Neither moved.
Qaritas's darkness continued creeping through the cracks beneath his boots.
Across from him, crimson runes burned along Xheavend's staff.
Lava rolled through the trenches surrounding them.
Steam drifted across the training field in pale ribbons.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
Still nothing.
Qaritas watched Xheavend.
Xheavend watched him.
Ten years stood between them.
Ten years of missions.
Training.
Arguments.
Bruises.
Bad meals.
Worse jokes.
Ten years of knowing the difference between the way the other breathed before an attack and the way they breathed before a lie.
Neither intended to give the first piece of information away.
Xheavend shifted her right shoulder.
Barely.
Qaritas smiled.
"Almost."
Her pink eye narrowed.
"What?"
"You were trying to make me think you were going right."
"I was stretching."
"You never stretch that shoulder first."
"You've been watching me too much."
"Occupational hazard."
Her red eye glinted.
"You first."
"You're younger."
"You're slower."
"I'm more experienced."
"That's a dignified way of saying old."
Qaritas stared at her.
"I'm-"
"Ancient."
"You're nineteen."
"Young. Fast. Beautiful."
"Arrogant."
"Correct."
The corner of Qaritas's mouth twitched.
"You're trying to irritate me into attacking."
"Did it work?"
"Almost."
From the edge of the training field—
Goro sighed.
Then the stone between them split open.
Qaritas glanced down.
Two strips of black cloth rose from the ground.
Beside them—
two wooden training blades.
Long.
Curved.
Dense enough to shatter bone if either of them became careless.
Qaritas stared.
Then slowly looked at Goro.
"You said begin."
"I did."
"We already have weapons."
Goro pointed toward Xheavend's four-stage staff.
Then toward Qaritas's blade.
"Those are your weapons."
His golden eyes dropped toward the wooden swords.
"These are the test."
Xheavend understood immediately.
Of course she did.
She released her staff.
It struck the volcanic stone behind her.
Qaritas groaned.
"I hate when she understands you before I do."
"Frequently," Goro said.
"That wasn't an invitation."
Xheavend picked up one of the black cloths.
Goro continued.
"No magic."
Qaritas's darkness stopped.
Then slowly sank back into the cracks.
"No sight."
Xheavend tied the cloth around her eyes.
"No hearing."
She reached for the small plugs beside the weapon.
Qaritas stared at Goro.
"Anything else?"
Goro smiled.
"Eventually."
Qaritas sighed.
"Naturally."
He removed the silver cloak.
Folded it once.
Placed it beside the stone.
Then tied the blindfold across his eyes.
Darkness swallowed him.
He pushed the plugs into his ears.
Sound vanished.
The world collapsed.
Not into silence.
Into absence.
No lava.
No Goro.
No Xheavend.
No distant Yrtana.
Only himself.
His heartbeat.
His breathing.
His body.
Then Qaritas pushed farther.
Smell.
Gone.
Taste.
Gone.
Magical perception.
Suppressed.
Even touch—
dulled.
Not removed entirely.
Goro had taught him better than that.
Pain was information.
It was useful.
But dependence upon it was weakness.
Qaritas exhaled.
Ten years ago—
he would have panicked.
Now?
He stood perfectly still.
Somewhere in front of him—
Xheavend did the same.
He couldn't hear her.
Couldn't feel her magic.
Couldn't smell the sulfur burning in her hair.
Couldn't sense the air moving around her.
But he knew her.
That was the test.
Xheavend always waited half a heartbeat longer than most fighters before committing to a direct opening.
Not hesitation.
Calculation.
She liked discovering what her opponent expected.
Then punishing the expectation.
Qaritas counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
There.
She moved.
Her right foot rotated first.
Hip followed.
The wooden blade came toward the left side of his skull.
Qaritas raised his own.
CRACK.
The impact shuddered through both weapons.
Even without hearing—
he felt it travel through his bones.
Qaritas rotated his left wrist.
Knocked her blade outward.
Stepped inside.
His right palm drove toward her sternum.
Xheavend turned her left shoulder.
The strike skimmed past.
Her left elbow snapped toward his jaw.
Qaritas tucked his chin.
The elbow grazed his hair.
His right knee rose toward her abdomen.
Her forearm intercepted.
His foot came down.
Her right heel swept toward his ankle.
He jumped.
She followed.
Of course she did.
Her weapon reversed in one hand.
The pommel drove toward his ribs.
Qaritas caught it beneath his forearm.
Twisted.
Her knee struck the outside of his thigh.
Pain flashed.
Information.
Nothing more.
He stepped through it.
His left elbow drove toward her temple.
Xheavend ducked.
Her shoulder slammed into his chest.
Qaritas slid backward.
Three feet.
Not far enough.
She attacked again.
Fast.
High cut.
Low cut.
Thrust.
Reverse.
Strike.
Qaritas met every movement.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
CRACK.
The wooden weapons shuddered.
Neither could see.
Neither could hear.
Yet neither missed by accident.
This wasn't prediction.
Not exactly.
It was familiarity sharpened into violence.
Qaritas restored his hearing for half a second.
Xheavend's mouth moved.
"Still heavy."
There it was.
He laughed.
"Cino already complained."
"Then listen to your elders."
"You're nineteen."
"And apparently wiser."
He shut hearing off again.
Then she changed.
Qaritas noticed immediately.
Not the weapon.
Her body.
Xheavend widened her stance.
Shoulders squared.
Weight pressed forward.
A brutal style.
Direct.
Explosive.
Designed to break through resistance rather than flow around it.
The kind favored by broad-bodied warriors twice her size.
She attacked.
Qaritas blocked.
She shifted.
Instantly.
Her center dropped.
Shoulders narrowed.
Hip turned.
The next movement became fluid.
His momentum became hers.
She caught his wrist.
Pivoted beneath his arm.
For one heartbeat—
Qaritas's own weight tried to throw him.
He broke the angle.
She changed again.
Long stance.
Short.
Wide.
Narrow.
Hard.
Soft.
One style favored reach.
Another leverage.
Another hip rotation.
Another close-range elbows and knees.
Another throws.
Another joint control.
Qaritas caught the pattern.
Then lost it.
Then caught another.
Xheavend wasn't using one fighting style.
She was moving through dozens.
Some had been built around longer reach and heavier frames—direct strikes, crushing leverage, power driven through the shoulders.
Others favored lower centers of gravity, sharper hip rotation, precision, redirection, and turning an opponent's strength against them.
Xheavend moved between them without hesitation.
She didn't care what kind of body a technique had originally been created for.
If it worked—
she took it.
Modified it.
Made it hers.
Qaritas blocked a vicious elbow with his forearm.
She immediately dropped her weight, hooked her leg behind his ankle and tried to take his balance.
He twisted free.
Her palm struck his ribs.
Qaritas caught her wrist.
Xheavend rotated with his grip instead of fighting against it and drove her heel toward his knee.
He released her.
Smart.
Annoyingly smart.
Xheavend didn't fight like a woman.
She didn't fight like a man.
She fought like Xheavend.
Which was considerably worse.
Qaritas smiled beneath the blindfold.
Of course she did.
Goro had trained her.
Which meant every useful technique was hers eventually.
The wooden blade struck his again.
He redirected.
She released it.
Wrong.
Qaritas knew instantly.
Xheavend never abandoned a weapon without already replacing it.
Her right shin slammed into his left thigh.
Qaritas's leg almost buckled.
Almost.
His left hand caught her wrist.
She rotated into the grip instead of away from it.
Her shoulder rolled.
Her elbow came for his ribs.
He stepped aside.
Her knee rose.
He caught behind it.
Xheavend jumped.
Both feet left the ground.
Her free leg wrapped around his neck.
Qaritas had exactly enough time to think—
Oh, that's rude.
Then she twisted.
He hit the ground.
Hard.
She landed above him.
Qaritas restored hearing.
"Getting slow, Q."
He caught her ankle.
"Getting predictable."
She shifted her hips.
Her other leg slid across his throat.
"Am I?"
Qaritas stared blindly toward where he assumed her face was.
"...I withdraw the criticism."
She laughed.
He bridged through his hips.
Threw her sideways.
Xheavend rolled.
Came up instantly.
Both attacked.
Their wooden weapons collided.
CRACK.
A fracture ran down Qaritas's blade.
Then hers.
One heartbeat.
Both weapons shattered.
Half of Qaritas's struck the ground.
Xheavend's followed.
Neither stopped.
Their bodies became the weapons.
Her right fist.
His left forearm.
Her left palm.
His wrist.
Her elbow.
His shoulder.
Her knee.
His hip.
Her heel.
His shin.
No distance.
No wasted motion.
Xheavend drove her forehead toward his nose.
Qaritas turned.
Her brow clipped his cheekbone.
His right hand caught behind her neck.
She drove two knuckles into the nerves beneath his ribs.
His grip weakened.
She swept his ankle.
Qaritas fell.
Caught himself on one palm.
Kicked upward.
She blocked with both forearms.
Qaritas rolled.
Her knee struck stone where his sternum had been.
The ground cracked.
He came up behind her.
His forearm slipped toward her throat.
Xheavend dropped her weight.
Hip against his.
Threw him over her shoulder.
Qaritas rotated midair.
Landed on his feet.
Barely.
Xheavend smiled.
He couldn't see it.
He knew anyway.
She always breathed differently when pleased with herself.
Qaritas restored hearing again.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
"I knew it."
"You replaced my tea with soup."
"That was ten years ago!"
"I believe in long-term consequences."
"You're terrifying."
"Thank you."
Then—
the training ground shifted.
Stone opened beneath them.
Lava surged upward.
Neither hesitated.
Xheavend jumped first.
Qaritas followed.
They disappeared beneath molten rock.
Heat swallowed him.
Pressure.
Resistance.
Every movement slowed.
The blindfold burned away.
It didn't matter.
Qaritas kept his eyes shut.
The plugs melted.
He kept hearing suppressed.
Lava pressed against his skin.
Clothing blackened.
Enchanted fibers repaired themselves where they could.
Skin blistered.
Pain arrived.
Qaritas catalogued it.
Face.
Shoulders.
Forearms.
Back.
Nothing structurally compromised.
Good.
Something struck his ribs.
Xheavend's shin.
Qaritas twisted.
Caught her ankle beneath his forearm.
She rotated.
Her knee drove toward his shoulder.
He ducked.
His fist moved toward her abdomen.
She caught the wrist.
Pulled.
Qaritas moved with it.
His shoulder drove into her sternum.
She rolled backward through lava.
Then came back.
Fast.
Far too fast for someone swimming through molten rock.
Qaritas grinned.
There it was.
The reason Goro had tortured him for ten years.
Blind.
Deaf.
Poisoned.
Hallucinating.
Bleeding.
Underwater.
Inside volcanic chambers.
Suspended upside down.
Without gravity.
With too much gravity.
Without magic.
Without reliable senses.
His mortal masters might have called some of it insane.
Qaritas had called most of it insane.
But now—
he understood.
Goro hadn't been teaching him to ignore his senses.
He'd been teaching him not to require them.
Take sight?
Continue.
Take hearing?
Continue.
Take balance?
Adapt.
Take stable ground?
Use instability.
Take comfort?
Comfort was never promised.
Take certainty?
Fight anyway.
Qaritas blocked another strike.
Xheavend's wrist pressed against his.
Then—
something changed.
The lava around them seemed to hesitate.
Not stop.
Recognize.
Qaritas felt it.
Something inside Xheavend.
End.
He didn't understand End.
Not really.
He understood Eon.
Or at least—
he understood what Eon was like.
Eon had edges.
A voice.
A temper.
Humor.
Cruelty.
Love.
Hatred.
Preferences.
Grudges.
Pain.
Even when Qaritas feared him—
Eon felt like someone.
End didn't.
End felt like opening a door and realizing the darkness beyond it had been waiting before doors existed.
Qaritas felt attention turn toward him.
The lava suddenly felt cold.
For one heartbeat—
Xheavend's fist stopped.
Qaritas remembered.
Twelve.
The year Yzer found her again.
The illusions had started then.
But that hadn't been the worst thing that happened.
The soldiers came first.
Low-ranking.
Disposable.
More than six hundred.
Sent into the Labyrinth to retrieve a child.
Qaritas and Goro arrived afterward.
Too late.
The tunnels looked slaughtered.
Bodies.
Limbs.
Blood running through roots.
Some soldiers had been torn apart.
Others crushed.
Others opened.
Xheavend sat in the middle of it.
Twelve years old.
Black hair stuck to her face with blood.
One red eye.
One pink.
A heart rested in one hand.
Part of a brain in the other.
Blood covered her mouth.
Qaritas had frozen.
She had eaten them.
Not from hunger.
Not really.
Something else had been awake.
End.
Around her—
eyes.
Hundreds.
Removed carefully.
Placed in rows.
Qaritas had understood immediately.
Because Eon had once told him about something similar.
Evil eyes.
Eyes taken from those consumed by darkness.
Eyes that could reveal what lived beneath a person.
Crimes.
Intent.
Skills.
Hidden appetites.
The ugliest truth someone tried to bury.
Xheavend reached for another.
Goro stopped her.
Not by attacking.
Not by shouting.
He walked through the blood.
Knelt.
Wrapped both arms around her.
Xheavend screamed.
Fought.
Clawed at him.
Tried to reach the eyes.
"No!"
Goro held her tighter.
"Let me go!"
"No."
"They came for me!"
"I know."
"I need them!"
"No."
"I NEED THEM!"
Her voice broke.
Not divine.
Not monstrous.
A child.
Qaritas had stood several feet away.
Frozen.
Goro looked at him once.
Only once.
Qaritas understood.
He gathered the eyes.
All of them.
Then burned them.
Xheavend screamed.
Not because she wanted the soldiers.
Because End did.
Something inside her shrieked through the Labyrinth.
The stone cracked.
Rivers reversed.
Every flame nearby turned black.
Xheavend collapsed in Goro's arms.
She didn't wake for a month.
Afterward—
the training changed.
She stopped asking Goro how to get rid of End.
Instead—
she asked how to work with it.
How to control the line between herself and whatever lived inside her.
How to remain Xheavend even when something ancient wanted to become louder.
Goro trained her.
Qaritas went on missions with her.
Watched her back.
Not because she was weak.
Never because she was weak.
Sometimes strength needed someone nearby to remind it where home was.
Back in the lava—
Xheavend attacked.
Qaritas blocked.
Her wrist pressed against his.
For one strange heartbeat—
neither moved.
Qaritas thought:
One day she won't remember this.
The thought hurt more than the lava.
He had already met her future.
The woman from Hellbound.
The Apocalypse.
Soon—
he would return to where he belonged.
History would correct itself.
Most of Yrtana would forget Q.
Maybe Xheavend too.
Maybe one day he'd stand beside the woman who had once treated him like an older brother—
and she would look at him like a stranger.
Xheavend twisted his wrist.
Qaritas returned to the fight.
Good.
No hesitation.
They erupted from the lava together.
Molten rock exploded around them.
Xheavend spun first.
Her right knee drove toward Qaritas's ribs.
He caught behind it with his left forearm.
His right fist stopped beside her jaw.
Her left hand stopped at his throat.
Both froze.
"Enough."
Goro's voice cut through the field.
Qaritas released her.
Xheavend lowered her hand.
Steam rolled from their bodies.
Burns began healing.
Goro sat cross-legged upon a black stone ledge.
His tea beside him.
He looked angry.
Not irritated.
Not amused.
Angry.
That alone made Qaritas straighten.
Goro stood.
"You both did well."
Qaritas frowned.
Something was wrong.
Goro never said that without insulting them afterward.
Xheavend noticed too.
Her expression tightened.
Goro looked between them.
"I think..."
He paused.
"...it is time for both of you to leave the Labyrinth."
Beneath Qaritas's discarded cloak—
THUMP.
He turned.
The Book moved.
Once.
Then again.
One purple eye opened across its stitched cover.
Watching.
At the same moment—
somewhere deep inside him—
the Chronolock ticked.
Click.
Once.
Qaritas's stomach dropped.
There it was.
The thing he'd been feeling for weeks.
The end of ten years.
Goro continued.
"The final floors remain."
His voice stayed controlled.
"Anyone who defeats them earns freedom from Yzer."
Qaritas said nothing.
"And those who choose..."
Goro continued,
"...may join my army."
Xheavend stepped backward.
Goro looked toward Qaritas.
"You will find my friends."
Then—
"Krsangawi."
"Vaelrith."
"Aslvyr."
"Nhalyros."
"Hly'Zouun."
The names settled heavily.
"They have waited long enough."
Goro's jaw tightened.
"You will free them."
Another pause.
"And afterward..."
"...they will become your next teachers."
Qaritas absorbed it.
Mission.
Training.
The next stage.
Everything the last ten years had been preparing him for.
Then Xheavend whispered—
"No."
Goro looked toward her.
She shook her head.
Once.
Then harder.
"No."
Her breathing changed.
Qaritas noticed immediately.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
Her fingers trembled.
Then curled inward.
Her eyes moved.
Tunnel.
Cliff.
Jungle.
Exit.
Another exit.
Another.
Her body remained on the training field.
Her mind had gone somewhere else.
"He'll know."
Goro went still.
"Xheavend—"
"He'll know."
Her voice cracked.
"If I leave..."
She swallowed.
Couldn't seem to get enough air.
Her chest rose too quickly.
"He'll know I'm out there."
Her knees weakened.
She stepped backward.
The world around her seemed to disappear.
Qaritas had seen this before.
More than once.
He moved.
Not toward her immediately.
Into her line of sight.
Stopped.
"Xheavend."
Nothing.
Her eyes kept searching.
Tunnel.
Goro.
Cliff.
Shadows.
"Xheavend."
Her gaze snapped toward him.
"Q."
Barely audible.
"I'm here."
Her breath hitched.
"We're at the training field."
Her fingers shook harder.
"Cino's behind me."
Cino remained still.
"Goro's in front of you."
Another short breath.
"Stone under your feet."
Xheavend looked down.
Black stone.
Lava nearby.
Real.
Present.
Qaritas kept his voice low.
"Do you want me closer?"
Her mouth opened.
Nothing.
Then—
a tiny nod.
Only then did Qaritas move.
One step.
Another.
He stopped within reach.
Xheavend grabbed his wrist.
Hard.
Her nails dug into scar tissue.
Qaritas didn't pull away.
"I'm here."
She squeezed tighter.
"Don't make me go."
Goro closed his eyes.
Something broke across his expression.
Gone almost instantly.
He stepped forward.
Then stopped before touching her.
"I don't want to."
Xheavend looked at him.
Tears slipped down her face.
"Then don't."
Silence.
That hurt worse than anything else.
Goro's jaw worked.
"Krsangawi will protect you."
Xheavend shook her head.
"No."
"Vaelrith will."
"No."
"Aslvyr."
"No."
"Nhalyros."
Her fingers tightened around Qaritas.
"Hly'Zouun."
"No."
Goro's voice softened.
"And Q will be with you."
Xheavend looked at Qaritas.
That helped.
Barely.
Not enough.
Goro continued.
"There is no other way."
She closed her eyes.
Qaritas looked toward him.
The ancient serpent suddenly looked older.
Not physically.
Something else.
"I know what I'm asking."
His voice almost failed.
Almost.
"And I hate that I'm asking it."
Xheavend's breath shook.
Goro turned away.
His fists closed.
Then—
crack.
One of his teeth fractured beneath the pressure of his clenched jaw.
He walked.
Didn't stop.
Qaritas stayed until Xheavend's breathing slowed.
Until Cino moved closer.
Until she released his wrist.
Then he followed Goro.
"Goro."
The serpent kept walking.
"Goro."
Nothing.
"This isn't right."
Goro stopped.
"I know."
Qaritas froze.
He hadn't expected that.
"Then don't send her."
Goro resumed walking.
Qaritas grabbed his shoulder.
Mistake.
Goro turned.
Fast.
One hand closed around Qaritas's throat.
His back hit the cavern wall.
Stone cracked.
Qaritas grabbed Goro's wrist.
The serpent's golden eyes burned.
"That hesitation..."
His voice was quiet.
"...will make you weak."
Qaritas tightened his grip.
"She's terrified of him."
"I KNOW."
The shout shook dust from the ceiling.
Silence followed.
Goro had never shouted at him like that.
Not once.
His grip loosened.
Slightly.
"You think I don't know what he did?"
Qaritas said nothing.
"You think I haven't spent eight years listening for every change in her breathing?"
Goro's jaw tightened.
"Checking every room."
"Every shadow."
"Every gift."
"Every stranger."
His claws pressed against Qaritas's throat.
"Wondering whether keeping her here was protection..."
A pause.
"...or another cage."
That silenced Qaritas.
Goro released him.
Qaritas landed.
Rubbed his throat.
"Then why?"
Goro turned away.
"Because I cannot change everything."
"You've changed plenty."
"Not this."
"Why?"
No answer.
Qaritas stepped closer.
"Why does her past matter this much?"
Goro stopped.
"You know something."
Silence.
"Goro."
The serpent's shoulders tightened.
"Tell me."
One by one—
his extra eyes began closing.
Twenty.
Eighteen.
Sixteen.
Twelve.
Eight.
Four.
Two.
Only his original pair remained.
He looked over his shoulder.
No smile.
No teasing teacher.
No First Division commander.
Just something ancient carrying knowledge he hated possessing.
"No."
Qaritas's expression hardened.
"Why?"
A long silence.
Then Goro looked back toward the distant training field.
Toward Xheavend.
"Because if I keep her here..."
His voice dropped.
"...I interfere with the past that created the future."
Qaritas went still.
"What does that mean?"
Goro looked at him.
Gold eyes tired.
Ancient.
Sad.
"That..."
He turned away.
"...is a secret I will take to my grave."
Qaritas watched him walk away.
Then felt the silence inside his ribs.
Eon was still asleep.
For once, Qaritas wished he wasn't.
Because Goro might take the secret to his grave.
Eon wouldn't.