An hour later, we had settled in.

  The plaza was quiet, save for the murmurs of the miners camped a few dozen yards away. Their laughter, softened by distance, mixed with the sounds of the rhythmic rush of the canals. The teal and purple glow of the giant crystals hanging thousands of feet above us cast dancing shadows over the ruins, painting the plaza in various hues. It was light where we camped, yet there was darkness around us, and looking out into the black between buildings and canals, I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. I could almost feel eyes looking back at us. Hundreds of them. But when I activated my synergy and enhanced my vision, I saw nothing.

  Al was reading a book while the beetles rested in place. Laska sat on a stool, wiping her short sword. Major Philip was surprisingly sitting cross-legged and meditating, and the wide bald man, whose name I had learned was Bartholomew, just stared into the fire, leaning against his long wooden pole.

  We sat in a loose circle when we had finished placing our bedrolls down and situated our things around the fire. Waelid sat across from me. He crossed his arms, and his face was lost in the flickering of the flame.

  For a moment, all was quiet. I motioned to say something, but Laska shook her head at me before nodding toward Major Philip.

  Then the enormous man breathed out softly and hummed.

  “All right, Cinders,” the major began, his normally booming voice softer. He spoke like a low, rolling thunder across the camp. He turned his head toward us, still sitting down, and nodded.

  “Welcome to the second floor. It’s a fine place if you know where to look.”

  He held up his hands to either side around the fire,. “Glowing stones, endless canals, and the ruins of a once-famous city of rebels. Here in the glow of crystal light, we will channel our innate energy, the energy that the magebloods, the masters of Stylos, refuse to acknowledge.”

  “’Tis beautiful, Major,” Bartholomew said gruffly. He didn’t sit crisscrossed like the rest of us. Instead, he was lazily relaxed on the ground between Waelid and Laska.

  The group chuckled, though I noticed Waelid didn’t so much as twitch. Major Philip’s grin widened as he glanced around the circle. “Bartholomew, please join us. Properly.”

  The bald man reddened and crossed his legs to get in the meditative pose.

  “Thank you.” Major Philip took a deep breath through his nose and continued. “You’re here for one reason—to get stronger. Strong enough to survive what’s coming next. Something I’ve coined as the magewar. A war to come that will determine whether the magicless will rise and take a place at the table of the world, or the voidbloods will be snuffed out for good. The strength you seek isn’t just for you; it’s for the Cinders, for the academy, and for all those who will never ascend as high as you’re sitting right now.”

  He gestured toward the miners’ camp. “Those men over there? They’re not fighters. They don’t have blood infusions. But they do much more than we do. They run the voidblood civilization down on the surface. The town of Ash is our model for how the world will run when we take down our oppressors. Those men, they manage the town, they are diplomats with towns like it across the far oceans. They educate the children they have in Ash, who will then work to form a new society. A new society that is born on a path that we blaze.” We all looked over at the miners. They were laughing and drinking and telling jokes. They had a joy about them that had long forgotten about the mistreatments from magebloods.

  Major Philips continued. “They’re here to break these ruins and stone into chunks and send them down to the factory. That pillardust keeps the academy running, and without it, none of us has a future. That means they’re under our protection. If they fall, we fall. Simple as that. We won’t be able to heal quickly in the field, we won’t be able to disrupt magic, and we won’t be able to power our bastion without pillardust. So, while they are here, you’ll guard them in rotating shifts, and let me tell you—this place doesn’t like visitors.”

  The major reached into his coat and pulled out a large, rolled piece of parchment, shaking it open with a flourish. It was a crude map of the second floor, showing the massive donut-shaped layout with the plaza we were in marked as the base.

  “This here,” he said, tapping just east of the center hole, “is our base. Memorize it. You will always return here. If you feel lost, head toward the hole in the center of the pillar and then find us by looking at the eastern sewer grate.” He turned and pointed at the faraway wall of the pillar, where hundreds of gallons of water from some unknown source poured out.

  “Our second aim,” he continued, “is to expand. These ruins—every alley, every canal—they’re ours for the taking. Piece by piece, we’ll claim them. By the time the other Cinders arrive, heeding the headmaster’s call, this floor will be under our control. That’s the goal. Get this place cleared out so we have a solid basecamp for our assault on the fourth floor.”

  “What exactly do you mean by expand and control?” I asked.

  The major laughed. “There are . . . natives of this floor that will be aggressive to you. We will simply strongly suggest they leave us alone.”

  He pointed to the outer edges of the map, where the ring pressed against the walls of the pillar. “The more ground we claim, the more miners we can bring up here, and the faster we process pillardust. The faster we get pillardust, the more tools, medicine, potions, and weapons we can make. That’s how we win the upcoming war. You’ll split into teams, scout the area, clear any threats, and mark safe zones for the miners to expand with these pillardust torches. These beautiful things will burn for a year. Until the next reset for the second floor.” He slid over his large duffle bag and opened it to us, showing well over fifty small, unlit torches that had been soaked in a paste, presumably pillardust.

  “I thought the pillar reset every six months?” I asked, trying to recall the mystical properties of Baldred’s Pillar. Each “reset” caused the monsters and materials to essentially rematerialize as if they were never killed or harvested.

  “That’s just the first floor; the second floor is reset every year, and the third is every year and a half. If the pattern is kept, the fourth floor will reset every two years, but we have never conquered the four Guardians to prove that yet.”

  The major paused, letting us digest the first two goals. The fire crackled. “Now, back to the main reason you’re all here. The promise of strength. By helping me to clear the second floor, strength is what you will find. We even got some last-minute additions.” He looked at me and then at Waelid. “You’ve all been chosen because you’ve shown potential. Or in Erik’s case, you became a threat to the academy and had to be shipped away for the safety of everyone.” He gave me a wink, and Laska and Al chuckled. Bartholomew and Waelid just stared at me, calculating.

  Major Philip continued, looking across at everyone. “Your strength and feats until now have been great, yes. But it is not nearly enough. You have not even scratched your true potential.”

  Bartholomew cleared his throat and spoke up. “Well, I certainly hope so. I’m trying to become a legend. Like the Sea Master.”

  “Hah! The Sea Master? You have set your goals high indeed, Captain Bart. You held off several ocean-wyrms during your journey here with the new recruits, right?” the major asked.

  “Aye.” Bartholomew shook his head in shame. “But we lost many along the way.” He punched his fist into the ground, making a small thud. The miners across the camp glanced back at us because of the noise, but they turned back to their conversations.

  “Yes, many good men and women died during that voyage. From what I heard, you did everything you could to save who you could.” The major tapped his eye, the same eye Bartholomew had covered with a patch. The gruff man shook his head and stared back into the fire.

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  The major continued, making sure we took in every word. “This training will differ from anything you’ve faced. Survival, strength, and adaptability will, of course, be part of it. You will face monsters twice as strong as the ones on the first floor, and three times as strong as the monsters and beasts on the surface. However, here, in this land between death and life, you will build the strongest weapon you have.”

  “Our blood infusions?” I shouted out excitedly. “I just got mine, but I haven’t used it. Is that what we will train?”

  The major shook his head. “In a way, yes, but, well, no. You will train your mental fortitude and consciousness—those are the keys to a magic power that can overcome even the strongest mages if mastered. You’ll learn more about yourselves than you ever wanted. And when the time comes, you’ll understand why you need that knowledge.”

  I shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Waelid. His face was stone, his eyes locked on the major.

  “And finally,” Major Philip said, his voice rising again, “after you have mastered this training, we will take on the floor boss.” He pointed toward the massive cathedral that stood behind the plaza. “That’s our endgame. Once you’re ready, we’ll take it down. Not just because we can, but because we must. That floor guardian is the key to the third floor. We could wait for more Cinders, but all of us can clear it. If you all complete the training and awaken.”

  Major Philip folded the map and tucked it back into his coat. “So, four objectives. Guard the miners. Expand our territory. Train your mind and body harder than you’ve ever trained. And clear the floor boss. Simple enough, questions?”

  No one spoke. The fire popped loudly, breaking the silence. The major grinned, his mustache twitching. “Good. Because starting now, your training begins.”

  He looked at me. “Have you taken your infusion yet? You took it right before you came here, yes?”

  “About ten hours ago now, but I haven’t felt anything yet. Is that normal?”

  “Just give it time,” the major said, and continued. “Soon, your infusion will speak to you. When it does, do not be scared or worried. Talk back to it if you can. Acknowledge it, bond with it. Do not run away from what’s in your mind. What you should be worried about is the first transformation.”

  “When will that happen?” I asked.

  “The infusion you chose will wake within you under two circumstances for the first time you transform. One, a life-or-death situation, and two, with one of these.” He pulled out two small blades, the size of a small paper clip.

  “Uh, what are those for?”

  “When I think you both are ready, I will have you plunge these into your sternum, here.” The major pointed at the middle of his chest where the ribs met, and my skin crawled. “Then the beast will awaken. As you ascend in levels, you must tame the beast. Even at level two, the beast inside won’t listen to your commands, not yet. It’s something you meet halfway and bond with for now. You’ll get your moment soon enough.”

  I swallowed hard. “And then what?”

  Major Philip straightened and stood up. He paced around the fire, and his broad shoulders covered us in shadows as he walked around. “Blood infusion is not a one-and-done thing, boys,” he began, his voice steady and commanding. “There are levels to each stage. Just drinking the blood gives you access to the first level. That’s what’s going on in your blood now. Strength, speed, and endurance—all are boosted when the beast bonds to your cells. Usually within twenty-four hours. But the second level? That’s only obtained after you’ve trained your body for a while to prepare you for when you can transform. Notice I said can. It is dangerous. It’s when the beast’s soul takes a more active role, and you become a reflection of it. Bigger, stronger, and far more dangerous.”

  He paused, looking each of us in the eye. “Most of your classmates back at the academy will hit that second level by the time you get back. They’ll get a controlled life-or-death scenario to push them there. But you”—he pointed at me and Waelid—“and you”—he gestured to Laska, Al, and Bartholomew—“are aiming higher. The third level. Conscious infusion.”

  That term sent a ripple through the group. Al shifted, his usual grin faltering slightly, and even Laska’s cool demeanor seemed to crack just a little. Bartholomew cracked the smallest of smiles.

  “What’s a conscious infusion?” I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

  The major nodded toward me. “It’s when the beast stops being a part of you and starts becoming you. Your mind and it must meet and agree to share one vessel. It takes more than strength; it takes mental fortitude and discipline. Most can’t handle the strain.”

  He tapped his chin and then looked deep into my eyes. “With you, it’s going to be quite different. You see, you are already fighting with another soul for one body. I wonder if you will face the beast together.”

  Fern’s voice broke through first.

  ‘What . . . does he mean the beast is inside us like right now? Where? I didn’t see it. This is going to hurt, isn’t it? I . . . I don’t see anything.’

  Don’t worry, Fern, I thought back. I will fight it with you.

  Major Philip clapped his hands suddenly, breaking the tension. “Tonight, we meditate,” he announced. “Find your center. Clear your thoughts. We will do this every night, as it will bring your mind closer to full consciousness with your infused. Tomorrow, we begin. And you two,” he said, pointing at me and Waelid, “will reach the second level. We will get you to transform.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to tune out the nervous energy crackling in the air. Silence came around us as the miners stopped talking. Around me, the faint hum of rushing water from the canals filled the silence. I focused on the rhythm of it, letting it drown out the questions and doubts swirling in my mind. And like the river, my thoughts rushed away.

  The meditation was not a success, because I ended up falling asleep. Many times.

  In the morning, the major ordered Laska, Al, and Bartholomew to guard the miners while we followed him deeper into the ruins. Our footsteps echoed softly against the stone. The towering Cinder led the way, having to twist sideways to make it through certain alleyways. The faint glow of the crystals looked the same as it had when I went to bed.

  Telling time is going to be impossible here, I thought.

  The air grew colder the farther we strayed from the plaza. The ominous silence was shattered only by the flow of water from nearby canals.

  I glanced at Waelid, who walked with his usual confidence. He had his iconic scimitar strapped across his back. He said little, his focus locked on the path ahead.

  Fern stirred in my mind.

  ‘So, what do you think the major’s got planned for us?’

  Something unpleasant, I thought. The way Major Philip’s grin widened when he told us we were going with him didn’t fill me with confidence.

  The major stopped suddenly, turning to face us. Behind him, the ruins opened into a wider space, the faint outlines of buildings and archways barely visible through the mist. “You two know where we are?” he asked, gesturing around us.

  Waelid shrugged. “The center of a bunch of crumbling rocks.”

  Major Philip laughed. “Close, but not quite. This”—he spread his arms wide—“was once the pride of the lower pillar floors. Six hundred years ago, this city thrived. It wasn’t just a city—it was THE city. Many don’t know it, but for a time, it was the capital of Stylos. Before the magebloods rose in Khalo. This city, Dust, was founded by demigods and their mortal offspring. It was a meeting ground for the Kingdom Above and the people of the surface. Trade, knowledge, power—it all flowed through here.”

  I looked around, trying to imagine the city as it had been. It wasn’t easy. The ruins were beautiful in a haunting way—ornate arches now crumbled into jagged shapes, statues of winged figures weathered to shadows of their former selves, and mosaics on the walls faded to near-invisibility. But beneath the decay, there was a sense of grandeur, a sense of a faded golden age, destroyed by time.

  “And then?” I asked.

  The major’s grin faded. “Then came the plague. Not just of the body, but of the soul. It spread like wildfire, killing everything and everyone. But death wasn’t the end for them.” He paused, his gaze scanning the ruins. “The plague didn’t just kill them—it separated them, cut their tether to the spiritual world. Their souls were torn from their bodies and scattered, left to linger here. That’s why this place feels . . . wrong. It’s not just ruins. It’s a crossroads.”

  “Between what?” Waelid asked.

  “The physical and the spiritual. The real and the unreal,” Major Philip said. “That’s why the enemies here will be unlike anything you’ve fought before.”

  He led us farther into the ruins, stopping before a toppled statue. The figure was massive, its wings now shattered and half buried in the stone. Its face had been worn away by time, but the way it loomed above us, even in its broken state, was intimidating.

  “These people thought they were untouchable,” Major Philip said, lightly touching the statue. “Demigods, bastards of the Kingdom Above, rulers of the mortal world. They built this city to bridge the gap between realms. And when the plague came, they couldn’t escape it. They became part of the gap instead. That’s why when you are alone here, if you haven’t trained in the mind, as I will show you, you will end up run through by a sword that doesn’t exist in the physical world.”

  I looked over at Waelid, and in a moment of fear, we didn’t feel the hatred between us. We just felt anxious.

  “That’s also why,” Major Philip said, putting on his heavy, metal brass knuckles, “I came with you. The others are further ahead of you in terms of training and experience, so they can keep the miners safe.” He turned around, and his once kind, warm eyes were now glowing bright white. It was as if neon mist was pouring out from his eyes. “Because you see, lads, in the sunken sewer city of Dust, the dead rule.” He stepped between us and we turned around.

  Behind us were hundreds of pale green, almost translucent figures approaching us from the water, from the ruins, from every direction I could see. Major Philip slammed his fists together, making a loud ringing sound.

  “Come on, boys, when you’re with me, you can hit ’em. Time to put these souls to temporary rest.” Major Philip laughed as he charged forward, slamming his fist into the face of a ghost.