The Citadel assigned them rooms overlooking the southern gardens—a row of quiet suites washed in the soft glow of Revenak's living light. For the first time since the portal, there were doors to close, beds to collapse into, and silence that wasn't hiding teeth.
They split without a word.
Blake vanished into his quarters with a lazy wave. Tamara lingered in the hall, gave John a tired nod, and slipped into the room beside his. Ember padded after John, the Lumibear's soft glow painting the walls in warm gold as he closed his door behind them.
The stillness hit like a tide. John leaned his spear against the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. For a while, he just… breathed.
He replayed too many moments at once: Blake's blades knocking him off balance; the ring of fangs in the twilight valley; Tamara's breath frosting the air as she pushed herself past safe. Each memory pressed down, heavy and unkind.
Too slow. Too weak. Too lucky.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, exhaled, and let his thoughts drift back to the throne room—to the light, the murals, and the prince's voice.
The Prince's Words
The scene rose around him as clearly as if the chamber still stood before him.
Prince Caelus's presence softened the air, but his words had been iron. "You carry relics of our past and the ember of a prophecy," he'd said, gaze resting on John, then Tamara, then Blake. "But courage is not strength. Not yet."
"How long do we have?" John had asked.
"Six months," Caelus replied. "At the next Trial of Dawn, you will stand before our council and our people. If you prevail, Revenak stands with you. If you fail, the Luminars will force my hand—you will leave the barrier and not return."
Blake had smirked. "A public trial. Love that. Nothing calms a mob like bloodsport."
Caelus didn't blink. "It isn't spectacle. It is proof."
Tamara's voice had been steady. "And the factions?"
The prince's expression had dimmed. "Two currents shape this city. The Wardens, who would restore the bridges and rejoin the realm. And the Luminars, who would stay sealed and let the world beyond fade. They do not accept the prophecy. They do not accept you." His gaze returned to John. "So make them."
He had turned to Leto. "You will oversee their paths. Give them six months that feel like six years."
Leto's bow had been a promise.
Plans and Promises
The memory faded. John found himself staring at the ceiling, Ember's glow pulsing softly at the foot of the bed.
"Six months," he murmured. "That's enough time to stop being dead weight."
He set the Alchemy Book on his lap. Its living script shifted as he turned the pages—diagrams of stills and coils; notes on reagents and ratios; margins written by hands long dust. He traced the table of contents with a thumb:
Foundational Distillations (Light-Grade)
Stabilizers for Unruly Cores
Recovery Tonics (Low Yield)
Catalysts: Fire-Aspect (Novice)
Start small, he decided. Stabilizers. Recovery. Fire-aspect catalysts when I stop shaking the room by breathing.
He closed the book and settled cross-legged on the floor. Ember circled once and curled against his knee. John sank inward, searching for the Light. It came fast—wild, molten, already pressing against his will. He didn't try to cage it this time. He listened. Eased pressure here, redirected there, breathing until the heat throbbed in a slower rhythm.
Minutes, then an hour. Sweat cooled on his skin. The burn receded to a simmer.
Better, he thought. Not good. But better.
Doubt tried to creep in—Blake's smirk, the valley's teeth, Tamara falling if he failed to move fast enough. He clenched his jaw.
"Not again," he said under his breath. "Not when it's on me."
Ember lifted its head and butted his ribs, a warm weight nudging him back into the room. He huffed a quiet laugh, scratched the cub between its ears, and let the dark take him.
Morning Light
They met in the courtyard at first bell, the city waking in gentle gradients of gold. Revenakians moved like a tide through glass lanes, pausing to watch as Ember trotted at John's heel.
"Look at that," Blake muttered. "They cheer for the furball."
"They're smiling," Tamara said, not hiding the small one on her own lips. "I'll take it."
A child darted forward, palms up. Ember sniffed her fingers and pressed its warm nose into her hand. The courtyard rippled with soft laughter. The child's mother bowed to John—a small, grateful tilt of the head—as if he'd done anything more than keep breathing.
Blake sighed theatrically. "Next time we're in a real fight, I'm throwing the bear first."
"You try it," John said, "and I'll feed you to whatever's waiting."
Tamara glanced at John. "You slept?"
"Enough." He met her eyes. "And… I'm going to be stronger. For you. For him." He nodded to Ember. "For all of it. I won't let what happened out there happen again."
Something softened in her face—no mockery, no cool deflection. "Good," she said simply. "Then let's earn it."
The Guardians of Revenak
The training grounds sprawled like a crown of light beyond the gardens. Leto waited at the center ring, a thin halo rising from the lattice of crystal beneath his boots. Three figures stood with him.
"Six months," Leto said by way of greeting. "No wasted steps."
He gestured to the first guardian—a woman in layered whites and steel, her hair the pale blue of winter dawn. Frost clung to the edges of her scabbard, and when she moved, the air rang like thin ice.
"This is Ser Alina Frostveil—blade-saint of the northern glacis. Ice-aspect tempered through Light. She will instruct Tamara."
Alina's eyes weighed Tamara with a soldier's economy. She drew her sword in a single quiet line. The blade exhaled cold.
"I will teach you to cut without shattering," she said. "Ice either breaks or bends. Light learns the third path."
Tamara bowed. "Then show me."
Leto turned to the second figure: an old man in plain dark robes, hands clasped lightly, eyes half-lidded and… amused. No aura pressed from him. No glow. Just the sense of a cliff hidden in fog.
"And this," Leto said, "is Master Rin of Hollow Shade. Shadow-apothecary. Venom scholar. Once, our enemies counted days by how long his poisons took to say hello."
Blake snorted. "Great. I get the grandpa."
Rin's smile did not reach his eyes. He lifted one finger, a small, almost polite gesture.
Blake blinked. "What, you gonna—"
He swayed. Color fled his face. "What the—"
"Microdose," Rin said pleasantly. "Countered in thirty breaths. Or forty-five, if you prefer to limp for a week." He tilted his head. "Next time, I take something you actually value."
Blake's eyes widened as realization hit. "You—are you kidding me?"
"Forty-two," Rin observed, looking at his nails. "Hurry along."
Tamara coughed into her fist; even Leto's mouth twitched. John bit back a laugh and clapped Blake on the shoulder as he steadied.
"You're fine," John said. "Mostly."
"I hate this place," Blake muttered, already following the old man.
Leto faced John last. "You'll remain with me. Fire-aspect, spear form. Your core is unruly—good. We'll make it obedient without killing what makes it dangerous."
John lifted his spear. "That sounds like a long six months."
"It will be six lifetimes if you do it wrong," Leto said. "Come."
He looked over all three of them, his voice carrying across the ring. "We are three of the Six Guardian Warriors sworn to Revenak's line. You'll know the others in time—if you survive this introduction."
He let the quiet settle, then added, "Break apart. Train hard. Fail fast. Learn faster."
They began to move, but John paused, catching Tamara's sleeve. She turned, ice-light in her eyes, patient.
"I meant it," he said softly. "About being stronger. I don't want to stand behind you. I want to stand with you. With Ember."
Tamara studied him for a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. Then she nodded once. "Then don't say it again," she said. "Show me."
The corners of his mouth lifted. "Deal."
Ember chirred, as if seconding the contract. Alina's blade rang; Rin's soft laughter drifted like smoke; Leto's spear tapped the crystal once, an opening bell.
They split.
Six months waited like a cliff's edge. The only way forward was down—and through