Time slowed.

  Adonis had one foot on the platform, the other on the walkway. The feeling that beckoned him to the top of the tower tugged at his being. Nostalgic cold prickled his skin; his instincts told him to pursue the source of the pain behind his eyes.

  ‘In dolore, claritas.’

  But his heart was seized by the sight of his companions urging him forward. Their promise, remembered: they’d escape the horrors of Lidantium together. So, he lifted his foot off the walkway.

  Then, his eyes caught movement. A small blur of brown flew to the top of the Spine. Stray feathers flitted down - they belonged to a sparrow. The pain urged him: ascend.

  Beside him: Duxus Gallus turned back. The very moment Pavonikos’ words entered their minds, the Tribunus was already far from their reach, riding towards the winged abomination that wore their Bellaxus’ face. The soldiers cried out to their leader in vain - Pavonikos had already made up their mind before they all boarded the platform.

  Gallus found himself caught between past and present; memories of leaders past trickled out through the cracked wards in his mind. Faint afterimages overlapped Pavonikos: first, a woman and lastly, Laevinus. Their final words echoed in his mind.

  He made a vow. He may have failed his Bellaxii of past, but he refused to let Pavonikos fall.

  Just as the platform began to descend, Gallus and Adonis pushed themselves back onto the Spine. They had not sensed each other’s movements - urgency narrowed their vision and all they could see was the object of their separate goals blind to all else. They rushed in opposite directions.

  “Ado!”

  Valerian’s words were drowned out by the cries of the others. Rufinus leapt across to catch his friend, but Adonis cloak narrowly slipped from his reach. Valerian’s concentration broke. Possessed by the fear of losing his brothers again, he left all sense behind and followed after Rufinus. Valerian landed at the edge of the walkway. The ground beneath his heels crumbled. He flailed, falling backwards.

  Suddenly, a strong hand gripped his arm and pulled him forward - Rufinus had caught him in the nick of time. They both stumbled onto the Spine. Looking back, they saw that their chance of escape had descended too far for them to jump down without risking death.

  “Damnare, Val! What were you thinking?!” Rufinus said, eyes ablaze.

  Valerian’s breaths were shallow and he struggled to regain his faculties enough to reform his mental shields. Though speechless, the look in his eyes told Rufinus everything he needed to know.

  “I don’t want to lose either of you again.”

  Rufinus’ gaze softened. He felt a twinge of guilt for his outburst. But then, a small spark of anger ignited in his chest as he thought of their missing friend.

  ‘Why? What are you doing Ado?!’

  But he shook those thoughts aside and pulled Valerian up with him as they surveyed the situation. As the other calmed, he could feel his emotions being contained again, mind unclouded from his temper.

  They were at an impasse: on one side, they saw Adonis ascending towards the tip of the Spine. Downwards, they saw their Duxus running after the Tribunus, both descending towards certain death. The Princidaimon had opened itself up, eyes and tendrils poised to consume their leader whole. From here, it was clear now what the Tribunus intended to do; this was no mere act of suicide - they were buying time for everyone else to escape! But whatever plan the Tribunus had made with their Monoceros, they couldn’t carry it out alone.

  Rufinus gritted his teeth, a bit of his frustration flickered past the forming Soothing wards, “Come on. The Tribunus needs us.”

  “B-but what about Ado?”

  “If we don’t stop that Daimon, none of us are going home!”

  They could only hope that Adonis didn’t meet his end in whatever lay above them. Both hurried downwards, preparing their spells.

  Tribunus Pavonikos was close to the Princidaimon. They hoped that their cries would reach the former Magister within and for a moment, they thought they did. But then, the beast propelled itself forward with a single wingbeat. There was a flash of light and a glassy ring reverberated throughout the corrupted Magisterium.

  The Princidaimon was held in suspension. Nethun’s horn and Pavonikos’ eyes glowed vividly with Ichorous colour as they poured their Focus into the shield enveloping themselves. Tendrils of flesh spread across the dome, branching out into tiny roots, each tipped with destructive spells. Tiny cracks formed and disappeared as steed and rider held fast against the assault.

  Pavonikos was forced to stare at their former Bellaxus. They could see the faint flickers of consciousness in his hollowed eyes. They could be healed! They could be saved! With all the knowledge of Paradis, Pavonikos wanted nothing more than to tear Laevinus from his flesh prison and heal him cell by cell. They could free him with the counterspell!

  Though Pavonikos’ mind raced with all of these ways to save their Bellaxus, nothing could extinguish the glaring truth of their situation. Pavonikos knew that the moment they closed their eyes, they and Nethuns would be dead before the spell was even cast.

  “Bellaxus, fight it!” Pavonikos strained, “Let’s go home together!”

  For a moment, that was enough to bring Laevinus back to consciousness. Beads of gold streamed down from his defeated eyes.

  “… kharissima, forgive me…”

  The Princidaimon’s wings wrapped around the golden dome, pressing each of its stolen eyes against the surface. Within all of them, Laevinus’ spell was forming. All too late, Nethuns and Pavonikos knew they had made a mistake. Regardless if they both kept their eyes open or closed them, they were dead.

  “Tribunus, shield your eyes!” Nethuns screamed, all three of his eyes glowing so intensely that his ichor began to pour from their edges.

  Pavonikos held their gaze, frozen by uncertainty. Nethuns had hoped to sacrifice themselves - but would it even work? They braced themselves for what came as they were enveloped entirely.

  Then, came the crack of a whip. A great lash of light tore around the wings. The Princidaimon retracted itself from the dome. Tendrils flailed and returned to its source. Gallus flicked his eyes, directing his bright whip once more. It tangled around the wings and torso of the Daimon, wrapping to conceal every one of its eyes. The Princidaimon was bound and mangled, flesh folded over itself like a horrifying cocoon. With the whip’s searing glow came the myriad screams of every assimilated victim. Its strength and resistance to the Daimon’s straining increased as Gallus poured his focus into the spell.

  “Tribunus, get back!” he called out as he held his gaze upon the Princidaimon.

  Nethuns quickly worked his legs. His eyes spent, he galloped blindly towards Gallus’ voice. His rider came to their senses first. When Pavonikos saw that they were headed for the ledge, they tugged at Nethuns’ reigns, turning him back toward the Duxus. They caught Gallus by the arm, helping him mount Nethuns.

  Even with Gallus’ concentration torn away, his bindings of light held fast around the Princidaimon - but, it was only a matter of time before the whip broke. Wasting none of that time, Nethuns galloped upwards as fast as he could. His sight recovered as Pavonikos healed him. The Tribunus looked over the side of the walkway, seeing that the platform carrying their troops were still halfway down the spine.

  “Duxus, we must buy the others time!”

  Gallus looked over his shoulder, understanding immediately. The moment the Princidaimon had snapped out of its restraints, its wings opened up, ready to release an onslaught of spells. A few of its eyes caught sight of the escaping Imysion and cast its dark fire upon their shields.

  Gallus launched several spears of light and flame at the Princidaimon’s wings. At once, it abandoned its attack and its wings rose upwards. Gallus’ spears shattered upon the Daimon’s impenetrable shield. It returned with its own attacks, launching a myriad of spells at them. Pavonikos’s eyes flashed just in time to protect their small group with a shield of light.

  Nethuns followed, forming silvery droplets with which Gallus’ attacks were channeled through, reflected, then refracted into several more spears - they were weaker than Gallus spears, but they spread out more evenly across their enemy’s shields. Upon meeting their mark, diluted knowledge flashed in violent pulses, confusing all that bore witness to them. The Princidaimon slowed in its ascent, shielding its remaining senses from the assault.

  Then, fire engulfed the Princidaimon’s entire form. Looking behind theirself, Pavonikos saw two familiar faces from the 13th. Rufinus held his burning gaze even as his steps faltered from the uneven terrain. By his side, Valerian no longer concentrated on maintaining mental shielding. Instead, he channeled all of his Focus on maintaining their physical shields. At this rate, they’d be feeding more Daimons that hung around Roya.

  “Hurry, get behind me!” Pavonikos called out to them.

  They quickly obeyed, joining the rest of the group within the miniature Golden Dome. This wasn’t meant to happen. Pavonikos never wanted to sacrifice anymore lives for their sake. But they’d have to address their insubordination later. Whilst their soldiers continued attacking the Princidaimon, Pavonikos searched for another way to slow it down. Looking over to the side, the rest of the Imysion still had a long way to go.

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

  Whilst it was distracted, Pavonikos looked to the walls of scorched flesh that made up the spine then at the disappearing wounds sustained by the Princidaimon. An idea formed in their mind.

  “Duxus, Phonikos. Focus your attacks on that single breach!”

  The image of Pavonikos' target flashed in their mind in a blink. A crack in the Daimon's defenses, barely mended. They focused their attacks on the weakened point that had been kept unusually thin compared to the rest of the recovered shield. Pavonikos noticed it - this was Laevinus' doing; as the wings flickered, they saw a glint of his eyes flashing faintly within the darkness of those terrible wings.

  Gallus sent another bolt forward like a harpoon. The piercing rope of light hooked itself on the edge of the shield's breach. With one yank, the Princidaimon was pulled towards them, a piece of its shield rent asunder. Through the hole that was left, leapt Rufinus’ ravaging flames. With its scorching, tearing bites, a great burnt-gold hole gushed with smoke that smelled foul with burnt flesh.

  The fire tore through one of the Daimon’s wings. The cries of its multitude victims rang out, but the soldiers were unshaken - had it not been for Valerian’s Soothing, they would have all been paralysed by the noise and their resolve shattered with it. Pavonikos remained steadfast, focusing intensely at the new wound and the surrounding damage to the spine. That twisted flesh that made up the beast and the structure was once of Tirra. The Tribunus could still see the fundamental shapeforms; they could be broken and rewoven.

  They knew full well that one could not undo change, but invoke another to heal the damage rent. They cursed themselves for their limitations, for not knowing enough to purge the Daimonic corruption and rebuild the bodies of the victims. But, they could mend what they did understand - it would buy the others time. An ichorous spell flashed in Pavonikos’ eyes. Muscle and sinew grew from damaged flesh, intertwining and weaving together, forcibly merging wing with walls.

  The Princidaimon halted its attacks and pulled against its errant flesh. It began trying to cleave itself free from the spine but Pavonikos poured more Focus into their spell. Nethuns joined them in turn whilst Gallus and Rufinus continued their assault to create more wounds in the Daimon.

  In its last ditch effort, it opened up its remaining wings. Laevinus’ cries rang out louder than the others, sending images of mess of ultraviolet lines that kept him partially imprisoned within himself - a warning.

  “Mind Trap! Prepare yourselves!” Pavonikos barked.

  They mustered the little remaining Focus they had left to prepare the counterspell, when the Mind Trap had shattered over them, they were already feeling too exhausted to continue their assault. The Princidaimon had begun tearing at its flesh bindings, trying not to damage the spine too much in its attempts to free itself.

  Pavonikos reached around to take a full swig of Focus potion whilst they still had time, only to find they had run out.

  “Tribunus, here!”

  Rufinus tossed them a vial - his only vial. He was aware he was low on Focus and yet Rufinus continued materialising torrents of fire through the cracks of their enemy’s mending shields. It seemed that the Princidaimon was exhausted too, as it had taken a defensive position once again. Only a few of its eyes had been kept open, focused on maintaining shields and counteracting Rufinus’ attacks. Where its eyes were closed, the Daimon was left vulnerable.

  Pavonikos drank half of the vial, giving Nethuns the other half. Their unrelenting healing combined with Rufinus and Gallus’ constant wounding had started wrapping the Princidaimon in a tight, unyielding cocoon of calloused flesh and bone. But they were starting to lose their concentration and they were only down to one vial of Focus which was held by Corvus. They could not maintain this cocoon forever when they were losing so much energy whilst the Princidaimon took this opportunity to recover itself.

  The flames in Phonikos’ eyes had become mere sparks of embers. He wasn’t the only one whose eyes were drooping; though Gallus had remained quiet so far, he too was showing signs of faltering. And their Soother, whose eyes were closed, seemed close to passing out for their prolonged maintenance over their mental shielding and the earlier counterspell.

  “Retreat upwards. Quickly!” Pavonikos answered.

  The Militi were hesitant, “Tribunus-“

  “Don’t you dare disobey my orders again. Go!”

  Finally they went, breaking their concentration. Staggering hurriedly, they ascended up to the top of the spine. Only the Duxus remained stubbornly by Pavonikos’ side.

  “Duxus, go. Nethuns and I will slow the Daimon down.”

  “No,” Nethuns cut in. “You go, Belaxus.”

  The Monoceros’ words struck Pavonikos heavily. It was as if Nethuns had just admitted that their leader was lost.

  “Nethuns!“

  Nethuns reared back, throwing Pavonikos off.

  “I still have a debt to repay, Floriana. You do not. Now go do what you promised.”

  Before Pavonikos could say or do anything more, Gallus pulled them towards him and slapped them against the face. Stunned, they were paralysed on the spot.

  “Stop this foolishness at once! Do you want their sacrifice to be in vain?!”

  Clarity and sense returned to Pavonikos. Gritting their teeth, eyes hard, they went with Gallus, ascending up the spine to join the rest of their group. Over the side of the spine, the rest of the Imysion had long gone - they had succeeded in saving them. Taking one last look over their shoulder, Pavonikos caught a glimpse of Nethuns galloped towards the flesh prison encasing the Princidaimon. The newly-made Bellaxus tore their eyes away as friend charged third-eye first towards the final remains of their father.

  Nethuns’ glowing third eye pierced through the shields of the Princidaimon. He put all of his focus into a constant cycle of destruction and reconstruction so much that his own eyes bled.

  He drove himself further in, the flesh beginning to surround him. He could feel them merge with his own wounds. More smaller streaks of bone lashed against his skin purposefully; if the Princidaimon deigned to consume him too, he would make sure he’d buy the others enough time to escape.

  Deeper, Nethuns was surrounded on all sides. The boundaries between himself and his enemy had fallen apart. When his other eyes faltered, his horn - his third eye remained perpetually open, steadfast in carrying out its purpose. Its golden glow was the only thing illuminating the inside of the coccoon he had trapped himself and the Princidaimon in.

  In Roya, Nethuns searched for his rider in the fused Essences that had become of the Daimon’s victims. Piercing through the fog of nightmares and memories, he finally found what remained of Laevinus.

  He was a lone foal again, stepping out of the Sea of Sorrows to meet the boy that visited this place every Blink. Out of the ruins of his fallen home. Their home. Both had only been babes when Atlanaril fell, and by Magus’ wisdom they had avoided the fates of their people on that fateful day, but the memory of that day had been etched into their very Essences. From the beginning of their lives, the stories of their lives had been stained with Ichor. They were brothers. Through every tragedy, every broken promise and heartbreak, they stormed through unabating.

  The golden tide had risen to their ankles. They were steed and Magister marked with all of their scars. Laevinus embraced Nethuns, pressing his forehead upon the bridge of his muzzle.

  “Are they safe?” Laevinus asked.

  “For now. I can only buy them so much time.”

  “Then we must not waste it.”

  Laevinus guided Nethun’s head downward, until the tip of the Monoceros’ horn was pointed directly at the one of his Marcasite eyes. The shape of his deadliest spell was reflected through each lens until they reached Nethun’s third eye.

  “You know what we must do.”

  Nethuns nodded. Both shared the heaviness in each other’s hearts. With what little of themselves they had left, they planned to wound their host. Even if this act didn’t send all of theirselves to Paradis, at the very least, they’d have weakened the Princidaimon enough to help Pavonikos and the others survive.

  “Til the end, adelphos…”

  Nethuns tore his way back into Tirra, cutting through scar tissue and new flesh with his hooves until he was face to face with Laevinus. His eyes were open, readied with the light of Paradis. Nethuns prepared the same spell.

  Light filled the cavernous space. Everyone of the Princidaimon’s eyes that gazed upon it were overwhelmed with searing knowledge. Intense white light burned away the brothers’ sights.

  In a flash, they were gone. The Princidaimon stilled from within its prison.

  Adonis entered the room at the tip of the spine, panting heavily as the pain in his head had reached terrible heights. It was harder to search for what he was looking for now that he was so close, but he concentrated, looking around with strained movements. Amidst the wrinkled flesh maze that covered the floor and walls, there was a cage-like frame that made up the roof. It was all that was left of the room’s original purpose. Seeing the hanging mangled remains of twitching wings and spines in between the gaps of the dome confirmed his suspicions.

  Though Adonis had never been to the top of Lumis’ Magisterium, his home had a similar structure; every important building in Ludceta had an aviary to house their Patrons and the Magisteriums were no exception to this rule. Birds saw deeper into Paradis, imparting sacred information that the most trained of scholars could not yet reach. So trusted were the birds in their advice and wisdom that they were equally revered as High Magisters and Scholars.

  No wonder the Princidaimon had wings. Like everyone else in this building, the birds were trapped here. But there was little time for Adonis to investigate or speculate on what happened further. Adonis felt as if his eyes and brain were close to splitting open. He resisted the urge to collapse into the pain and instead trudged on. What he sought was close - it lay to the center of the room.

  He happened upon a trail of feathers. Not the kind that were strewn with ichor and viscera. These were recently dropped. Brown, white and black; the distinct feathers of a sparrow. They and pain led to the same point.

  There was a great pillar of flesh and at its base, there was a fissure cutting deep, beckoning him in. Laying eyes upon it brought him to one knee. It was then that he knew he had found the right place.

  As he got up and stumbled forward past the boundary, his thoughts were of his friends, but he did not hesitate. Answers lay ahead. A door to be opened. A stranger in need. He disappeared deep into the pillar.

  There was a familiarity in all of this; he could easily replace the pain with the comforting memory of cold. He did not need to waste his focus to illuminate his way so he kept his eyes shut to the world, relying on sensations. Though blind, he could rely on the searing in his eyes to lead his steps.

  What was sealed so long ago was beginning to open with each step. It was not a conscious act - he had long forgotten how to use what was taken from him. Now, he could vaguely see out through those small slits, though his sight was too vague and bleary to be useful. They needed to be unsealed fully.

  Then, he collapsed into an open cavity, the pain no longer bearable. With his legs paralysed, he opened his eyes to Tirra, finding himself in a room harshly illuminated with pulsing ultraviolet vessels. He scarcely adjusted to the brightness, but he could make out two shadows at the center.

  Half a human figure lay encased within glowing flesh. Within its embrace was another human: a woman. As he crawled forward, he recognized both of their features. The sparrow-brown hair and the soft curves of their oval faces. There were only slight differences between Saorise and the other Draekslanni trapped in the Daimonic structure, but undoubtedly, they were related.

  But what was the unknown woman doing in such a place?

  He noticed a glowing tendril attached to the back of Saoirse’s neck. He followed it’s source straight to the spine of the other woman were many other similar protrusions were found, running through various parts of the room like Filum meant for channeling lightning. Upon grabbing it, the unknown sister opened her eyes - the same deep ultramarine. He could see her fighting for her awareness as her mouth trembled open.

  “Mil’dthoile…” she pleaded in a tongue Adonis had long buried, “… Please… Save her…”

  Her eyes directly met his own. The shape of a spell entered his mind. He cast it and the tendril in his hand loosened its grip on Saoirse’s neck. He yanked it off, closing his eyes to break her out of the Mind Trap that kept her asleep. She was safe and unwounded, but his sealed eyes still called to him. His sight fell upon the tendril in his hand: the key.