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"That's not an answer."

Vexa sighed, leaning against the stone wall. "No one knows where he came from, or how he came to be in the Void."

"What do you mean,came to bein the Void?"

She exhaled slowly, conflict clear on her face. "I'd rather Aether tell his own story, in his own time, but..." She met my eyes. "The Queen found him there, thirty-five years ago, looking exactly as he does now. With no memory of who he was or how he got there."

Thirty-five years. The man who'd spent weeks trying to break me, who seemed to have every answer about what I was supposed to become, didn't even know his own past. There was somethingunsettling about that—about how much of himself was just... missing.

The contestants'common room was little more than a circular chamber carved into the mountain, but at least it had windows. Gray light filtered through the narrow openings, catching dust motes that danced in the air. My body protested as I lowered myself onto one of the benches built into the wall. Everything ached, but my mind was worse—spinning with what Vexa had told me about Aether.

Thirty-five years. Found in the Void. How was that even possible?

"Here." Kenna's voice broke through my thoughts. She held out a cup of something steaming. "It's willow bark tea. Helps with the pain."

Her words hit me somewhere deep, and I nearly doubled over.Ma.That tea was her solution to nearly every form of suffering. Suddenly, memories were flashing through my mind, every time she'd made me a cup when I'd accidentally burned myself on the cauldron lighters.

What must she think now? That I was dead, like her brother. Another person she loved claimed by the Guard. The thought of her grief—of her facing that apothecary alone—made my chest ache with a pain no tea could touch.

I forced the room to come back into focus around me, noting the odd expression on Kenna's face as I reached out to take the tea. A bruise bloomed across her jaw. She'd fought after me, I remembered. Had held her own, according to Vexa.

"Thanks." The tea was bitter but warming. "How are the others?"

"Soren's still with the healers," Theron spoke from his place bythe window, his gaze fixed on something outside. "Mira's refusing treatment. Says she's had worse."

As if summoned by her name, Mira emerged from the shadows of the far corner. She moved stiffly, one arm wrapped protectively around her ribs, but her eyes were sharp as ever. She settled against the wall, something haunted in her expression.

"Tomorrow will be different," Kenna said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "The tether observation is more... structured."

"Will it?" Theron turned from the window. "After today?"

"The Council takes tether observation seriously," Lael said with surprising conviction. "It's tradition."

I watched their faces in the dim light, each marked by the day's trials in different ways. Kenna maintained her graceful composure despite her injuries. Theron's analytical distance seemed to have deepened. Mira's eyes never stopped moving, like she was tracking invisible threats.

"What exactly happens during the observation?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "How do they judge it?"

"They'll want to see control," Theron said. "Precision. How well you can harness your abilities under pressure."

Under pressure. I thought of Aether then, how he'd survived thirty-five years in a realm where essence was failing. How he'd emerged from the Void itself with abilities that never weakened. Would I be able to prove myself worthy of the same path?

"We should all get some rest," Kenna said, standing. "Tomorrow will be... interesting."

As the others began to drift away, Lael lingered. He looked younger in the dim light, reminding me that he was only sixteen—far too young for any of this.

"You did well today," I said quietly as he settled onto the bench near me. "That move you used at the end—the way you turned their momentum against them. That was impressive."

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I almost ran. When theycalled my name first..." He picked at a loose thread on his leathers. "I thought my legs would give out right there."

"But they didn't."

"No." His smile grew a fraction. "Guess I'm too stubborn for my own good."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the eternal twilight through the windows. There was something reassuring about his presence—no expectations, no hidden meanings, just quiet understanding.

"Are you nervous? About tomorrow?" I asked.

"A little." He said it so matter-of-factly, I bit back a grin. "But my mom always used to say that being scared just means you're about to do something really brave. Or really stupid." He shrugged. "Probably both in our case."