Kanin doesn’t respond immediately, which I try not to stress over. It’s out of my hands; hopefully he’s getting somewhere safe and will reach out when he can.
I’ve got plenty more to worry about here, after all.
I’m loath to leave Mirzayael behind, but I need to get her help. I Jet out of the room and very nearly crash into Salvia, flanked by two more harpy guards. I cut my flames in time, preventing anyone else from needing a healer. Right—I don’t have to do everything myself. This is why we have the Guard.
“Get a healer,” I order. “Whoever you can, as quickly as you can.”
Salvia gestures to one of their guards, and the harpy leaps away without question.
“What’s the status of the Guard?” I ask Salvia.
“We received Lord Mirzayael’s message,” they report. “I’ve stationed harpy units in the Watchtowers until other mages can get there. More guards along the Wall, keeping watch, and a third unit is being deployed to the palace.”
“No,” I say, already turning back to the throne room to check on Mirzayael. “The Watchtowers are the most important to protect; if they fall, the city falls. The Wall is the second priority: we need eyes on what’s happening out there. Send the third unit to wherever you need reinforcements.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Salvia dismissed the second guard to carry out my orders, then follows me into the throne room. Their expression darkens when they catch sight of Mirzayael. She’s since pushed herself to her feet—in an absurd show of stoicism, no doubt—but she’s still leaning against a wall, hand pressed to her side.
“Who did this?” Salvia demands. Then, as an afterthought, adds, “my Lord.”
I smile thinly. “Lorata’s champion.”
“What?” Salvia hisses.
The harpy strides over to Mirzayael’s side as a notification pings in my Interface. I bring up the message.
[Kanin: What happened? Are you alright?]
I let out a relieved breath. If he’s asking those questions, he’s not currently being attacked by Mura Tal, at least. I send him a response back.
[Fyre: We’re fine. Lorata’s champion was here, but we expelled him from the city. Now he’s out there somewhere with you, however. Can you and Dizzi make it back safely?]
A gust of wind sweeps through the throne room as dragon wingflaps sound from the balcony outside. I’d told Ollie to stay where he was—though I can’t hold it against him for wanting to come check on us.
[Kanin: I don’t know. I’ll talk it over with Dizzi. Do you know where he is now?]
[Fyre: Uncertain. We’re setting up sentries to keep an eye out. I’ll update you on any sightings.]
I take a steadying breath, joining Mirzayael by the balcony’s opening.
“Ollie,” I greet as the dragon lands. “It’s dangerous out here. I thought I told you to stay with Noli?”
“I DID,” Ollie says through his translator. He settles onto the balcony, and Noli leaps nimbly down from his back.
Cheeky little kid. I’d be upset if I didn’t secretly respect his inclination to find loopholes. Now I wonder where he got that?
I don’t have the heart or will to admonish him—especially with everything else to be dealing with.
“What’s going on?” Noli signs, striding toward us. She pauses when she catches sight of Mirzayael’s wound. “What can I do?”
My Interface pings again.
[Kanin: Dizzi and I are coming down. It might take a while, because we’re going to need to go slow and keep to the shadows. Any info yet?]
I grimace.
[Fyre: Sorry, no. He’s outside the Dungeon Core’s range, and the darkness isn’t helping. He could be anywhere.]
[Kanin: Well if you can come up with a distraction or something, that sure would make me feel better.]
[Fyre: Understood. I’ll see what we can do. Please be careful.]
[Kanin: I’ll try.]
“A champion attacked,” I inform Noli. Dammit, where is that healer? “We expelled him from the city, so we’re safe for now. But…”
Noli watches me intently. “But?”
“Kanin’s out there,” I admit. “And Dizzi, one of my friends. They’re heading down now, but they’re being cautious, so it might take some time.”
Ollie rumbles in worry. “DIZZI? IS SHE OKAY?”
“She’ll be fine,” I tell him, hoping that’s true. “Especially if we do something to help her. Kanin asked for a distraction.”
“A DISTRACTION?” Ollie repeats, craning his head up to look at the dome. “I CAN BE A GOOD DISTRACTION.”
“No,” I say firmly. “You’ll stay here, where it’s safe. I might have some fireworks left over in the lab—if Dizzi hasn’t taken them apart.”
“We have a handful of illusionists,” Salvia adds. “We could cast lights about the city.”
“Do it,” Mirzayael says.
“Yes, my Lord.” Salvia bows quickly and takes flight.
I smile weakly as I rest a gentle hand on one of Mirzayael’s legs. “So much for keeping our city unassuming.” We’re about to put on an incredible laser show.
“That possibility was removed the moment we activated the barrier,” she says. “Besides. We’re ready for this.”
Are we? We’ve tested the spell network, trained the guards, come up with contingency plans… I suppose she’s right: as ready as we’ll ever be, at any rate.
Finally, a healer comes rushing into the room and immediately begins tending to Mirzayael’s wounds. It’s only been a minute or two since I sent for one, but when every second counts, it feels like an eternity.
Something crackles in my interface. I frown, accessing the Chat. It’s coming from Kanin’s window, yet the System almost feels like it’s resisting me when I open it. Kanin’s words crackle and glitch before my eyes.
[K̶a̵n̷i̶n̸: dizzi is fleeing]
[K̶a̵n̷i̶n̸: we’re fighting the champion]
“Oh, no.” My stomach drops.
[Fyre: What? You and Dizzi are fighting him? No—disengage!]
“What is it?” Mirzayael asks. Noli is wringing her hands nearby as well.
“The champion found them,” I say, trying to settle the flurry of anxiety that has taken flight in my chest. We can’t let them fight him on their own. Maybe Kanin could find a way to slip away, but Dizzi—
More words crackle to life in the Chat.
[K̶a̵n̷i̶n̸: send someone to get dizzi]
[Fyre: I’m working on it. Kanin, get out of there.]
I desperately turn to Mirzayael, and she meets me with a level gaze.
“I have to help,” I say.
“No, you don’t.” Mirzayael grimaces as the healer works his magic. “You’re a queen. Your life matters more than theirs.”
“I’m not—”
“But you’ll help anyway,” Mirzayael continues, her tone softening. “Because that’s who you are.”
My chest squeezes. I lean in to cup her face, and we share a brief kiss.
“Go,” she says. “And make sure you come back.”
“I will,” I promise. I summon Jets beneath my wings.
“Wait,” Noli signs frantically. “If you’re going, I want to help, too. Kanin’s my friend. I need to do something.”
“I can’t carry you,” I tell her with an apologetic grimace. My flames are only strong enough to carry my own weight.
“I CAN CARRY HER,” Ollie says.
“No,” I start to object. But if I’m about to go put myself in danger, is it fair to make him stay behind? If his Role activates, and he can’t do anything to help me, it might be even worse if he were to stay here. But he’s just a child…
“I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF,” Ollie objects, catching a whiff of my thoughts. “AND I’M NOT JUST A KID! I’M A DRAGON. I CAN HELP.”
“He’s right,” Mirzayael says. “And he’s seen battle. He helped with the Jorrians.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. She’s not wrong, though we share very different perspectives on what is normal for kids to have to face in childhood. That said, Ollie is a dragon, and he has more mana than Mura Tal to boot. He’s right—he can take of himself.
Besides, we don’t have time to debate this.
“Fine,” I relent. “But stay back—stay out of the fight. You’re there as a second set of eyes. Understand?”
“UNDERSTAND,” Ollie replies, fiercely earnest.
I turn to Noli, but she’s already springing up Ollie’s side to grab hold of the straps of his saddle.
I look back at Mirzayael with a wince. She’s still being healed. I wish it were me in her place. She’s the warrior.
“Don’t fret,” she mentally says. “One of us needs to stay within the city to ensure its protection.”
“I love you, Mir,” I reply, taking to the sky. I don’t let myself look back at her—I’m already emotionally compromised, and I need to be sharp for the conflict ahead. “I’ll be back soon—I promise.”
“I know.”
As Ollie and Noli join me in the sky, I send another message to Kanin.
[Fyre: We’re on our way. Just a few minutes out. What’s your status?]
There’s a pause before he replies.
[K̶a̵n̷i̶n̸: fucked]
[K̶a̵n̷i̶n̸: very very fucked]
Against the healer’s protests, Mirzayael hauled herself to her feet and limped over to the thrones. She rested a hand on Fyre’s, where the Dungeon Core was buried, as the healer hurried after her, warning about scars. As if she’d never earned scars before.
“Hello, little rock,” Mirzayael thought, traversing the mental network Fyre had created for them to reach out to the Dungeon Core. She didn’t often try to communicate with the Core; she found its chaotic swarm of thoughts to be nearly incomprehensible. But Fyre had prodded her to interact enough that she could work with it in case of an emergency. Being attacked by the Heavens probably at least counted as a state of alarm.
It was strange to think the small ruby embedded in the throne was once Fyreneth’s Crown. Fyre had told Mirzayael that she had reshaped it into a bracelet when she first found the Dungeon Core. It was so small and unassuming, yet it had been the source of their kingdom’s rise—and downfall.
And here they were: rising once more, clashing with the Heavens once more. She wasn’t sure if she believed in fate, but something about their situation felt inevitable. This time, however, she planned to ensure that things ended very differently.
Mirzayael got the impression of the Core blinking up at her, its thoughts both inquisitive and thoroughly distracted. Curious where else its attention might be diverted to, she followed its train of thought: there were some rocks scattered around from the previous fight, and it was wondering if anyone would notice if it ate them.
She snorted. Priorities. “I’ve got a new task for you,” she told the Core, imagining the network of spells that were woven throughout the city. At the thought, they surfaced within her mind in a brilliant web of magic. It was so complex she could barely hold it all in her mind at once, and she could already feel a headache coming on. Dizzi was the best at using the throne’s spell network; magic seemed to come natural to her. Mirzayael, meanwhile, had learned only what had been practical for her to know at the time. It was no matter, however. A headache was nothing when her city was at stake.
“The Watchtower spell network,” she thought, and the Dungeon Core filtered out dozens of irrelevant spell networks to focus on the four Watchtower spells. Three of them were lit within her mind; the fourth was connected, but dormant.
“Bring the fourth Watchtower into the network,” she told it. “We won’t activate it just yet, but I want to be ready to use at a moment’s notice.”
The Dungeon Core happily complied, and the fourth circle began to glow in her subconscious, steadily growing brighter as mana poured into the spell. Perhaps she was imagining it, but it felt like there was more weight to this spell. More danger.
She smiled thinly to herself. Good. Threatening was exactly how they needed to appear. When the next champion or god came around, Mirzayael would be ready for them.