Scorius’ new chamber drips with black ichor running down the walls. The dwelling rune on the far-left thrums with unease as its tail circles unendingly. Everything is alive with power thanks to this foreign Elden magic I know next to nothing of. Vague fables and parables sent me scratching my head in Elshard. Now I’m here, in Freedom’s Ire side-tier with my dragons riling at my side, echoing my anger for what Scorius just proposed.

  “Like hell I’m going to find out.” I step up to my Prominent, ignoring the shivering storm contained in his vial. “I’m not going anywhere near Lacor until I rescue my marked in Elshard.”

  “Don’t be a fool.” His hawkish gaze hardens even further. “The girl is as good as dead. Consequence—”

  “You’re so headstrong on teaching me a lesson for defying you,” I bark. “I learned it.” I claw at my bandages, feeling a fresh spike impale my organs.

  “The punishment is not mine to dole, Dragonborn.”

  The anger morphs into more pain, tightening my muscles and igniting the warring dark. I can’t help but picture Misty falling off of Risorgus in the moments I had before passing out. “Don’t abandon her because of my failure.”

  “She’s gone. We must move on.”

  I shake my head, focusing on Boeru’s mark on my arm. “I would feel it. I would know.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Listen to me carefully. The Might of Miria—their military—will be called in to investigate the battle at Call to Arms. Any and all defectors will be tried and tortured, and killed. We cannot step foot in there for a long while to come. It would be suicide.”

  I grimace in disbelief. “No. That can’t be. All because of my father’s plea—”

  “Or because you didn’t listen to your Prominent. All of the others knew what they were risking, and were prepared to die in the name of Freedom’s Ire. But you took it upon yourself to rile the crowd of cadets, pitting them against an impossible force and damning them to the afterlife.”

  Another fresh metaphorical punch to the gut comes from Scorius, not Foren. My insides are bloodied and wrenched.

  “Give me a chance. If I can get to Kane… he can—”

  “Kane Winbridge is a ghoulborn of the foulest make. He is leashed by your uncle—”

  “You give up too easily, Prominent,” I seethe.

  “And you fall too hard.” He shoves a finger in my face. “Misteria Clause is a casualty of war. And you nor any of your marked can change that.”

  The ice spikes come in droves, causing me to double over at the worst time. My dragons fade to mist and swirl into my warring dark.

  I fall to one knee in pain and in shame.

  “There it is.” Scorius looms over me not for the first time today. “The final clash from Foren’s Winter.”

  My body is freezing and on fire at the same time, and I’m pretty sure a spike just impaled me out of my back. “How is it still persisting,” my voice shakes.

  “When the Torn Wing marked the others, he tethered them all to you,” Scorius says.

  My eyes jolt to his. We both know what it means. I’m right. I would’ve felt Misty’s death. But when his expression hardens once more, he tells me something silently.

  Is that what I experience now? Misty’s death?

  “Foren never struck me.” I’m almost sure.

  “Quite right. But by striking Misteria, his masterful high magic reached you.”

  “How is that possible?” I gape.

  “There are masteries within unique traits that are unknown to you still, because truths are buried within fables. You should know this better than anyone, considering your time in the sub-tier.” He huffs. “In his days of war-tier, Foren was a mage specialist sent to snipe riders from the sky. He would intercept Lacor scouts and prevent sacred messages from reaching planes devoid of magic, turning battles in our favor. He bleeds Miria, and would never see the way out of it.”

  My breathing grows erratic as the spikes linger. It’s hard to concentrate, but trying is a good distraction from the pain.

  “His winter snap would leave even diamond ranks in delayed agony. For an iron? You’re lucky to be alive.” He extends a hand. “Read of spells with lingering effects, Dragonborn, and learn how to dispel them before they can take hold like that again. And as for that mark bestowed by your spirit… it is both a blessing and a curse, as are nearly all connections. Your channel was open for him to strike through her, to get to you. Foren’s ice is far reaching. You’d do well not to forget that.”

  My bandages stop glowing and the pain subsides, finally. There are still occasional prickles that poke at me, but it’s nothing compared to before—so long as I don’t overdo it for a time.

  “I can’t give up on Misty, Prominent. I can’t give up on my brother.”

  He nods at me, knowing he can’t change my mind. “You are green to war. But you will learn.”

  “And you’re jaded by it.”

  Whoom!

  The chamber doors bellow open to reveal my greasy-haired father leisurely pacing inside.

  Scorius hisses at the sight. “You’re not to enter my chambers unannounced, Casterban. I don’t care if you rule the entire living realm.”

  “Let’s call it even, my friend, for the time you barged into mine in the dead of night, one year ago.”

  “My visit was warranted.” Scorius steps to block Casterban from me.

  “Relax, please.” He looks over his shoulder. “Last I checked, I left my spirits at the door.”

  It’s true. There aren’t any motes circling him, which hopefully means I’m not a threat to polluting his spirits.

  “Walk with me, Haledyn.” Casterban extends his arm. “We have much to discuss.”

  Songs of betrayal rip through my mind. Not only my Prominent for withholding, but my father who sentenced me to near certain death when I was a child. Ever since I learned we weren’t orphans, I vowed to remain as if I were.

  “I’m not about to jump from lonely orphan to nepotism prince,” I say plainly. “I’d like for my marked, my family, to be summoned.”

  “I deserve that.” He smiles sadly. “They will be invited to the Rivten Spire in time. Though one of them already found her way, I think.”

  Where he seemed like a pleading lesser evil when he showed up in Elshard, I realize he speaks and moves like a politician now… like the high society brats in Elshard, like some of the House Lords. A part of me wishes I never got involved that day…

  “Please, son. I owe you an explanation before we are separated again.” Casterban eyes Scorius, who nods curtly back.

  “I’m not going to Lacor,” I state. “Not without those I left behind.”

  “If only it were that simple.” He drapes his arm around me, which makes Scorius grunt.

  “Relax, old friend.” Casterban glances back at him. “I have faith in your tinctures. You should too.” He turns back to me. “Among my many apologies, I must extend one more for how some of the Ire will treat you. They have their concerns and their beliefs, as do we all. They think, without me, all hope is lost. Even when I tell them I’m not the one who carries the banner.”

  I’m not sure if he’s alluding to me, or Scorius, or what, but I’m tentative to take his words at face value.

  He lets his arm off of my shoulder, still keeping his hand on my back to guide me. As I peer to Scorius’ angry eyes disapproving, his giant doors close with a whoom, shutting him in his chamber.

  “For so long I hoped for this moment.” Casterban looks to me, his spirit motes attaching to the ceiling and the walls, staying far away from me.

  “You can understand my apprehension.” I shrug his hand off of me.

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  “Yet, in your heart, you rode into battle to my aid.”

  I clench my jaw while he goes on.

  “Summoning the full might of your unique affinity, and defying your uncle with transcendent lightning.” He clenches his fist. “What great power you wield.”

  “I wonder how you would’ve felt if my ashes swirled in the wind, circling the spire while my orphan brothers and sisters fell to their deaths.”

  “You think I sanctioned your surrender to the sub-tier?” He frowns.

  “You’re my father, aren’t you? You certainly didn’t stop it.”

  Once we cross the runic threshold of musky air and moss, a fresh breeze beckons us to the east side of the castle. Another rune flashes, and suddenly we’re strolling within sparkling marble cloisters, with Ire warriors bowing to Casterban.

  “Exile can make lineage difficult to manage, it’s true.”

  My eyes narrow. “Exile? Who would ever willingly give up an Elden mage?”

  “During war, one who does not pledge undying loyalty to the empire, is one who would be stripped of his duties.” He hoots. “The joke is… we are always at war.”

  He has a point. However, if I had a son, I would never—

  “The choice was simple. Take an infant through portals knowing he would have no chance of surviving, or leave him in the care of his Miria guardian, giving him a chance.” He sighs. “Efias and I weren’t always at odds, you know. Alas, that’s a story for a different time.”

  “It almost made sense that he was my father. A warrior like him… it’s easy to envision him sending his offspring to the sub-tier. Call it pride or bravado, but I imagine he wouldn’t want a son who couldn’t rise up from there.”

  Casterban laughs at that. “You know him too well after one little meeting.”

  “And even that short amount of time was too much. I’m glad to have struck him with transcendent lightning, though.” I arc my eyebrow. “Father or no father, he deserved it.”

  “It was a mighty stance, Haledyn. Bolder than I ever was at your age.” He adjusts his ragged robes.

  He catches my eye wandering.

  “This?” He holds up one of the wraps. “The source of all my power.” He laughs at his own joke.

  “Uh huh.” I turn away, considering whether I can tolerate this man much longer. When I first got to Elshard, I was in awe of the House Lords, the castles, the sanctum… but now? I’m an enemy to all of it. And for what? Because some war birds were ready to strike an unarmed man?

  Abandoning Elshard has already cost so much…

  No. No… that’s not right. That snap decision had good moral foundation. The ideals we stand behind since the sub-tier—no more suffering. Stop the injustice.

  Flashes of my brothers and sisters being slaughtered just to awaken spirits for war blink into my mind.

  The fear of descending those steps in the dungeon washes over me like a wave of warring dark.

  But is this man really the embodiment of those ideals?

  My instincts still can’t breach whether or not Casterban was making a political statement that day in Call to Arms, or whether he really was looking for a single prestigious Miria citizen to come to the table.

  If nothing else, I’m sure he got the elites thinking.

  I comb through mythos in my head… times of old written about martyrs and wrongful imprisonments. Those are how uprisings happen. Like the Servants Hold tome, describing a captain of a ship hanging a crew member at the mast. Hoisting the dead man up high for all to see became the downfall of the entire Sitasius Fleet six hundred years ago. Injustice can be contagious.

  “I think I found the source of your power.” I eye him. “That silver tongue.”

  “Oh my. An attack of the worst kind. To one’s character.” He holds his heart.

  “You say you went into exile, but I don’t believe that’s true. All the vague mythos I found on Eldens and mist ranks have been of legend. An empire would never willingly let one go, not with the potential of them falling to the other faction.”

  He hums to himself inquisitively.

  “And that stunt you pulled in Elshard. You never intended to find a castle owner to break bread with. You wanted a martyr. Or many martyrs, in this case, in hopes those in attendance would come to their senses and recognize the madness of knowing nothing but war for generations behind, and generations to come if we don’t act.”

  “Wise beyond your years, Haledyn.” He smiles with a glint in his eye.

  “Don’t shower me,” I warn.

  “Just a quick observation,” he says, waving to another warrior bowing in his direction. “However, you are wrong. I did intend to find a willing participant. All we needed was one. One that would ignite the contagion engine enough to spread the peace talks.” He makes a left into a grand hall of rich wood shelving filled with various mythos.

  I tense when noticing an entire section dedicated to Elden, and another dedicated to unique affinities. My regrets for leaving Elshard become a little less burdensome in this moment. If there are answers here… real answers… I’ll be able to sleep easier. Just not until I recover Misty and my find my brother.

  Casterban grabs my shoulder and spins me, looking me dead in the eye. It’s here, for the first time, I notice strain in his expression, though he hides it well. Lines of age crinkle from his eyes, though his smile hides everything in most instances.

  “Son. My proudest moment was witnessing your roost soar valiantly in the name of Freedom’s Ire. And the second proudest moment was to watch your transcendent lightning scorch my brother.”

  We both smirk at that.

  “Though those memories will give me fuel in times to come, those times will indeed be tumultuous. Lacor Kingdomonia is moving. They will seize key battlegrounds in the war-tier by year’s end. And once they do, domination is only a matter of time. The afterlife will rally to one side and spawn into the living like never before. I’m sure Scorius has prepped you, Haledyn. Rest assured, the Bane of Sile is coming. I’ve seen it.”

  I bite down hard, clenching my jaw. Has he been to the afterlife like I have?

  “If I were to believe you.” I shrug his hands off my shoulders for the second time. “That doesn’t mean the future is in stone.”

  He nods fervently. “Precisely.” He walks over to a section that smells of fresh greens, near a table with healthy plants being watered as we speak. Pulling a mythos tome, he smiles at it. “This here, is the most boring work in the entire library, and the most important.”

  I throw up one hand to catch the tome, then read the title: The Great Breeze.

  “It’s a depiction of that natural order of war time and peace. The ebb and flow of these concepts. How both are bound to occur in civilizations, and how, in recent times, that order has been lost. The consequence will be catastrophic.”

  I shake my head.

  “That’s alright,” he says. “You may not see it yet, but you will.”

  “I wonder… was this library crafted precisely to guide us to your same conclusions?” I ask.

  “When you’ve traveled where I have, Haledyn, you won’t need tomes to reach them.”

  I sigh. “My Prominent trusts you, one of my dragons trusts you, and now that I’m here—” I gesture to the gigantic library “—I suppose I have no choice but to play along.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He claps, then winces when the handful of people reading look up at him. “Sorry.”

  “However. I will not be whole until Misteria Clause and Kane Winbridge are back by my side. I told Scorius the same.”

  “Kane…” The pain in his eyes are evident. “The worst of the spirits chose my son as his vessel. Krenick the Vile. To overcome that—” He turns away. “It seems that spirit has aligned with Efias and Miria, probably in exchange for feasting… Haledyn, what you ask may lead you to dark tidings.”

  “He’s in there. I know it,” I say evenly.

  Casterban nods, convincing himself. “Hope. Yes, the pillars of the Ire. I will not stop you, but you must know, now is not the time.”

  “Scorius said as much.”

  “But do you believe him?” He bites his lip.

  I tentatively nod.

  “Good. We must be strategists if we are to survive and make strides.” He pulls another tome and flings it at me. “Now that Foren’s Winter has finally subsided, your healing will be quick.” He turns with a third tome in hand, and drops it on top of the second two. “Listen to me, son. I believe Sile is planting seeds in the living tiers. I do not think they are leaks.”

  “Does this have something to do with the spirits following you around?” I look to the ceiling, where the motes creep into the library.

  “Ah. That is a story for another day. Talk to that dear dragon, Sefene, and listen to her.”

  “At least tell me what type of born you are.” I narrow my eyes.

  He flashes a knowing smile. “None. I am an Elden mage.” He spreads his arm. “A wielder of the creation magi.” He points to the tome on top of my stack. “It’s time you understand exactly what that means.”

  “What do you expect of me?” I ask plainly.

  “We don’t have many young warriors in the Ire, Haledyn. As you know, the Lacor Warlocks have found remnants of Sile in their lower tiers.”

  I clench. Here we go again.

  He and Scorius obviously devised a plan as soon as we were whisked into this tier.

  “Sneaking you into one of the Lacor sanctums would be the best course, under the guide of Nalthir.”

  “No. Not that piece of—”

  He smiles wide. “Cultural differences are what make life interesting.” He tilts his head. “And in this case, they will keep you alive.”

  I growl.

  “You must grow into your rank, Haledyn. Though we of Freedom’s Ire have mythos and magic you would never have access to in the factions, we simply do not have the infrastructure to nurture your ascendance. The sanctum head maguses are imbued through sacred practices to endow rank in accordance with the old Elden ways.”

  “I guess I would be na?ve to suggest it’s as simple as imbuing your Elden powers through Scorius and declare him Head Magus of the Ire sanctum.”

  “What a dream that would be. You’d need a whole society of like-rank individuals in order for that to happen, and a magical sanctum itself to house them. I like to pursue miracles, my son, but constructing that much in a flash would truly be impossible. However, as I told my Lacor cohort—Hoctrel—the tiers weren’t built in a day.” His eyes glint with purpose. “To revert the sanctums back to their balance, instead of claiming them as the war academies so many have converted to be, would be glorious.”

  Clacking against the marble floor echoes beyond the entrance of the library, until a group of motley elites stops at the foot of the door.

  “Caster.” A mage places his hand on the Ire crest. “Hoctrel is ready to depart.”

  “I understand.” Casterban nods for them to give him a moment, and I notice Renesta is among the crowd. “It seems I’ve disturbed this quarters of serenity enough.” He smiles at me. “I’m to depart my mission shortly after I bid Hoctrel farewell. You see, Freedom’s Ire is a balance of peeking wherever the tide is low.”

  Is that a reference to the warring dark ocean? Can he even step foot in that plane with Elden powers?

  “Seems to me like you cause the waves, then run to the other side of the island,” I say.

  “I hope that’s not true,” he says cryptically. “I will cherish these moments forever, Haledyn. And I do hope you’re right about my eldest. To lay eyes on Kane again would be a dream come to life.” His eyes become glassy as his gaze lingers on mine. “Consider your mission, for it might just prevent the end of the realm. Farewell, my son.”

  As Casterban turns his back on me, the spirit motes all zoom down and circle him slowly, like an invisible shield outlined by tiny multi-colored flames. Such an oddity, my father is.

  His elites all fall in line behind him, except for one.

  For the first time since Elshard, I finally lock eyes with Renesta.

  She lingers as the others walk past her. Her full lips and angled face remind me of the day I stared at her in the Sept dungeons. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  She paces toward me in a black robe befitting of her dark magi, casting a tailed shadow behind her. The strange behavior she exuded during the Call to Arms, the euphoria she couldn’t hide… it was all justified. Now she struts with the swagger of someone who earned her position.

  “It’s good to see you among the living,” she speaks smoothly, disturbing the library peace yet again.

  “Through all of my fever dreams, I didn’t see you in one of them,” I say.

  “I was there, Hale. Just not in your waking ones.” Her robes collect dust on the floor, shadow swiveling in unnatural ways.

  “Are we chasing ghosts, Ren?” I try to look past her new attire and more assured expression.

  “Sile is real. He will consume us all. Best read up, because we’re going to Lacor to stop it.”