A tear in the sky challenges all of my understanding of reality. The very fabric of space rips before my eyes, and I’m not the only one who noticed.

  Dragons, phoenixes, and every elite immediately rustles, removing themselves from the stands and perches.

  “It begins, Hale.” Renesta’s smile terrifies me.

  I spin and grab her by the arm. “What does?”

  Boeru emerges from my shoulders, sniffing with an angry growl. “Lacor,” the word lingers around us.

  “No, dragon. Not Lacor.” Renesta reaches up to cup Boeru’s maw. “Not Miria. Something less… warring.”

  All of our attention is drawn to the sky, as two mighty blue phoenixes circle the fissure.

  “Do you know why I was drawn to you back in that Sept cellar?” Renesta’s voice blankets my ears. “Because you remind me so much of him.”

  On cue, a man draped in gray, tattered robes floats from the fissure, hands up, palms showing that he wields no weapons. His eyes are white, short hair a greasy mix of black-brown. He looks like he’d been traveling for years with no time for a rest stop. He looks like… he comes from the sub-tier.

  “Hale…” Lay walks up to me slowly, as if her whole body is in some sort of shock. “Why does that guy also look like you?”

  “I don’t know, Lay.” My jaw remains open. “We’d have to ask her.”

  “Casterban Winbridge, you dare show your face here?” Foren roars.

  Goosebumps raise throughout my whole body.

  “He’s my brother, Foren. Allow me.” A godly, heroic voice comes from the stands, from my presumed father.

  “Friends and family, I do not wish to fight,” Casterban says lightly. “None of us wish to fight.”

  Boeru extends out of me in full form, swaying his thick neck left and right as he uncovers more of the scent. People from the audience begin to exit in magical form—some levitating using wind high magic, others using fire propulsion or their flying creatures. Why are they lining up?

  “The hell is House Father doing, Ren?” Jurso walks up to us. “The hell is going on? Hale, you really are famous, I think.”

  I’m at a loss for words.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Foren seethes, encasing himself in icy armor that he summoned on a whim. Intertwined with his robes, he’s more regal than I’ve ever seen him. He actually looks like a Miria general of mythos.

  Scorius leaps off the stands and summons his feathery wing to carry him over the Elden construction… right to us.

  “Prominent. So nice to see you.” Ren smiles at him.

  My eyes widen in shock.

  “I told you this man was scum,” Boeru hisses right at him, ready to break the standoff.

  “Oh, dragon, haven’t you heard the tale of the unbonded?” Renesta paces, glancing at the budding spells conjuring on all sides.

  “Traitor, you will come into our custody. I will not have you destroy the Winbridge lineage,” my father soars in front of the phoenixes to address his brother.

  “We must leave,” Scorius growls.

  “Searching for a treatise to end the forever war is the opposite of treasonous, I think, big brother,” Casterban says, rolling out parchment from his cloak. “And what better place to make my plea than a tier of young minds and gathered elites?”

  “A treatise? What the hell is he saying?” I gaze up at the man floating in the sky, refusing to cower even with the might of Miria turning its weapons on him.

  “You and I have spoken about it many times, Hale. So many times,” Renesta says. “You pondered why we were made as soldiers, why others were sacked so you could be awakened. You knew deep down it was wrong.”

  My brow furrows. It’s true, I’ve been beating myself up about it for an entire year. Though the glory of Elshard has helped in forgetting… that doesn’t make it right.

  “You’ve been as loyal to Miria as I’ve been present in Elshard. We live for our own purpose, Hale. Another reason I’m so drawn to you.” She paces, looking up.

  “I’m not about to betray the sanctum, or my friends.” I take a step back, eyeing both her and Scorius. “You’re right, Ren. My loyalties are more nuanced. Elshard gave us all a path to power. I’m not about to let it be destroyed.”

  “Dragonborn, you must trust in your Prominent—now more than ever,” Scorius growls, nervously peeking at the battle about to break out. “This will not be one man versus an elite army. If Casterban’s negotiations fail, it will be something far worse.”

  “You ask for trust, now? After keeping something like this from us?” I look to my friends, who gather at my back. “What are you, some kind of rebellion?”

  “To endless war, yes.” Scorius expands his wing as tensions heat up.

  “My house father and Scorius are some of the most profound members of the resistance,” Renesta says. “You’d be wise to listen.”

  “How young did they get you?” I narrow my eyes, drawing my dagger.

  “She was always in House Father’s chambers, Hale.” Jurs nods to her. “Now it makes sense why.”

  “We will explain everything if you come with us.” Socrius covers the elites’ view of us with his feathery wing. “The time is now.”

  I shake my head. “Not going to happen.”

  Renesta laughs haughtily. “Then you haven’t heard the tale of the unbonded after all. Otherwise, surely you would understand—”

  “I know Foren would never appoint a traitor.”

  “Hm, precisely why such history was never inscribed in mythos. I feel so privileged to know the truth from such a young age.” She walks around us, not shying away from even Rogo.

  My Prominent growls, looking over his wing to probably make sure Casterban hasn’t been struck from the air. “We don’t have time for this, Fowler.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “On the contrary, sir. This is the most important story of their lifetimes.” Ren stares me right in the eyes. “We couldn’t tell you, because we knew your dragon was against us, and that you’d act like this. But now is the hour. You will witness Casterban for yourself, and all of the stones war likes to hurl at him.”

  I look at Scorius, who paces while staring only up, gritting his teeth.

  Renesta snaps her fingers for my attention. “That wing is the symbol of our resistance. You should know why before you draw arms against it.”

  “I’ll clobber this bitch once and for all, Hale. Just say the word.” Lay bares her teeth.

  “Testy, testy.” Ren frowns. “I might die today, Layla. My soul would be full of remorse in the afterlife if I wasn’t able to make one thing very clear… Scorius is so much more than a war hero. He is a revolutionary.”

  Lay looks at me, and I silently nod for Renesta to go on. My yearning for truth takes over. Ren’s so confident now that Casterban has shown up. No. Ever since this day started, she’s been so sure of something.

  “Scorius’ war-hawk had a bloodlust only to be sated by the factions’ conflict. The man drowned armies in the dark ocean in his heyday, won battle after battle in the name of Miria… until he realized something… the fighting would never end. At the end of a bloody battle—the Sundering of Agor Bridge—”

  “That was written to be the highest casualty battle in the last three decades,” I interrupt.

  “Quite so. And at the end of it, Scorius brought up the idea of ceasefire to the duke of Miria. His hawk spirit complained, the duke laughed him down, and the king took note of the request, only for it to be ripped to pieces. It was there… an epiphany was had. He wasn’t fighting for Miria… he was fighting to perpetuate a war machine, and sate power with power. There is no intention for peace.”

  “Then why?” I ask.

  “To control the warring dark, and eventually, the afterlife,” Renesta says. The claim seems so outlandish, Misty cackles behind me. But Scorius’ stone-solid expression says otherwise.

  “The war raged, but the next time Scorius was deployed to end a battle, he refused, knowing he risked execution. However, it wasn’t the duke or his fellow generals who scorned him, but his spirit. The hawk coaxed him into battle, overwhelming Scorius with an antagonistic bond. The fight drew inward, settling a rivalry of vessel and spirit for good. Scorius tore his bloodthirsty spirit in two, and kept Dyrlen’s left wing for himself. A beastborn no more, Scorius the Unbonded arose.”

  Scorius flaps his wing back on cue, showing the group what’s about to befall them.

  Renesta motions to the sky. “See for yourself what the machine has produced. Efias Winbridge readies his sword to strike down his unarmed brother. You will witness history.”

  I bite my lip, feeling the force of my marked behind me. “Is it true, Prominent?”

  His golden eyes tear away from the mounting pressure above them, locking with mine. “All of it.”

  “Yours is not the only mark I bear, Haledyn.” Renesta pulls up her sleeve, showing a bare arm that slowly displays Scorius’ wing. “Freedom’s Ire. We will not rest until a treaty is attained. That is my purpose.”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s what my mother would’ve wanted.” She narrows her eyes.

  “I see.”

  “This war has raged for one hundred years,” Casterban bellows, “with only four years of peace before the last two-hundred-year war. Lineages have crossed sides in the interim, propped one another up in their political games—at the cost of life deemed lesser. I vow to break the wheel, and plead that my brothers and sisters of Miria will hear me.”

  Spells pulsate, ready to be hurled at any moment. Enchanted steel shimmers with high magic and dark. It seems the whole world is against this man.

  “You sniveling soft-wing,” Foren scowls as his ice sphere builds a tower beneath him—raising him high beside the flying beasts. “You dare interrupt Elshard’s sacred practices? You threaten age-old tradition and the ascendance of the next generation. I should have Efias pluck you out of the sky before you run behind your Elden creations.”

  “Elden? Did you hear that, Boe?”

  He chuffs angrily. “You mortals are in more disarray than our endless storm in the afterlife.”

  “You don’t believe him, then?”

  “Hmph. What he says is true about war. But we will be the ones to thrive in it.”

  “At what cost?” I challenge.

  Boe turns sharply away.

  “You were the runt once, Boe. I know you’re so far from that time. But remember when you were shoved off that cliff?”

  “It made me what I am.” Boeru bares his teeth.

  “And my hardships made me. Yet I can’t help but think of my incinerated siblings from the sub-tier. They never stood a chance. And all for what? For them?” I gesture to the elites ready to charge.

  “These are traitors, mortal. We would be drinking their sweet nectar. I’ve seen these types before.”

  My body runs cold at Boeru’s words. He could be right. But I can get behind someone trying to find peace, especially if it means fewer deaths in the sub-tier.

  I turn to Scorius. “Why do you care if we live or die? Why rush to us?”

  “Search your soul, Dragonborn,” he growls. “There is a deep connection between Freedom’s Ire and the spirit you harbor.”

  My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  “You think I don’t know what you are?” Scorius’ eyes bore into mine. It’s as if his gaze activates Boeru’s siblings to growl in the distance.

  “He knows.”

  “I had a rancid feeling he did.” Boeru extends his neck.

  “Now ask yourself… why didn’t I turn you in?” Scorius lifts his chin.

  “You just want my power,” I say.

  “It’s deeper than that, you arrogant swine.” Scorius stalks a few steps ahead of us, putting a hand over his eyes to shield from the peeking sun.

  “We have convinced the Lacor duke, Hoctrel Elsar of Squire Island, to come to the table,” Casterban says. “We only need one of you of castle status or higher to agree, and I would consider this great risk I’ve taken a fantastic step in the right direction.”

  Angry shouts and buzzing magi echo throughout the land.

  “We of Freedom’s Ire are aware of your aspirations as elites. There will be plenty of shared seats at high kingdomonia levels for all to share. If only we can come to a ceasefire.” Casterban raises his arms higher.

  “You only seek power for yourself, Brother.” Efias brandishes his sword. “It’s always been the case, since your first signs of Elden.”

  Layla leans over my shoulder. “What should we do?”

  My eyes scan to my brother, who’s seemingly catatonic in my would-be mother’s grasp.

  What did they do to you, Kane?

  “Hale, I don’t like any of this.” Jurso shakes his head. “My house father, even though reeking of favoritism… he’s a good man.”

  “You call knowing of the intense lies they fed us good?” Boeru’s anger flares up inside me. “How about the conditions? A black sky of dreary dread?”

  “It takes only one of you to come to the table,” Casterban pleads. “There is a different magi worth pursuing… if only the powers of the kingdomonia can see. Not everything must be war.”

  “Just another rouse to weaken Miria,” Efias growls, his dragon roaring to echo his sentiment. “Have we not suffered enough at Lacor’s gaining ground? Enough talk, seize him!”

  Upon the declaration, nearly half of the flying mounts and levitating mages turn on the aggressors.

  My eyes widen immediately. “A coup.”

  Renesta tugs on my collar. “It is not a coup to defend oneself. We seek no power.”

  “You’re instigating. You knew how someone like Foren would react. You knew warring elites would never agree. You seek to overthrow!”

  “Would you have Freedom’s Ire die voicelessly, Dragonborn?” Scorius challenges. “I chose to train you not because of your lineage, but for the Torn Wing’s. His sister, Sefene, knows the truth.”

  Boeru roars out of me, manifesting through explosive blue wisps, shadowing us all. His neck curls as his crystal-blue eye nearly whitens with power. “What did you just say, traitor?”

  “You have no stake in this war, spirit of the afterlife.” Scorius points his cane. “Don’t pretend like you care. You abandoned your bond on a mad chase, orchestrated by me. Or do you forget the power of Shade’s Milk?”

  “I’ve since come to terms with my err, traitor. Now tell me why you utter Sefene’s name. Is it just to rile me further?”

  “See for yourself.” Scorius looks to the sky, where phoenixes, dragons, gryphons, and riders of all types circle around Casterban in defensive position.

  “The tiered cities yearn for peace,” Casterban pleads. “For generations they know nothing but the fear of war! There is a time in mythos—the Great Breeze—where life was simply enjoyed. The ebb and flow of war was rightly balanced. What our current kingdomonia perpetuate… is not. Help me right this, Foren, Efias, I beg of you.”

  Efias scowls, and Foren charges his ice sphere.

  “When I ascend to royalty, I will make it my first mission to weed out the hidden Elden mages who hide in their side-tier.” Efias channels high magi into his sword. “That is a promise, Brother.”

  “Then you would be known as Efias the Deaf. Even spirits of the afterlife have flown to our cause.” On cue, wisps of various color fly out of the fissure and circle Casterban.

  Boeru gasps at the sight.

  “Is she among them?” I ask.

  “It is her.” Boeru is aghast.

  “Then that means we were looking in the wrong places the entire time,” I say. “The dark ocean, the afterlife. We were both amiss.”

  Boeru gapes above. “For so long I’ve chased. And now I see.”