. “I’m bringing a guest!”
“Oh yes, dear!”
Ms. Aashia was leaning over a dark cherry-wood table in the center of the room,
busy cleaning it. The same white apron from the day before was tied behind her neck
and around her hips. She looked up when they entered and a kind smile stretched
across her face.
Daas nodded. “Good morning, madam.”
“Oh dear, good morning to you as well. Come! Sit, sit!”
Elia drew up a chair and plopped down unceremonially. “Mom, I’ve got Structure
Development and Manufacturing in a few hours. Could you cook the breakfast in
ghee again?”
Her mother gave her a chastening look while Daas sat down in front of Elia. “You
have been eating ghee almost this entire week. It’s not that good for you, child!”
“I don’t care.” The girl reached for a bun from the basket on the table and bit in.
“Ugh, just make it please,” she pleaded with a full mouth.
Daas took a look around. The kitchen was rather large, a window to his left, one
door to the right leading to the main hall and another behind Elia which could only
lead to the dining room. The table was big enough to take up the entirety of an
ordinary kitchen, but here there was enough space for both free movement and deep-
brown metal cabinets all around the place. Multiple shelves were set on the cream
granite tops, with all kinds of devices put on display. But what caught his attention
was an odd contraption set on a cabinet to the left.
It was a black metal box with three large curving containers made of smoked glass
visible from its transparent crystalline front. Round iron caps held in grips grabbed
each container from both above and beneath. Each contained a turbulent liquid with

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streaks of colors swirling within. Still, certain colors stood dominant—the right-most
was mostly crimson but changing in shade, the one in the middle a mixture of
cerulean blue and emerald green curling around each other, and the left-most
colorless. Pipes connected them and came out of the device’s back to link it to the
adjacent dark box with a glass door. Ms. Aashia was standing over the boxes, hands
flitting over the buttons and levers set on the first one.
Elia noticed his interest. “Oh, that’s a smaller type of ravaansformation devices.
They have all kinds of uses, like building Structures. This one’s for cooking.”
As Daas had guessed, of course—he’d read brief mentions of ravaansformers, but
as with everything that had to do with Architecture, the information was scarce. “It
utilizes pure ravaan combination for cooking the raw ingredients, right?” He squinted.
“The heat you are using must be from the ravaan friction. Between red and green
ravaans, if I’m not mistaken.”
There was a beat of silence. Daas looked up to see mother and daughter eyeing him
in shock. “How do you know about that?” Ms. Aashia asked with clear bafflement.
“And how did you guess it was red and green ravaan friction I was using and not, I
don’t know, red with blue or yellow?”
The answer seemed fairly obvious to Daas. “Well, with that device you are using
ravaan combination to work with the ingredients in different ways. Based on the type
of ravaans, combination can result in interaction, integration, or friction. Naturally,
you must be using mostly friction for the controlled heat with a little bit of interaction
for controlled alterations.” He pointed at the colorful containers. “Red ravaan is
clearly the main power source of this device, as it is the most dominant color. But the
combination of red with any other colors either does not result in friction or if it
does—like with blue or yellow—it releases too much energy to be suitable for cooking.
You need a milder ravaan, so green is my best bet.”

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 At first, no one spoke. Then Ms. Aashia began shaking her head. “You seem to
know quite a bit about our Architecture for a cadet,” she noted, tone signaling her
disbelief.
Daas shrugged. “Reading is a great pastime and one of my passions.”
“Is this part of the cadets’ courses?” Her eyes locked with Elia’s for a flash. “Does
Kaari know all this too?”
“No, nothing like that. I just visit the library too often.” He gave them an
embarrassed smile. “And I don’t think Kaari knows any of this.” Looking away, Daas
tried to distract himself with the other inventions scattered throughout the kitchen.
He did not understand their surprise—the things he had mentioned were only the
basics of the science of ravaan, not the true mysteries never written in books available
to the public. Still, the ensuing silence made it apparent the two did not agree about
the ordinary nature of his words.
After a few minutes, Ms. Aashia put plates of sunny eggs and beef bacon on the
table with three glasses of lemon tea. She then replaced the basket of buns with one
of flatbread before sitting down. Daas could only stare—in Naigaa, breakfast had
usually just consisted of tea and some bread, with none of the extra delicacies. The
difference never stopped being jarring.
When he finally made himself reach for the basket, he realized the bread seemed
unexpectedly fresh. “Did you make this bread yourself using the device?”
“Oh, yes!” Elia replied for her mother. “Mom is such a pro at things like this.”
He was impressed. “Does everyone here do that?”
The girl put a spoonful of eggs in her mouth and took a bite of the bread, not even
bothering to swallow. “Of course not. It’s not so easy to use ravaansformers. Most
people leave it to bakers and their tandoors. But as I said, Mom is a pro.”
Her mother looked flustered. “Oh, stop it. It’s nothing. You lot just make a big
deal of something so easy.”

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 “It’s not easy,” Elia grumbled. “My head starts spinning when I think of how you
can even control that much ravaan combination and tell the ravaans apart!”
They spent the next minutes eating their meal, with Ms. Aashia constantly trying
to put more eggs and beef on Daas’s plate. Finally, the young cadet raised a palm.
“Thank you, madam. I think that is enough for me.”
“No, no, no, you barely ate anything! Don’t be shy, son. You will eat just as much
as Elia is gobbling down, if not more.”
Daas could continue, of course, but he did not feel comfortable eating more in
front of his hosts. “Thank you,” he said instead, “but we’re not used to more.”
Elia came to his rescue, changing the subject. “Is Dad still asleep?”
“Raaigaar left before dawn.”
“What? Why? Was there a problem?”
She wagged her head, the corner of her lips tilting down. “He did not say.”
The girl leaned back, done with her breakfast, prompting her mother to rise and
collect the dishes. Meanwhile, a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she
glanced at Daas, making him frown in confusion. “Mom,” Elia began, “I have good
news for you. Daas says Kaari is probably going to stay with us.”
A gasp. Instantly, the woman’s gaze was locked on Daas. “He does?”
Daas coughed, masking his shock. “Uh, I, I just said it’s a possibility.” Inside, he
was cursing himself. He should have expected the young girl to have such a loose
tongue.
Tears gleamed in Ms. Aashia’s eyes. “Has he said anything?”
“Not exactly. He’s just changed so much in the past three or four years, so I was
thinking it’s likely that he would want to make some important decisions.” He threw
a berating look at Elia, annoyed by the small smile playing on her lips. “Perhaps, if
you and your husband have a serious talk with your son and try to reason with him,
he might accept.”

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 Letting out a long breath, Kaari’s mother sat back down. Her features spoke the
language of grief. “My boy has truly changed, hasn’t he? I realized that last night. The
last three years must have been so hard for him.”
When silence fell again, Elia shot to her feet. “Ugh, Mom! Quit crying already.
That was supposed to be good news!” She gestured for Daas to rise. “Daas and I need
to head out. We’re going to the uni.”
Ms. Aashia wiped at her eyes. “Oh, so you want to see the university, Daas?”
“Well, umm, it seems so?” He sent a questioning look Elia’s way.
Elia paid him no mind, shaking her cape to make sure it was clean. “Bye, Mom. I’ll
show him around then bring him back here and head off to class.” With a last
farewell, Daas and Elia left her mother to fuss over what to make for Kaari, and skid
outside.
They had barely put the house behind them when Elia pointed at the sheathed
sword hanging at Daas’s hip. “Do you have to carry that around all times?
Daas righted it self-consciously and nodded.
“But what happens if you don’t?”
“If I run into a marshal, I’d get into trouble—be they an Academy master or not.”
“I don’t see any marshals around here, though.”
He gave her a meaningful smile. “Someone here might have a loose tongue.”
“Hey!” Her brow creased. “Quit the sarcasm.”
“How about you quit repeating my words to others without asking me?”
“Mom’s upset, okay? She deserves some good news. Besides, I talked to Kaari last
night. He didn’t say anything specific but looks like his empty brain has grown enough
to realize Mom and Dad need help.”
Daas did not spare her a glance. “You could have just said that to your mother.”
“Well, I did.”
He could hear the grin in her voice. When he finally looked at her with a lifted
eyebrow, he saw the evidence pasted on her face.
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 “Fine, fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I should not have told Mom what you said. I’m
sorry.” Then the girl took out a small bag from her pocket and opened it to count
what turned out to be coins. Satisfied, she put her wallet back into her pocket. “Now,”
Elia added with a widening grin, “let’s go shopping!”
“What? Weren’t we supposed to go to the University of Architecture?”
She waved a hand. “There’s enough time for that later. My class is in four hours
and the only reason I got up so early was because I have a research assignment to hand
in—I’m supposed to write a report on how a Structure of my choosing functions, and
I fancy choosing clothes.”
Daas took his chance. “Oh, then it’s probably better if I head on my own.”
“Nah, don’t worry. I have until next week. I’ve just got to choose the Structure and
report it today to our professor. Come on, you need a guide around here. I promise
there are so many more interesting things than that old thing.”
He stopped walking. There was no way he was going sightseeing with Kaari’s little
sister. “Really, I think it’s best if we leave that to when Kaari is here too.”
A frustrated huff escaped the girl as she turned to him. “Look, you archaic
buffoon—I have to talk to you about something important.”
Something important? Daas grew serious. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Well, go on, then. What is this ‘something important’?”
Elia opened her arms, baffled. “Here?”
“Sure. Why not?”
At that, the girl glared. “That is no way to treat a proper lady, young man.”
Daas would have liked to point out that no proper lady would lie to trick someone
into accompanying them, but he let it go. “Alright, but get it over with quickly.”
Elia again rolled her eyes. “Fine!” Then a giggle escaped her. “But we have to go
shopping afterward, too.” And without so much as waiting for a response, the girl

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spun on her heels and walked away, giving Daas no choice but to follow with an
exasperated sigh.
***
Slowly, the street began to slope downward. Daas realized they were moving toward
the valley when he started to make out the cobbled streets far ahead to the other side
of the scone, despite the structures that were supposed to obscure his vision. From
this far away, the buildings appeared like miniature dollhouses, crammed together
and gleaming in various colors like a painstakingly dreamt-up painting.
Daas was thrown off guard by the density of the constructions and the lack of any
roads other than paved ones. Even in the early hour, pedestrians and horseless
carriages and wagons were already trickling into the paths. When he focused on the
street around him again, he noticed the occasional curious glance coming their way—
apparently, people were not used to the sight of an Army recruit and Architect student
walking side by side.
Most wore capes on their formal attire—some long and dark, others shorter and in
lighter shades like Elias’s. The caped citizens were Architects, Daas knew. He had
heard about the piece of clothing that signified their status, but had never seen one
up close until yesterday. And on top of that, some wore hats in different shapes while
some did not. Even though he knew more or less how the dress code worked and had
learned all he could about the higher education granted only to Architects, he thought
to see if Elia could add anything to his knowledge. “Those with black capes are the
graduate Architects, right?” he asked the girl.
“Right you are,” Elia said with a nod. “After the five years of standard public
education, the newbies who get to the university start off without a cape and have to
wear white uniforms instead. At the end of the first year, they get to don their first
cape and leave the uniforms behind. Then their capes get longer and darker with each
year until they end up with black.” All things he knew, of course, but he did not want
to stop Elia in case there were things he didn’t.
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 “Are they required to wear capes at all times?” he asked instead, curious. He’d
noted how the Architects in Naigaa had not been wearing any most of the time.
“During your studies, yes. But once you graduate, it’s up to you. Except for special
occasions—you need to be fully and formally dressed for those.”
Daas eyed her. “Yours is a dark sage green and waist-length.”
“That it is! For the Mastery degree and graduation with a black cape, you have to
study for twenty years—seven years of general studies, then thirteen years of vocational
studies. You can drop off after seven with an Essentials degree, but rarely anyone
chooses that.” She huffed. “No work for them. I’m only finishing my seventh year,
meaning soon I’ll have to choose my branch! See those hats?”
“Yes, what are they for?” This, he truly did not know.
“They divide the branches, silly! See how there are four types? Flat with a brim,”—
she pointed as she went on—“flat with a brim and two black feathers, pointy with a
brim, and flat without any brim.” Her eyes sought Daas beneath her raised brows.
“Life, Shield, Warfare, and Construction. Since I’ll soon move on to the vocational
studies, I’ll be getting my own hat!”
Her visible excitement made Daas smile. “Congratulations,” he added respectfully.
“I wish you good luck.” Silence ensued as he mulled over his many questions,
wondering if he should ask them or if it would make him seem suspicious.
Elia noticed. “Stop carving a hole in those pavements. Just ask whatever it is.”
The young cadet winced in embarrassment. “I was wondering … If those who
graduate with a Mastery degree have black capes, what about Vaahaa graduates?”
For a moment, the girl only stared. “You know about the highest degree?”
“I only know it is an extra specialization of the sub-branches after receiving your
Mastery degree and requires exceptional talent. I’ve heard its graduates are rare.”
“Huh.” A pause. “Well, that they are. But if they finish their additional five years
of special studies and get their hands on that Vaahaa degree, the Architects get an
extra layer to their capes—a smaller white cape on top of the black one.”
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 This was news for Daas—he had never even glimpsed a Vaahaa Architect. “I don’t
reckon you have any in your family, do you?”
“Well,”—she grimaced—“we do. Mom and Dad both have Vaahaa degrees.”
Shock flew down his spine. “Wow. Which branch?”
“They’re both Construction,” she said, sliding both hands into her pockets. “Dad
specialized in Macrolevel Construction and Repair and Mom in Microlevel.”
Daas had heard of the two most important sub-branches of Construction before.
One worked with larger ravaansformers responsible for building huge industrial
Structures, the other with smaller devices that did the detailed, small-scale work.
“When you say they are rare, how rare exactly are we talking about?”
“Let’s just say that, of the two hundred thousand Architects we have in Perigaad,
maybe only a thousand have gotten to receive a Vaahaa degree.”
Five Architects in every thousand. No wonder Kaari despaired, what with two parents
so gifted. “Hmm. And are you going to follow in the footsteps of your parents and
study Construction?”
That seemed to drain the girl of all her energy. “Parents and brothers, actually.”
Daas found he was sad to see Elia’s ever-present spirit fly away like this. “Then I
take it you are a rebellious soul who wants to trample family tradition,” he tried.
It worked, a pale smile curling her lips. “I guess we’ll see.”
The cadet made an attempt to change the subject, fetching for another one of his
unending questions. “Tell me,” he wondered, “how far into your studies do you have
to be to be ready for a headbond?”
Suddenly, Elia’s openness was replaced with caution. Daas gave himself a mental
kick, only just remembering headbonds were not public knowledge; he had only read
them mentioned passingly in books before Paaneh had explained it to Petro and him.

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 The girl seemed to come to a decision. “To be honest, I don’t know all that much
about it except that you have to at least have a Mastery degree to submit a request for
a headbond. It’s got its perks, financially or otherwise.”
Daas gulped, feeling the danger miss him by centimeters. “Are your parents
headbonded with a Structure?”
“No clue.” A shrug. “You know, it’s not supposed to be announced or whatever.
At least not according to the law. Headbonds are jealously guarded secrets—we can’t
put a Structure or its head at risk like that.”
“Naturally,” Daas agreed. “Forgive me, I’m just too curious. I would have loved to
see how a headbond is formed or works, but … I guess I’m not an Architect.”
They changed the subject after that—from the flameless lamps to the building and
repairing of Structures with the controlled ravaan interaction in ravaansformers, Daas
bombarded Elia with questions and was surprised each time she answered them
patiently. The slope became steeper and steeper as they went until, finally, Elia came
to a stop in front of a tea shop. “Here, let’s get something to eat.”
Daas had no reason to protest—he had not eaten that much breakfast and they had
been walking for more than an hour—except for the fact that he did not have a lot of
money on him and was unaware of the prices in Maazinaan. But when he saw the
board posted at the door with the prices, he relaxed and followed Elia in.
They chose a teak table in the shop’s personal backyard, passing empty chairs and
the few customers scattered about. As they sat down, facing each other, a waiter
holding up a wooden tray with a long glass walked past. Daas glimpsed a milk-like
liquid with flowing streaks of other colors inside before the waiter was out of sight.
“That’s a special fruit nectar made with the same ravaansformers,” Elia explained
when she saw where his attention had gone. “It’s what I’m having—a total treat.” She
grinned. “You should too. It’s on me.”
“That’s not proper. I would prefer it if you let me pay.”

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 There was the infamous eyeroll again. “Wow, what a gentleman. Are you always so
chivalrous, Daas?”
“Most of the time, yes,” he nodded, unbothered by her teasing. “Especially when
I’m in the company of a lady.”
“Oh, so it’s not your first time going out with a lady.”
“Indeed not.”
“And may I ask who this lucky young woman was? A fellow cadet, perhaps?”
“No, female soldiers are not trained in Naigaa. They mostly attend the southern
cities’ Academies of Armed Forces.”
“Is that so?” The girl raised a brow. “So, a blushing baker’s daughter, then.”
Daas pursed his lips. “It was an Architect.”
“An Architect?” She sounded as if she thought he was joking.
He only bobbed his head once.
“Huh. So…” Elia looked him up and down. “What happened. Did you break up?”
A frown. “Break up what?”
Before her small smile could stretch and make way for more teasing, their
conversation was interrupted by a waiter stopping next to them. He looked to be in
his mid-twenties, with slick black hair combed back and a small mustache standing
out above his lips. Daas ordered a slice of mulberry cake with simple tea while Elia
went for something called ‘colorblitz juice’—the strange drink from before, Daas
assumed.
He expected the young man to leave then, but for some reason, he lingered, eying
Elia. When he spoke, Daas understood why. “Madam, can we be sure you are aware
the colorblitz juice is only served to those who have reached the legal age of twenty-
one?”
“Certainly, I just recently turned twenty—”
“No, she didn’t,” Daas cut in.

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 Elia’s eyes widened in shock, morphing into rage as she glared at Daas. It seemed
that was proof enough for the confused waiter. The man pursed his lips. “Then,
unfortunately, I’m afraid we cannot serve you the colorblitz juice, madam. You may,
however, place a different order.”
“I’ll have some iced tea,” she forced out, “thank you.” As soon as the waiter was
out of earshot, she hissed. “Eighteen or twenty-one, what difference does it make?”
“The difference is in which is a lie and which the truth. And I have no interest in
spending time with liars, because I have rules and values of my own.”
“Ugh, damn you and your rules.” Elia gave him a sidelong glance. “You really are
an archaic buffoon, aren’t you?” Daas could hear the teasing, mischievous tone
slipping back into her words, her anger vanishing slowly.
He laughed. “That I am.”
“You’re not even going to apologize, are you?”
“For what?”
“Oh, how I wish my order was here so I could pour that tea all over your face.”
“Ah.” He raised a finger. “But that won’t make you twenty-one.”
“Thank you for reminding me, genius.”
“How about this? You wait until you turn twenty-one, and I’ll be the first to buy
you a glass of that colorblitz juice. I was curious to taste it myself too, but I won’t. This
way, we both wait together.” He paused, shifting awkwardly. “If Kaari joins us too, of
course.”
Elia’s cackle filled the quiet morning, making every pair of eyes turn to them in
curiosity. She was clutching her stomach, leaning so far back in her chair Daas
thought she would topple backward any moment.
“Hey, shh,” he hissed.
“You, you are a piece of work,” Elia got out between fits of laughter. “You do realize
I’ve had of that juice before, right?” She shook her head, still shaking. The waiter
arrived with their order, placing them on the light brown surface before holding the
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tray to his chest. When he ensured they needed nothing else, the young man turned
on his heels and left. “Very well, archaic buffoon,” she began again, “you’ve drilled
my brain enough in the last hour and a half. It’s time you answer my questions.”
“So this is what all that generosity was about.” Daas wagged his head in mock
disappointment. “I wondered why you were suddenly so cooperative, answering
everything I asked.”
“Yes, well, you need to be smart in your trades.”
“I was not aware this was a trade.”
“Everything is a trade,” she said, stirring her tea, “but I’ll cut you some slack. You
don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just wanted to create an incentive, as they
like to call it.”
Daas crossed his arms. “Alright, ask away. I take it these questions have to do with
the ‘something important’ you mentioned earlier?” He already had an idea of where
this was going.
“Yeah, you see,” Elia began, suddenly careful, “there have been rumors going
around about the attack more than a month ago—in Naigaa they call it the Day of
Butchering, I think. People say there was a survivor—not like the Architects who
passed out but a cadet who saw the whole thing and still lived, you know?”
Daas said nothing.
“Since we got the news that Kaari was suddenly coming here with a couple of
friends, Mom and Dad have seemed preoccupied. Especially Dad—he seems even
busier than before.” Her eyes were on him, gauging his reaction as she went on. “The
whole timing and suddenness of it were suspicious, not to mention you were coming
from Naigaa to the capital. And when you guys arrived and I saw you—your behavior,
your well of knowledge—I became certain.”
“Of what?” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears, blood and broken limbs
dancing in his mind. He was just realizing he had not thought of the massacre for a

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whole day. Too much had been going on, too many new sights distracting him and
making him forget the thing he wished to with all his heart.
The girl took a breath. “That you are the cadet who survived the attack.”
Daas saw no point in beating around the bush anymore. “And I guess you want to
know about the creatures?”
“What? No,” she said, surprising him. “I want to know about the Lianese.”
“The Lianese?” That was unexpected. “What about them?”
“Well, there was another part to the rumors as well.” Elia did not take her gaze off
him. “They say one of them managed to open their chainvest with someone’s help
and killed all the creatures. And since there was only one person who saw the whole
thing…”
He stared at her in silence for a moment. Daas had expected anything but this.
“Alright,” he added softly, “let’s say—hypothetically of course—that I am the survivor,
and that I helped one of the Lianese open her chainvest.” Then he frowned. “But I
still don’t understand what you want.”
A bright smile bloomed on Elia’s face, as if she had been waiting for this moment
all her life. “What I want to know is what you saw when the warrior released their—
her—inner energy.” Clearly, the girl was done with indirect comments.
This only served to confuse Daas further; he knew Lianese warriors had their own
different types and levels of power and mastery, and that it was all kept hidden tightly
as a secret. But he did not understand why Elia was so interested in it when no one
else was. “Where is all this interest in the Lianese coming from? From what I know,
Architects do not care for that topic.”
“That is because they are stupid,” she scoffed. “I told you I don’t want to follow in
my parents’ footsteps, and that was the truth. I want to study Warfare.” With her
raised chin and steely gaze, the girl suddenly looked older than her years. “If I am to
fight them, build weapons to defeat them, I have to know the enemy I will be fighting.
Dismissing them because of prejudice is just idiocy. I’ve been looking everywhere for
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more on their warriors and ways, but the most I could find is dated back two hundred
years.” A shake of her head. “I can’t work with that. But as luck would have it”—she
grinned—“I now know one of the very few people who have seen them use their
powers.”
Daas regarded her for a breath before sighing. “I cannot tell you anything I have
not already told my interrogators.”
“That’s more than enough!” Elia smiled big, visibly delighted. Quickly, she fetched
a small notebook and pen from her pocket and began without a moment’s pause.
“Tell me, what happened when the chainvest was opened?”
The phantom of lightning flashed before his eyes. “Nothing odd, if you exclude the
oddity of the magic itself. She became suspended in the air. A cloud formed above
her hand and bolts of lightning shot from the cloud, turning the assailants to ash.
Rather straightforward, really.”
Elia did not seem to agree, busy jotting it all down “And what about before that?”
“Before what?”
“Before she began to float—what happened right before that?”
Daas tilted his head, confused. “We opened the chainvest with Elder Aaron’s
severed hand? I don’t understand.”
“I mean did she use any spells? Any special movements to release the energy?”
“Oh. Well, no. There was nothing.”
“Hmm.” Her brows furrowed. “And her appearance? Did her features change? Her
eyes grow large? In some books, they mention that the Lianese experience a change in
their physical appearance when they release their magic, but I can’t find proper
specifics.”
Daas’s mind flew to the details of the day he had spent so long trying to forget, and
he knew the answer to Elia’s question clear as day—Naysiyah’s complexion had grown
darker to become a shade of blue and her skin had looked turbulent like the wavy
surface of the ocean (not that Daas had seen the ocean in anything other than
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paintings). The same thing had happened to Hilmah, he reckoned, though more
prominently. And even though tens had seen the latter and lived to tell the tale, even
though he did not consider himself of the people of Liano, he still felt oddly reluctant
to disclose this information. He tried to evade the question instead. “You mean no
has seen them change before?”
Elia took a sip of her tea. “Oh, some people have. But their warriors come in
various levels of mastery, and it’s said the changes in them are different. The five you
saw were ambassadors and one of them took out thousands of creatures on her own
in barely a few minutes—which is a mean feat, not gonna lie. So it makes sense for
them to have been of the strongest of their warriors, which are rarely seen in action
before. That’s what piques my interest.”
But he was no longer listening, mind stolen away to a land of memories and horror.
He remembered the missing heads and hands, Bahgdon’s body torn apart from the
explosion of the chainvest. A thought came to him, unbidden—better that Hilmah was
sent back; at least she escaped her comrades’ grim fates.
“Any detail or change you remember would be incredible,” Elia said, breaking his
thread of thought.
Daas looked at the excitement written clearly in the girl’s eyes and softened, waging
a battle with his own treacherous mind. It would not hurt if I tell her a little of what
happened. “Well, other than how she turned weightless, I think her skin darkened
slightly blue as well?”
Elia was already scribbling. “Sorry, and how old was she? Or should I say, how old
did she appear to be?”
“In her twenties to mid-twenties, perhaps.”
“And did this Lianese say any—”
“Naysiyah.”
The girl paused, looking up at last. “Sorry, what?”

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 “Naysiyah. Her name was Naysiyah.”
A blink. “Oh.” She eyed him strangely. “Well, did Naysiyah say anything? I know
you said she used no spells, but could you think harder on it? Maybe something that
sounded ordinary but could be a spell?”
He frowned. “No, I can’t think of anything. But … it felt odd. Like—”
“May I join you?”
Daas almost felt his neck snap as he sharply turned toward the voice. There,
resplendent in her black and white attire, a long black cape hanging around her
willowy frame with an extra short white layer on top, stood a Vaahaa Architect.
Old words rang in his mind: My change of branches has made me somewhat lack
expertise, an Architect had once told him. And now she stood before Daas in a black
and white cape of the most expert.
Paaneh’s smile shone like a sun in the dark frame of her pixie cut. “Please, no need
to show such enthusiasm at my unasked-for arrival.” She pulled back a chair at the
side of the table and sat, somehow making it feel as if she was sitting right between
them, pulling them apart. Her cheerful gaze sought the cadet. “Daas.”
That was when he realized he had not moved a muscle in all that time, half-gaping
at the woman. “Uh, hi. What, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, just a coincidence. Do you not want to introduce me to your friend?”
Daas felt at a loss for words. “Elia, umm, this is Paaneh—the Architect I mentioned
before. And Paaneh, meet Elia Etkaar, my friend Kaari’s younger sister.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Elia remarked, cold seeping into her tone. “From what
Daas said about his Architect ‘friend,’ I did guess she must be a very peculiar type of
person. Looks like I wasn’t wrong.”
Paaneh turned away from the girl with a disinterested smile and signaled for a
waiter. Ordering a colorblitz juice, she glanced at Daas. “Have you tried these drinks
yet? Do you want me to order one for you?”

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 “No and no, thank you,” he added the last part to the man, prompting him to turn
and leave immediately. He was not even sure if he was fully present—all he could think
of was the cape around the woman’s shoulders. Paaneh, the Architect who had
pretended to be his friend—the friend of a cadet, a nobody—held one of the highest
statuses in the entire nation. Daas was only beginning to understand the depth of his
stupidity in trusting her.
A chuckle escaped the woman. “Is something the matter, Daas? Your eyes could
almost be daggers from the sharpness of that glare.”
Finally, Daas managed to put a leash on his emotions and regain his cool.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking of our pleasant conversation outside the library.”
“Oh, yes.” Paaneh focused on Elia, not responding to Daas’s remark any further.
“You must be Raaigaar Etkaar’s daughter.”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“You look a lot like your mother, you know. I used to share a few classes with her.”
Instantly, Elia’s eyes grew wide and she stared at Paaneh, trying and failing to match
what that said about her age to her appearance. And then it clicked. “You have, you
have a second life?”
The extent of her shock left Daas perplexed, until he remembered how rare it was
for an Architect to pass into second life. Paaneh really is an odd mystery, isn’t she, he
thought dryly.
Elia was still staring, her eyes swinging between him and the woman, doubt and
curiosity apparent in them. Her mouth had barely begun opening when Paaneh cut
in, “There is enough time for being shocked and nosy later. Now, if you will excuse
us, I would like to speak to my old friend.” A smile. “Alone.” Her words were soft,
but the tone brokered no discussion.
Without a word, the girl picked up her notebook and rose. Her baffled gaze slid to
Daas. “I’ll be inside.”

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 Daas tried a smile. “Thank you, Elia. That is very kind of you.” He watched her
walk away and disappear into the tea shop’s main room. When he looked back at
Paaneh, he saw her usual friendly warmth had returned to her face, no sign left of the
arrogant Architect of a moment ago.
“How are you, Daas?” she asked, worry dripping from her lips. Daas had no idea
what to make of her anymore.
His reply, however, was flat. “Well enough.”
“But of course you’re not well. Nothing is.” She paused, her gaze glued to the
dancing colors in her drink. Then she looked up. “I know your connection has been
compromised.”
Distantly, Daas wondered when the shockwaves were going to stop. Ice seemed to
have swallowed his hands, fingers numb. “I don’t know what you mean.” Trying to
keep his hand from shaking, he reached for the now-cold tea and gulped it down.
“Daas, I know you are an honest soul at heart and hate lying, and I just want you
to know I understand—you have every right not to trust me.”
Not deigning to respond, the young spy got to his feet. “Anything else?”
“Sit down, Daas!” Paaneh commanded harshly. “I am not done yet.”
Daas had no interest in obeying, but he heard the hurt in her voice and it gave him
pause. Perhaps it’s as good a time as any to solve the mystery of her existence. Defeated, he
sat back down on the edge of his chair.
“I told you before that things are bad,” she continued. “Disastrous, really. Nothing
went as we had hoped. You were only supposed to sit through some simple
questionings then be released. But everything changed when the Maazini investigators
arrived.” She hesitated, but Daas did not look up from his empty cup to read her
expression. “They put you in the wrong hands, and now the connection has been
found out and you’re alo—”

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 He raised his head. “What connection? Look, Paaneh, I have no idea what you are
on about, so you need to stop this.”
“Daas,” she said, “I know you had a telemind connection with a contact and that
it has been compromised because … because mine has too.”
Fear curled around his spine. Still, he shook his head. “You are making no sense.”
Frustrated, the woman threw a look of trepidation around, then leaned forward.
“I tried to warn you dangerous people were watching you. Now, those same people
are responsible for the investigation. You need to understand, these people are wary
and always on the lookout for spies. We are lucky our locations were not discovered
along with the connection.” The despair in her eyes was almost too much for Daas.
“Don’t you get it, Daas? I am a spy, too.”
The young man forced a halting laugh. “Has your untouched drink made you
drunk, Paaneh? How much of a fool do you take me for? You do understand that I
have to report everything you said to the authorities, right?”
Her fist came down on the tabletop. “Why can’t you understand? You are only one
step away from being executed for your crimes, Daas!”
“You know what they say,” he said flatly. “It is every warrior’s dream to die for his
land, standing for what he believes in.”
“Listen to me! You have to stop this and trust me. I’m doing everything in my
power to help you, pushing back with the help of any friends I could persuade, and
you need to stop being an idiot!”
“And why would you do such a thing?” he asked. “Why would you help me?”
“What does that mean, ‘why would I help you’?”
“Exactly what it means. Why would you, a Vaahaa Architect, help a worthless Army
cadet?” Seeing her opening lips, he raised a hand. “And even if you’re not lying and
are a spy, you cannot just act on your own without your contact’s orders, who you
claim is lost to you. So why?”

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 At last, Paaneh seemed to deflate. “Because you are one of the people of Liano,
and I am tired of standing back to watch you lose your head. I cannot do what the
rest of them all do. Not anymore.”
A bitter smile turned Daas’s lips into a broken sight as he rose once more. “Perhaps,
Paaneh, it’s better if you do as the rest of them do.”
The woman did not lift her head to look at him. “Believe it or not, I am on your
side. Act cautiously, and do not trust that girl or her family. Be just as unshakable
during the interrogations as you were today and hold steady until the very end. Do
not listen to their empty promises—one word, and you can say goodbye to your life.”
She exhaled, leaning back eyes still on the glass of white beverage. “Do this and I
promise you, I will do everything in my power to prevent the worst.”
Daas could hear a lump in her throat. He pushed his chair back into place and
straightened his belt. “As I told you before, I don’t know what you speak of, Paaneh.
I have nothing to tell you or any interrogators.” With that, the treacherous cadet
turned away from his once-friend and made for the backyard’s gaping exit.
He could feel the blood pounding in his neck, the terror lounging on his shoulders.
It was a struggle to keep his steps steady as he walked past vacant chairs and clueless
citizens, but he did it. When he was about to cross the threshold, he looked back one
last time. Paaneh was still sitting at the table, her eyes glazed and gleaming as if lost
to the clutches of the drowning sea.
Gathering his resolve, he turned around, and left her behind.

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 CHAPTER 8
Daas

T
he walk back toward the house held none of the same excitement as before,
and it took less time, too. Elia did not speak or bounce around, seemingly
preferring to leave him to his brooding, and Daas did just that—he brooded,
unaware of any of the city’s curiosities or even the path itself. All he knew was Paaneh
and questions and his impending doom.
Three things played around on his mind:
First, the fact that the investigation would probably remain on hiatus for some
more time—Paaneh had hinted at ongoing discussions surrounding him and that she
was pushing back, somehow doing all she could to help; this was good news, because
it meant he would at least get his wish to go sightseeing before his life came to a close.
The ridiculousness of the wish and thought made him laugh at himself. I guess I can
only take whatever chance gives me and be grateful.
Second, the unexpected sense of weightless relief, lifting his shoulders. They had
left the tea shop well behind when he finally registered the feeling—something about
that encounter had freed him somehow. And then he realized why: this was the first
time in years someone in his life knew his secret and he no longer had to carry it alone
by himself.
But how? That was the third and most important thought. How did Paaneh know
his secret, and why was she helping him instead of handing him in? No matter how
much he thought it over, he saw only two possibilities.
One: Paaneh was telling the truth and she was a spy. Certainly, it was possible. Just
because the Voice had not told him about other spies situated deep in Perigaad did
not mean there were none—for all knew, they could be a vast and elaborate network
of spies operating within these borders. But if this was the case, that meant one of

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Perigaad’s most treasured citizens with incredible sway, a Vaahaa Architect, was
fighting for its greatest enemy, the Lianese. The thought made his head spin.
Two: Paaneh was lying and she was not a spy. In which case, she could only be
working with the government, trying to get close to a suspected spy and earn his trust
to gain information from him. If this was true, it meant she was not helping him as
she claimed—there would be no delays and even if there were, it would be with the
purpose of making him talk openly to someone he trusted and not guardedly to the
interrogators. The thought was painful, and yet not as painful as he had anticipated—
it seemed he was growing numb to the pain at last.
Daas felt torn between the two possibilities; one would mean a chance at escape,
the other sealing his fate and erasing any sliver of hope. And he did not know what
to do.
He tried a deep breath and noticed the Etkaars’ mansion looming ahead. He felt
Elia halt and turned, meaning to thank her, and was met with her piercing stare. “Is
something wrong?”
Elia pursed her lips. “No, not at all. It’s just that I just saw a Vaahaa Architect
chumming up with an Azure Army cadet and can’t believe my eyes.”
“It’s not what you think. I just helped her a lot in Naigaa and, with everything that
came after, we ended up becoming close. I mean the Day of Butchering—she was the
one in charge of the escort.
“Wait, she was?” Her eyes were wide.
Daas only nodded.
“And now she wanted what, exactly?”
He contemplated just brushing her off, but decided not to. Elia had been patient
with her today, answering all his questions, and the least he owed her was a portion
of the truth. “It appears things are not in my favor. As you correctly deduced, I am
the cadet who opened the Lianese warrior’s bindings and somehow managed to

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survive the attack without a scratch. I’m sure you can guess why I am here in the
capital—such events will not be ignored by the authorities.”
The girl was silent for a moment. “You’re here to be investigated.” It was not a
question, and Daas did not bother replying. “And that Architect is actually worried
about you?” She sounded honestly baffled.
“Yes. What is so strange about that?”
Something between a laugh and a huff escaped her. “You’re just a soldier—no, a
cadet. And you want me to believe a Vaahaa Architect, someone with so much power
and influence that the authorities left one of the most important events of the last
fifty years in her hands, comes to talk to you about her worries?”
Her words hit him like a brick. Daas stiffened. “I may be a nobody in this country,
but when those people were being ripped apart, I had a sword in my hand, swinging
where your precious Architects stood aside and trembled in fear.” He glared at the
girl. “And I do not think it takes a stretch of imagination to think Paaneh, not only
my friend but also my superior in the escort and responsible for me as one of her
subordinates, would be worried about me.”
Elia seemed to have frozen. “That’s not, that’s not what I meant, Daas! I was just
trying to say those worries are too small for her to react like this and single you out.
It’s just a simple investigation! No matter how strict and unrelenting they might be,
you’ll be released in no time. Why make such a big deal out of it?!”
Silence ensued as they stared. Daas could see the girl’s earnestness in her eyes, and
felt ashamed at his reaction. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. “I apologize.
I, uh, I just got too angry for a moment.”
“I’m sorry too,” Elia added softly. “I shouldn’t have talked like that.”
The awkwardness was too much for Daas, so he decided to reply to the girl’s
question. “Paaneh is right to worry. It’s not a simple investigation. They have found
nothing on the attack, and someone has to take the fall for this.”

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 “And you think that someone will be you?”
“I do. We do,” he amended.
For a moment, Elia said nothing. Then she nodded in understanding. “I think Dad
knows what’s going on—the discussion behind this could be what’s got him so busy.
I’ll try and see if I can get anything out of him; maybe he won’t hide it from me now
that I know. But I doubt the authorities are the fools you think them to be.”
Daas put his hands in his trousers’ pockets. “Paaneh is of a different opinion.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll be honest with you, and I hope you don’t take this
the wrong way but … something about this Paaneh rubs me the wrong way. How well
do you know her?”
“Not well. We only studied together at the Grand Library of Naigaa for a few
months. Why?” It did not hurt to know her thoughts as well.
“Think about it—a Vaahaa Architect in the northernmost city! Architects are not
allowed to leave Maazinaan without permission, and that permission is rarely given.
Especially to the city housing one of the Shield’s gates and closest to our enemies. A
normal Architect would have trouble getting cleared for that, let alone one with a
Vaahaa degree.” Bewilderment was written in every crease of the girl’s face, making
Daas only now realize the extent of Paaneh’s oddity. “The only explanation I have is
that she has a lot of sway in the Central Congress—certainly more than the normal
Vaahaa Architect, since they all usually have those connections.”
Daas was staggered. He knew enough about the republic’s government to know the
Central Congress of Perigaad was the ultimate power here. The members were all
Architects, of course, as were the members of all the other fifty councils operating
beneath the Congress. After all, this was the country of Architects, a republic only in
name.
“Never mind,” the girl said sourly. “Let’s get inside. I need to talk to Mom.”
Inside, the rays of the sun were playing on the elegantly patterned walls, filling up
the room from the tall windows and giving warmth to the intimidating hall. At the
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sound of the door, Kaari popped his head out of the kitchen. “Where the hell have
you two been?” he asked with a full mouth.
His mother’s voice rose from behind him. “I told you, they went to the university.
Now, come here, your breakfast will grow cold!”
Kaari went back inside with a last look, and Daas and Elia walked toward where he
had disappeared. Before entering the kitchen, Elia whispered to Daas, “Is it okay if
your friends find out about us bumping into Paaneh?”
“Yes, it’s alright.”
Ms. Aashia’s face lit up when they entered. Kaari and Petro did not look up from
where they sat at the table, gobbling down their breakfast like starved vultures. Elia
mumbled an indifferent “Hello,” and sat down at a chair, Daas following suit.
“So,” Kaari began suspiciously, “how was the university?”
Elia untied her cape. “We didn’t get to go there.”
“What?”
“We didn’t get the chance to go to the university,” Daas repeated slowly.
“I believe,” Petro jumped in, “what dear Kaari meant was why, pray tell, did you
not?” He turned to Kaari. “Am I right, honey?”
Daas ignored his mocking. “I saw Paaneh.”
Petro’s eyes swung to him immediately. “Her? Here?”
Kaari was squinting at him. “Your Architect friend, right?”
“Oh, you have an Architect friend too, dear?” Ms. Aashia chimed in from where
she stood at the sink, washing a few dishes by hand instead of using the washing
machine Daas had noticed. “No wonder you know so much about Architecture.”
“Just an acquaintance,” Daas insisted. “It’s a professional relationship, mostly.”
“Professional or casual, you should have brought her over! We would love to meet
your lady friend. Why don’t you invite her next time?”

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 He was at a loss for words, trying and failing to make these people understand the
situation with Paaneh was not what they thought. But Elia did not give him a chance
to try again. “Mom, Paaneh said she used to be your classmate once.”
Daas stiffened—the girl had a knack for surprising him.
“Classmates with Mom?” Kaari interjected. “How old is she?” His mother seemed
to share his confusion, brows creased as she eyed Daas.
“Paaneh,” he explained nonchalantly, “lives a second life.”
A gasp. Ms. Aashia was gaping at him as if he had grown horns like the div Petro
liked to compare him to. Then she put a hand to her forehead abruptly. “Oh, Paaneh!
You mean Paaneh Erisiz?”
“I’m not sure.” He frowned. “I actually thought Paaneh was her last name. But that
must be her.”
“Oh.” The woman looked lost in memories as she dried her hands and sat down
next to them. “It’s been years since I last saw her. We had some classes in common
during the second or third year of my general studies. I remember her because we had
an important project together…” Her eyes cleared then, and they focused on Daas.
“But what does she want with you? And how does she have a second life? She dropped
out of university in the third year!”
“She quit?” Daas asked, frowning. Hadn’t Paaneh mentioned she had switched
branches? But she couldn’t have even picked a branch if she quit so soon, he thought.
Elia leaned forward. “Are you sure she quit, Mom?”
“Of course I’m sure. This is the reason I’m confused. Very few Architects have the
ability to attempt passing into a second life, let alone survive it—that is why the
Congress rarely, if ever, gives clearance to graduates for it. So how did she get it
without even finishing her studies?”
“Oh, but she finished school.” Elia lifted a brow. “With a Vaahaa degree.”

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 Kaari spat out his tea, prompting his mother to tut and rise, rushing for a napkin.
As she dabbed at him and the table, her eyes flitted to his daughter. “You’re joking,
Elia. Right?” she said with a chuckle.
Elia wagged her head.
“Yes, Ms. Aashia,” Daas confirmed, “it seems Paaneh is a Vaahaa Architect.”
The woman sat back down without a word, looking dazed. “I have to ask Raaigaar
about this,” she murmured as if to herself. Then she turned to Daas. “You must invite
her next time! I want to see her again.”
“Of course,” Daas promised politely. “If I see her again, I will.” Satisfied, Ms.
Aashia rose and began cleaning up. It seemed the task helped calm her racing mind.
Kaari began chuckling. “Daas, I can’t believe you’re friends with a woman my
mother’s age.”
Before he could explain that it was not at all like what he thought, Petro cut in.
“And what’s wrong with that?” he drawled. “You don’t know what a knockout she
is!” Then his eyes landed on Elia and he coughed, straightening.
The girl did not comment on his remark and rose, picking up her cape. “Well, I’ve
got to go,” she announced. “My class starts in less than half an hour so I need to get
moving or be late, and I’ve already filled up today’s quota for tardiness since I didn’t
work on my assignment.”
“Oh, Elia!” her mother chastened. “Come, I’ll catch you a ride with an
automobile.” Tutting, she led the unapologetic girl out of the kitchen.
As soon as they were gone, Petro glanced at his friend. “These Vaahaa Architects—
they’re the big shots, huh?”
Daas was already half-lost in thought. “That, they are.”
“And Paaneh, the very same Paaneh you deciphered books for, is one of them?”
“Apparently.”
“Did you know?”
“Know what?” he asked absentmindedly.
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 “That she’s a big shot, idiot.”
“No,” Daas said, “I did not.”
“Huh.” The boy looked at him sideways. “With the way you spoke to her last week,
I thought she’d leave your sorry ass in the dirt and never talk to you again.”
Kaari slid into the conversation. “Why? What happened?”
“Oh, nothing. He just screwed up big.”
The young man stared at his quiet friend for a breath. “Daas,” he said, “are you
certain this is just a normal friendship?”
Daas pulled himself out of his thoughts and locked eyes with Kaari. “Yes, for the
thousandth time, I’m certain.”
Kaari let out a sigh. “You need to be more careful.”
His tone piqued Daas’s interest. “Why is that?”
“Vaahaa Architects are always involved in shady political maneuverings.”
Daas gave him a meaningful smile. “You do realize that both your parents are
included in that category?”
“I do. After all, I don’t know what exactly my father’s job is.”
“What?” Petro interjected. “You don’t?”
Kaari threw up a shoulder. “Vaahaa Architects are secretive, which makes sense.
What doesn’t make sense, however, is why this Paaneh is so hellbent on helping Daas,
even after you apparently insulted her according to Petro. She was the one who put
in a word for you back when they took you in custody, right?”
Daas felt like he’d had enough. “She is, and I still do not see why her worry and
help are so bizarre. She is a human being and a friend, and she is concerned because
I’m stuck in a dead-end.”
“But you aren’t.”
“You said it yourself, Kaari. An attack inside Perigaad’s borders is not something
the government will look past. Someone has to pay; things need to be resolved if only

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in name. And I am the only one with enough of a strange story to be a good suspect
and scapegoat.”
Kaari waved a hand. “You’re taking what I said too seriously. Architects might be
self-righteous bastards, but they’re not that much a waste of air. I bet you have just as
many opposers as you have supporters. Take my dad, for one. His words have a great
deal of sway, and he’s not just going to sit and let them pin it all on you.”
Daas wanted to be reassured by those words, wanted to think this meant there was
hope for him to walk out of this alive, but he knew his fate was sealed whatever they
might say—after all, what reason was there to object to a harmless ravaan test? If they
thought him innocent, the test could be simple proof. He did not even understand
what was delaying them and why they were not already here, dragging him away. Was
making a decision on what to do with him so unclear for there to be so much
discussion around it?
Petro’s voice broke the heavy silence. “Kaari, you imbecile.” He slapped the person
in question behind the neck.
“What the hell, man.”
“You have a family with this much power and influence, live in a place that could
almost be a paradise,” he said, “and you still left to become a piece-of-shit cadet?”
Incredulous anger weighed down his words. “Do you even have a brain?”
Kaari scoffed and turned away, preferring to keep quiet. Daas knew his mind must
be caught in a vicious cycle, just as Petro’s and his own were. One thought of his
inadequacy and worthlessness, the other the injustice and unfairness of the world.
And Daas … Well, he thought of the same things he always thought about—secrets
and lies and his imminent demise, with a smattering of limbs coated in blood.
***
At Petro’s insistence and despite Daas’s despondent mood, the trio went for a little
sightseeing in the city after the late breakfast. The streets were noticeably different

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from what Daas had seen four hours ago—the increase in activity meant an increase
in magic and, inevitably, oddity, and Kaari’s full knowledge of the best places to visit
made the stroll into an adventure. And slowly, the haunted spy forgot his worries and
basked in the beauty of magic and new knowledge strewn all around.
He never ceased to be awed by how wholly ravaan Structures were incorporated
into the people’s lives; from a strange device that spat out food in a restaurant they
peeked at, to a girl’s turquoise dress with colorful tiny flowers forming fresh designs
on its skirt and bodice and flowing sleeves; from pens whose ink would not run out
for years and papers that did not burn, to aquariums with flames burning harmlessly
in their water and fish dancing around them, ravaan ran through everything they lay
eyes on as if it were a wild thing leaving traces in all it touched. It was the lifeblood of
the city, the thing these people owed their unique, privileged lives to, and Daas
thought of how they despised it for not giving them more.
The greed of humans, it seemed, was never-ending.
In the less busy streets, the occasional horseless carriage—or automobile, as Kaari
said the inventions were called—passed them. The suspense turned out to be too much
for Petro and they ended up having to get in one to finally make him stop nagging.
The cab was white with intricate designs from the outside and Petro was, as always, a
bundle of emotions. When they sat inside and the automobile began moving, though,
the boy’s excitement quickly morphed into fear. “Daas, what if it implodes? Huh?
We’re so dead.” He followed that line of thinking so much that he grew sick and the
cadets had to ask the driver to stop and let them out.
Kaari suggested they get something to drink to cheer them up, and led his friends
to a juice bar across the street. Petro immediately went for the colorblitz and ended
up getting into a fight with the barman who said he appeared too young for the drink.
“I was swinging a sword before you even began kicking, you moron!” Petro shouted
in response, losing it. Daas was worried Kaari would feel ashamed of them, but the

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young man had instantly stood beside Petro and begun roaring at the top of his lungs.
The fact that Kaari did not care for such things was good news, of course, but Daas
could not say the same about how they got kicked out.
Returning to the mansion had Daas taking a shower in the strange bathroom and
coming back to his room to find a dejected Petro miserably staring out the window.
As he toweled off his hair, Daas eyed his friend. “I see you’re down in the dumps
again.” He hung the towel on the hanger. “What is it?”
“Shouldn’t I be? Aren’t you upset at so much inequality?”
Ah, there’s that again. It seemed yesterday’s discussion had only been a temporary
balm on the wound, and Petro was back at it after only a day of remembering the
actual issue. Daas sighed, halting in front of the mirror and dresser. He opened the
first drawer and reached for a brand-new comb.
Seeing his silence served to only incense Petro further. “I know all of what you said
about their lives not being perfect or whatever, and I get it, but it still doesn’t change
the question: why does this skewed system even exist? Why do we have to chop wood
until our hands blister in the cold of the winter? Or heat bathwater over fires? And
what about having to carry heavy barrels of water from the well when they can have it
at their disposal with a turn of a faucet?”
Daas still did not reply—there was nothing to say. He’d discovered a device in the
bathroom that released a warm current of air and was baffled at its usage; though
considering its position, it seemed a safe bet to assume it was used to dry hands.
The boy left the window, coming to stand beside Daas in the mirror. He watched
him comb his hair. “Did you see how they looked at us, Daas? Like we were dirty
clowns accidentally stumbling into their pristine lives and needed to be shooed off
before we tainted their comfort. These people who go through clothes like toys when
we might change ours only once or twice a year?” His eyes locked on the reflection of
his friend’s, pain radiating from deep within them. “And what about our future? Our

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freedom? Why do we not get a chance at a higher education or to be anything other
than what they dictate? Why do we not get to make choices for ourselves and our
country? Why, Daas? Why is the world such a piece of crap?”
Lowering his hand, Daas put the comb back on the dresser and spun to face his
friend at last. “If you expect me to have an answer, I don’t. All I know is that these
people are greedy, self-centered, and abominable, and use the simple fact that your
body does not have ravaan acceptability as a reason to view you as less than them—less
than a human worthy of simple rights. Why? I don’t know. Is it to keep more for
themselves? To feel chosen and important?” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“That’s not an answer I can give, and certainly not something you can change, Petro.
This is just how things are. Stop fighting against a tide you cannot control.”
For a moment, Petro did not move. Then he let out a breath and backed away,
turning to sit on the sofa. Daas knew that, despite his size and lacking talents in
wielding a sword, Petro was a free spirit with the heart of a warrior. He never sat
quietly in the face of injustice, and he never accepted that this is just how things are.
Leaving the dresser, Daas dropped onto the bed. It was too soft, he thought, or the
beds in Naigaa were too hard. He lay back, putting his head in his knotted hands as
he stared up at the ceiling through the near-sheer canopy.
Petro was not done. “So that’s it? Are we going to just spend our lives crawling
through the mud?” he wondered. “What will become of us, Daas?”
His reply came quick, his tone exaggerated. “We will be the warriors of the land,
of course! The swords of the nation. The shields of Perigaad.”
A halting laugh reached his ears. “The land whose sword and shield is me is better
off crumbling to ash.” There was enough bite in his words that Daas lifted his head.
“You are really not letting it go, are you?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”

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 He lay back down. “I only insist for yourself, Petro. Your rage is justified, but by
latching on to it, you will only poison anything left untainted.” His eyes slid shut. “Let
go. The moment you live has a lot left to offer.”
He heard the boy grumble under his breath. “You and your borrowed wisdom.”
Daas paid him no mind. If he was being honest with himself, he found Petro’s
concerns incomparable to his own great worries and dilemmas. He tried to leave them
for a breath, to not think over the crossroads he stood on and the death both haunting
his steps and looming ahead, and instead focus on his breathing.
He was close to drowsing when Petro’s voice shook him awake. “Daas,” he called,
“how many deserters were there? I mean before the attack outside Naigaa happened.
How many ran off in the night?”
His eyes flew open. “Thirty marshals.” His voice was flat from the effort it took to
not let his mind wander down that familiar spiral.
“And do you … I don’t know, do you think if they’d stayed, they might’ve lived?”
The topic was not something he wanted to think about. Petro seemed to
understand, because he remained quiet, not pushing him to respond. Still, as much
of a struggle as it was, Daas considered the question. The answer was obvious to him.
“No, they would have most likely died along with the rest.”
His next question was soft. “So, did they make the right choice?”
“It’s not something I can be the judge of,” Daas noted. “But it’s unlikely they would
have made a difference if they remained. Their honor might have been scarred, but
at least they weren’t. They’re alive.” He hesitated before voicing the next thought.
“Perhaps the rest should have fled as well.”
A moment passed in silence. “Is that what you wish you’d done?”
Daas did not respond, not trusting himself to speak—he did not know what his
reply would be, and he did not want to find out.
Petro took the hint. “Well,” he said, “I’d have probably run.”

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 “No, you wouldn’t have,” Daas remarked, grateful for the shift in topic. The
corners of his lips curved slightly. “You are more headstrong, brave, and stupid than
you give yourself credit for.”
The boy huffed. “Yeah, well, my presence wouldn’t have made even a tiny bit of
difference anyway. I’d only ever be a burden on the battlefield.” A pause. “I think I
should’ve just stayed home and become a farmer.”
That made Daas turn and rise on his elbow. “Look at me, Petro.”
Reluctantly, he did.
“I am going to tell you something,” he firmly added, “and you are going to carve it
onto that cotton brain of yours. The Azure Army and all its self-assured soldiers and
marshals? They are no different from you when it comes to effectiveness on the
battlefield—if a war does happen, I promise you, you are all going to flail around and
inevitably lose. So trust me when I say you are not less than them. If anything, you
are braver than all of them put together.”
Petro gazed back at him, stunned into silence. Daas knew his friend’s doubt about
who he was and whether he had chosen the right path would still remain—so would
his rage at the freedom and justice he sought but was not given. Yet he hoped that,
in all their unflinching and brutal honesty, his words would at least leave a mark,
lurking at the back of Petro’s mind and nudging him whenever he began beating
himself up for being less than others.
Breaking eye contact, Daas lay back down, trying to signal the end of their
conversation. Petro’s questions haunted him—well, one of them did. The words
echoed in his ears, and he tried and failed to escape them. Is that what you wish you’d
done?
Daas feared his answer was yes. Because unlike what Petro thought, Daas was not
brave and unshakable in his resolve. He had not done any of the things he did out of
bravery and a determination to fight for what he thought was right; he had done them

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out of a sense of duty to a path he did not even feel was his, by the orders of a voice
that demanded he betray his friends.
And now, the Voice was gone, and he had no duty or path to follow. Instead, he
stood alone against his coming death, faced with a choice that could save him or
doom him further—to risk trusting Paaneh and fight to live, or accept the fate handed
to him with a head held high? Wasn’t he already doomed? What was another risk? If
that made him a coward, succumbing to his fear of death, so be it—he had never
claimed to be anything else.
Knowing his decision was already made, Daas raised his left arm and covered his
face, as if to hide the shame curdling his insides from the friend who thought him
the one thing he was not: brave.

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 CHAPTER 9
Clora

N
ight brought with it the beauty of stars, both those that lived amid the
trees and those that flew up above, surrounding the majestic silver bow
in the sky. And it was those stars that lit the group’s path through the
dense and enchanting jungle that was the Saanaaka.
Clora took great pleasure in night-time strolls—that was why she always insisted on
accompanying Taaless as he took the caravan’s guests to witness the nocturnal
wonders of the jungle every couple of days. Just a few nights ago, they had taken a
party to watch the Blazing Star phenomenon deep in the trees. But tonight was
different. Tonight, they were heading to lay eyes on a sacred sight, an event that drew
the beings of Serinor like moths to a flame. Tonight, they were heading to see the
Flight of Shabgard Swans.
The caravan had already prepared a secure, wide path through the trees to the
clearing. Now, rested and buzzing with excitement, Clora and Taaless and a patch of
the other farwatchers and guards of the caravan were escorting the travelers toward
where the magic was to take place.
The hike through the forest took about an hour. When they parted the curtain of
trees and stepped inside the clearing, Clora’s mouth almost popped open—she had
known there would be countless individuals coming from all over the continent, but
she was still not quite ready for this.
Everywhere you looked were figures and tents—hundreds, no thousands of people
gathered and chatting and dancing and putting on displays of magic. The variety of
shapes and colors was an assault on her senses; some were gigantic and grumpy, others
dwarven and jaunty; some looked to be made of ice, others phantoms that flickered
between shadow and light; most were humanoid and all were living and moving and

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utterly unique. A breath rushed into her lungs as the girl composed herself and
followed Taaless into the crowd.
The hullabaloo was very different from the jungle’s usual hush. People joked and
guffawed and argued, but no bad blood was visible among them—at least not any that
she could glean at first glance; if there was any, they must have put a lid on it for this
rare occasion. She could see that the highest number of individuals belonged to
normal humans—or what she perceived to be normal humans since, despite their
varying figures and features and complexion, they all had the main characteristics.
The second most populous seemed to be the dazzleyes, their skins of gold and eyes of
starlight drawing her gaze to where they mingled with the others, indeed dazzling in
all their glory.
And the rest … well, she did not have the smallest clue.
They passed tents of garnet red and cerulean blue, orchid and pearl and onyx, and
reached the open center of the camp. Clora stopped dead in her tracks, aware that
her companions had also paused to drink in the sight. A group of stunning men and
women (who Clora assumed to be human) had made a circle on one side and were
dancing together gracefully to a strange, ensnaring melody.
On the other side was a massive fire surrounded by a handful of dazzleyes with
other groups standing behind them, watching their display. Its colors changed to the
beat of the song, taking different shapes every time. A beat, and the fire was a tiger’s
head roaring in sync with the music. Another, and it was spun into a towering tree
seeming to sway in the wind. Boo let out a delighted cry, pointing at the show with a
glance at Clora, then immediately ran into the audience.
The music climbed higher and higher, the dancers moving faster and the fire
following suit. Until, with a stretched explosion of sound, a burning eagle burst from
the flames and into the sky, setting the night on fire as the dancers spun and spun
infinitely. The bird erupted, hundreds of smaller eagles flying out of the fray and

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scattering in every direction. The crowd’s howl was deafening when, finally, those
exploded as well, flaring sparks falling to the ground in their wake.
So this is what Taaless meant by ‘festival’, Clora thought, awestruck.
As another melody rose up and the beauties began another dance, a group of short,
plump humanoid people with skins in varying shades of brown and dresses and robes
of all hues of the rainbow began moving through the crowd. They were carrying large
trays on their heads and offering the contents (which had to be edibles since people
were biting into them) to everyone they passed. When one stopped in front of Clora,
the man’s small height allowed the girl to see the rows and rows of big round pieces
of something yellow covered with vibrant designs. She looked at the joyful man’s face
and lifted a palm to refuse.
“Oh, no, no, no!” he scolded with a smile. “You have to take one, my child. Go
on! Eat up, you delicate thing, so you’ll grow bigger and bigger until you hit the roof
of the sky!”
Clora thanked the man and insisted that she was fine. As he sighed and turned to
the group standing next to her, Boo ran out of the bustling crowd, jumping up and
down. Upon seeing the man and smelling the sweetness, the flower was instantly on
Clora’s shoulder, sneakily stepping onto the tray that hovered right next to her. Then
it began devouring the edibles with the man none the wiser.
The girl stifled her giggles as the oblivious man walked away, making his rounds
and offering his special delicacies with a laugh here and a quip there. A horned giant
twice the size of a human bent down and, mindless of Boo, took two of the large sweet
balls from the tray. The tiny man looked at the giant from beneath the circular frame.
“Good, good! Eat up, dear giant.” His laugh chimed. “Just don’t eat so much that you
grow any bigger than this or else you’ll swallow us all up!”
The giant looked at the man dumbly and bobbed his head. An “All, right,” escaped
the giant’s lips as he straightened. His naked body was completely obscured by thick

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ashen fur. He threw one of the balls into his big mouth and gave the other to the
minuscule creature sitting on his shoulder.
The creature’s translucent cream wings fluttered, round eyes locking at the giant.
“Thank you, Degeer,” the angelic creature said with a soft, ringing voice.
As the giant moved farther away, an old man standing next close to Clora cursed
under his breath. “Can you believe that?” he muttered to his young companion with
a sneer. “Lumas going around acting like humans! When I was a child, we used to put
them to good use. The bastards are as strong as a hundred men put together. Oh,
they made such good slaves.” He shook his head in disappointment.
The young man at his side raised both brows. “So, what happened? Why are they
doing going around freely now?”
“It’s all because of those damned Protectors, spit on their graves!” the old man
barked. “The lumas are dim-witted idiots who can’t think for themselves, that’s why
their strength was never a threat. But then those busybodies pushed them toward the
kias who were themselves slaves, and the giants and winged little things rebelled
together and we lost hundreds of thousands of our slaves!”
Just then, Boo showed up dancing and quickly clung to Clora’s clothes. The old
man glared daggers at the girl and the flower on her right shoulder. Clora turned away
coldly. People like him simply disgusted her.
Taaless seemed to notice and motioned for the girl to follow. They made their way
to a less crowded part and that was when Clora noticed a small part at the side of the
clearing had been left untouched, rare trees dotting it. There were also no tents on
this edge of the camp that connected it to the abandoned section. That’s odd.
They found Deroba sitting on a rock at the border of camp and empty clearing,
staring at the sky. He had neatly arranged his cruses on the ground, covering their
openings with a white net.

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 “What’s up, old man!” Taaless called as they neared, startling him. “Have you been
sitting here since morning?”
“Ha! You bet!” Deroba shook his head. “I have been preparing for this since last
year’s Flight. Did you expect me to be late?”
“Come on now, that’s a little too much. Sure, they’re beautiful creatures and all
that, but definitely not worth waiting a whole year for.”
“Then it appears we have differing priorities and beliefs.”
Boo hopped down from her perch and rushed to the old man’s cruses. Coming to
a sudden stop, it grabbed one with its tiny leaf-fingers and tilted it to look inside.
Deroba straightened immediately. “Whoa, careful with that!”
The flower gave a hearty laugh and let the cruse go. It fell back into place with a
thump as Boo ran back into the crowd. Clora watched her friend leave, still
mesmerized by the music and magic. She could see the others who had also sought
the edge of the camp to be out of the way of the celebrations—a large group of robed
mages sitting farther away with closed eyes; more people with cruses like Deroba’s; a
few standing around and chatting as they held odd branches with thick, gleaming
leaves. For some reason, her nerves were on high alert, worry tugging at her.
“A strange crowd, wouldn’t you think?”
Clora jumped at the words whispered into her ear. “Esnoz!” she exclaimed,
composing herself. “Well, I guess you’re right. But, to be honest, I’m kind of used to
it. ‘Odd and odd and even odder, until you cease to gape at each other,’ as Taaless
likes to say.”
A chuckle escaped Esnoz. “That farwatcher…”
“But I am curious though.” She gazed at the crowd with wide eyes. “I don’t know
what any of these groups of people are!”
“And you would like a quick introduction, I take it?” An answering grin. “Alright.
Do you know about the main division of ensaan, yaaraay, and kaal?”

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 The girl’s eyebrows creased. “I only know ensaans.”
“Starting from basics, then.” He nodded to himself. “You see, the intelligent beings
of Serinor are divided into two main categories, at least according to the system that
is most commonly used across the continent. Though I should note that normal
humans came up with it, so don’t be surprised by its clear bias.” A sigh. “Those two
main categories are ensaan and yaaraay. Where they differ is the ability to feel
emotions—ensaans have it, yaaraays don’t, and apparently that’s important. There is
also a third category that holds species that are a mixture of the two and is called kaal.
“Each category has countless species grouped in it who have certain similar traits.
But don’t be fooled by looks—it’s ravaan testing that reveals what group a person
belongs in, not appearance. Take yourself as an example. Me, Taaless, Deroba,
Peraasians … we are all from the species of normal humans. But though you look like
us, you seem to belong with leokaans who are a different ensaan species.” He raised his
index finger. “But remember, even though ensaan is technically just another word for
human, when we say human and not ensaan, we mostly mean normal humans. That
is the beautiful self-absorption of ensaaniat—whoever has the loudest voice just gets to
makes things revolve around themselves.”
He wagged his head, shaking away the thought. “Anyway, let’s start with the ensaans
and see what we have here.” His eyes inspected on those close to them and he nodded
to a group to their right close to the fire. “Dazzleyes are of course obvious; golden
skins and luminous eyes. They are of the most prominent ensaan species. Next, we
have lulusaars—they’re the dwarven plump ones offering everyone their traditional
delicacies. Lulusaars are always bright and happy and are known for their healing
magic.”
He pointed out a group of tall people with inky skin. “You see those? Their species
is called baazeeka. Those braids of theirs are very important—they can communicate
with each other through it. They’re also renowned for their great wisdom and

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intellect. Oh, and do you see the one who just moved to our left? Neatly groomed and
thrice the size of a human?”
Clora nodded vigorously. A cheer rose from deep in the crowd.
“That’s a gondeh. Gondeha have an immense physical strength. Most are very clever
traders. Watch yourself when making a deal with them.” A pause. “I don’t see any
other ensaan species in our vicinity, but there are many, many more. Let’s move on to
the yaaraays.” He gestured at two flickering figures far to the right, keeping to
themselves and watching the proceedings. “Saayeh. Utterly ruthless individuals, so try
to keep out of their way.” The saayeha looked like humanoid phantoms, different
parts of their bodies constantly changing from shadow to halos of light.
“The ones that look to be made of ice,” he continued, “are marmareens. They’re not
fond of ensaans and rarely leave their own lands to interact with us. And can you see
the horned, furry giant? That’s a luma. The fairy on his shoulder is a kia. Their peoples
could be found all over Serinor and were both slaves—one strong but thick, the other
weak but smart. But then they joined together and rebelled, and now live in Keroneh,
a kingdom to the northwest. They are always together—lumas are the hands, kias the
brains. That’s why their rebellion is named the Lumaakia Uprising.
“And last but not least, the dancers.” He nodded to the left. “They might look just
like humans, but they’re not. They lack emotions, that’s why they are yaaraay and not
ensaan. We call their species maameer.” Esnoz let out a breath. “I think that’s enough.
We could find more, but that will overwhelm you. You get the gist.”
Clora was staring at him wide-eyed, trying to soak it all up. She bobbed her head
in agreement, but something was nagging at her. “Do you—do you think there are
leokaans here, too?”
“Most likely.” Then he bent down and continued in a lower voice. “But they cannot
know about your heritage.”
“Yeah, I know.” She bit her lip. “But how do you think they’d react if they did?”

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 Esnoz was silent at first. “I truly have no idea,” he said, lips pursing. “It can’t be
good, though. Leokaans are rather extremist when it comes to protecting and
preserving their people. They certainly won’t let you stay with us.”
That evaporated any doubts she might have had about maybe finding them. Such
prejudiced purists would certainly not show her, a half-blood, any mercy. She tried to
change the subject. “I don’t get it though. So many of these people seem to prefer
staying away from others—marmareens, meraanias. So, what are they doing here? What’s
so special about the shabgard swans that they’d come out of their lairs?”
“That,” he replied, gaze glued to the crescent moon, “I do not know. And I don’t
believe anyone else really does either. There are strange prophecies surrounding the
shabgards and that seems to have drawn people toward them.” Bursts of colorful light
in the sky reflected in his eyes. “Almost all the many peoples of Serinor send their
representatives to at least one of the sites of the Flight to take part in the festival and
witness the phenomena. Their nature and purpose are a mystery still.”
The girl groaned. “Is there anything in this cursed land that’s not a mystery?”
Esnoz chuckled in response, eyeing the bitter twist to her mouth and her twitching
fingers. “Are you alright? You seem on edge.” The young man raised a brow. “Is it
because of Taaless’s overbearing badgering?”
“What? Me?” They spun around to find Taaless walking toward them. “Whatever
overbearing badgering are you talking about? I don’t do that!”
“Yes, you do.”
Taaless was about to shoot something back when Clora stopped him with a
dismissive wave. “No, Esnoz, it’s not that. I don’t know, I just feel strange tonight.”
She felt her insides twist. At first, she’d thought it to be just excitement. But the later
into the night they went, the odder she felt. She wondered if it was fear—fear of
running into the leokaans, the murderers of her parents.

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 The farwatcher patted her on the shoulder. “Oh, that’s normal. I was all nerves the
first time I was to see the Flight. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you begin to feel
sick.” Clora doubted that was it, but she still thanked the man anyway.
For hours into the night, Clora and a few others from the caravan sat farther from
the celebrating crowd who showed no plans for slowing down. She wanted to lose
herself between them, dance to their music and watch their wondrous magical feats.
She wanted to celebrate and be free, a part of a pulsing crowd that did not mean her
harm. But the truth was that they might—if they found out who and what she was,
her safety would be in jeopardy. So she stayed there, bored and hugging her knees,
barely listening to her companions.
Something in Esnoz’s conversation with an unkempt stranger snagged her
attention. “Can you believe it?” the stranger was saying. “Those sly bastards!”
Esnoz tilted his head thoughtfully. “Are you sure? You need proof for such a claim.”
“Of course I’m sure!” The young man ran bewildered fingers through his mussed
hair. “I saw it with my own two eyes! There were two mountains. Two mountains,
Esnoz. And I think both were Holy Mounts.”
“Have you informed the Union Council?”
“That was the very first thing I did.”
Esnoz folded his arms, squinting at him. “You’re really saying the device you
invented can actually look beyond and show you Yaaraayka?”
Clora finally had to cut in. “What’s Yaaraayka?”
The young stranger spun toward her, gawking as if just realizing she was there.
Esnoz stepped in. “Meet my friend Clora.” He then pointed at the young man. “Clora,
this is Pike, a childhood friend I ran into at the festival.”
The dust and wrinkles on Pike’s gray tunic and black cloak stood testament to his
tendency for messiness. He gave the girl a sheepish smile. “Oh. Um, nice to meet you,
Clora.” Clora inclined her head politely and Pike continued, “You don’t know what

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Yaaraayka is? Isn’t it obvious from the name? The land of yaaraays, of course! It lies in
the north but no ensaan is allowed to enter, so it’s been completely hidden to us.” He
grinned. “Well, not anymore. Not with my invention.”
“Careful where you speak of this invention,” Esnoz warned. “Yaaraays won’t be
happy about that, Pike.”
His friend snickered. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I’m careful.” He raised his chin
proudly. “Though Yaaraayka will be nothing compared to the other discoveries I plan
to make with my invention. Not by a long shot.” Pike was gloating, his expression
signaling that he held an important secret he had no intention of revealing to them.
Though from the look in his eyes, Clora had a feeling he was waiting for the smallest
nudge to bare all his plans.
It seemed Esnoz had sensed that as well. “Oh? And what discoveries would those
be?” the mage prodded with a lopsided smile.
The young man did not even pause for a breath before leaning in. “Well, for one,
I intend to head to the Barren Lands and check out that Molten Mountain for
myself!”
“You what? Come on, there will be nothing left of you but ash if you go there!”
Pike laughed. “You underestimate me. That’s not even the start of it. After that,
my destination is the southern border. I want to see what I can make out from the
top of those mountains. It’s about time those Unseen Realms became Seen.”
Esnoz had been rendered speechless. “You think that’s possible?” he asked, awed.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Pike pouted. “But a special party of all kinds of people
from warriors to scientists is being dispatched from Kena to accompany me. The
Union Council is taking my work seriously, so that must count for something.”
Silence fell between the two friends as they both pondered the possibilities. Clora
took the opportunity to satiate her curiosity. “And what are the Unseen Realms?”

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 Pike threw her a startled glance. “You are truly clueless, aren’t you? The Unseen
Realms occupy the south of Serinor, beyond the Grate Gates. As the name suggests,
they are strange and mysterious.”
The girl lifted a brow. “You don’t say. From what I’ve learned, all of Serinor is
strange and mysterious. So, what’s the difference?”
“Yes, yes, but,” Pike said passionately, “we know at least a little bit about all these
other mysteries. The Unseen Realms are the true mysteries of Serinor—things we know
little to nothing about. Like Yaaraayka”—he began counting on his fingers—“cut off
from us by its citizens. The Barren Lands, made inaccessible by the gargantuan magical
volcano which also happens to be a Mount of Might. And the Unseen Realms,
holding another Mount of Might—namely the Emerald Mountain—and locked behind
the Roaring River and the Great Gates, most likely by its citizens as well. What lies in
these places is completely unknown to us.”
Clora was instantly lost. Taaless had told him about the Mounts of Might when
she’d asked about why the White Mountain was so important (though the man
believed the Emerald Mountain was just a rumor and a trick since barely anyone had
seen inklings of it) but the rest? Roaring River? Great Gates? Cut off by its citizens
how? She wanted to ask, but the young man did not seem great at teaching and
explaining things; she’d have to ask Esnoz later.
“There’s nothing in the Barren Lands,” Esnoz was saying, “so it’s not really a
mystery. What could even survive in that scorching desert of lava?” He made a
dismissive gesture. “But I bet you’ll find curious things in the Unseen Realms.”
“On the contrary!” Pike shot back. “I don’t think it’s likely I’ll get much out of that
trip to the far south. The Molten Mountain, though? That’s what I’m curious about.
You can’t possibly expect there to be no creatures living around a mountain with
infinite ravaan. White Mountain is proof enough.”

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 Their conversation was interrupted by an announcement from the center of the
crowd: it was time. At that, the celebrations ceased, fires getting doused and the music
and cheers going silent to give way to whispers. Those who had been sitting at the
edges of the crowd rose to stand at the border of camp and the abandoned clearing
with sparse trees, others eagerly joining them in a steady wave of bodies that continued
far into the camp.
Finally, a hush descended on the thousands present as they all stood facing the
shadows, waiting. For what, Clora had no idea.
She craned her neck, her height hindering her ability to see anything. They were
standing close to Deroba and his cruses, set next to the rocks. Taaless pointed at the
largest one. “Come here,” he whispered, “stand on that.”
Clora obeyed thankfully, seeing Boo run to join her. She’d barely straightened to
look over the crowd when she heard it.
It was a deep lament, rising from far away. Pale blue light leaked into the jungle
from the empty part of the clearing, yet its source was hidden and unknown. Sight
and sound wrapped the girl in a damp cocoon of peace and she barely noticed Boo
shift on her shoulder or Taaless sigh wistfully.
Then, in front of Clora’s awestruck eyes and out of the ground, came a flying white
bird. Its neck was long and body twice her size, emanating a soft halo of light. It
flapped its vast, glorious wings and flew straight into the sky, followed by another,
and another, and another.
At last, Clora had seen the shabgard swans.
She could only wish her sister had been there, holding her hand and watching this
glamourous sight by her side. Dimly, she was aware of the people standing around
her, all mesmerized by the scene unfolding before them. “I take it back, old man,”
Taaless’s faint words reached her ears, “this is worth waiting a whole year for.” But
she paid him no mind; she was floating, flying with birds even as she stayed rooted to

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the rock. It was not the trance of eghvaagars but something light, something stunning
and pure.
They were endless, appearing from an unclear part of the forest ground and rising
to pierce the night sky with their glow, then circling kilometers-wide circles above. No
one spoke—no one dared. With each flap of a shabgard’s wings, dust flew in the air,
their magical powder falling from their forms on the spectators. From the corner of
her eye, she could see Deroba circling his cruses, a bounce in his steps. Clora did not
understand how the old man had chosen to look away from the wondrous creatures.
A sudden low sound rose, breaking the quiet.
Clora was startled, looking around from the top of her rock. No one else reacted
to the fading low-pitched whisper echoing in the clearing. No one, that is, except the
raqsaan flower. It wrapped its branch-like hand around the girl’s head as it stared at a
point opposite where the crowd was looking at.
The booming whisper came again, beating against her eardrums.
Her body trembled, anxiety sitting low in her stomach. Still, no one turned away
from the swans. No one gazed around in worry. The flower stayed glued to her
shoulder, still looking in the opposite direction.
Clora turned, following its line of sight. Squinting, she could almost make out a
phantom far away in the sky, the dark hindering her ability to discern the silhouette’s
shape. Then the distant point lit up with a bolt of lightning, and Clora drew in a
sharp breath at what she saw.
More than five weeks ago, a terrified girl on the run had had a dream—a nightmare,
a vision. In it, she had seen an ancient tree hovering in the air, reaching to her with
leafless, withered branches. She had thought to run from it; the shadows, the tree,
the curse. She had thought she could escape.
And yet, here she stood, facing the very thing the Castle of Illusions served; the
thing no one had laid eyes on for thousands of years; the one her life had been cursed

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to be sacrificed for. There she stood in the Saanaaka Jungle, with her back to shabgard
swans racing to the sky, staring at the floating Curse Tree.
And this time, it was not a dream.

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 CHAPTER 10
Clora

W
ith a horrendous roar, the dreamy lament was abruptly cut off. The
sound ripped through the night, its echo tearing the thousands in the
clearing away from their dream and setting their bodies to trembling.
Eyes spun in their sockets as every soul sought the source, horror weighing down their
gazes. Clora looked up again, only to find the tree gone.
“What the hell was that?” Taaless rasped, bewildered. He was looking to Esnoz, but
the young man had no answer. It was right then that the screams started.
This time, the source of the sound was loud and clear. Clora spun around and was
greeted by the sight of the swans, those heavenly, sacred swans, plummeting to earth
one after another. Their white was painted on by splashes of red, crimson gushing
from wounds that looked like they were made by savage beasts. Scream, fall; scream,
fall; repeat. It was a dance of the macabre. An unspeakable tragedy. And they were all
gaping, aghast and paralyzed.
“RUN! We have to run! NOW!” Taaless’s shout broke right through the shock and
the crowd quickly came to life with howls and orders. They surged in different
directions, some running to the dying swans, others away. “Gather everyone,” Taaless
was yelling at a man and woman. “We have to get back to camp!”
Esnoz grabbed onto Clora and tried to pull her away while Taaless did the same
with Deroba—except the old man would not budge. He stood there, staring at his
cruses. “Come on, old ma—” The farwatcher’s words were lost to the deafening thump
of a gigantic shabgard falling right into their midst, breaking the cruses and throwing
Deroba off balance.
The old man hesitated for a second before rushing to the thrashing body as if to
help. Blood suddenly gushed from the creature’s gaping wound and drenched him in

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red. Taaless cursed and ran after him, his fear and confusion long since replaced by
steady determination. Reaching Deroba, Taaless began to drag him through the fray
toward where Clora and Esnoz stood waiting in the cover of trees. Other farwatchers
were joining them one after another with the caravan’s guests in tow.
Clora could see many trying to save the swans. Mages had gathered around the
bodies, seemingly attempting to heal and close the wounds as their efforts backfired.
Dazzleyes stood close, their eyes flaring and changing colors; but whatever they were
doing did not seem to be working either. Swan after swan hit the ground, crushing
tents, turning the entire clearing into a field of corpses.
Then the caravan’s party were all there, fear written on every crease of their skins,
be it pale or dark, gray or gold. “Is that everyone?” Esnoz called in the ruckus.
“Yes!”
“Alright!” Taaless drew his bow and fitted it with an arrow from his quiver.
“Everyone, move along!” And so they left the scene of butchering behind.
***
They had gone half of the way back to the caravan when Taaless raised a hand,
slowing down on the grass of the plain. The others followed suit at the signal and
eyed the forest to their right with fear. The luminescent insects had scattered, leaving
only the moon and plants to fight the creeping shadows.
Esnoz was panting, clearly not as used to exerting physical activity as the
farwatchers, one of whom was carrying a limp Deroba on his shoulders and still
seemed unruffled. The old man had gone into shock as soon as they had begun their
hurried yet cautious hike into the jungle to the bordering plain. They’d ended up
needing someone to carry his unresponsive figure.
Suddenly, Boo peeked out from Clora’s hair where it had been hiding. It quickly
stood on the girl’s shoulder, staring into the dark. A beat of silence and then—
“Kaaaaaaa,” Boo yelled, voice echoing in the open air and toward the trees.

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 “Shut it!” Taaless barked, but Boo did it again and pointed at the edge of the forest.
Clora inhaled sharply, sensing something as well. “Something’s coming…” she
whispered, not knowing why she said it. Still, the group heard her and straightened.
“Not something,” a dazzleye added, “but somethings. They’re big and they’re coming
our way. Fast—coming fast.” In unison, the dazzleyes all took immediate defensive
stances. “There’s no time to run,” the golden woman hissed at Taaless, “we have to fight!”
“Wha—” he began, but the sound of snapping branches made him swallow the rest.
Petrified gazes locked on the three-line as the farwatchers raised their weapons. The
one carrying Deroba gently put him down next to Clora and followed his comrades.
A scarlet flare shot from Esnoz’s hand, lighting up the area as it ascended. And that
was when Clora saw them.
Three huge creatures scuttled out of the forest in a cacophony of breaking trees.
Three giant spiders, their hideous bodies lit up by the red light of Esnoz’s magic. They
were each four times the size of a human, gleaming black and scurrying forward on
furry paws. Clora was about to retch. Hovering over each of their bodies like an
unnatural head was a sphere of shadows, a dark orb.
And they were nearing.
“Keep back!” Esnoz ordered Clora and the other helpless guests.
“Sh-should we run, run to the camp?” said a female merchant.
Taaless raised his bow. “No!” he shouted at Ninaaleh without turning. “You might
be attacked! Just stand back!” And then the spiders were there and the caravan’s fighters
rushed them in a wave of synchronous violence.
As soon as he was close to one, Esnoz released a ball of roaring fire that
encompassed the spider before vanishing. Clora stared slack-jawed, as the creature
froze in place. The caravan’s fighters and dazzleyes split in unison, the former taking
on the two remaining creatures as the latter rushed to help Esnoz.

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 The meraanias stayed back. They clustered together, seeming to concentrate on
something. Clora could hear the whispers of spells in the air.
Mid-run, a dazzleye slid to her knees and bent back, her momentum taking her
slight body right under the spider’s. Instantly, she raised her fist and struck its
stomach. Her golden hand went through as if ripping paper. The others did not
hesitate before surrounding the paralyzed spider and pouncing on its furry sides.
A few steps away, the farwatchers were circling the other two on quick feet and
cutting at their legs one after another. Taaless sent a flaming arrow right at one of its
back legs, another man attacking the other leg and chopping it off. The farwatchers
made swift work of the remaining legs and the spider stumbled, falling on its stomach
with a thump.
A handful of the other guards swung at the last creature, all of them faster and
stronger than was normal for a human. Clora recognized the black-skinned man from
the fire amid the five, along with the old woman who had not seen her daughter for
seven years. She was ducking beneath the spider’s reaching leg, lifting a sword to cut
it in half.
But then the first creature succumbed to the dazzleyes’ incessant attacks and
exploded with a booming wave of energy.
It all happened in an instant.
The blast threw everyone back and Clora hit the ground meters away with a thump.
She raised her head to see the third spider still standing in the distance on seven intact
legs, unaffected by the surge. At its feet lay the five guards. One of them, the curious,
questioning man, had his right leg twisted at an odd angle, pain twisting his full lips.
They all realized what was about to happen a split second before it did.
The spider ran at the man, clawed leg rising. Before it could tear into him, a sword
met it mid-strike.

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 It was a younger man, lying next to the other. He stood, blood rushing to redden
his pale face as he pushed against the spider. But he was disoriented and cornered,
and the creature cut him open with another leg before he could dodge.
Then two other men were there, pushing back. The spider did not even slow down
as it made quick work of their stumbling figures.
Barely five seconds had passed and three guards lay dead on the grass. Still, the
creature was not done. The old woman was rolling on the ground, evading the
abominable thing even in her disoriented state and keeping it away from the fallen
man. The scattered party began to stir, some getting their bearings enough to rise on
their hands and knees. The woman’s square shoulders slid between the spider’s legs,
her two swords parrying claws.
Esnoz lifted his arms, trying to stop the slaughter, but he was too slow. Right before
his yellow fire flared beneath and around its seven remaining legs, the creature got
past the old and forgotten mother’s guard and pierced her heart with a crunch.
Her scream made Clora’s hairs stand on end.
The rest were already up and running. The fire had slowed the giant spider down
and Taaless and his comrades were on it before it could do any more damage. They
hacked at its legs in vengeance and the spider hit the earth with a satisfying bang.
The sound had not even faded when, in front of their horrified eyes, three more
of the despicable creatures burst out of the trees.
Clora was on her feet, Boo running circles around her in agitation. Farwatcher and
mage, human and dazzleye, they all turned toward the new enemy, preparing to attack.
It was then that the girl noticed the meraanias’ whispers had become loud as thunder.
She spun to see Âlârâ and his two psychtied companions lift their arms as one, a
turbulent cerulean cloud rising from between them into the midnight air. The cloud
sped toward the battlefield, flying over the fighters’ heads and landing beneath the

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three approaching assailants. The ground began to shake, then split open right under
the spiders’ legs. The vile abominations disappeared down into the abyss of the earth.
With another quake, the gaping maw sealed back up.
A hush fell over the party as the meraanias ceased whispering spells and observed
their handiwork. Clora stared at the trio, finally grasping Taaless’s words—they might
look fragile with their lean and delicate forms and horns, but there was no doubt on
her mind that they deserved her fear and wariness.
The world seemed a blur. In the aftermath, the group contemplated killing the two
maimed spiders but decided against it when they remembered the explosion from the
first one’s death. The farwatchers somberly gathered around the four human bodies
of their comrades, heavy silence weighing down their shoulders. Boo was flitting
around them as if fascinated by the corpses.
“What do we do with them?” Esnoz spoke up.
Taaless was kneeling on one knee, his hands brushing his friends’ faces. In their
wake, lids closed over soulless eyes. He hesitated when he got to the old woman, the
mother who would never see her daughter again. Then her lids were swept into place
as well, obscuring the missing light. If not for the blood, Clora could almost think
her sleep. “Nothing we can do. We have to leave immediately.”
“There are no more of them,” a dazzleye said. “We’re safe for now.”
Taaless got up. “We can’t risk it.”
No one else protested, even though shame shimmered on their expressions. The
brawny guard who had been carrying Deroba let the man with inky skin lean on his
shoulder, eyeing his leg grimly.
Clora turned away, only just noticing that Ninaaleh, the merchant woman, had
passed out among the caravan’s clients and guests. Their bloodless faces were
understandable—after all, none of them had ever truly seen war. Fortunately, Deroba
was slowly coming to himself. “Dear God,” he breathed, “what happened here?”

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 The girl walked over to him. “Here, get up.” She stretched a hand, but he did not
take it. “Come on, Deroba, we have to go!” The old man kept staring at her blankly,
as if he had no idea who she was or what she was saying. Before she could bend and
force him up, Boo’s wordless shout cut through the night.
Clora looked up and saw the flower running at her. Saw horror seep into the eyes
of Taaless and Esnoz, saw them reach for weapon and magic.
And then she felt movement above her head.
Something like claws grabbed onto her shoulders and she was flying, snatched and
stolen. She saw a streak of yellow shoot toward them, but the creature dodged and
kept on rising higher and higher into the night. Another bolt, and the thief jerked
away to avoid it. This time, Clora’s head snapped, hitting something hard. She felt
pain spike through her head and consciousness slip away.
She heard a shout, saw darkness and stars, and then nothing.
***
When Clora came to, she knew only three things: the sharp pain in her shoulders
where something was holding her tight, the biting cold that had swallowed her body
whole, and the roaring wind that blew at her ears and tore into her clothes.
The girl opened her eyes to find herself flying terrifyingly high up in the sky. It was
still night, and the creature still had a hold on her, taking her God knew where.
She raised her chin, an ache going through her neck, and tried to catch a glimpse
of the creature. But in the dim light of stars, all she could make out was the silhouette
of a mosquito. Fear traveled through her blood as she remembered the things Taaless
had told her about such insects. Does it want me to feed its children? Or to be the nest
where it can lay its eggs?
The terror seemed to make her more alert. I have to get away, but how? There was no
one there to save her anymore, no one to fight for her. No Taaless or Esnoz or Boo
or Elora. She was all alone, and with no way to fight. No way except for my wings, she

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realized. The thought gave her hope, if only a sliver of it. She had known all along
that one day, it would all come down to this.
You must face who you truly are, the words echoed in her ears, rising from the
forgotten depths of her mind. With a deep breath, she unsheathed the knife Taaless
had given her and, fighting against the pain, lifted her right arm to plunge it into the
creature’s hands. Furious, the insect tightened its hold and Clora felt its claws pierce
her skin.
The effect was immediate.
Her back was instantly on fire, power flowing through her veins as her body reacted
in defense. Two slots tore open down her back and she heard the tearing sound of
clothes in the wind. Then her wings were out, throwing the creature out of balance.
It roared, squeezing harder until the pain made Clora scream. The wings shot
upward instinctively in response, and she felt them spear the massive mosquito like a
fork going through a particularly rotten grape. With an agonized howl, the creature
let go of the girl and she flew freely in the sky.
Except she did not, and instead plummeted right down toward the ground.
The wind tore at her, making her spin round and round. She tried to open the
skinless branching bones that were her wings to fill them with air, but the air that
caught on the streams of ravaan was uneven and only threw her to the side. Still, it
seemed to have slowed her freefall. So the girl tried the maneuver again and again,
wishing her two wings were enough to fly but knowing that they were not.
In the faint light of the thin moon, she began to make out a forest spanning
beneath her, some of its trees glowing like beacons. She realized with horror that her
speed was still too much—she was going to hit the trees head on. The forest rose up
before her and she wrapped the wings around herself out of instinct just before her
cocoon of bones hit the trees.

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 She heard the snapping of branches and felt them bite into her wings. And yet, the
bones and their invisible, flowing magical layer kept her safe from their reach. The
trees absorbed her momentum and, finally, Clora hit the forest floor with a thump.
She could not believe she was still alive.
A graceless landing, she thought with pride, but still successful. Slowly and with a
beautiful flourish, the girl opened the cocoon of wings from around herself and
coughed from the dust. Then she got to her feet.
The blue veins of the bones let off a soft glow and dimly lit up her surroundings—
trees and roots, flowers and bushes, bugs and birds. Nothing that was unfamiliar, even
as everything was. For the second time in the past two months, Clora found herself
stranded in an unknown land.
She tried to remember Taaless’s instructions. “First, identification. Find out where you
are and seek a safe vantage point to give you time to get your bearings.” Since she’d already
established that she was in a foreign cold forest whose occupants were fortunately
familiar and safe as far as she could see, she skipped to the next step.
“Second, injuries. You have to ensure you do not have an unidentified wound that could
easily be infected or simply make you faint from blood loss and end up leaving you as perfect
prey. If you do, tend to it.” Clora began to examine her body: sore and stiff yet intact
limbs, a breaking of skin on her forehead that had sealed over, and shallow but open
wounds on both her shoulder blades. Resigned, she stripped. Recalling the
farwatcher’s instructions on the plants and their uses, she cleaned the cuts then ripped
clean stripes from her clothes and used them as bandages. All the while, she could
barely feel the weight of her wings dragging on the ground behind her. They were
lighter than she’d expected.
“Third, survival. Do not wander around pointlessly. Move carefully, cautious of predators of
all kinds, and find what your body requires to survive in the wild—food, shelter, weapons, and
most importantly, water. Do this, and you will live.” Clora exhaled. Taaless had taught her

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many things; from which plants could be eaten or used for medicine or satiating her
thirst, to which creatures to hunt and which to avoid, to how to keep warm and where
to sleep. But Taaless had been wrong.
These would not be enough to keep her alive, not at all. Because there was one
threat the farwatcher had not anticipated, one thing he had not taught her about.
And it was the majestic and deadly wings leaving trails behind her on the ground,
poised to kill their owner if she could not control them.
And she indeed could not.

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 CHAPTER 11
Clora

W
ater raged before her as Clora stayed seated amid the rocks on the
riverside. The sun was almost at its zenith, and it shone on the drained
girl and her trembling wings, stretched to the sides.
Since the moment she had dropped like a stone into the forest last night,
controlling the bony wings had become harder and harder and she had found out
that the less she moved and strained herself, the easier controlling them became. And
she had to keep them under control, or else she would die.
Clora shifted her left leg to a more comfortable position and the pain brought tears
to her eyes. Just an hour ago, she had been climbing down the rocks when her left
wing had slipped out of her control and left a deep gash down her thigh. She had
made her way down to the river with difficulty, then cleaned the gushing wound with
water and her gathered herbs before tying it tightly.
Her pained gaze sought her two new body parts and she both marveled at their
beauty and cursed their murderous intents. They were long, lean, and elegant, each
reaching almost five meters. Hundreds of small but impossibly strong bones made up
the tip of the wings and gathered into larger ones as they moved inward, like the
branches and boughs of trees. Each wing ended with a few thicker bones that had
grown out of Clora’s back, making up the main structure of the wing. The bones were
ashen and bare, with no skin or feathers to cover and connect them. Only a blue
liquid flowed in the veins engraved into the gray, giving a faint shine.
And they were sharp; at least, they had to be, because they left cuts into anything
they touched—though she could see no visible sharpness. They were sharp and violent
enough that even the forest’s predators were afraid of approaching her. This forest
was of course not as magical as the Saanaaka Jungle, and it was less humid too. Still,

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it had its own deadly occupants. Like the enormous viridescale snake that had
attempted to attack her hours ago.
In that instance, she had thought her life at an end—those snakes were known for
their impenetrable scales and Taaless had only ever been able to kill them with poison
and clever traps. And yet, when the viridescale snake had struck at her from its perch
on a tree, she had lifted her palm in a foolish attempt to parry it, and her wing had
risen in response to cut straight through its green scales. The snake had fallen to one
side, its head to the other.
But now, the sword was directed to the girl herself and she could not move a muscle
out of fear that the movement would be her last. The wings’ shaking had only
increased during the morning and her only choice was to stay there, unmoving, until
she finally lost control and met her inevitable fate: death.
No one was coming for her, no one could. She was lost and her fate sealed.
Clora sighed and laid her head back against the rock. What’s the world’s problem with
me? she wondered. It was as if the stars had aligned at her birth to write a tale of
suffering, a tragedy no one would even remember. All she had known had been pain—
the mental torments of the Castle of Illusions; the experiments and disciplining;
spending her life as the Warden’s guineapig when she should have been playing with
dolls and caressed by loving parents.
The small moments of reprieve she had gotten through the years, the little joys and
pleasures, had been all fleeting as well—taking care of Saania, her tiny friend in the
Castle; living with Elora at the academy; staying at the Storm’s Mane Caravan … Every
single time, her life had been upended the second she’d felt an ounce of happiness.
“When,” she asked out loud, “when will it end?” She did not know who she was
asking it from—whether she truly expected a reply. Whatever the case, she got her
answer soon enough.

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 A rustling rose from the bushes behind the rocks to her left. Oh, great, I guess the
answer is now. Being devoured by a wild beast sounds like a lovely way to go. But out of the
bush and from the side of the rock appeared a red head of petals with two wide black
eyes and a broad smile.
“Boo!” Clora exclaimed in disbelief as the flower ran to her. Forgetting her wings,
the girl made to get up and hug her impossible friend who had somehow found her,
but the sudden jerk of the bones brought her back to her senses. She froze in place
and stared at Boo with fear in her eyes. “Wait! Stop! The wings will hurt you!”
The flower stopped short, eyeing the bony structures in surprise.
“Is Taaless with you? Or Esnoz?” Perhaps they had come and she had not been as
far away as she had thought.
But Boo’s silence banished that small glimmer of hope from Clora’s heart. A lifeless
smile curved her lips as the truth of her fate began to dawn on her. “Boo, you should
go back.”
Boo looked at her, not comprehending.
It was enough for her that someone had tried—that someone had cared. It was
enough. “Thank you for coming for me, Boo, but there’s nothing you can do.”
Finally, the flower began to understand. Its petals withered, its mouth turning
crooked as it watched the trembling wings.
Clora tried to find a way to make Boo leave—she did not want her loyal friend here
to watch the wings snap and tear her apart. “Look, I think I can keep the wings under
control long enough for you to get help and come back.” She couldn’t. “If you go get
Esnoz, he can help.” He could, but he was too far away. “Maybe there is still a chance.”
There wasn’t.
Suddenly, Boo brightened, bouncing up and down. It was like the flower was
sniffing the air.
“What is it?”

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 “Shshshshshsh,” hissed Boo. Clora had no idea what her friend was babbling but
she could read the “Shut up,” in its eyes. The girl kept silent and watched the jumping
flower. After a few moments, Boo yelled and spun around. In seconds, it was gone,
lost amid the trees.
Clora stared after it in shock. Then she leaned back again, the wings giving a wild
quiver, and smiled palely. “Go, Boo,” she whispered to no one, “at least you won’t
have to watch me die.”
***
She lost track of time. Minutes passed, then hours; she did not know if one or two
or three, but hours had flowed by her as she stayed rooted to the rocks. With every
excruciating minute, the shaking grew more and more violent until she felt dizzy and
faint. Cold sweat coated her body and her concentration threatened to slip away. But
she fought on, knowing that if she did not, if she let go for an instance, the bones
would cut her open.
The wing to her right convulsed and Clora was lifted off the ground. She fell back
down, hitting the rocks with force. Tears sprang to her eyes, her face already soaked.
She tried to grab onto something to keep her body from moving, but the wings were
stronger than her. Her feeble figure thrown every which way, cuts opening on her
palms.
Distantly, she wondered how it would have even been possible to tame these wild
things. How she could have ever dreamed of it. It did not matter, of course—she was
dying either way.
Then out of nowhere, a shout broke Clora out of her prison of fear. Startled, the
girl looked up but could not believe her eyes. A film of tears was obscuring her vision,
yet in light of the sun, she could still make out a red blotch and the blurry shape of
sticks beneath it. It was jumping and shouting, lines coming out of both its sides and
aggressively pointing at Clora.
Boo had come back.
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 Clora wiped her tears and gaped. The flower was not shouting at her but at a figure
in the forest behind it, walking fast to catch up with the swift creature. A rustle of
leaves, and a man stepped out of the trees.
A worn long coat hung from his thin form and his shaggy black hair almost fell
over his serious eyes. Clora knew two things: one, that he was a stranger, and two,
that he was marching toward her and her lethal wings without hesitation.
“N-no!” she tried to warn him faintly. “D-d-don’t!”
The man paid her no mind. He raised his right hand and closed his eyes. Suddenly,
the wings relaxed. But before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she felt her body rise
through the air. Fear spiked in her nerves as she began to move toward the man,
unable to stop.
“Who, who are y-you?”
Again, the man said nothing. His palm faced her and his eyes remained shut. And
then Clora was right before him, coming to a stop with her forehead in his palm.
Heat coursed through her and she felt as if she was being drained. Her wings began
to tremble furiously, then calmed. And then, just as they had come out, the bones
were sucked back into her back. Pain consumed her inside and out and she screamed.
She was aware of Boo holding tightly to the man’s leg and making indecipherable
sounds, but she was too far gone to soothe the flower. The pain was a merciless sea,
drowning her.
As suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished, leaving a phantom behind. Clora
dropped limply to the ground. Consciousness was slipping between her fingers, and
she was too exhausted to try to hold on.
“Clora,” the man’s soft words reached her from amid the flower’s howling, “you
have to drink this.”
A small canteen touched her lips and a bitter and thick liquid flowed in her mouth.
The taste brought her to her senses enough for her to swallow it without choking.
Then for the second time in the last day, Clora passed out.
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390
 CHAPTER 12
Clora

When sleep fluttered away, Clora could feel the warm rays of sun on her face, the
feel of a blanket over her body and something soft beneath her on a lumpy surface.
For some unknown reason, the thought of opening her eyes filled her with terror.
Her mind flew, trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle and figure out why that
was or what had even happened:
Saania’s location being found out? The release of the laashkhaar from its cage? The staging
of a scene with ripped apart body parts? The dream of the Curse Tree? Facing Elikaar? Getting
trapped by the eghvaagar? The memories flashed before her one after another as she
tried to remember. But no matter how many her mind went through, she kept finding
herself dissatisfied. Silliss’s threats? The butchering of the shabgard swans? Being snatched
by the mosquito? The, the wings!
The memory clicked into place with dooming quiet and her eyes shot open
immediately, only to find Boo lying peacefully next to her on the mat, face-up. The
light weight of the wings that had almost been her death was missing from her back.
Slowly, she began to recall the other events of that night: Boo, the mysterious man,
and the gathering of the wings.
Relief filled her to the brim and she exhaled. The flower jumped up suddenly and
turned. It let out a delighted yelp at the sight of her open eyes, seeming to finally
notice that her leokaan friend had awoken.
“I’m fine.” Clora attempted a smile and Boo instantly pounced on her, making the
girl realize how sore her whole body felt. She took a glance around and saw that she
was exactly where she had fallen unconscious, only with a mat laid beneath her and a
blanket on her shoulders. How long have I been here? She wondered, then continued
out loud, “Boo, where is that man?”

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 The raqsaan flower stopped dancing around and pointed. Then it ran.
With some difficulty, Clora got her feet under her and was surprised to note that
not only had the small cuts on her palms and face healed, but so had almost the
shallow wounds on her shoulders, leaving only aches behind. The deep gash on her
thigh still remained and was bound by a clean white cloth. No, really, how long have I
been out? Confused and oddly unbalanced, the girl staggered after her tiny friend.
Behind the boulders and next to the raging river was the man of the day. His
sunburnt skin gleamed under the noontime sun where he sat—or more accurately
lounged—next to his fire, cooking three skinned rabbits over the flames. On his lap
were brown threads that resembled tree roots or a plant’s stem. He was bent over
them, his shaggy hair obscuring his eyes as he wove the threads together, leaving only
a lean nose and stubble visible. While she neared, Clora tried to guess his age. He
looked in his mid-thirties; if he had entered second life then he had to be more than
a hundred years old.
Upon hearing Boo’s wordless call, the man looked up, his gaze finding Clora
immediately. The brown of his eyes appeared lighter in the sun. “So you have awoken
at last.”
“How long was I out for?”
“Three days.”
A gasp. “Three days?”
The man lazily spun the stick holding one of the rabbits and returned to his roots.
“It was the concoction I gave you. A medical concoction used for putting bodies into
hibernation so you would heal faster.” His entire focus was on weaving the threads
together, evenly spaced. “As your luck would have it, I happened to have been carrying
a bottle on me when your friend sought me out.”
“Who are you?” Clora asked when he fell silent.
“I am many things,” he said. “Right now, I am the person who saved your life.”

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 “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then you should have asked what you meant. I answered your question. A better
question would be what is your name not who are you, wouldn’t you say?”
Clora bobbed her head in baffled agreement and waited. When she got no
response, the girl frowned. “Well?”
He did not break his concentration. “Well what?”
“You were going to tell me your name,” Clora reminded, exasperated.
“But you never asked for it.”
For a moment, the girl could only stare. Then she gritted her teeth. “What. Is.
Your. Name?” she said, biting out each word.
“You can call me Shaaya.”
Clora watched the man for a breath, then sat down on a small rock close to the
crackling flames. The smell of roasting meat caressed her nostrils and she heard her
stomach grumble. But she was wary, unsure whether to trust the man. “You know
me. You called me by my name when you give me your bitter … concoction.” It wasn’t
a question.
“Yes,” he still responded, not looking up, “your sister has told me all about you.”
It was as if the man had hit her with a club even as he stayed focused on his weaving.
“Y-you know, you know my sister?”
At last, Shaaya lifted his head and stared straight into Clora’s eyes. “That I do.
Elora Ernaan. She has been looking everywhere for you.”
“But how … how did you know I’m the one?”
“A leokaan’s wings. A Peraasian’s mask.” She could not see his eyebrows but she
bet one of them had climbed up his forehead. “There not many in Serinor with those
characteristics. In fact, there are none. Other than you, of course.”
She paused. “How did Boo find you?”

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 “If you mean this raqsaan flower”—Shaaya threw a glance at the one in question—“I
must admit I do not know the answer. A friend to treasure, this one.”
“What about Elora? Where is she? Is she alright?”
“Yes, she is alright, but more ill-tempered than ever. She knew you had to have
been stranded somewhere between Kena and Trinaar and has been incessantly
looking for you.” A beat of silence. “Well, had been, to be precise. She had to return
Kena for a new issue that has arisen in the land.”
“You mean the slaughter of shabgard swans.”
The man’s eyes squinted immediately. “How do you know about that?”
“I saw the Saanaaka Flight myself.”
“The Saanaaka?” Surprise shadowed Shaaya’s features. “How are you here, then?”
Clora hesitated, wondering how much of the truth she should tell him. “I was there
with the Storm’s Mane Caravan,” she began. “After the slaughter, we made for the
caravan but were attacked on the way. They were six of these strange huge spiders
with spheres of shadows hovering over their bodies. The caravan’s fighters defeated
them but then a mosquito-like creature showed up and stole me away.” A shudder.
“That’s why I had the wings out—I used them to get free. But then I dropped into this
forest.”
Shaaya did not speak a word after she finished her story. His eyes were locked on
the fire, glazed and contemplative. Then he shook his head and got back to weaving
his threads.
Yet Clora was not done. She eyed the man, trying to decide whether to trust him.
Elora told him about me—she wouldn’t tell just anyone. “There’s something else. I—” She
swallowed, then took that leap of faith. “I saw the Curse Tree.”
He did not even startle as he weaved. “Yes, I am aware. Your sister told me about
your dream.”
“I’m not talking about the dream. I saw it in the real world.”

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 That made the man freeze. “What? When? Where?” His voice was cold, so sharp it
could cut ice.
“Right … Right before the slaughter,” she stammered. His stare made her nervous.
“It was floating in the sky but disappeared quickly.”
“Did anyone else see it?”
“Just me.” And Boo, she thought, but did not say.
Shaaya stayed frozen for a few long moments, then went back to his work again.
But this time, his face was no longer blank and indifferent. Clora could clearly see
the gears working in his brain.
“Do you think it was the Tree that did it? The slaughter of the shabgards?”
“That is a possibility.” His tone turned cutting. “Remember, do not tell anyone of
this. Only your sister.”
Clora nodded, even though he was looking down and could not see. “Do you…”
She drifted off, afraid of what she was about to ask next. “Do you think the Tree was
there for me?” Do you think it’s chasing me? is what she wanted to ask.
Shaaya’s gaze sought her, looking not at her but into her, as if he could see all her
thoughts, read all her feelings and fears. “If it’s the truth you want, then nothing is
impossible. Why was the Curse Tree truly there? Could it have been behind the
slaughter? Controlling the creatures, even? Was it there for you or the shabgards or
both? I do not know the correct answers to these questions, but I do know that it is
likely that whoever controls the creatures is also behind the slaughter, and it cannot
be a coincidence that only you were plucked out of that crowd.”
Silence descended between the two. Clora watched Boo hop around the fire,
reaching to it and immediately jumping back. Her mind was filled with helplessness—
she was powerless, lost, and hunted. There was nothing she could do to stop the forces
circling her. “What do I do now?” she whispered.

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 The man heard her and held up his completed handiwork. “You will let me sew
this to the back of your vest. With the condition you are in you cannot walk around
in the forest.”
He had a point—her wings had torn the back of her clothes and now they hung in
tethers behind her. “Thank you,” she added earnestly, “but that’s not what I meant.
I was talking about where to go or what to do now. About all this.”
“In that case, your answer is that you should stay with me. It’s better that way. With
all the mess of what has happened, it will take some time before I can send you to
your sister but I will eventually. She’ll decide the rest after that.”
The thought of seeing her sister again was a warm fire blooming in her chest. But
she could not trust it—nothing good ever lasted, not for her. It felt as if she had been
cursed, which did not seem to be that far off from what had happened—it was called
the Curse Tree, after all. She was all alone, on her own. She had always been and
would always be. There was no point in relying on others; none of them could defend
her forever.
The sight of a skewered rabbit stretched in front of her interrupted her grim
thoughts. Her stomach gave a rumble and she took the lunch from Shaaya’s hand
with a grateful smile. “Thank you. Not just for this but everything. I’d have been dead
if not for your help.”
A crooked smile sat on the man’s face as he waved a dismissive hand. “It seems you
are not as proud and unbending as your elder sister.”
Her grumbling insides did not let her wait any longer and she quickly gave Boo a
piece before digging in. She had swallowed her first few bites when her hunger lost
its sharp edge and her interrupted thoughts trickled back into her mind. Comfort
flew away and doubt replaced it. If I’m on my own, then I’m certainly dead. And that was
the reality of it. Clora could not defend herself—she was not any good at magic and

396
her wings were out of her control. Still, she wanted to. She was tired of being a
burden. Of weighing people down and putting them in danger.
On a whim, the girl turned to Shaaya. “You … You know how to control the wings,
right? You reigned them in just then—I mean, three days ago.”
He took his time chewing his mouthful of rabbit. “Yes,” he said at last, “I can. And
not just because I’m a mage who can siphon their power and make them retreat.” The
man looked her in the eyes. “But because I’m also a leokaan.”
Clora gasped. Her eyes locked on the man and fear curled her insides. He was one
of the savage and prejudiced leokaans—they had killed her parents, and would kill her
too. Calm down, she chided herself. Elora trusts him, so he can’t be like the others. She
took a moment to gather herself. Maybe they’re not all like that.
Shaaya did not acknowledge her moment of panic. “So yes, I can control the wings,
and it’s best if your sister leaves you in my hands for some time. We can’t risk the
other leokaans finding out about you. With me, you will be safe and hidden. Until we
can secretly destroy the wings, of course. You’ll be rid of their threat after that.”
Clora let out a sigh. I’ll be rid of them. The thought did not give her comfort. Perhaps
she would have agreed a few days ago, but she had seen her helplessness and what it
was costing her and others. The knowledge that the man before her knew the true ins
and outs of controlling leokaans made her next words come out with more certainty.
“Do you think you could teach me to control them too? And not just control them,
but fight with them?”
Shaaya’s curious gaze locked on hers. She did not know if it was the desperation in
her voice or the determination in her eyes, but a corner of his mouth twitched up. “I
could, but your sister will not be happy about it. I trust you are aware of that?”
“I know,” she murmured. “I mean, I don’t know. But I can’t think of her reaction
right now. I have to think about surviving, and I can’t do that while relying on others

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anymore. I want to be useful, to take control of my life and be able to defend myself
and people I care about, not be a stone dragging them down so they’d drown.”
The faint curve of his lips turned into a full-blown smile. “That is an admirable
decision. A life-changing one, too. Of course, it remains to be seen whether you even
can control your wings. They seemed healthy and strong, which is both good and bad.
The stronger the wings, the harder they are to control. But if you can, then I would
be happy to help you.” He paused, making sure she understood the weight of her
choice. “Are you sure that is what you want, though? You still have time to think
about it.”
Clora looked to Boo, sitting on the rock next to her. The flower was wriggling its
tiny legs and biting into another piece of meat Shaaya had given it. Always happy,
always smiling—how long could that possibly last? Would her loyal friend stay by her
side at all times? Watch her fail to defend herself at the hand of the many threats that
dogged her footsteps? What would that do to the flower? No, I can’t let that happen.
She turned to the man, then hesitated. “What do you think?”
“You want my opinion on your personal decision?” He sounded bewildered. “Do
you trust me that much?”
“I do.” Clora bobbed her head in confirmation. “You saved my life.”
“Only because of that? Perhaps this is a trick. Perhaps I saved you only to gain your
trust and later abuse it. That is not a good reason to trust someone. Not so fast and
not so wholly.”
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But that’s not the only reason. I trust you because Elora
does—enough to have told you all about me. She warned, time and time again, how
important it is to keep this a secret; so important that just a handful of her most
trustworthy friends knew about it.” Then she turned to her small friend who was
licking its greasy fingers. “And I trust you because Boo does—enough to bring you to
me when I was completely vulnerable.”

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 Only the chirping of birds and the rush of water could be heard in the afternoon
air. A cold wind blew past, making the surrounding trees rustle and the fire roar.
Shaaya took a deep breath. “If you are asking me,” he began, “I believe there is a
reason for everything that exists within us. It is every person’s responsibility to
understand the parts embedded in their nature, the parts that make up who they are,
and discover their true purpose. Those wings? They are a part of you, Clora, they have
been since you took your first breath. To destroy them so carelessly is to destroy
yourself and that purpose. It is not right.”
A smile bloomed on the girl’s face. Shaaya had given words to the unease she had
felt every time she thought of losing the wings—no matter how much she feared them,
how much they had hurt her, they were a part of her. And now her feeling was backed
up by reason. Reasons valid enough to back her decision. “Do you think I can do it?”
“It’s a challenging path you are choosing, Clora. It will be hard, and sometimes,
you will think there is no way you could walk it.” His features softened. “But I think
you’ll manage.”
The girl’s grin widened as she turned to her small friend. “Then on we go!”
Boo jumped down from her perch and let out a cheerful shout. Joy was written on
its every move as it danced around Clora and laughed. Then it was climbing her body
in an instant, settling on her shoulder. And there, in the place it had made its own,
the flower finally relaxed and gazed at the girl with bright eyes.
Clora did not know how she knew it, but she was sure her loyal friend was as happy
as her about her choice. Grinning back, the girl returned to her cooked rabbit and
took a big bite, all while wondering how this choice would change her life.

399
INTERLUDE

400
 INTERLUDE 2

Midnight ruled over the dry and rocky land, mist swallowing Bardia like a silent,
lazy beast. In mist this thick, being sharp-eyed was not as much of a help. Only sound
could move through the white, elusive currents and warn of threats. No magic worked
in the mist, no living creatures dwelling within it. They said whoever walked inside
never made it out alive; it was what Bardia was best known for, really—its deadly,
mysterious mist.
And yet, in this odd night, the Mist of Bardia was host to odder travelers. Ones
who had accepted the risk for a task they deemed worth their lives.
Tiffany’s steps were measured as she navigated the blindness. The light emanating
from the ring on her right hand was all that showed her the way through the mist,
and she was too worried to think about the possibility of stumbling on an unseen
stone. Sights and sounds haunted her steps—figures in her pursuit and screams
begging for mercy—but she paid the illusions no mind. She put her trust in the ring
as she powered through, knowing it had already passed its test by successfully getting
other travelers through the eternal beast.
No, what worried her was not the Mist of Bardia, but the mist of shortsightedness
and foolishness. Because if she got lost in those mists as she went through with her
plan, it would be her—and many others’—ruin.
As she had expected, the illusions came to an end after a few hours of walking, a
gentle breeze sweeping away the mist to reveal a green and blooming plain with rocks
of all sizes rising amid the verdure. Flowers gleamed blue beneath the light of the
moon, slithering away and out of her path as Tiffany stepped toward them.
Her eyes sought the sky as she sighed. No matter how much destruction the Borg
Empire caused all across Fainar, the one thing the regime could not taint was the sky—
the blue moon and countless stars, softly lighting her path through the dark. That sky
was a beacon of hope for the ones suffering beneath the empire’s fist, because legends

401
promised of a day when the moon would bring an end to Borg and freedom to the
people.
Perhaps the legends spoke true, perhaps not. Anyhow, she would not wait for
myths and moons to hand her back her freedom when she could take it herself.
With a deep breath, she looked back down and resolutely continued on her journey
toward the point of rendezvous. She tried to take cautious steps to not disturb the
unique wildlife of the plain—even in her worry, she could not help but smile at the
sheer, exquisite beauty before her. The thought of all she had to fight for gave each
step renewed strength, and she took it gladly.
Would they be able to plant the seed of hope for defeating Borg tonight? Perhaps.
Either way, life hung on hope at the end of the day.
After a while, she rounded a large rock and came across a single ancient tree. Its
small leaves seemed to reflect the moon’s blue glow, making the tree seem one
adorned with jewels with every sweep of the breeze. And beneath the tree sat three
men, waiting for someone.
That someone was her, of course. Her companions had arrived sooner than her.
Seeing Tiffany, Tekarty unfolded from the ground, his grand long cloak swinging
around his defined form. Every bit of him was meticulously ordered and gleaming—
his hair trimmed, clothes tidy. “Is everything alright, lady? You are late.”
“The rocks,” she replied as a way of explanation. “Did you run into any trouble?”
Degor waved a dismissive hand from his place leaning against the tree. “Not at all,
lady. Easier than expected, even.” His smirk was barely visible from under his
unkempt beard. He rubbed his palm against his armor before grumbling, “Even the
Mist of Bardia has lost its damned backbone.” Tiffany was not surprised by the
words—in the short time she’d known him, she’d learned the man always looked for
a fight to gloriously die in. Warriors, she sighed inside.

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 “Joyous greetings, lady!” Merentis cut in. A chuckle shook his light armor. “Degor!
Don’t be ridiculous. Do you want to get lost inside that beast of a mist? I bet it will
have enough of a backbone for you then, huh?” From his short hair and beard to long
nose and face, not only did he look the opposite of Degor, but his light and cheery
mannerism was also a contrast to his companion’s.
Before the two could start yet another one of their endless banters, Tekarty’s
warning rose. “We’re on a mission. At least try to stay focused.”
Tiffany was grateful. Not that she doubted them—she was the least experienced of
the group and, despite having teamed up with them recently, she knew all three of
them were tried experts. Still, the elders of the Moon River had made her responsible
for the group and mission to freely enact her ideas, and she did not need more to
worry about. She glanced at Tekarty. “Any word from them? Have you been waiting
here long?”
“None. We arrived on time as planned.”
She nodded and scanned the plain. Everything was washed in a soft blue, caught
in a standstill. Worry gnawed at her, but she kept herself in check.
It wasn’t long before Merentis broke the silence again, clearly unable to sit still.
“My dear Tekar,” he began, leaning against the elbow he propped up on the grass. “I
am swooning over your greasy hair. Whatever you put on that head of yours, please
dump some of it on our savage Degor’s too.” He poked his friend with his other hand.
“When will you learn to live like a civilized man? Huh?”
Tiffany did not take her eyes from the horizon. “I know I don’t have to tell you
this, Merentis, but you’re keeping your wits about you, yes?”
“Of course, lady,” he replied, bowing his head slightly even as he remained
lounging on the ground. “Never fear. Not while I’m here.” He turned his attention
back to Tekarty who was standing vigil beside the tree like Tiffany. “As I was saying,
that grease you put on your hair, Tekar—why do you do it?” Another chuckle escaped
him. “Don’t get me wrong, you look like a dashing gentleman. But you also look like
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you’re here for the most important ball of the year. I’m pretty sure you’ve even washed
all your underclothes!”
Tekarty glared at his teasing and looked away. His voice was soft when he
responded. “I like to be clean and put together for missions. Is that a problem?”
The chirpy man raised a single brow. “Of course not!” He rubbed his nose. “We
all spend our missions in different ways, after all. I myself like to let it all go! Before
coming, I even gave all my savings to my old soul of a mother and my smithy to my
young apprentice. Made him promise to give a percentage to my widowed sister with
two kids left on her hands. Now I get to lounge and just enjoy the mission! Bliss.” He
smiled. “What about you Degor? More fights to the death?”
Degor gave him an indifferent glance. Then he stared into the distance, whispering
in his thick voice, “I don’t care about the mission. All I want is to not die pointlessly,
like get my foot caught on a stone and die from falling in the wrong way of all things.”
His hand curled into a fist. “If I’m dying, I want it to be worth something. I want to
be fighting, standing on the backs of the hundreds of enemy soldiers I’ve killed,
laughing my way into death.”
The was a beat of silence before Merentis pointed a finger at the warrior. “Ah, a
heroic death! As I thought. Don’t worry, no one expects more of you.”
Tiffany and Tekarty did not take their attention from their watch. The woman kept
trying to think of why the others had not yet arrived, but every possibility was worse
than the one before.
Merentis really did not seem to like silence. “What about you, Lady Tekelvor?” he
asked her. “What do you live for? Do you—” At Tekarty’s glare, he raised a palm in
surrender, giving him an innocent look. “What? It’s just a simple question!”
“It’s alright,” Tiffany told Tekarty before letting out a breath. “I don’t care if my
life is glorious or forgotten, or whether my death is grand or stupid. The only thing I
want is to bring down Borg. That has always been my goal, and will be until either

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this regime goes, or I go. This is why I fought with all my power to get this mission
approved, and why I’ll fight to see it through.”
As her words faded away, Degor looked up at her, admiration in his eyes. Merentis,
however, was smiling. “A worthy goal, Lady Tekelvor!” he said dramatically. “Truth
be told, we all thought the same once upon a time. But life … Ugh, what a bastard it
is for showing us that the Borg Empire is invincible.”
Tiffany’s reply was a sharp knife. “There is no such thing as invincible.”
“Of course, as they say, the young cannot be blamed for being dreamers, can—” His
words died in his throat, face growing suddenly serious as he stared into the distance.
Tiffany was confused—there was nothing on the horizon. But his companions knew
the man’s sharp senses and were instantly on guard.
“Where?” Degor demanded, shooting to his feet.
Merentis jumped up in response, squinting around. Tiffany realized he must have
felt something or someone, and he was trying to figure it out with his other senses.
“Who? Or what?” she asked, trying to keep her nerves away. “And how many?”
The man’s eyes sought the sky and settled on the blue moon. “I don’t know how
many or who.” He nodded at the starry darkness. “But they’re coming from above.”
Before she could ask another question, a sudden strong wind hit the tree, sending
the branches swinging wildly. And then a giant bird of pulsing smoke and ashes
landed right in front of them.
Her team took up defensive stances. “Wait!” Tiffany called. “It’s the Southerners!”
“Borg has many tricks up its sleeves,” Degor growled. “Are you sure?”
Merentis straightened, calming down. “The lady is right. This is not Borg.”
Holding his cloak still against the blowing wind from the bird, Tekarty did not take
his suspicious eyes from the creature. “What in the world is that?”
The bird closed its wings and the wind instantly died down. Tiffany stepped
forward, past her wary companions. “The Southerners have their own unique magic.”

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As if in response, the smoke and ashes scattered, revealing three people standing
where the bird had been: a middle-aged man with an eyepatch on his left eye and a
full beard, a young woman with black hair cascading around her shoulders and eyes
that seemed to see through all, and a young boy no older than fifteen whose gaze
spoke of curiosity more than anything.
All three had their eyes locked on Tiffany as she continued her steady approach.
Doubt shone in their faces, and their tightly bound bodies did not relax.
When she was a few steps away, she stopped and spoke with confidence she did
not feel. “I am Tiffany Tekelvor, the representative of the Moon River in the north.
It is an honor to meet with you—thank you for accepting our request for negotiation.”
As she spoke, she felt her team walk forward to stand behind her.
The one-eyed man was the one to respond. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well,
Lady Tekelvor. You may call me Kouia.” His voice was piercing, somehow matching
his combed-back hair. “We are ready to hear your proposal.”
From his keen eye and measured words, Tiffany could guess the Southerners had
sent one of their very best—she, the untried and inexperienced representative of the
Moon River, could already feel herself retreating. At the thought, she steeled her
spine, reminding herself that this was nothing but a simple negotiation with no
complications. Calming down, she took a second to assess the other two newcomers,
guessing they were the man’s guards and most likely responsible for the bird. Then
she focused on the man and began formally.
“Thank you, Kouia. This place is not safe, so I will cut straight to the chase. I bring
a message of peace and unity from the Moon River. We are interested in becoming
allies with the Southerners, because we find it’s crucial that we form a formidable
front together to finally rise up against the Borg Empire. There is no reason for us to
be separate and alone in these times. The Moon River has fertile lands and plentiful
resources that could support huge numbers of people; you can join us—bring your

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people to our side. And together, with our joined forces, we can finally bring down
the ruling regime.”
Kouia’s head bowed as a bitter smile sat on his lips. He did not seem surprised.
“Lady Tekelvor, Borg has remained standing for millennia. Weakened, yes, but never
lost its deeply rooted core of power.” Finally, he lifted his eye to hers. “Even back
when the Southerners and the Moon River were at the height of their power and
became united, they could not put an end to Borg’s reign of terror. Now? It would be
akin to attacking a beehive with empty hands!” He shook his head. “My suggestion is
to leave the beehive in peace—don’t bother it and know that it won’t bother you.”
Tiffany felt anger spike up inside her and tried to stifle it. As she had guessed, the
issue was fear. Fear was what had chained the elders of the Moon River as well, all
seeing Borg as a slumbering beast. There was no need to wake it, they said. We would
be asking for its wrath, they argued. After years of fighting those beliefs, Tiffany knew
exactly how they went.
No, this was not the time for pointless arguing. There was one thing that had at
last persuaded the elders of the Moon River to come out of their shell, and she had
to aim hard and true.
“Kouia,” she began, “I understand your concerns. But you are wrong—Borg is no
longer a beehive that will leave us in peace if left undisturbed.” She stared at him,
doubting her two eyes held the same weight as his single one did. “You are wrong,
because Shah Menron has risen out of his Hall, hale and ready for blood.” She saw
the moment shock leaked into the man’s gaze, and she seized it. “You know how
merciless the empire was even when the beast’s head was sleeping. What do you think
will happen when he himself takes up the mantle? What do you think will be left of
us after he’s done?”
Kouia stared back at her, his fear growing as he thought of what was surely to come.
But the young woman did not share his patience. “How are you so sure?” she barked
at Tiffany.
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 “We have our own sources.”
The woman opened her mouth for a retort, but Kouia raised a hand, asking for
silence. His thoughtful eye refocused on Tiffany. “How long has he been awake?”
“A month. He hasn’t taken action yet, and many think his return a rumor.”
“How aware is he? How conscious and sane?”
Tiffany was not surprised by the question. Many hoped he had lost his sanity in
the decades he had sat in the darkness, but their hopes were futile. “More than we
anticipated,” she replied without hesitation. “He attends the councils himself,
following Borg’s affairs personally.”
The man grew silent, lost in thought. Seeing the serious set of his features, Tiffany
did not dare interrupt whatever was going through his mind. So she held her tongue
until the Southerners’ representative finally breathed a sigh. “This regime was
dangerous and deadly, beyond our ability to defeat, even without Menron. Now, to
even think of uniting to fight against it is to ask for certain death. There is no hope
for your proposal, only wishful thinking.” The firmness of his words made it clear his
decision was final.
Tiffany’s eyes grew wide with shock. “But this is the only way! Don’t you see there
is no other hope left? We either fight now, or we are finished. If we join forces,
perhaps—”
“Our joining forces will not even shake the empire, let alone—”
“Then why did you come?” Merentis’s casual question caught the man off-guard.
When all attention swung toward him, he lost none of his languid air. “I apologize,
Lady Tekelvor, I know it’s not my place. But”—he pointed at Kouia—“this man came
here with his choice made. He’s clearly had no intention of hearing you out and giving
any different response. So the question is, why did he come all this way and accept
the risk of this meeting? They could have just denied an audience.” He looked to the
Southerners. “Am I wrong?”

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 When she thought about it, Tiffany began to see the sense of his words. Of course
the Southerners had their own agenda. She gazed at Kouia, contemplative and waiting
for his response.
The man’s lips stretched into a smirk. “You have perceptive companions, lady.” He
paused, and his face grew serious. “You are not wrong—I did come here for another
reason. While I believe we are not strong enough to fight Borg on the battlefield, you
are right that we need to fight back in some way. In the south, we have put all our
efforts and focus into finding a different way to do just that.” His gaze swept between
them, assessing. “And we have seen some success.”
Perhaps surprisingly, Tiffany believed him. The man was too cautious to speak of
empty promises and dreams. “What way?” she whispered.
“Unfortunately, I cannot disclose that information yet. But if we succeed, it will be
a better alternative to fighting Borg’s forces face to face.”
A beat of silence. “And what is our role in this?”
For a moment, Kouia glanced at the young woman to his right and then back. “We
are not blind. The Moon River has always had stronger fighters than us. If our
solution works, we will need your help.”
A spike of rage shot through her at his audacity. She opened her mouth, intending
to give the man a verbal lashing, but Merentis suddenly stepped forward. “Someone
is there,” he warned.
Tiffany’s anger swiftly morphed into fear. She scanned the horizon, but she could
make out nothing but shadow showered with blue light. Tekarty seemed to share her
confusion. “How many?”
“One, I think. They’re moving slowly, clearly trying to stay hidden.” He shook his
head. “They know we’re here.”
A hush fell between them as they stared into the dark. The southern woman broke
it. “We need to go. Now.” But Kouia stayed rooted, squinting at the shadows.
“How far?” a rough voice rose. It was Degor.
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 No one responded.
“I’m talking to you, Merentis,” he whispered sharply.
Still, the man did not speak.
Tiffany frowned, turning back. And she came face to face with a Merentis,
paralyzed and too petrified to speak.
“What is it?” Tekarty cut in.
Without a word, the silent man spun slowly on his heels and stared in the opposite
direction. They all followed his line of sight, and then they understood his terror as
it took over their own limbs. Because, farther away from behind a rock, a black liquid
was flowing on the ground, coming to rest in a puddle with the soothing sound of
running water.
As the liquid came to a stop, time seemed to pause. And then a tall, humanoid
figure rose from within—hard and dark as if made of black marble, smooth as a
polished statue, eyes red as blood. Tiffany did not have to think twice to know what
she was looking at: a khazhir, Borg’s greatest weapon.
The Southerners were the quickest to act. Instantly, ash and smoke rushed toward
them and they rose to the sky in a cloud of shadows. The khazhir, however, did not
look up. It only had eyes for Tiffany and her team.
“Leave, lady!” Tekarty’s shout broke through the silence.
Tens of glowing swords appeared around him as he readied for attack. Merentis
was right behind him, sending his entrapment magic to warp the creature in a
translucent silver dome. And then the sharp long swords were flying at it in every
direction, passing through the shield to chop the khazhir into a hundred pieces.
Within seconds, the khazhir was a pile of black marble stones.
Merentis willed the shield to rise, forming a perfect hovering sphere. With a roar,
Degor made a molten ball of fire form before him. Without hesitation, he sent his

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famous weapon flying toward the sphere. The ball had barely entered the shield when
it exploded, turning the sphere into a prison of devastating flames.
Stunned, Tiffany stared at the sight. They … They killed it?
“LADY!” Tekarty shouted again. “What are you—”
But the gentleman never got to finish his sentence, because a long black spike came
to protrude from his back. In the gushing blood and shredded muscles, his death was
instant.
The spike flew back inside the sphere. Blink, and she missed the talons flying out
of the fire next. Merentis did not even have the chance to dodge before the greedy
hand grabbed his head. A small squeeze was all that was needed for his skull to give,
and his head exploded in a sea of blood and brain.
Seeing the futility of a fight, Degor snatched Tiffany and threw her roughly across
one shoulder. Swiftly, he was in the air and then, instantly, meters away. He moved
with impossible speed, his fast and long magical jumps dizzying and almost invisible.
Tiffany’s head spun, her abdomen protesting each time it hit the man’s bones and
muscles. Everything was a blur, trees and shapes distorting as they almost flew. She
could make out nothing but vague phantoms.
Nothing, but the khazhir—no khazhirs—fast in their pursuit. They multiplied as they
came, black marble and crimson eyes. Tens. Then Hundreds. They came, knowing
nothing but how to tear apart and annihilate. And they grew closer and closer with
every breath.

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 Afterword
Dear reader,
Firstly, thank you for the time and attention you have given my work and efforts. I
truly hope you enjoyed it. This story will continue in the next volume of Fear of
Death (the first book of the epic fantasy series Flares of Serinor) and I hope it will be
of interest to you as well. If you liked this book I would really appreciate it if you left
a rating and review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
For you have any questions, suggestions, or issues, please contact
dimesiss.j.r@gmail.com

Regards J.R. Dimesiss

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