“I can teach you many things—science, religion, history, even the hidden arts. You can ask me anything. I will help you.”

  “There’s this book in the library I tried to read but couldn’t understand the words. I wish I could borrow it, but the librarian won’t let me touch it, let alone borrow it.”

  “That’s not right. There is no book you can’t read. We might as well not have it in the library. If you mean A Thousand Ascenders, I can tell you—it contains a history of discrimination.”

  “They told me it was dangerous to learn what was written in it.”

  “Librarians would say anything to keep you away from what they deem precious. What did they tell you? That only a Sorel can read those books? Do you think Ashey has a greater claim to them than you do?”

  “It’s not as straightforward.”

  “It is. Demand it. If they refuse, ask them to show you any rule that prohibits anyone from borrowing the book you want to read. Just because you’re earthen does not mean you deserve less.”

  He did not want to tell her that most librarians were earthen. The lesson was clear, though: his kinsmen would side with the rhens over him. Harsh, but reality. And the sad part—he hadn’t even realized he was being cheated.

  Jenne returned to the library and repeated word-for-word what the fae had instructed. He had planned to retreat at the first sign of resistance, but to his surprise, the librarians offered none. One even whispered to his colleague that they did not want to deal with Mariel again, and guessed Jenne must have spoken to the Lady Balancer, judging by the authority in his tone.

  He sat on the short stone stairs that led to her glass door. With his back to the door, knees raised, the book rested on his lap. The fae felt closer than physically possible—as if she were breathing down his neck, hands on his shoulders. In reality, she was standing behind the glass.

  “Why do the words twist like that?” Jenne asked, turning the pages. “Do you see what I see?”

  “This book was written in Aren,” she said. “What you’re reading—or struggling to read—is Rheina’s handwriting.”

  “Rheina?” Jenne trembled, overcome with awe. He had a holy book on his lap and had to be careful not to drop it. No wonder his fingers curled at the edges of the pages. Rheina’s writing. And he had assumed it was by one of the Sorels.

  “It’s an odd language,” the fae said. “No one, alive or dead, can read it unless they have a certain relationship with God.”

  “Oh…” The crushing weight of disappointment fell on Jenne. Not to brag, but he had recently thought he was special to Rheina, being the first earthen ascender.

  “I hear worshippers speak in Aren at church sometimes.”

  “When people speak in tongues?” asked Jenne. “Is that how it is?”

  “It is exactly like that.”

  “I have aunts and uncles who do that at church,” said Jenne. “My brother made fun of them.”

  “This is the written version.”

  “Can you read it?”

  “Yes,” she said, offended that he had asked.

  His ears had never been prepared for anything like this. The fae would first read in a foreign tongue and then summarize what she had read. Jenne spent hours with her, missing lunch but never going hungry.

  It was a story about the first Sorels, a lineage that began with Lady Yuna. Her descendants travelled east after being banished from their homeland. They first settled in Frey, a nation south of Henrikia, but moved after falling out with its people. The Sorels then moved to Henrikia after Rheina agreed to take Shamel Sorel as his wife. From there, they climbed the Henrikian ranks, becoming one of the most powerful families in the nation.

  “Rheina left out the part where he exiled Shamel to Arden when she caught him in bed with their daughter,” said the fae.

  Jenne pretended he hadn’t heard what the fae said and flipped the pages until he found what he wanted. There were many hexes illustrated by sketches that circled and refused to remain constant.

  “I met a professor at New Crest, and he told me Sovisansel was the most powerful spell any ascender could cast. I want to know if it’s true.”

  “You don’t need a book to tell you that,” she said. “Any spell that commands the sun to burn nations to ash is the most powerful spell in the Living World.”

  “But why doesn’t Schemel use it to win all her wars? If I could cast a spell like that—”

  “You would?” she asked. “You’re more of a Sorel than I thought.”

  “No,” Jenne lied. “I wouldn’t. But I would remind my enemies that I could.”

  Her comforting presence fled Jenne. Now it felt like there was a glass barrier between them.

  “Varmel Sorel commanded the sun to destroy the City of Frey because the people hated the Sorels and wanted them out of their land. He used Sovisansel to torch the city, forming the burned land you call the UCL.”

  “That’s not true,” said Jenne. “Frennie’s death cursed the land. She is the reason the UCL is barren.”

  She scoffed, planting her hands on her hips. “What does a measly sorceress’ death have to do with a peninsula’s worth of damage? Frennie’s death turned some of your ancestors into trees and triggered the deadliest war of the second century—but that’s beside the point. Thorel also destroyed Arden with Sovisansel once he deemed the Swayer’s March a significant threat. My point is, Schemel would cast the spell if cornered, but she chooses not to because of the repercussions.”

  “The international courts would punish her.”

  “The principles of magic would punish her,” she said. “Casting Sovi comes at a price.”

  “What price?”

  “Let me out, and I’ll tell you.”

  “I’m not that interested,” said Jenne, smiling back at her. To his surprise, it was already evening. He closed the book, feeling the ache in his back. He hadn’t stretched in a long time.

  “Are you leaving?” she asked once he was back in the grass.

  “I have to,” he said. “Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll be at church.”

  “After everything you’ve learned about Rheina?” she asked. “How do you still see him as holy?”

  Jenne shrugged. “I’ve had my struggles with the faith, but He’s still the only God I know.” The fae looked hurt. She’d taken it more personally than he expected.

  Throughout the church service, his mind wandered to the garden and the time he’d spent with the faerie. A sickening feeling stirred within him whenever he recalled how their last encounter had ended. He wanted to run back to her and apologize, but why apologize for defending God? She wasn’t a good person. He shouldn’t associate with evil.

  He planned to wait until Saturday to visit her again, but the urge proved too strong. He returned to the forest, finding her on a floor mat, cross-legged and knitting. Her skin was browner and brighter in the daylight, as he had seen the other day. Just like then, when he had accidentally caught her in a translucent nightgown, this time she wore something equally revealing: a skirt made of flowers that made him uncomfortable by how short it was, and a top that left her belly and arms bare. She noticed him staring but showed no embarrassment.

  “You came back,” she said, her blue-grey eyes shimmering. “Look at what I’m making.” She waved it in front of him. It was a scarf she was knitting for him—for December.

  “I might not be here in December,” said Jenne. “I should be done with Se Fina before then.”

  She picked up her knitting again. “You might be a Gaverian by December, but you’ll return to Se Fina sooner or later.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “What are you talking about?” Jenne snorted.

  “Your ripper power won’t train itself,” she said. “Once the school finds a competent Gate Ripper to tutor you, you’ll be back—and we’ll be together again.”

  “I’m not following,” said Jenne. “I’m a crafter, not a ripper.” He held up a dagger he’d crafted for her to see.

  “You’re a ripper as well,” she said. “Ask anyone.”

  How ridiculous did she want to sound? Imagine someone walking up and, as casually as possible, pointing out the third eye you’d had in the back of your head all along. Jenne’s neutral expression was so funny to the fae girl that she laughed. He thought she’d say it was a joke—but she never did.

  “Hybrids exist,” she said, kneeling and puffing vapor onto the glass pane. Using a finger, she traced the six hexes of ascension and instructed Jenne to stand behind them. He did, and only the crafter symbol flashed blue.

  “See?” he snapped.

  She laughed. “I was wrong. Imagine how shocked your master would be if you teleported in the middle of training.”

  “Nothing surprises Tenrad,” said Jenne, regaining his composure. “He’s a rock. And he’s mean, too. Sometimes I wish I were the best at what I do so he’d ease up. Forward with firm feet. Strike harder, Aster! Be a butcher!”

  She laughed again. “Use less muscle and more magic. Blessed Fonifa knows you don’t have much of the former. Gallants rely on strength to win battles. Anyone who relies heavily on magic can defeat a Gallant easily.”

  “I use spells all the time,” he complained. “Haven’t had any luck so far.”

  “There are spells meant for the classroom, and there are spells meant for the battlefield. You can learn the proper ones from me—the ones that will never lose another fight. Have you heard of deep spells?”

  She turned to the window and asked him to follow. Extending one foot forward, she outstretched a hand. Jenne mirrored her. “Now, concentrate your power in your hands,” she said. “You should feel ascension flowing through your bloodstream, manifesting into substance. Clear your mind. Don’t let anything fester in your thoughts. Focus on my voice, but whatever you do, do not think.”

  He tapped into the void, dwelling in it. He imagined the universe as a dark, empty place—without sound, light, or heat.

  “Steady…”

  Drifting through space, further away from everything, never returning home.

  “Steady…”

  Sucked into an abyss, free from life’s meagre tasks. He wished to remain there forever.

  “Steady…”

  Turning round and round. Alone and free.

  “Release!”

  Jenne sprung his fist open. A force thrust him backward, and he slammed back-first into a tree. He wheezed, waiting for someone—or something—to screw his head back onto his body. He wanted to vomit first, then sleep in it. Groaning, he opened his eyes, squinting at the sparkling lights.

  When his senses returned, he found himself standing at the end of a trail of crystal shards sprouting from the earth, in the direction the invisible force had thrown him. Massive golden structures gleamed in the sun.

  He looked into his empty palms, wondering if it had come from him. The fae’s teeth were set and bright as she applauded, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The sheer delight she expressed reminded him of Ezra. He doubted the two were related. Maybe this was how all faeries behaved.

  They spent hours talking about whatever came to Jenne’s mind, watching the crystals dissipate into the air as particles. “With power like this, why do Gaverians bother mining for astaphite?” he asked.

  “Deep spells will drain your strength,” she said. “Are you not hungry?”

  “Honestly, I don’t feel much when I’m here. How about you? Do you eat? Or sleep? I don’t see you cooking anything.”

  “I’m fae,” she said. “We don’t eat food.”

  Ezra’s belly had rumbled all the time. This fae was lying to him again. But why? Her answer sounded logical. Unless Ezra had been the one to lie to their family all along. Did Ezra eat and sleep just to fit in? It felt like something Ezra would do.

  “Jenne,” she said softly. “Are you alright? You look disturbed.”

  “It must be what you said. I’m a bit dizzy.”

  “Come inside. Rest on my lap.” To do that, he’d need to open the door. He was tired enough to contemplate it, but a single thread of wisdom in his mind nudged him away.

  For sparring sessions with Tenrad, they trained on a circular stone platform elevated a few steps above the sea. The Moratte Sea was never calm; it always brewed storms and threatened to wreck the coast. Jenne and Hamis faced the sea together. The earthen sat on their ice chest, while the marker sat on the stone floor, feet dangling over the drop below.

  Tenrad was late today, unlike always. Jenne’s mind drifted toward the place he longed for these days. He tried hard not to think about the fae, but his effort only brought numbness and apathy. The sea breeze no longer touched his skin, the sun shone too dully, and the birds’ songs sounded bland compared to the fae’s voice.

  Hamis glanced at him occasionally, thinking Jenne hadn’t noticed. The last time he did, Jenne asked, “What?”

  “Nothing,” said Hamis. Silence drifted between them again, but Jenne knew he’d hear more. “I miss you, that’s all. I barely see you these days. I’ve tried giving you space, but I’m worried…” His voice faded into the background.

  No. Hamis was his friend. Jenne focused his attention on the marker. “…She’s been bothering me for weeks. Look, on any other day, I wouldn’t even tell you about it, but I think you should consider it.”

  “Ashey?” asked Jenne. “Does she want something?”

  Hamis’ shoulders slumped. “Isse,” he said, exhausted. “She’s having a party with a few friends. She wants you to be there.” He swallowed something bitter and added, “She’s going to kill me for this, but she’s into you. Why don’t you two go out and have some fun? It will mean the world to her.”

  What did Jenne know about fun? What did he know about Isse? What did Isse know about him? Nothing more than that he was a spectacle to marvel at. The moment she realized there wasn’t much to him other than his being earthen, she would lose interest, leaving him feeling unwanted. Why should he satisfy her vain needs?

  Because Hamis was a friend, and he did not want to disappoint him.

  “Sure,” Jenne murmured.

  “Great,” Hamis said. “I’ve given her your number already.”

  The smell of burning iron shot up Jenne’s nose. He turned to find Tenrad descending the narrow walkway to the training ground. The large man was not in a friendly mood that morning, his training bag slumped over his shoulder. The two boys approached, and Tenrad dropped the bag onto the ground.

  “Sorry for being late. I had to fetch my wife from the supermarket. She wouldn’t stop arguing with the manager over the price of bread. Not that it matters to you. You’re young and fed with state funds. Veterans like me must go hungry after all we’ve done for the country.”

  Jenne and Hamis assumed stances. Tenrad walked around the platform until he was as far away as possible from them. “Today’s lesson is short.” He stretched out one hand, and a portal opened beneath him. A charred creature tossed an axe through it, which the old Gaverian caught by the shaft.

  “Imagine the floor is lava. Once your foot touches the ground, you’re dead and miss out on points this week. Let us set up the environment for conduct.”

  Jenne clasped his hands together, and a flood of ascension washed across the floor. He formed a golden image of flowing lava. Hamis snapped both fingers, and the boulders surrounding their area shot out of the ground, slamming onto the platform. Thud after thud, they landed atop each other, forming pillars for Jenne and Tenrad to climb. Hamis sat cross-legged, suspended in midair.

  “No offense, old man, but what’s the point of this?” Hamis asked Tenrad. “It’s impossible for you to bring me down.”

  “I have no rule against speaking,” Tenrad said, “but that doesn’t mean you must say whatever comes to mind.”

  “As long as there are no rules—” Tenrad threw his axe at Hamis. Spinning through the air, the blade sparked violet, burning brighter as it sped faster. Then it veered off course, heading for the sea. Hamis laughed at Tenrad for missing him so badly.

  A portal to Chaos opened at Hamis’ flank, and another axe shot out, speeding toward his neck. The marker raised his left hand, halting it midair. “See, it’s impossible—”

  A burning man leapt from a portal beneath Hamis’ feet, grabbing him by the legs. Hamis gasped, but it was over in a blink. The charred figure slammed him against a pillar. Broken, Hamis slipped and fell into the lava pool.

  “Hamis!” Jenne called from his pillar. “Are you okay?”

  “Behind you…”

  A whooshing axe came at Jenne. He crafted twin blades and slashed at its head. It clanked and deflected, and then another swung from behind. They spun at him from all directions. He ducked and rolled—careful not to fall! A shadow fell over him. A portal opened above, and a burned man emerged, mouth gaping, teeth nasty.

  Jenne screamed, pouncing from his pillar to another. Tenrad heaved, landing behind him. He struck a knee into Jenne’s spine. Jenne flew off the pillar, facing imminent demise. Grunting, he slapped his hands together, and strings of golden light shot out, latching onto two pillars. He swung away, landing against them. An axe slashed through the ropes, and another came at his hand. Clashing with the weapon, he leaned left and right, narrowly missing the swings that hacked against the stone.

  Tenrad formed a sign. Black chains dropped from a portal above, each ending with a massive hook. He wrapped one around his hand, dragging it across the ground. Jenne knew he ought to attack—but how?

  The wind howled as the chain swung toward him. He ducked; it missed his throat by inches. Tenrad grasped a boulder with his hook and hurled it upward. Jenne leapt away, bounding for another pillar. The boulder crashed into him, but then he pounced aside, swinging with ropes as more stones smashed across the platform.

  He dashed around, slicing through flying debris with his twin daggers, hoping to dart behind Tenrad. With nearly all the pillars destroyed, he leapt onto the one of the last boulders atop the lava. Clasping his hands together and crisscrossing his fingers, ascension surged through him. He exploded off the boulder, streaking through the air but then he came crashing down. Knees burning, he seethed. Pressing his back against the boulder, he throbbed with pain—but he was fine. There was no blood. He checked his pocket; the astaphite stone was intact.

  Wait. What was this? He’d never done those things.

  Gasping, he snapped his head up and saw his master descending, mighty, wielding two axes stretched behind him. Tenrad roared and swung them down—this would be the end of the earthen.

  Jenne closed his eyes. In the void, he was free of all troubles. Ascension surged into his left hand. Not too early, not too late. He released it, and a blast of energy sent Tenrad flying. Crystals of light streaked after him, tossing him through space. The boulder beneath Jenne cracked, and he crashed down. Hamis and Jenne rushed to their feet, watching Tenrad slam into the hillside, carving a hole into the grass.

  Hamis slowly turned, his grey eyes wide with surprise. He placed his hands on his head, about to speak, when another explosion muffled his voice. Tenrad rocketed down from the hillside, slamming onto the platform, furious. His eyes burned hot violet, and his fists cracked. Jenne’s heart pounded, stepping back.

  “Who taught you that?” the Gaverian demanded.

  “No one,” Jenne muttered.

  “Don’t lie to me,” growled Tenrad. He closed the distance, stepping closer until he was just within reach. “I’m asking again. And you better tell me the truth.”

  “I learned it alone,” Jenne said. “I thought…”

  Steam rolled out of Tenrad’s nostrils. He stopped, steadying Jenne’s face. God, help me. Help me, God, help me. The world dimmed. Tenrad spoke, but Jenne could not hear a word.

  Hamis approached, horror etched on his face. Someone else had arrived. Tenrad frowned at the newcomer, and when they spoke, Jenne realized it was Regilon. What is Ren Regal doing here? What’s happening? Why am I falling? Am I dying again?

  Jenne lay on the ground, cold air oozing from his mouth. He looked directly into the sun, but felt no pain.