Jenne woke to the chiming bells of another sacred day. The Sacred Day of Geles—the last of the year. It was widely celebrated in the south, and he expected everyone to be dressed in white linen. No leather shoes, belts, or handbags today. Geles had been a vegetarian and would not have appreciated such things.

  The scanner hovering above Jenne slowed to a halt, its steady beep answered by the machine beside his bed. He couldn’t read the display, but the sound gave him a good feeling. His belly wound was completely healed. He felt better—better than he had in weeks.

  When he raised his hand, tiny strings of golden light flickered between his fingers. His magic was still there. As much as he tried to deny it, he was beginning to like having ascension.

  A nurse stepped into the room. She wore a crisp white uniform and a bracelet with a digital screen glowing on her wrist.

  “How are you feeling today, Ren Aster?”

  “Good.”

  “Are you ready to go home?”

  “I can leave?” Jenne asked. “Just like that?”

  “Not right now, but soon. I’ll be monitoring you for the next hour. If nothing comes up, then yes.”

  Visitors were allowed now. Being alone in his room had not been easy. There were times when he longed to get up and leave, the silence gnawing at him whenever his questions went unanswered.

  Ms Class was the first to arrive. She swept in quickly, dressed in a white coat over a plain shirt and loose white trousers, her woven sandals soft against the floor. It struck him as odd—he was so used to seeing her in pencil skirts and heels that the change almost made him laugh.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “Jenne,” she breathed. “I was so worried.”

  “A short break would be nice.”

  “Done,” she said.

  She stayed a little longer before excusing herself. Ms Class said nothing about Schemel. Jenne couldn’t tell which parts of what had happened were real and which were dreams. Had he really seen Schemel cut down HF soldiers? Had she broken into the hospital to visit him? It all felt too bizarre—something his mind might have conjured while he was in pain.

  The door slid open again, and Hamis stepped inside. He wasn’t alone. Isse followed close behind. Hamis wore a white shirt and matching trousers. Isse was in an even whiter dress, a flowery bracelet on her wrist and a woven side bag over her shoulder. Both looked sombre, as though visiting a corpse. They stopped a short distance from his bed, standing side by side, and offered a Henrikian salute. Jenne had no words, but he accepted the gesture, and then they all smiled. The Deus siblings came closer, close enough to embrace him.

  “Ashey can’t leave home without security,” Hamis said.

  “She told us what happened, but we wanted to hear it from you,” Isse added.

  “I uh… I um.” His throat dried up. “I’m not quite sure I remember everything.”

  “Sorry,” said Isse. “I get it.”

  “I remember Wiseman,” Jenne muttered, already hating the memory. “He must’ve sent those men after us… I think. I’m not sure.”

  Hamis and Isse exchanged a look, both biting their lips, both wincing. Then Isse pulled out her phone and held it between them. The device hovered in front of the three, turning until a video played. The recording came from a local news station. A correspondent stood among a crowd, just behind a penthouse. The camera zoomed in on the top floor, where a round man stood at a lectern, microphone before him.

  “Wiseman was making a public address about what happened,” Isse explained. “He was offended that anyone would question his values, and he insisted he would never threaten or attack anyone for any reason.”

  “I don’t know…” Jenne groaned. “Maybe it was just a coincidence.”

  “Watch,” said Isse.

  A massive beam of golden light tore through the building. It ripped straight across the apartment complex, shearing Wiseman’s balcony in two before crashing to the ground below. Dust and screams filled the air. Jenne clutched at the bedsheet, forcing himself upright, straining to see through the haze.

  “Schemel,” he whispered, eyes widening.

  “That was three days ago,” said Hamis. “The HF went mad. Soldiers everywhere, hunting her. I thought they’d kill her.”

  “It wasn’t a dream,” Jenne murmured.

  “Huh?” Isse and Hamis leaned closer.

  “I saw her here—Schemel. She was fighting soldiers.”

  “She killed twenty,” Hamis said grimly. “No Gaverian has ever done that. But it wasn’t here. That was at Mortal Ascenders. You’d already been transferred to City Central by then. That’s where we are now.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “They sent her to Stasis,” Hamis said, voice low. “It’s a prison for rogue ascenders. Out in the middle of nowhere. You sit in a pool of marker-ascension, frozen in time until the Assembly decides your fate.”

  “Wait, isn’t that—”

  “Going to drain her powers?” Hamis cut in. “Yes.”

  Ascension was a living current. Without practice, it dulled. Without years of it, it withered entirely. Doctor Aureate had explained that once, when they asked why he couldn’t open portals like his sister Genevie. Mariel was the same, and so were other Gallants—bright once, dim now.

  “That’s terrible,” Jenne said.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Isse countered. “Schemel hasn’t even been tried. The Assembly could still decide otherwise. And Wiseman got what he deserved.”

  “Hmph,” Hamis muttered. “Hundreds of people in that complex didn’t. And Wiseman will never stand trial either.”

  “And those hitmen? Do you know where they are?”

  Hamis shrugged. “I guess they’re standing trial too. No one’s sure of anything anymore. Schemel kind of stole the show.”

  The door slid open again. All three turned to see Ashey entering, accompanied by a bodyguard. The room grew quiet. She was dressed in white, a crown of flowers resting atop her head. Without a word, she crossed to Jenne and embraced him. They stayed like that for a long moment.

  “I thought it was going to be the worst night of my life,” Jenne said, “because I had to choose between two cakes.”

  “It was stupid,” Isse said.

  “It was,” Ashey agreed. “There’s so much more to life than petty cake fights. We should have a party instead.”

  No one seemed in the mood. “We’re not,” Hamis said flatly. “I’d rather wait for your mom’s trial before celebrating anything.”

  Se Fina had been sued by the Henrikian Government for disturbing public peace and damaging property. Jenne and the others spent the next few days recounting their story in court. They weren’t going to be punished, but Se Fina was fined. That was the end of it.

  Henrikia remained in Stasis alongside Schemel. Work grounds emptied; teachers at Se Fina didn’t show up. The Assembly ordered Schemel’s trial to be expedited by the Court of Justice. Jenne, Hamis, and Ashey weren’t allowed inside the courtroom—they had to watch the proceedings live on television.

  Schemel faced twenty-three charges, including murder and destruction of property. She had also violated Humility Acts One, Two, and Three. It didn’t look good, at least by Jenne’s understanding.

  But her public support never wavered. People loved her. Talk shows debated the men who had died in the apartment—men connected to figures like Sirios Deus. They were hated, accused of abusing the lower class, exploiting earthen women, and recently targeting Myersian girls. They were labelled sex traffickers, propagators of child prostitution. Some of the accusations may have been exaggerated to bolster Schemel’s case.

  After multiple threats from anonymous actors, the five priests assigned to judge Schemel repeatedly took long recesses.

  Son Solvia herself did not reflect the will of her people. Never had Jenne seen her stripped so bare. In the courtroom, her face was dry, her hair lacked its usual shimmer, and her eyes were sunken. She had lost weight. Schemel looked almost painfully human.

  Shaken awake from an afternoon nap, Hamis informed him that the judges were about to give their final verdict. Jenne rubbed his sore eyes and followed Hamis to the living room. His phone buzzed—Isse calling—and they spoke over each other. Jenne barely listened, instead scanning the room for reactions. Chancellor Demettle sat calm, composed. Mariel, by contrast, had her hands tightly folded, tense. Among the onlookers, the Yunnish Grand Mason, Xenerisis, pressed a finger to his cheek, scrutinizing every detail.

  It was time for the verdict.

  “How are we feeling today, Renna Sorel?” asked one of the five priests.

  “Remorseful,” Schemel replied.

  “Do you have anything to say before I declare the verdict?”

  The city fell silent. Schemel said nothing. She was doing something Jenne could hardly believe—Schemel, the Lady of the Sun, was crying. Could the world grow any quieter? She smiled faintly, avoiding eye contact with anyone. A clerk rushed over, handing her a tissue.

  “Six keep us,” the priest intoned.

  “Six keep us,” murmured the listeners in unison.

  “Renna Sorel is to be bound by Shaphet’s Law.”

  An uproar erupted, only to be hushed immediately.

  “Renna Sorel is forbidden from drawing ascension from her blood. On the day she does, she will die.”

  In Schemel’s extended absence, the Assembly had moved quickly. The Chancellor convened an emergency meeting, where councilmen voted to decide the new High Commander. Jacqolin Arson was the sole contender and won with seventy percent of the vote. Still, despite everything, the remaining members continued to regard Schemel as the true High Commander.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  That Saturday, around sunset, Ashey invited Jenne to her home. It was the day of Schemel’s release, and a small welcome gathering was underway. As darkness fell, a sedan pulled up at the gates. Schemel stepped out, no longer dressed in the familiar green. Leather trousers, a shirt, and a long coat—all in varying shades of silver—clad her now.

  When Jenne and Ashey approached, she welcomed them warmly, embracing them both. Schemel rubbed the tops of their heads gently, and Jenne noticed a small, unmistakable tattoo on the back of her hand, just beneath her index finger—the hex he had seen before. Shaphet’s Law.

  “How are you?” she asked. Though she waited for their reply, her attention was elsewhere, scanning the gathered dossi.

  “Your grandmother isn’t home,” she noted.

  “She left early today,” said Ashey.

  “Off to eat from the Yunnish hand,” Schemel replied. “It’s quite the treat these days.”

  Jenne thought he was the only one who noticed the subtle shift in her demeanour—but Ashey had too. Schemel had always embodied the brightness of midday; now she carried the weight of dusk.

  They moved straight to dinner.

  “It’s not easy, having one goal occupy your mind for so long,” Schemel said. “It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore. Do you know what I’m going to do? I’ll make a long list of all the things I’ve wanted to do. I can try on that dress I’ve been meaning to buy. I could host a podcast, write a book—I don’t know. It’s been a while since I went to the movies.”

  “I learned baking,” said Ashey. “We could try that.”

  Schemel’s lips tugged into a small smile. “Are you any good at it?”

  “Yes!” Ashey dragged her chair back, phone in hand, showing her mother pictures of her cake. “What do you think?”

  “It’s wonderful,” said Schemel. “Kind of like Melis, your great-great-grandmother from the western lands. She didn’t know any magic, so she became a baker. By coincidence… she was also a prostitute.” Schemel kept her smile, her eyes bright.

  Ashey retreated to her seat, unsure whether to laugh or restrain herself. She did a little of both.

  All the while, Jenne’s gaze remained fixed on the tattoo on the back of Renna Sorel’s left hand. She rested it firmly on the table, using her right hand to eat. A few times, she caught him staring—but he shamelessly continued.

  “Mom, you can’t believe what happened the other day at school. We had this science project and I’ve never really liked it much. But this time, I helped my group get an A. I swear that has never happened before.”

  “Oh!” Schemel’s voice rang out. “That’s nice.”

  “Mmm. I’m very smart when I study.”

  “You must be,” Schemel replied, smiling.

  They ate in silence for a while. Whenever Jenne broke his gaze from Schemel’s tattoo, he noticed Ashey staring at him. He had nothing to add to the conversation and considered leaving once dinner was over.

  “We’ve been practicing magic together,” Ashey said, nudging him. Jenne raised his eyebrows. “Small spells, mostly.” Schemel said nothing, smiling at her food as she continued eating. “Since the incident, I haven’t been to school. The principal said I could take as much time as I needed. My friends came over last week to see if I was okay. I didn’t think they liked me much, so… it was nice.”

  She drank some water and resumed eating. “I gave a primrose to Jenne after he woke up. Grandma said you gave one to your father after he got shot. They’re hard to come by, but Grandma found a guy on the First who nursed a bunch.”

  “You have school tomorrow, love.”

  “But—”

  “You have school tomorrow,” Schemel insisted. “Finish up and get ready for bed.”

  Ashey obeyed and went to prepare for bed. Jenne thought that was his cue to leave, fumbling for an excuse to slip away.

  “Why don’t you stay a bit longer, Jenne?” Ashey asked. “You’ve barely said a word all night. Aren’t you glad I’m back?”

  “I am,” he admitted. “I’m so relieved you didn’t end up in Stasis. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Her eyes lit up for the briefest second. “It could’ve been far worse, you know. Demettle’s saved me more times than he’s stabbed me in the back. That’s why I’m not offended by that dirty scheme he pulled on me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jenne said, his eyes widening. He leaned closer to the table, glancing behind her as though someone might be listening. “I thought Wiseman was the one who attacked Ashey.”

  “There’s a lot you still have to learn,” she said. “Sometimes I forget you haven’t been with us forever. You’re going to get stabbed in the back—a lot. It’s part of who we are.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “It hardly matters now,” she said, her tone flattening.

  Jenne reached for his jacket from the seat beside him. He should be on his way back—he’d promised Hamis they’d watch the launch of Dominus 5 together.

  “Do you know why Regilon is on his deathbed?” she asked suddenly.

  “He came back from the south that way,” Jenne said. “Lord Deus says he was at Blackwood.”

  “Can you believe it?” Schemel’s mouth twisted. “They told me Genevie was dead when I arrived. I’m disappointed in the public for believing such a story.”

  “I knew it.”

  “Good,” she said softly. “That’s very smart of you. Genevie is harder to kill than the devil. I wouldn’t get in her way until she’s found what she’s looking for and gone.”

  “Is she that strong?” Jenne asked. “I saw you at the hospital… what you did to the HF was incredible. I mean, it was horrible that they died, but you were—” he hesitated—“insane. No offence, Renna, but I feel like you’re avoiding Genevie even though you can beat her.”

  Schemel went dead silent for a heartbeat, then burst into laughter. “That is so sweet,” she said. “I’m glad you think so highly of me, but I’m far from the best Henrikia has to offer. Yes, I’m the most beloved, but Jacqolin is far stronger than I am. I don’t know who else to trust when it comes to dealing with Genevie.”

  “I might have imagined some of what you did in my sleep.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But as I said, it’s better we avoid her until she leaves.”

  “What do you think she’s after?” asked Jenne. “It has to be faeries, right? I was looking through some files in the library and found articles mentioning sightings of Genevie among the Solvarian Krima. Saint Huvris is after faeries, so he must have sent Genevie—the one who knows our continent best.”

  “You got all that from reading a book?” Schemel said. “That’s impressive—and quite accurate. The Sentry needs more men like you.” She clicked her tongue. “You’ve been talking to Verimae.”

  “Not anymore,” Jenne replied.

  “Got you.” Her fork pressed playfully against his nose. “Just a guess.”

  Jenne bit back a comment, then laughed. The secret he’d feared revealing to Schemel had come out naturally, and she’d taken it well. Better than any scenario he’d played in his head.

  “You’re clever,” she said. “Verimae’s been hiding under their noses for nearly fifteen years, and only a handful know.”

  “Does Ms Class know?”

  “She doesn’t. Neither does Tenrad or Hamis, nor any of your tutors. Leonard does, because I told him.”

  “Did you tell Regilon as well?”

  “He knows?”

  “Yes,” Jenne drawled, realizing his slip. “I think.”

  Schemel shrugged. “He must have heard about her from someone else.”

  Jenne grabbed his coat again, determined this time to leave. He was late for Hamis’ show anyway. Schemel rose with him, gathering her own coat.

  “Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

  “I’m unemployed, Jenne. I can go anywhere I want. How about we watch a movie together? It’d be lonely if I went alone.”

  Hamis and Ashey always talked about the movies. A mild curiosity stirred, and he couldn’t say no to Schemel—after everything she’d done for him, this was the least he could do.

  “Should I fetch Ashey? She’d like to come along,” he asked.

  “No, just the two of us,” she said. “Ashey needs all the rest she can get.”

  The cinema was quiet. The entrance was wide enough for families to pass through easily. Posters lined every wall, and kernels of popcorn spilled from the trash bins. Two boys ran by, screaming, swords of plastic in hand, with their mother chasing after them. They wore Gaverian replica uniforms—he matched one to Jacqolin’s poster. A small insignia on the top left chest—a circle of flame, Rank Animus—caught his attention. Aside from Schemel, he’d never seen anyone hold that rank, in real life or photos.

  Upstairs, a queue formed for tickets. Schemel walked past it to the counter. The man at the front opened his mouth to protest, but his wife tugged at his arm. Golden-brown eyes, no longer glimmering, watched Schemel. His wife, a rhen, knew immediately.

  “…I don’t care. Where I come from, it’s rude to cut in line, no matter who you think you are,” the man said. “Excuse me, Renna, but my wife and I were standing here.”

  Schemel turned to the attendant, a young girl about Jenne’s age. “What room are they headed to?”

  She pointed to a door on the left, plaque reading Room 4.

  “Call whoever’s in charge and empty it. I have a special request for a film I want to watch.”

  She left the counter, drawing looks of disgust from the earthen. Everyone else watched with mild amusement. Jenne thought it was a bad joke—until they walked through the door.

  The room was dark and cold. Schemel led the way up the stairs to seats in the middle. They sat quietly, like everyone else, until an announcement crackled through the speakers. Groans filled the room as people gathered their belongings and filed out.

  A pot-bellied man hurried in, hands clasped behind his back. “Renna Sorel, it’s an honour to have you here once again,” he said. “Had I known, I would’ve reserved the room a day in advance—two, even.” He chuckled to himself. “Any of your favourites for tonight?”

  “The Great Oppression,” she said. “I want the one in black and white.”

  “Great choice, Renna,” he said, pressing his palms together. “And snacks for the boy?”

  “Jenne?”

  “No, I’m good,” he replied.

  With nothing to occupy his senses, his mind drifted to the soft hum of the cooling system—until the screen lit up and the film began. Schemel didn’t watch as intently as Jenne. She rubbed the back of her tattooed hand, her eyes soft and sad.

  “We’ve become more alike than before,” she murmured. “Both bound by a simple symbol.”

  Her gaze fell on his hand, the digits marked on its back. She placed it in her palm, squeezing lightly, rubbing the numbers with her thumb.

  “One, three, seven, forty-seven,” she read, then scoffed. “Patterns. No power in the universe can break a pattern.”

  Jenne instinctively withdrew his hand, covering the digits.

  “When you spoke to Verimae, did she mention the name Fonifa?” Schemel asked.

  “Once, I think,” said Jenne. “Verimae told me so many things… I’ve forgotten most. Is it important? Fonifa, I mean.”

  “She was a god, for a while,” Schemel said. “Now she is dead. Murdered.”

  Jenne’s eyes widened. Was he cursed to follow the trail of tragic tales? Schemel let silence linger, watching him squirm with curiosity. Finally, the crease of his lips betrayed his need to ask.

  “Who killed her?” he asked.

  “Was it right to kill her?” she countered. “Absolutely. Fonifa created the Living World. Everything was made according to her plan. But she never intended for us to have magic—no astaphite, no markers, crafters, or rippers. None of it. It was her angels, beings tasked to watch over us, who were tempted to teach the rhens the secret arts.”

  “Renna, that is heresy,” said Jenne. “Back in Blackwood, a Sodenite infiltrated our school. He handed out pamphlets. The stories… they were just like this.”

  “Oh?” Her voice rang with quiet amusement. “Do you remember it?”

  “I’m not allowed to.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, rubbing the top of his head. “You’re smart enough to know the difference between lies and truth.”

  Jenne shifted in his seat, chin pressed uncomfortably against his neck. He might need a word of prayer for his ears. God, forgive me for listening.

  Schemel continued. “The angels came into the Living World and claimed wives for themselves… or husbands, if they were female. Do you know what happens when an angel and a human intermingle?”

  Jenne shook his head.

  “A creature God does not recognise is born. Men of old, heroes of ages past… conquerors.”

  She opened her palm slowly, and Jenne nearly jumped out of his seat to steady it. She cast no spells, simply closed her hand into a fist and tapped it against the seat.

  “They killed Fonifa, these men of old?” he asked.

  “Fonifa waged war on them—and lost. Rheina killed the old god and cast her from the heavens.”

  “That’s how Rheina became a god?”

  “Remember what I said about patterns?” she asked, and he nodded slowly. “Now… what do you think happens when a god dies?”

  Jenne frowned at the digits on the back of his hand. The answer was there, just out of reach, lingering at the edge of his thoughts. “One, three, seven,” he murmured. “Three. Three new gods rose in her place.”

  Schemel raised three fingers. “Solvaria was the first. The Spider, or Shaphet, was the second. Yuna, Solvaria’s sister and the first Son Solvia, was the last.”

  “She’s your—”

  “Famous ancestor,” Schemel interrupted, blowing on her fingernails.

  Jenne’s excitement faltered as he grasped the weight of Yuna’s name. “Did Rheina kill them too?” he whispered.

  “It was impossible for Rheina to ever become a god. Even if he killed all three of the new gods, seven would rise to take their place. The pattern would never break. So, he took a different approach. He sought favour with the new gods, hoping to steal their place.

  “He tried to win Solvaria into marriage, to share her divinity—but she refused. The Solvarians claim he killed her out of spite. Then Rheina turned to Yuna, and it almost worked. Yuna took a liking to him, and declared to raise Rheina from angel to god on their wedding day. That enraged Shaphet who killed Yuna before it could happen.

  “Heartbroken, Rheina fought Shaphet for days. The final clash between the two greatest beings in all of history. A battle so catastrophic it tore through time and space itself. That was the last anyone ever saw of Rheina or Shaphet in the Living World.”

  “It was us Henrikians who kept the legend of Rheina alive. We chose to worship Rheina as God. Hexism rejects the idea that there are seven gods who could replace the Three; instead, we must worship the Six. Rheina promised his faithful children that he has prepared a place for us in his heavenly court, as our faith tells us. ‘Sevad san demie; scesio valiela solvas kasim.’ Some may die; all may ascend. And that’s why we’re called ascenders. Pray to the Six and not the Seven”

  An invisible hand gripped Jenne by the throat. Long fingers traced his windpipe and squeezed his lungs dry.

  “This is all folklore, right? The Six are real gods. Rheina is God. We don’t have seven other gods wandering about the Living World, do we? God, I hope not.”

  “You still don’t get it.” Schemel put a finger under his chin, lifting his head until their eyes met. “God or not, Rheina was something far, far more important. He was a true Henrikian. When you have power, you bow to no one. When you’re strong, you take from the weak. He didn’t wait for the pattern to choose him. He broke the universe and made himself God.”

  She turned his chin back to the screen, where the lights burned into his eyes. Leaning closer to his ear, Schemel whispered, “That is what the Great Oppression is about. It does not matter what you deserve. What matters is what you can take.” With a slight tug of force, she nudged him to face her again—closer than before.

  Their noses brushed and then her lips parted his. She sucked on them, rubbing his ear with a hand. Then it was her tongue in his mouth, coiling around his.

  “Thank you for saving Ashey from that monster,” she said.