It all happened too fast. They couldn’t run away. Didn’t even have time to scream. The fireball exploded against the wall underneath in a hellish ball of flames, shaking the entire cave, throwing shrapnel in every direction. Basalt held onto Skye as the ground below them trembled then tumbled down, taking them down with it.

  The air ripped past. The ground below jumped to meet them, the darkness retreating to reveal sharp-edged rocks. Skye screamed, conscious of Basalt’s groans, and Gideom’s cries.

  “Hold on!” Basalt shouted.

  With a desperate twist of his arms, the stonemason wrenched a cluster of stones from the falling rubble. The pieces slammed together into a makeshift platform, catching them mid-fall.

  Skye wanted to scream at him to stop; the man was in no shape to control a grain of sand. But it was this sacrifice or everyone dying.

  The stone disk smashed into the ground, skidding across the cave floor before slamming into a pillar. The impact sent a spray of shards in every direction.

  Skye lay frozen, ears ringing, body throbbing. For a moment, he didn’t know if he was alive.

  Joshem stirred with a low groan. Blood leaked from his stained bandages, fragments of stone piercing them. He bit the ropes to wither the pain, growling like a mad dog. Gideom shot Skye and Basalt a panicked glance, then rushed to his side. Behind, the giant arm continued to burn, embedded into the wall.

  “Basalt…” Skye whimpered. “A-are you alright?”

  The stonemason slumped against a boulder. His chest barely moved. His face had turned gray, aged, drained. Like the contamination had wrung him dry.

  Numb, Skye stared, unable to speak. He didn’t know how to help. Couldn’t express his anguish. His unease nagged incessantly, telling him that something terrible was bound to happen any moment now. But that didn’t make much sense. The wardens were here; they would save his team. Their troubles were over.

  “They’re here!” came a voice from above.

  A warden crouched atop a high stalagmite, holding an astrum adorned in white aerober stones, his face shadowed under his hood. Further back, the monster grunted again, but it sounded drained. Defeated.

  Basalt gave Skye’s hand a weak squeeze. Only then did Skye realize that he was the only member of his team who could speak.

  He faced the warden. “W-we need your help!” His voice cracked. “My friends are dying; we have to get them to the city quickly.”

  His heart raced in fear, his hands trembling. The apprehension in the back of his mind flared, making him wince. An unreasonable reaction. The wardens were heroes, the soldiers protecting their city in the eternal war against the monsters. But this strange experiment he witnessed made a mockery of his understanding of their world.

  The wardens controlled the monsters. What in the Void did that mean for Troqua?

  Seven wardens arrived riding on winds, sliding on ice, or propelled by flames. They landed atop stalagmites—their faces hidden, their astra glowing—like deepbats eyeing prey.

  “How many are you?” one of them asked, voice gruff.

  “It’s only us four,” Skye replied. “Please, they need urgent care.”

  The wardens ignored him, muttering among themselves. As their discussion extended, he grew restless, shifting on his feet. He glanced between Basalt and Joshem, then toward the monster on the far stage.

  “Wh-why is there a monster here?” he asked. “What are you doing to it?”

  He realized he’d screwed up when all the wardens snapped to glower at him.

  “Is that Basalt the stonemason behind you?” one of them asked.

  Another barked a laugh. “Ha! Good thing the Deeps softened him up for us.”

  The wardens leaped down, relying on their elements to slow their descent. As they approached, the gems in their astra glistened, and time slowed down to a crawl for Skye.

  He stared as the leading warden leveled an electropaz-tipped spear at his chest, arcs of blue electricity dancing from its tip. The pain in his head exacerbated, screaming at him to move.

  Basalt slammed into Skye, pinning him down as a lightning bolt seared overhead, striking a stalagmite behind, shattering it into a thousand smokey pieces.

  Skye watched in disbelief as scorched rubble rained, his hair standing in the static air. Basalt rolled off him, climbing to his feet, his face a mask of stone, his entire frame shaking. Blood leaked from cracked skin. The crackle of his petrified joints made Skye cringe.

  “Run!” the stonemason shouted, summoning a stony barrier to block another sparkling bolt.

  The wardens charged at them, summoning violent winds, shooting firebolts and ice shards. Basalt whirled about, throwing punches in every direction, sending gigantic boulders to block the attacks and chase the wardens. The cave trembled with the sounds of impact, dust and ash filled the space like fog.

  “Wh-what…” Skye stammered, his heart racing, trying to make sense of the chaos.

  “Go!” Basalt bellowed, his voice hoarse. “Save Joshem!”

  He was on death’s door. Every channeling he performed, every movement he made only brought him closer to his grave.

  Yet, he fought on to save his team.

  Explosions lit the world as Skye ran screaming toward Gideom. This world had gone mad. Nothing made sense anymore. Monsters didn’t belong in the Deeps. Wardens didn’t experiment on them, and they should never kill the people they swore to protect.

  As Skye neared Gideom, a lightning bolt struck the stretcher, throwing the old man aside with a wave of dust and broken rubble. When a gust blew away the smoke, Skye saw the hole drilled through Joshem’s midsection, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the cave.

  A mad shriek filled the cavern. Skye’s throat was hoarse as he crawled away, unable to take his eyes off Joshem’s blank eyes and the singed wound. Behind, a wrathful scream erupted as Basalt unleashed his fury at his brother’s murderers.

  Stalagmites shot in every direction like hellish spears. The entire cave trembled. And as Basalt screamed his rage again, raising his stiff arms, earthly spikes rained upwards, like an upside-down cave-in, chasing the shouting wardens.

  Skye grew light-headed; the world spun around him.

  Joshem… was dead. Killed by wardens. But why?

  What had his team done wrong? Why was Basalt burning his life force fighting this battle?

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  Someone grabbed Skye, hauled him over a shoulder, and ran. Skye propped himself up, noting it was Gideom. He’d never seen Gideom crying like this, never seen him this scared.

  Basalt’s barrage persisted. Boulders flew in every direction, a hurricane of living earth. Wardens fled, targeting the eye of the storm with a fusillade of elemental bolts. All were blocked by rising stones. A warden’s chest was pierced by sharp shards, and another was swatted by a boulder into bloody mush like a fat mosquito.

  The giant stonemason screamed and screamed, throwing punch after punch, a wicked blackness filling his eyes as the petrification spread rapidly over his skin and clothes. Rocks crushed, bones snapped, blood gushed, and warnings and curses rose everywhere.

  After a moment, Basalt’s strength waned, and his fury could sustain him no longer. His movements slowed to a crawl. A hundred fissures in his body leaking black blood with every move.

  A roar thundered.

  A behemoth of fire and stone shot like a meteor through the rocky storm, screaming murder as it charged on one arm and leg. Basalt faced it, hurling a barrage of spiked boulders at it, but the Void-spawned creature was too fast. It leapt around, dodging every thudding blow and crash, and when Basalt tried to throw a kick, his legs –petrified to the bone– broke underneath him. He fell, staring at his hardened stumps in shock, then twisted, vomiting a black spray into the ground.

  “BASALT!” Skye shouted.

  The monster fell atop the injured stonemason, slashing with its burning claws, tearing him to shreds.

  “NOOOO!” Skye screamed.

  The cave submitted once more to the laws of physics. Flying rocks rained all around, shaking the cavern and threatening a real cave-in.

  Gideom held Skye tighter as he ran, his body rocking, a strange sound escaping his mouth. Panting, he stopped behind a towering column, setting down Skye.

  The cave spun round, and round, and round. Skye swayed on his feet, grimacing as his head felt about to explode. It was like a thousand hot needles threaded his brain. Never in his life had he known pain like this, not even after he awoke from his coma. Frantically, he touched his head, checking for blood. It was hot with sweat.

  Gideom tapped his shoulder repeatedly, summoning his attention. Skye couldn’t help but stare at the gashing wound where the old man’s right eye used to be. When did he lose it? The man was already mute; did he have to spend the rest of his life half-blind as well?

  A thousand expressions flitted through Gideom’s face. His jaw quivered, his lips parted. The tear in his eye told that the old man had never wished to be able to speak more than this instant.

  Then Gideom’s face settled into that ridiculous checkerboard smile of his. But this time, Skye couldn’t smile back.

  The bracelet on his wrist glowed faintly as he traced a finger through the air, writing a single word: “LIVE!”

  Skye stared at the word, uncomprehending. What did Gideom mean? Of course they would live. Him, Basalt, Joshem. They were going to return to the gemfarm they discovered. He no longer wanted his twenty-five percent. He’d be content with ten. Void, he’d take nothing. He only wished to go home.

  Gideom pushed him away, but he resisted. The old man pushed harder throwing him off balance, pointing back. The wardens flew fast toward them, their arms raised high to shoot. To kill.

  His apprehension ballooned, about to burst. Any moment now…

  Skye ran.

  He didn’t think, didn’t argue. He ignored the pain, ignored the scream in his head calling him a coward for leaving Gideom behind to die. He stole one last look over his shoulder.

  Gideom still stood by the stone pillar, his bracelet glowing bright like a distant star. Like a moon.

  A sun.

  Skye turned away.

  Flash.

  The cave drowned in light. It was almost a physical thing, like a warm blanket engulfing his body, then seeping under his skin. A moment later, the light vanished, and a series of explosions struck the pillar where Gideom stood.

  Skye stumbled forward, blinded, feeling his way as debris rained and crashed all around. He blinked repeatedly, fighting the burn in his eyes as tears swelled. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard an orchestra of screams and curses, of pain and anger, but none were Gideom’s.

  Any moment now…

  Trembling, wheezing, teeth chattering, he hid behind a large rock, dropping to all fours, listening to the screams of “Get the last one,” and “Be careful!”

  They were dead.

  His team were all gone, and he would join them soon. And yet… a feeling inside insisted that something more terrible, more terrifying than death was about to happen.

  A bell. A small, patinated, bronze bell materialized out of nowhere at the peripheral of his vision. It bore intricate engravings, but Skye couldn’t see their details. Every time he turned to look at it, it floated further away, staying at the edge of his vision.

  The bell vibrated and Skye reached to catch its little clapper before it rang and revealed his position. It flew away too fast, dodging his flailing hands, remaining barely within reach. Any moment now it would ring, and with its song, the world would end. The wardens flew closer, shouting louder. Shaking, desperate, he fought to stop the inevitable. And failed.

  The bell rang.

  A single chime. One faint echoless DONG and the bell faded away, as simply as it had appeared.

  Skye released a defeated sob, and collapsed, face down in the dirt. Unable to move anymore, he wailed silently, his tears streaking his face.

  He laid there on the ground, waiting for it to be over. It had been a short miserable life anyway. He’d spent it crawling through dark tunnels, eating foods hardened by fantasia, and drinking contaminated water full of dust. He wished he’d listened to doctor Stenser and stayed in Troqua. He regretted not spending more time with Rierana and Lyonel when he had the chance. Releasing one final whimper, he recalled their faces to his memory, holding onto the ribbon on his wrist.

  I’m sorry, Rierana. I’m sorry, everyone.

  But his wait extended. The end didn’t come. And neither did the wardens.

  What’s going on?

  Had they not heard the bell? They’d seen him running here. They should have found him by now.

  Hesitantly, he pushed himself up and tiptoed around a nearby stalagmite. From behind the stone, he peered at the wardens.

  They were headed away from him, clustered around the spot where Gideom had released his flash. Forcing his breathing to calm, and his racing heart to slow, he listened to their voices.

  “Void damn it! That luminary burned my eyes,” one warden said, rubbing away tears.

  Another warden held his arm close to his chest. “Consider yourself lucky. I think it’s broken.”

  Skye peeked, wanting to see their faces, to memorize their voices. But whiteness still covered the edges of his vision, and his ears still rang with the explosions. The thought of crawling closer crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly. It was too dangerous.

  A new group of wardens arrived, stonesurfing on a giant stone dais. The earth rolled underneath them like a wave, then sank flat when they stopped.

  The one at the lead descended, marching through the wrecked battle site. The others fell silent at his passing, making way for him. With slow turns of his hooded head, he took in the scene, as if not impressed by Basalt’s feat. “Report,” he commanded.

  “Five dead in total,” the warden with the broken arm said. “And four injured.”

  “Six!” another yelled from farther behind. “I got two unconscious here.”

  “Damned coalsons did a number on us!” a fourth said. “How did they get here anyway?”

  “I thought you blocked the exits,” a fourth warden accused.

  “They got here because you were careless,” the leader chided. “Their attacks succeeded because you underestimated them.” He looked around at his men, his voice rising. “How many thousands of times have I told you to take every opponent seriously? Not everyone you fight will leave themselves wide open, and let you escape when you slip! We lost five men! Five to three lowly prospectors. How would I report this?”

  “What happened?” someone shouted from the stage. The man in the seashell helmet most likely. “Have you caught them all?”

  “Yes,” the leader yelled back. Then quieter he told his men, “There could be more than three. Split into teams and search the tunnel they came through. Make sure no one leaves this place alive. And Void take you all, be cautious!”

  “Yes, sir!” came the chorus.

  Flabbergasted, Skye watched the wardens fly away. Three?

  Had no one seen Gideom carry him? But he’d spoken to them, and clearly stated they were four.

  He looked down. Bloody footmarks stained the ground underneath. His heart lurched. He traced the path leading to where he now hid.

  There were no footprints leading to him. Not even the rubble was disturbed by his crossing.

  Strange…

  Something was off.

  He was still terrified. Traces of blood, snot, and tears smeared his face and clothes. Neither his eyes, nor his ears worked properly, and his body was plagued by petrification and exhaustion. He was several miles underground, trapped with powerful channelers who wanted him dead. And his entire team was slaughtered.

  Yet the feelings that had haunted him for months, the buzzing anticipation, the mounting dread, had all… disappeared with that chime.

  He closed his eyes and searched for those sensations within. He found a tether. A small lingering hint of his expired emotions. He reached for it, remembering how it had tormented his mind not so long ago. Out of thin air, the bell reappeared, much smaller than before, and again hovering at the edge of his vision.

  Alarmed, he dropped the thought and the bell vanished once more, leaving him stumped.

  “Search this cave as well,” a voice called. “Maybe there are more hiding.”

  Skye crouched lower, trembling. The wardens fanned out, checking every nook and corner.

  Perhaps they hadn’t seen him. Or perhaps they simply forgot about him in the chaos. Whatever had happened, he had to take advantage of this situation to escape. He couldn’t let his teammates’ deaths be in vain.