Four days had passed, and Catherine was ready to continue their raid. As usual, her first stop was the warehouse, with Barrel trotting faithfully at her side. At Ivarr’s insistence, they had spent the past few days familiarizing themselves with the enchantments recorded in the book.

  Catherine had assured him that once the combat rings were complete, there would be no need for chanting. The spells they needed were already engraved directly into the crystal. That was the entire point of the rings, after all—to aid those who could not use magic on their own, those who struggled to do so, or simply to make using magic easier and faster.

  “I mean, can you imagine chanting every time you need to fire at an enemy?” she remarked. “You’ll get your head cut off before you can finish.”

  Ivarr, however, pressed on learning regardless. The reason, he admitted, was pride. He wanted to show off once he returned to Svartalf. As it turned out, his weakness, small stature, and lack of magical knowledge had made him an object of ridicule back home. Even his own relatives treated him with contempt when they acknowledged him at all.

  “I don’t just want to show them I can blast someone with a fireball,” Ivarr said at one point. “I want to show them I know how to make one.”

  Spending more time with him, Catherine began to understand why he had ventured so far from home, why he had traveled to Westrald with barely any knowledge of the land and almost nothing to his name. Not even the ability to defend himself with magic.

  “There’s nothing for me back there,” he added quietly at one point. “Here… no matter what happens, at least I know I tried to be more.”

  That day, after he finished the breakfast Catherine had brought him, the two headed to the Forgemaster’s shop to retrieve their combat rings. Thankfully, the master was present, and the rings were ready. One bore a green stone, crafted for Catherine. The other held a red crystal, meant for Ivarr. He also gave them a parchment—a short list of spells alongside the word to activate each one. As thanks, Ivarr presented the smith with a large chunk of crystal he had procured from the cove, having gone there again to gather more.

  The Forgemaster smiled and patted him on the head. Strangely to Ivarr, he didn’t feel offended at being treated like a young boy.

  They had barely stepped outside when Catherine’s bracelet began to glow. At the same time, her ring shimmered, dissolving into light before flowing seamlessly into the bracelet itself.

  “Another upgrade, I guess,” Catherine muttered.

  “Fascinating,” Thalia said. “It appears the ring contained eight engraved spells.”

  She went on to list them: weapon conjuring, elemental summoning, and even healing among them.

  “Felgar didn’t have many resources,” Catherine explained as they headed for the cave. “My grandfathers had to find ways to make the most of whatever we had.”

  “So that’s why you use rings instead of the staves most mages rely on,” Ivarr said.

  Catherine nodded. “The plan was to make them a primary export. But after the economic collapse, we no longer had the means to acquire enough resources to make more. Moreover, fighting wasn’t exactly anyone’s concern during that time.”

  She paused, then added, “And like I said, all the spells we needed for the raid were engraved in the rings. You just have to activate them with a thought.”

  “How do I do that?” Ivarr asked.

  Catherine showed him the list from the master and pointed at the word beside each spell. “Put the ring on. Once you’ve bonded with it, open your palm and say the word in your mind.”

  Once they reached the forest, Ivarr tested his ring for the first time.

  He raised his palm, focused his will, uttered Prima in his mind, and conjured a fireball, hurling it toward a dead tree. Flames licked across the bark—only for him to immediately counter it, blasting the blaze with cold mist.

  He laughed, jumping in place, barely able to contain himself. Overcome with joy, Ivarr hugged Catherine tightly. This time, she didn’t protest.

  “If you two are finished celebrating,” Thalia said dryly, “we still have a conch shell to retrieve.”

  Together, they made their way back toward the cave entrance. Stepping inside, they were relieved to find far fewer creatures lurking in the tunnels than before. Ivarr could only assume Catherine had dealt with most of them during their first raid. They kept walking until they reached the chamber guarded by the giant scorpion.

  Catherine raised a hand, two fingers pointed downward—Barrel’s signal.

  “Stay,” she whispered.

  The dog’s ears perked, but he obeyed, backing up behind the cracked stone lip of the doorway. He lowered himself into a crouch, tail still, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he understood exactly what kind of mistake bravery could become in a room like this.

  Catherine and Ivarr stepped through.

  The chamber beyond was wide and high, carved from ancient stone and reinforced with pillars that had once been carved with sea motifs, now worn down by time. The air tasted stale. Dry. But under it, something else lingered: the sharp, mineral scent of old chitin.

  Above the far door, the giant scorpion remained curled, nearly indistinguishable from the shadows, until Catherine’s conjured polearm glinted faintly.

  Eight eyes opened.

  A slow scrape followed, like knives dragged across rock.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “There,” Ivarr whispered, half thrilled, half terrified.

  Catherine didn’t look away. “Ready?”

  Ivarr summoned a double-sided axe. “Yes, I am.”

  Thalia hissed from Catherine’s wrist, the stone flickering faint purple. “Try not to die. I’m attached to you now—literally. I’m stuck in this room if you die in here.”

  Catherine ignored her, stepping forward just far enough into the room, and drove the blunt end of her polearm into the floor. The sound rang off the chamber walls.

  The scorpion unfolded like a nightmare deciding to stand. Its legs extended one by one, too many joints, too much mass, until it was fully spread across the wall. The pincers flexed. The tail lifted, curling slowly, its stinger gleaming like black glass.

  Catherine pointed her hammerhead up at it. “Over here!”

  The scorpion answered with a shriek and dropped. Stone cracked as it landed, the impact punching dust into the air. It scuttled forward with horrifying speed, its body low, pincers wide.

  Catherine held her ground until the last moment, then darted sideways, swinging her polearm in a wide arc. The hammer slammed into the scorpion’s left pincer.

  The blow rang like striking metal. The scorpion barely flinched. Instead, it snapped both pincers toward her, trying to catch her weapon and drag her in. Catherine twisted, letting the polearm slide through the pinch, then slammed the rear beak downward into the joint of its foreleg. The beak bit, but the exoskeleton held.

  Ivarr joined the fight and struck its side with his axe, barely denting the hard exoskeleton.

  “Its armor’s harder than the cave ones!” Ivarr shouted, voice bright with adrenaline.

  “Then stop yelling and start freezing!” Catherine shot back.

  Ivarr moved, circling fast, boots skidding on dust. He raised his palm, the red stone in his ring pulsing. A burst of ice shot outward, not a gentle frost but jagged shards that exploded across the scorpion’s flank. Crystals formed along the plates, creeping into seams.

  The scorpion jerked toward him instantly. Catherine lunged in the opposite direction, hooking the pike-tip under a plated ridge near its abdomen and yanking. The scorpion’s body shifted, just enough to expose softer segments between armor plates.

  Ivarr grinned. “Oh. That’s nasty.”

  “Focus,” Catherine warned, already retreating as the scorpion’s tail whipped around.

  The stinger shot down like a spear. Catherine threw herself backward. The stinger struck where she’d been standing, punching a deep crater into the stone and sending fractures spidering out.

  Ivarr’s grin vanished. The scorpion reared, tail lifting again. It wasn’t just fast. It was smart. It pivoted, trying to keep both of them in front of it, refusing to let either get behind.

  Catherine steadied her breath. “It’s watching our angles.”

  Ivarr swallowed. “What should we do?”

  Catherine snapped her wrist and forced power through the bracelet. Heat surged.

  A tongue of fire coiled along the hammerhead of her polearm, fed by the engraved spell like a bellows feeding a forge. She charged, and the scorpion met her head-on. Its pincers clamped toward her torso, aiming to crush. Catherine slid under the first, spun, and brought the flaming hammer down onto the second.

  This time the chitin didn’t just ring. It sizzled. The scorpion recoiled, finally reacting, pincer twitching as the heat licked into the joint. Catherine used the opening to slam the rear beak into the same spot repeatedly, each impact driving heat deeper.

  “Now!” she shouted.

  Ivarr extended his arm, eyes narrowing. The ring flashed, and a bolt of lightning snapped through the air and struck the scorched joint Catherine had softened. The scorpion spasmed violently, legs buckling for a heartbeat as electricity crawled over its body.

  Catherine didn’t waste the moment. She planted the pike-tip and vaulted, swinging her full weight into a downward strike that cracked the weakened plate. A line split across the armor. The scorpion roared, a shrill sound like metal tearing. Enraged now, it lunged for Ivarr.

  He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over loose stone. The scorpion’s pincer snapped shut inches from his chest, the impact of it closing sending a shockwave of air into his face. He threw himself aside, barely, and felt the tail’s shadow sweep over him.

  “Move!” Catherine screamed.

  Ivarr rolled. The stinger slammed down where he’d been, close enough that a shard of stone flicked up and nicked his cheek. Luckily, it only left a thin line of blood, nothing more.

  Catherine sprinted, boots hammering the floor. She brought her polearm up and hooked the scorpion’s tail mid-swing, the rear beak catching around a ridged segment.

  The scorpion yanked hard, trying to tear her weapon away. Catherine gritted her teeth and held, muscles screaming. “Ivarr, on the side!”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. He darted toward the scorpion’s exposed flank, raising both hands this time. Cold wind shot from his palms, and a thick freeze spread across the plate, turning the surrounding chitin pale and brittle. Frost crawled into the seam.

  Then he summoned lightning once again. A sharp snap of electricity struck the same spot. The exoskeleton responded like glass meeting a hammer and shattered. A chunk of armor burst outward, clattering across the floor, revealing softer, pulsing tissue beneath. Still tough, but no longer protected.

  The scorpion screamed and thrashed, tail wrenching. Catherine lost her grip and was thrown sideways, skidding across dust and scraping her forearm against stone. Just a sting, a shallow abrasion, nothing serious. She rolled to her feet anyway, heart pounding.

  Barrel barked from the doorway, one sharp warning. The scorpion turned toward Catherine again, limping now on one side, but still terrifyingly strong. It raised its pincers, trying to end it with brute force.

  Catherine steadied her polearm, eyes locked on the exposed gap.

  “Ivarr!” she said, voice low and sharp. “Draw it!”

  Ivarr blinked. “Me?!”

  “Yes. You wanted to prove something, didn’t you?!”

  His throat bobbed, then he straightened.

  He stepped out into the open and slammed his axe into the floor, mimicking her earlier move.

  “HEY!” he shouted, voice cracking only a little. “OVER HERE, YOU—YOU GIANT—”

  The scorpion snapped toward him instantly.

  That was when Catherine moved, fast and lethal. She circled behind it while it committed to Ivarr, who danced backward as best he could, swinging his axe to keep the pincers from closing in.

  The scorpion lunged. Ivarr threw a desperate burst of fire directly into its eyes. The creature recoiled, shrieking, legs scrambling. That was all Catherine needed.

  She drove forward, polearm low, and thrust the pike-tip into the exposed gap beneath the shattered plate, punching into something vital. The scorpion convulsed.

  Catherine yanked free and immediately followed, stabbing into the same vulnerable area with everything she had. The scorpion’s legs buckled. Its tail spasmed, then crashed to the floor like a felled pillar. It tried to rise.

  Ivarr came in from the side and buried the blade of his axe into the exposed flesh, twisting hard. The scorpion gave one final, ragged shriek, then went still, its massive body settling into silence. Dust drifted through the air.

  For a moment, neither of them moved. Catherine exhaled, long and shaky, shoulders dropping. Ivarr stared at the dead monster as if it might rise again.

  “We…” he breathed, then laughed once, half disbelief, half triumph. “We did it.”

  “We did,” Catherine said, wiping dust from her cheek. Her forearm stung, and Ivarr had a thin cut near his cheek, but otherwise, they were intact—minimal injuries.

  Thalia’s stone flickered. “Congratulations,” she said flatly. “You survived the part where you were supposed to die.”

  “Can we rest for now?” Catherine asked.

  Ivarr nodded, already reaching for his supplies. “Yeah. Let me take care of this first.”

  He focused on treating their injuries, careful and methodical, ensuring neither of them would be slowed down when they moved again. They opted to use Ivarr’s medicine over magic, preferring to conserve it for the monsters ahead.

  Catherine’s bracelet flickered faintly.

  “Yes,” Thalia murmured, her voice unusually soft. “Rest. Take care of those wounds.”

  There was a brief pause before she continued.

  “Elyndra’s artefact is finally within our reach.”