My vision fades as my dying heartbeat lingers. A blade skewered through it makes my body rest into a state of disbelieving tranquility.

  My life was a waste.

  A lie.

  And the last thing I’m going to see is a spiced-out brute awakening the warring dark. So many questions…

  Grondus disappears from my vision, as does the horrid smell of rotting onions emanating from him. Everyone else in the room blinks out of existence next. I worry that death just means existing in solitude. The pit of shame is empty. Renesta no longer stands alone on her victory dais. The Danes, the orphans, Layla, all gone. The only thing that remains is the fractured arena breathing in front of me.

  Trying to get to my elbows is futile. I’m still tethered to the floor by that dagger through my heart. Grondus must’ve thrust hard to pin me even in death.

  Sounds of stone cracking echo all around me. The arena… it’s opening.

  Buboom!

  A stone slab caves deep into the ground. Then another. Another.

  I can hardly feel my limbs any longer. I’m like a ghost in my own body, about to fall into the black depths of hell. Testing the hilt of the blade, I yank it out of my chest.

  No more pain or blood, no black tar of Akitus either. I’m an empty vessel now.

  “Where are you, Kane?” I latch onto that earlier vision of him as I get to my knees. “Guide me, Brother.”

  Baboom!

  Another stone slab sinks in front of me. That’s when I see it. There’s no ground beneath for the stones to crash. It’s not a void either. There’s something…

  Crawling forward to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me, my mouth hangs open. A twilight sky roars with legions of flying beasts and riders atop them. The sight instantly challenges my understanding of the world, spinning me into vertigo. Am I upside down?

  Lightning cracks through the under-sky to snap me back to reality. Elemental high magic draws from the air, through beast and warrior, launched at foes. Dragons clash, shaking more stone to fall into the endless depths.

  What am I seeing right now?

  “After death, there’s war?” I whisper to the winds.

  “You are not dead, mortal,” a deep, throaty voice announces.

  I launch myself back when two gigantic gray talons latch onto the cracking stone. An enormous dragon’s maw lifts from the depths, its growl reverberating through the giant empty space.

  Holy shit! My neck keeps craning higher and higher as the dragon ascends into the Sept’s dungeon.

  A black cloth draped over one eye flaps in the wind, revealing a bright white marble beneath it—blind, I guess—while the other is crystal blue, honed on me.

  Its wings expand outward—one of which is slashed and disfigured, probably by some poisonous spell, while the other is powerfully expansive. The dragon flaps once, and its gigantic hind claws shake the ground.

  I nearly fall from gaping at the dragon’s enormity, but I hold my ground, just barely. “I have to be dead. All life around me is gone.”

  The dragon bows its thick neck so it can better inspect me. Giant scales fold over one another, endless horns slicked back like hair. “This is the awakening your annoying Sept is always on about.” Smoke huffs out of its nostrils.

  My eyes widen. “Don’t play tricks with me. I was defeated.” Motioning toward the gaping hole in my chest is all the proof it should need.

  “You have been defeated since you opened your eyes, Haledyn. Arkitus is an insidious affliction dating back to the wars of old.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  The dragon whips its head to the Sept dais. “They are lost creatures.”

  “Who? The Danes?” I follow the dragon’s gaze to see no one occupying their seats.

  “Yes. Incessantly babbling, trying to recruit for their wars. We have our own to fight!” the dragon growls. “They work tirelessly to heat your blood and gain our ears. It is infuriating.”

  “I don’t like them very much either. They’re part of the apparatus that lies to us since birth,” I agree.

  “Hmph,” the dragon grunts. “They do hold keys here, in the living realm, however.”

  “So, why am I here? What happens now?” I spread my numb arms.

  “This… is an intermediary between the afterlife and your world. That’s what an awakening is—a gateway where the warring dark comes to judge the living.” The dragon’s eye scans me. “I am the one who sanctioned it. Not when blood was spilled. Rather, when you shared your medicine with that other boy.”

  My eyes narrow. “The quake we felt on the stairs… the cold winds. The flash of light—”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Was me.”

  “Why?” I can’t wrap my head around this.

  “You… remind me of my place among my roost, long ago.”

  I scoff in disbelief. “You? A dying runt? Impossible!”

  He wags his decrepit wing. “Afflicted by Arkitus so powerfully that it stained my soul.”

  “I see.” A fire blooms around my chest. So I have a soul disease then. Great.

  “I am Boeru, the Torn Wing.” He paces powerfully out of the arena, walking past the ever-present wind barrier like it’s not even there. “Commandant of the Hellsbane Watch in the afterlife. I closed my eye a thousand years ago, in the Battle of Corsair, only to open it again under attack in another war.”

  “It never ends, then? There’s no peace?”

  “For some, perhaps. But those spirits are weak, running through fields of daisies in the Afael Plains. Let them chase the sun… unless I was wrong about you?”

  I throw my hands up. Being a mindless soul hopped up on endorphins doesn’t sound like something I’d enjoy. “All I want is to find the truth, protect my friends, and reunite with my brother—assuming he’s alive.”

  Boeru paces back into the arena. “These are principles I can bond with. I, too, seek the truth. Souls are syphoning more frequent as of late, most of whom gather towards the side against your Sept.”

  I shrug. “Apparently we’re the faction of Miria.”

  “Yes. The others I speak of adhere to the subjects of Lacor Kingdomonia. Miria might soon fall, if the gloating is true.”

  “Great.”

  I think back to mythos. Lacor was said to have been defeated by Miria long ago. Then Miria was defeated by the Dokovan Empire. I wonder if the puzzle is as simple as historic mythos is current speculation. I’m wondering a lot of things, actually—

  “Why would you abandon your post in the afterlife?”

  Boeru bares his teeth, glancing to the under-sky at his back. I’m worried challenging him will make him change his mind and fall back into the fray. This is my chance to live… I should be mindful of that.

  A puff of cerulean fire escapes his mouth, dissolving into a black puff around his maw. “To chase a mystery not known to the dead. Elden magic is said to exist in your plane.”

  “Elden magic?”

  “Yes, mortal. What do you know of it?”

  “Nothing by that name.” I scan through the mythos bouncing around in my head. Warring dark, high magic, manifestations, auras. “Then again, I’m not privy to much.”

  “Hmph. This is going to be a long road, isn’t it?” Boeru turns his back on me, whipping his tri-spiked tail over me. “It is a legendary magic wielded by the most powerfully attuned. No matter how many riders I suffer in the afterlife, we cannot seem to manifest it.”

  “What is it supposed to do, exactly?”

  “Do not fly before you can walk, mortal. Just know I seek to seize it and use it to defend against my enemies, to protect my roost.”

  “Noble. I like it. But from what, Boeru?”

  “That is not your concern.” Smoke hisses through his teeth, and I’m quickly reminded of the power standing over me. “If you accept this bond, there will be no sun chasing.”

  I bite my lip as my body grows frigid. “What will it entail?”

  “You are small and powerless, like a pebble rolling downhill.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. Not to mention, you are leaking fatally.”

  “Can’t even feel it at this point. Or see it.”

  Boeru adjusts his posture, exposing his sleek light-blue belly that matches his crystal eye. Chest and shoulders puff massively, each lined with crooked spikes. “I will rid you of your affliction, mend your heart, and turn you into something that has the strength to fight.”

  “So… I’m not going to die on this cold stone floor?”

  “On the contrary, Haledyn. You will be born.”

  ***

  As I accept Boeru’s bond, my vision tremors until the enormous dragon fades to a blinding light. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, pulsing faster than it ever has before, and my body rewinds back to the floor like I’m shoved.

  “Huu!” I come up for air—the blood and black sludge spilt everywhere around me returns, along with feeling to my limbs. How long have I been out for? Grondus still gloats at the edge of the arena, dark magic circling his forearms. That’s right. He’s attuned now for killing me.

  Only… I’m not dead.

  As I lift my head, the gaping bloody hole stitches shut before my eyes, followed by my own black magical essence twisting around me. Blood flows like never before, muscles pump. It’s like I came back to life in a completely different body. My calves bulge through my ragged pants, and what the hell is this? There’s definition in my forearms.

  I kick back to my feet effortlessly to a balcony of gasps. The Danes are on their feet, and Grondus slowly turns in awe.

  The dark essence circling me stills and takes shape as the silhouette of the giant dragon at my back.

  “An awakening.” Center Dane grips his podium. “From the one who falls.”

  I arc my eyebrow. Thanks for rubbing it in.

  “Rahh!” Grondus roars, black silhouettes clawing out of his mouth and cycling around his arms.

  I’m in no mood to fight, but this energy rushing through me is unlike anything I’ve ever known. Is this what others feel like? Is this what it means to live in a working body? It’s incredible.

  Grondus lunges at me as Boeru’s silhouette rewinds into my new body. I analyze him in slow motion—bulging, bloody eyes, flexed arms, wounded hand. As he comes at me, I sidestep and grab his arm, twisting it like it weighs nothing. Next thing I know, I’m burying his face in the floor.

  This feels good.

  I stand with my foot on his back, threatening to pull his arm the wrong way.

  The cycling darkness around his arms puffs away like a snuffed flame and absorbs into my own.

  “This duel is over,” I announce.

  “Like hell it is!” Grondus yells, but I twist his arm an inch higher. A macabre pop of his joint echoes throughout the room, and we both know one more inch and it snaps. His demand falls into a painful cry.

  “Guess that spice is finally wearing off.” I grin at the lone eye staring back at me.

  “How?” he barks. “How?”

  “Sometimes it pays to be merciful.” I kick him in the face for stabbing me through the heart.

  The sheer force of my new strength knocks him out instantly. And it’s exhilarating.

  I stare up at the balcony to see Layla’s eyes wet. It’s good to be mourned. I smile at her, but she only stares on in shock.

  Center Dane’s wind whip shoves Grondus’ body toward the pit of shame like it’s an afterthought, because his white-glowing eyes peer only at me.

  “Haledyn Winbridge, proceed to the dais beside the doors you entered. You have achieved a great victory this day—calling upon a dragon’s soul is not done lightly. What is the name of your bonded?”

  “Any objections to answering?” I ask the dragon swimming around my head.

  “Go ahead. Let them know the Torn Wing is upon them. Scare them stiff, mortal.”

  A powerful, dark ribbon of essence rushes quickly around my hand—creating its own vortex—before blooming into the giant silhouette of the dragon once more. “Boeru of the Hellsbane Watch. The Torn Wing.”

  The dragon snickers in my ear, his throaty voice reverberating all around the dungeon. He’s pleased at the Sept’s gaping eyes. They say nothing for a long moment.

  “Can we attack the Danes? Are we more powerful than them now?”

  “Do not get overzealous, mortal Haledyn. I’ve only restored you to a novice level. You have a long journey ahead of you if you wish to wield my potential. And the Danes… their whispers are annoying, but they have use yet. I suspect their teachings will result in our advancement.”

  “Fine.”

  “A second house is upon you,” Center Dane finally speaks, his voice losing its edge. “One very much unlike your last.”