The next day, we gathered in a large clearing just about half a mile away from the Mouth, and supposedly the Guardian. The tension hung over us like a storm waiting to break. Two recruits from House Nin were killed yesterday, and their loss was palpable. The surviving members stood quietly. They kept in formation, wound tight like coiled springs, but there was a sadness beneath the discipline. I caught a glimpse of Zenobia and Ruriel. The boy was normally nonchalant, but he had red marks around his eyes like he had been crying all night. I wondered if he knew the deceased well.

  House Enlil recruits watched us warily, some with open resentment. A few whispered and pointed at me as we walked by, and a group of them, including Lucius, were surrounding Marcus, who was still recovering from his injuries.

  Then there was us—House Anu, gathered off to the side. The fifteen of us were exchanging words of encouragement, but no one was feeling inspired.

  The night before, we had sat around the fire, sharing pieces of ourselves and our stories. But here, in the humid morning heat, the warmth of that moment had vanished. Now we were just waiting for a potential slaughter.

  In the center of the clearing, the leaders of each house—Waelid, Jiho, and Piqah—stood in a tight circle, their co-captains at their sides. Words were exchanged, clipped and tense.

  “We’ll split into three teams,” Jiho said. “Each of us will attack from a different angle. Pressure it from all sides. Its weakness is its vision, but its speed makes up for that.”

  “A sound approach as always, Jiho-poo!” Piqah said, giving a cheerful thumbs-up. “But if we miscalculate, it’ll tear through us before we get a second chance. So, yes. Let’s be careful.”

  Waelid scoffed, adjusting his wooden staff at his hip. “The best offense is constant pressure. We don’t give it time to think, to adapt. That’s how you take down an unpredictable enemy.”

  “Reckless,” Piqah muttered, rolling her eyes. “Your plan banks on overwhelming force and nothing else.”

  Waelid’s grin didn’t falter. “Dangerous, sure. Effective, definitely.”

  Jiho exhaled sharply. “We don’t have time to debate. Waelid, how many times must I tell you this? We must rely on a democracy. Not your lead-by-strength system. Accept the plan and then we commit.”

  “See, the best part about strength-based leadership is no one can stop me!” Waelid let out a laugh.

  The discussion might have continued, but a sharp rustling in the underbrush drew every eye. A recruit from House Enlil burst through the foliage, gasping for breath. His bright green hair stood out against the dark trees, almost unnaturally vibrant.

  “The Guardian!” he wheezed. “It—it saw me! It followed me—”

  A black shard tore through the air, striking him mid-sentence. It pierced through his chest with a sickening crack. His eyes widened and a low gurgle came out. Then his legs buckled, and he collapsed in a heap, his fingers twitching weakly before going still.

  For a moment, silence.

  Then the trees groaned, as if something massive was pushing through them. Branches snapped, trunks split apart, and a towering figure emerged from the gloom.

  It was a tall, grotesque, elongated humanoid form, with limbs too long and straight long black hair covering its face. It wore an intricate red robe with silver designs stitched into the fabric that flickered like a mirror, reflecting our terrified faces back at it. Its ripped butterfly wings on its back slowly flapped as the Guardian moved with a fluid unnaturalness into the clearing. A swirling darkness covered its face behind its long hair, giving no features or details on what this . . . thing was. Its long arm held an even longer sword that stretched out to its side. The Guardian lifted up the sword and tapped its long fingers onto the flat side of its sword, and tilted its head as if listening. Then it stepped forward, dragging its blade through the dirt, carving a deep cut into the earth like it was cutting paper.

  The clearing filled with the sound of panicked breaths and the shifting of movements as we all pulled up our primitive sticks to fight. Some were sharpened into spears, others just blunt sticks.

  ‘What a joke, we are going to die here, Erik. We should run,’ Fern said, panicking.

  Take a deep breath, Fern, this is all going to come down to whether the upperclassmen’s blood infusions can stand up to the monster. We have to look for our opening and hope our synergy is strong enough, I replied. My fingers tightened around my staff.

  Then the Guardian screamed. A piercing, skin-crawling wail that sent ice through my veins.

  And the battle began.

  The Guardian lunged, its long blade stabbing into the fallen recruit’s corpse. A sickening crunch echoed as it lifted the lifeless body, inspecting it like a predator dissatisfied with its prey. Then, with a flick of its arm, it tossed him aside, and the poor boy’s broken body was flung into the dirt. I winced and my stomach turned. I didn’t want to give into despair like Fern . . . but what hope did we have?

  “Scramble! Improvise!” Waelid’s voice rang out, laced with exhilaration rather than fear. His eyes glowed a bright green, and wind gathered at his feet, stirring leaves and dust as he prepared to strike.

  Galina moved fast, turning toward us. “Get back! Form a line!” She gestured sharply, rallying the recruits into position.

  Piqah didn’t hesitate. A bright silver glow ignited around her, her muscles swelling as the petite girl entered her blood infusion state. Her transformation was unexpected. Her arms snapped and shifted as they grew, and she let out a bellow and became monstrous. She grew into an enormous, gorilla-like beast, spikes protruding from her back and a white mask growing over her face with the painting of a spiked gorilla on it. She slammed her massive fists together, the impact shaking the air.

  The Guardian twitched as if acknowledging the challenge.

  Then it moved.

  A black blur—too fast. Piqah barely raised her arm in time before the Guardian’s blade sliced against her, sending sparks and blood into the air. She staggered but held firm. Her fur looked metallic and provided a small amount of armor against the sword.

  To my right, Silas exhaled sharply. “This isn’t going to be a fight. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

  I barely heard him. My gut twisted as the Guardian twisted toward us, ignoring Piqah. Shadowy tendrils shifted from behind its long black hair where its face should be.

  My blood ran cold as I realized it was looking at me.

  Then it lunged. Piqah tried to grab the Guardian, but it shifted out of her reach. It came upon me like a stampeding bull. Its blade slashed downward, aiming to carve through me where I stood.

  I moved. But I was too slow. The air hissed as the blade closed in. This was it. My death.

  And then—

  Instead of feeling the blade cut me, something was pulling out from my heart, like strings were attached to each ventricle. I looked in front of me, and for a moment, a light blue apparition of a young man stood in front of me, holding the blade from cutting me.

  The Guardian screamed, and then dust exploded around me. I couldn’t see, and the young man who stopped the blade had vanished.

  Then, in the dusty nothingness, all the sound around me disappeared. Just like before when we were ambushed, I couldn’t hear my own breath.

  Is . . . is it close? I asked Fern, but heard nothing in return.

  I tried to stand up, but my body wouldn’t move. I couldn’t move any of my arms or legs. Then I felt weightless.

  Something pulled at my core, an unseen force yanking me upward. My stomach lurched as I shot into the air, the battlefield shrinking below. I looked down and saw the guardian looking up at me, standing in the clearing with its long hair blocking i’s vision. It had its sword raised toward the sky, toward me, and then it flicked its arm, and as if being directed by the sword, I was flung in the air, fast. I had been lifted off the ground and flung away from the others.

  The rush of wind roared in my ears, and the floor below became a blur of motion and vertigo. I soared through the first floor, shooting over where we had fought the scrollguard yesterday and over the river that cut the floor in half. The only thing growing larger was the unyielding wall of the pillar rushing toward me.

  ‘Shit! Erik! We’re gonna crash, what do we do?’ Fern said, panicking.

  My mind was spinning, we had seconds left to think of something. Was there anything?

  Focus all our synergy on hardening our body! I shouted, and closed my eyes and reached for that space between my ribs and heart.

  Impact.

  A sickening crack tore through my body as I slammed against the transparent interior of the pillar. Pain exploded through my shoulder, radiating like fire down my ribs and up my spine. The world tilted. My vision wavered, dark edges creeping in, and I fell to the ground. I barely registered the sensation of my body falling, weightless for a moment, before striking the uneven ground below. Another sharp jolt rattled through my leg, and a burst of white-hot agony shot through my shin.

  Darkness swallowed me whole.

  Consciousness returned sluggishly. My eyes fluttered open and were met with a vast, unbroken sky of teal-hued darkness. It was night. A whole day had passed. The twin moons were peeking past the transparent wall, washing me with their teal light. A cool breeze whispered against my skin, carrying the rustling of unseen creatures.

  I tried to move and immediately regretted it.

  Pain lanced through my body. My leg throbbed with a deep, insistent agony as the bones beneath my skin shifted unnaturally. My ribs ached with every shallow breath, and my shoulder pulsed in protest as I shifted. I clenched my teeth, biting back a groan.

  I was alive. Somehow.

  Fern? I called out. Fern? I think we did it. Our body is still totally destroyed, but I think our synergy kept us alive.

  Fern was quiet, and I thought that maybe the fall had knocked him out inside my head.

  Slowly, I turned my head, my cheek pressing against the smooth, glass-like surface of the pillar’s inner wall. Beyond it, a distant landscape stretched far below—an expanse of the wild land we crossed to get to Ash. I could even see where the Grootslang had attacked us in the desert beyond the mountains. From up here, the world seemed so small, so eerily quiet compared to the battle my classmates were fighting.

  I exhaled sharply, steeling myself. Lying here, broken and battered, wouldn’t get me anywhere. I needed to move. To find help. To survive.

  Bracing against the pain, I shifted my weight and forced myself to sit up. Everything screamed, but I had to fight through it. Fern may have been quiet, but I could still tap into our synergy. I closed my eyes as I knelt and tapped in. The pain lessened, slightly, and I was able to stand. The night loomed around me, and somewhere in the distance, I smelled food, and even more strange, I could hear . . . music?

  Someone was out there.

  Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself forward, each motion a battle against the throbbing in my leg and ribs. Whoever was ahead, friend or foe, they were my only chance now.

  And I wasn’t about to die here.

  Desperation and curiosity drove me as I continued, and of course, the music played a part in that too. Soon, I spotted a small opening carved into the wall—a cave entrance framed by smooth stone.

  When I looked out from the side of the wall, I realized the pillar extended outward here, forming a ledge-like section cut out from the main floor.

  Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside the hole. The ground beneath my feet transitioned from dirt to cobblestone. The air inside was warmer, carrying the scents of wood smoke and burning meat.

  I walked down a narrow hallway, and when I turned a corner, it grew dark. The only source of light was the small yellow glowing rocks embedded in the flooring. The music echoed gently, guiding me forward. After a few moments, I reached a set of stairs leading upward. I began to climb, and finally, after ascending about a hundred steps, I emerged into a dimly lit chamber.

  Curved ceilings arched overhead, and slender red pillars lined the perimeter. Each pillar held a larger yellow glowing stone that illuminated the room. At the center, a campfire crackled in a stone pit. A small, featherless bird grilled on a spit above the fire; the aroma was mouthwatering.

  I stepped around the room, and behind the fire I saw an old man. He sat inside a massive metal tub like a hermit crab. The man reclined on a small pad of cloth, strumming a long-stringed instrument. Each twang resonated with clarity, the notes echoing softly in the curved space.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Without looking up, he spoke.

  “Come in, boy. Don’t stand there in the doorway—you’re ruining the acoustics.”

  I hesitated, surprised.

  “Well, are you coming or not?” he added, plucking another string.

  Gathering myself, I stepped forward into the chamber.

  “Sorry to intrude,” I began, my voice hoarse.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Encounters I have are rarely intrusive. Have a seat.” He continued playing out his song.

  I approached cautiously; the warmth of the fire soothed my skin. As I drew nearer, I could see the man’s features more clearly. His hair was a wild, split mane of black and white cascading down to his shoulders. His eyes had no irises and were pale white, the exact opposite of Galina’s all-black ones. He had a wild, unkempt-looking beard, no shirt, only a small cloth that hardly covered him, and he was skinny. Bones poked through his skin, yet he didn’t seem to be starving. He finished his song and set his instrument aside.

  “You’re injured,” he observed, glancing at my leg and my hand clutching my ribs.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Took a bit of a fall.”

  He chuckled. “It was more than a bit. Now, if I must ask you to sit one more time, I am afraid I will no longer offer any food. Disobedient dogs miss meals provided.”

  I eased myself down onto the ground opposite him, suppressing a groan as my leg protested. I kicked it out in front of me and dragged up my torn pant leg. My shin was bright pink, and the bone behind my shin was shifted out of place and poking at the skin unnaturally.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  He plucked a few notes on the resting instrument before replying. “They call me Dog.”

  “Dog?” I repeated, puzzled.

  “Yes, Dog. Do you have an issue with my name? Or perhaps you think I should be called something more dignified, like Human?”

  I blinked. “No, it’s just . . . unusual. Why Dog?”

  “Why not? Dogs are loyal, wise, and live simply. They understand the world better than most humans. Tell me, do you despise dogs?”

  “No, of course not. They are the best.”

  “Precisely!” He clapped his hands in excitement. “Unlike humans, who complicate their lives with unnecessary worries and possessions. I prefer the simplicity of a dog’s life.”

  “I see. So, you . . . like, live out here on the pillar, away from everyone else?”

  “Indeed, I live on the pillars. Society below is a man-made labyrinth of illusions. Out here, I’m free to live as I choose, unfettered by the trivial pursuits of men.”

  I glanced around the chamber. “Why are you here?”

  He gave me a sly smile. “Why is anyone anywhere? Perhaps the winds of fate blew me here, or maybe I just enjoy the view. Does a man need a reason to be where he is?”

  “I suppose not. But . . . what do you do here? Are you from a city below? You must be a voidblood to even be here, right? How do you live?” I peppered the old man with questions. I knew a crazy, wise hermit when I saw one. He fit all the descriptions from my video games and books.

  “Live? Exist? Survive? Call it what you will, but I do, yes. This pillar, that pillar. All the pillars, with their lofty heights and secrets and people, provide all I need. Unlike the academy below, the cities below, the mountains and forests and land below, with their rules and pretenses and changes. Like seasons. Ugh, seasons. Don’t get me started on those pesky things.”

  I tensed slightly. “So, you know about the academy?”

  “I know many things, Erik.” His colorless eyes met mine, and a shiver ran down my spine. “The academy trains warriors, but it also blinds them. You, however, are different. You see beyond the surface. Or at least, part of you wants to.”

  “How do you know my name? And what do you mean by that?”

  “Names are but labels, easily discovered. Each is written on one’s soul. Yours has two, but Erik runs the show, yes? As for my meaning, well, that is for you to uncover. Perhaps over a meal? I was just about to dine.”

  My stomach growled before I could answer. “Actually, yeah, I could really use one.”

  He pulled the spit and began tending to the cooked bird. “You’ve had quite the ordeal, from what I saw.”

  “Saw? What did you see?” I asked.

  Dog didn’t answer.

  I sighed and continued. “Well, you’re right. It’s been . . . a lot. There was this . . . thing they call a Guardian. It shouldn’t be here, but it is. It’s powerful and knocked me away with some sort of weird magical force. I flew through the air, slammed into the wall, and got knocked out. Now I’m here, rib and leg busted. I need to get back to my classmates.” I paused. “But I can hardly walk. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to help with a broken leg or rib, would you?”

  He chuckled softly. “Quite the adventure indeed. Guardians on this floor? You must have disobeyed one of Them.”

  “Them? The Guardians? What do you know? Please, tell me.” I looked at him seriously.

  “Or,” he continued without addressing me, “maybe someone called for the Guardians to come? Ah, the mysterious relationship between Men and Them will always fascinate me. You’re not quite aware of Them, I guess.”

  “You keep saying Them . . . Who?”

  He handed me a wooden plate with a portion of the grilled chicken. The aroma was intoxicating.

  “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “So . . . Them?”

  Dog furrowed his brow and shouted. “Them, yes, Them. Is it my fault for your lack of education? Just look it up in your library.” He waved his hand and began to hum a tune, tapping his foot in rhythm.

  Realizing he wasn’t going to answer my question, I asked a different one. “So, what do you do all day? What does a free man do away from the rules?”

  He leaned back, gazing up at the curved ceiling. “I observe, I ponder, and sometimes, I meddle in the affairs of those who pique my interest. The world is a stage, Erik, and I am but a humble spectator, occasionally stepping into the spotlight to meddle with the actors.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Meddle?”

  He grinned. “Only when necessary. Or when it’s particularly amusing.”

  I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. Despite his eccentricity, something was endearing about Dog.

  I thought to myself, What would I do if I was playing a game? Surely, this guy would have some sort of item to give me, right? Or a special map?

  Regardless, I had to try to see if he could give me . . . something. “So, uh. You wouldn’t happen to have seen a wooden staff around, would you? I lost mine during the fall.”

  “A staff? No.” He tapped his chin. “But perhaps something more fitting for a man thrust into the unknown.”

  Oh, hell yeah, for real? Please be a magical sword. Please be a magical sword!

  He chuckled and leaned back, then reached into the large cauldron behind him. He rummaged around, the clang of metal echoing softly. “Now, where did I leave that blasted thing . . . Ah, there it is!”

  He pulled out a sleek, straight sword, its scabbard adorned with intricate patterns unlike any I’d seen before in class or the library.

  That’s what I’m talking about! Thank you, universe! I shouted in my mind.

  “Take this. A strange weapon from a strange pillar for a strange stranger.” He winked as he offered me the blade.

  I hesitated, wondering if this was too good to be true. Would it be cursed? I forced the doubt away and reached out to grasp the sword. With it in my hands, I grabbed it how it was meant to be held. The hilt felt cool in my hand, the balance perfect. Unsheathing it slightly, I glimpsed at the blade. It was sharp on both sides, made with a reflective metal, and had runes etched along the center that pulsed a black glow. After looking at it for a moment, I realized it was glowing in time with my pulse.

  “It’s . . . reading my heartbeat,” I murmured. “I’ve never had something like this.”

  “Except for items from home, right?” Dog said.

  “My . . . home? What do you mean—?”

  He continued. “The runes are from a different pillar. Their swords are . . . unique. It speaks of protection, courage, and the journey ahead. Or so it says.” Dog laughed, his beard shook, and dandruff fell from his colored hair.

  I looked up at him, half with frustration, half with curiosity. He was just the sort of character to be cryptic and hand me a magical sword. I had to ask though. “Why help me?”

  He met my gaze; his white eyes shimmered in the firelight. And he gave the most predictable answer I could think of that a crazy hermit would give to a player in a game. “Why does the sun rise? Why do the stars shine? Some things simply are. Perhaps I see potential in you. Or perhaps I’m just a sentimental old man seeing himself in the heart of a young adventurer.”

  I sheathed the sword, securing it at my side. “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “No need. Consider it a gift. Besides, I will call on your help in another time, in another place.”

  Suddenly, he clapped his hands. “Ah! Almost forgot.”

  He picked up his instrument again and began to play a different melody—lively and whimsical. As the notes filled the chamber, I noticed small glimmers on the ground. Tiny insects, like small scarabs, emerged from the cracks in the stone floor, luminescent and delicate.

  I tensed. “What are those?”

  “Helpers,” he replied, continuing to play. “They won’t harm you. They help!”

  The bugs scurried toward me, and before I could react, they crawled onto my injured leg and my ribs. I flinched at first, but then a warm sensation spread through my body. Tiny mouths opened tiny holes, and they dug into me. As the bugs entered me, my pain all across my body melted into a soothing numbness.

  “What are they doing?” I asked, astonished.

  “Helping, didn’t I just say that?” Dog said simply. “They carry restorative properties and repair your cells. Just relax.

  “The healing herbs you humans make only speed up your natural recovery, which makes your wounded area weak and easy to break again if not given time. The helpers bypass that and use their own body to repair yours.”

  “You mean . . . they are dying inside me, and my body is using them to heal?”

  “Exactly! Now you’re listening!” Dog said, continuing to play.

  I watched in wonder as the insects worked their way under my skin. After a few moments, the bump lowered, and the moving stopped. I flexed my leg cautiously and twisted my torso. The pain was gone.

  “That’s . . . incredible,” I breathed.

  He smiled knowingly. “The world is full of wonders if you know where to look and who to ask. Like getting that sword.” He raised his eyebrow.

  I stood up, testing my weight on the leg. It felt as good as new.

  “Thank you,” I repeated.

  “Think nothing of it,” he replied, finishing his song and setting his instrument aside. “Now, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

  He stood up and walked over to a large curtain draped across the far side of the chamber. With a swift motion, he pulled it aside, revealing a massive window that looked out over the entire first floor.

  I stepped forward, awestruck by the view. The landscape stretched out beneath us—the forests, the large central river, and the distant mountains where we had camped the night before—all bathed in the teal glow of the twin moons. From this vantage point, the floor seemed like a game board, filled with monsters, traps, and places to hide.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

  “Indeed,” Dog agreed. “A world within a pillar on a world connecting two existences. The feats of Them are indeed impressive.”

  I ignored Dog’s nonsensical ramblings, and as I gazed out, a flicker of movement caught my eye. In the distance, near an area not too far away, flashes of light erupted—bursts of energy illuminating the night.

  My heart jumped. “Something’s happening down there.”

  Dog nodded thoughtfully. “It appears your friends are still engaged in their struggles.”

  I strained my eyes and tapped into the synergy, enhancing my vision. I could make out details through the treetops; the familiar lanky figure of the Guardian shifted between the trees. Small explosions of light erupted near it before the Guardian ran.

  “I have to go,” I said urgently, turning away from the window.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You could stay here, rest. Or you could join me on the other floor. There’s much more to discuss. Much more to do.”

  I hesitated. Part of me was tempted to remain, to delve deeper into the mysteries this strange man presented. He was the quintessential old man mentor from games. Following him would be an option to grow stronger. But the thought of my friends in danger spurred me to turn away.

  “I appreciate everything you’ve done and this,” I said, patting my new sword, now tied to my hip. “But I need to go help them.”

  Dog nodded. “Very well. The choice is yours.”

  I started toward the stairs, then paused. “Will I see you again?”

  He gave me a cryptic smile and bent down. With incredible hidden strength, he lifted the large iron tub and rested it on his back, tying a large rope that hung between its handles across his chest. He started to head up another set of stairs to the next floor. “Perhaps. The pillars have a way of bringing paths together. If I don’t see you here, it will be another illar. That’s what we Towerhoppers do.”

  “Towerhoppers?” I asked, but Dog began to climb and disappeared.

  With that, I descended the staircase, the weight of the new sword at my side. My leg felt strong, and my spirit was renewed.

  ‘What . . . was that all about?’ Fern mumbled.

  Oh, about time you woke up. We got a new sword!

  ‘A new sword?’

  Emerging back into the hallway, I hurried toward the cave entrance. The night air greeted me, cool and invigorating. I glanced back once, but the chamber above was silent.

  I ran toward the direction of the commotion. I focused on my muscles and sight to navigate the dark forest floor. The darkness faded into a light gray and white, and I navigated easily through the thick woods with blazing speed thanks to our synergy.

  ‘We need to be cautious,’ Fern warned.

  As I cut my way through the thick forest, my sword felt like air; each cut gave no resistance. The blade was a masterpiece.

  Agreed, I thought back.

  As I approached the noises, a hand shot out from a thicket and yanked me into the underbrush. Instinctively, I reached to raise my sword, but a whisper halted me.

  “Quiet!” came a familiar voice.

  I turned to see Luna, whose eyes were wide with urgency.

  “Luna!” I whispered, surprised. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Is everyone else okay?”

  She placed a finger to her lips. “Shh,” she cautioned, then pointed ahead.

  Through the foliage, I saw a chilling scene unfold. Waelid stood in a small clearing, his posture rigid. Opposite him was Marcus, the House Enlil co-captain, still bruised from when we beat him yesterday. His face was pale under the moonlight.

  “Please, not me,” Marcus pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can use one of the other students, right? Not me, I just got my infusion!”

  Waelid’s expression was cold, his eyes reflecting no empathy. “I’ve seen just how weak you are, Marcus. You couldn’t hold off Galina in her base form. Pathetic. You’ll pay for your own weakness and your family’s crimes.”

  Marcus took a shaky step back. “My family? What the hell are you talking about? I have nothing to do with them. I can do better. Just give me another chance.”

  Waelid shook his head slowly. “You’ve shown you’re not up to the task of being a Cinder.”

  A knot formed in my stomach. Something was wrong.

  “What’s he doing?” I murmured.

  Luna clenched her jaw. Her bright orange eyes were fixated on our leader. “Just watch what this bastard does.”

  Waelid took a deliberate step toward Marcus. “In this world, strength is everything. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good, to make way for the stronger to rise.”

  “No!” Marcus cried out, turning to run.

  But Waelid was faster. With a swift motion, he grabbed Marcus by the collar and hurled him into the open.

  From the shadows of the forest, the Guardian emerged and raised its blade. Its covered face glowed gray with an otherworldly light as it fixated on Marcus.

  “Help me!” Marcus screamed as he flew, but it was too late.

  The Guardian’s sword shot out, piercing through Marcus’s body. The air filled with a sickening sound as the life drained from his eyes. I stifled a gasp, my heart pounding in my ears.

  Waelid didn’t flinch. Seizing the moment, he dashed forward, his wooden staff glowing white. With calculated precision, he slammed the staff at the Guardian’s exposed limb, causing it to recoil and release Marcus’s lifeless body.

  “He’s using him as bait,” I whispered, horror creeping into my voice.

  “Exactly,” Luna replied bitterly.

  Waelid reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, spiked device—a rocklike object that pulsed with a faint light. He lobbed it toward Marcus’s fallen form.

  “Cover your eyes,” Luna warned, pulling my head down.

  We shielded our faces just as a brilliant flash erupted. Even with my eyes closed, the intensity was blinding. The Guardian let out a deafening scream that shook my bones.

  When the light faded, I dared to look. The Guardian thrashed wildly, disoriented. Waelid took advantage again, unleashing a flurry of strikes that bent into the creature’s form. Dark mist and purple blood sprayed from its wounds, dissipating into the night air.

  For a moment, it seemed he might defeat it.

  But then the Guardian regained its bearings. Its ripped wings curled in around it, and a black light emanated around its body. With a guttural roar, it flipped open its wings and swiped at Waelid, forcing him to leap back.

  “Persistent beast,” Waelid spat, frustration evident.

  He took several steps back, assessing the situation.

  “Fine! You want another one?” Waelid shouted. “I’ll find one!”

  He turned and vanished into the trees, leaving the Guardian writhing in the clearing before it followed him.

  I stared in disbelief. “He . . . he sacrificed Marcus.”

  The girl nodded solemnly. “And he’ll do it again. I think he did it with the two Nin kids too.”

  “How can he justify this?” I demanded, anger rising within me. “He’s supposed to protect us!”

  She met my gaze. “That’s how Waelid won his last fight with a Guardian. I looked into it. He never seemed . . . genuine to me, so I asked around. He’s sacrificed over twenty recruits in the past.”

  My breath caught. “Twenty?”

  A mix of nausea and fury churned inside me. The academy, the place that was supposed to be a haven for honing our abilities, was harboring someone capable of such atrocities.

  “We have to stop him,” I said, clenching my fists.

  She placed a hand on my arm. “You want to confront the golden boy of Ash? You will certainly die.”

  “Then what do we do?” I asked, frustration evident.

  She shook her head. “It is not the time yet. But, if we can defeat the Guardian, that is one way he will stop.”

  I looked back toward the clearing. The Guardian had receded into the shadows, its presence lingering like a stain on the night and Marcus’s body leaving a red stain on the ground.

  I nodded. “Come on. We need to regroup with the others and warn them.”