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Brandon had offered to show us that Hrista was, in fact, behind the fake Shade’s creation. While Myst had seemed more willing to consider the possibility, Regine was still adamant that Hrista would never have degraded herself to such levels. “First of all,” the youthful-looking Valkyrie had said, “leaving Purgatory is a horrendous crime by itself. Our kind belong there and nowhere else. Second, building this place and creating clones of living people requires knowledge and expertise that even a Valkyrie as gifted as Hrista isn’t supposed to possess.”

“Someone would’ve had to help her,” I said.

“Someone did help her. I’m not sure who or how, but someone definitely helped her,” Brandon replied.

Regine remained stubborn in her response, though I knew it was only as a means of coping with this new and harsh reality. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Your kind was never trustworthy.”

I would’ve rolled my eyes at the statement, but I imagined their discord ran deeper than the handful of Berserkers who’d come over to work with Hrista on this plane. There had to be ancient history between the Valkyries and the Berserkers, the kind of history that didn’t disappear with time. Brandon had mentioned there was no sense of time in Purgatory, merely a hint of its passing as a means for them to fully take in their surroundings. “Had we been born timeless creatures, we never would’ve cared,” he’d said earlier. “Alas, we all lived and breathed and saw the sun rising, the moon glowing… Purgatory wants us to forget that, but it’s hard. So, in turn, we choose to never forget anything, including even the smallest of disputes.”

Following that logic, it meant that whatever had pushed the Valkyries and the Berserkers away from one another may not have been something big. It had just stuck around, like a shadow looming and reminding them that they weren’t friends any longer. I’d wondered if that had impacted their duty in Purgatory, but Brandon had said no. “Whether we like each other or not doesn’t matter. We do what we’re meant to do.”

To put this Hrista issue to rest, Brandon had offered to prove her betrayal. Myst sensed that she was here, and he knew where to find her. For such an operation, we needed a plan, especially since Isabelle, Voss, and Chantal were still recovering from the foreign medication they’d been sedated with. Regine and Mom’s combined efforts had not fully purged their bodies of those chemicals, though they had sped the process up slightly.

“I will stay with Richard, Isabelle, Voss, and Chantal,” Mom said. “I can teleport them away at a moment’s notice if they need another safe haven.”

“We have enough tricks up our sleeves to get ourselves out of danger, if needed,” Thayen replied, showing her a red stick. “Including flares. Just keep an eye on the skies. If you see the red flare, it’ll mean we need you to zap on over and save our skins. Think you can do that?”

“Absolutely,” Mom said, smiling. “I would come with you, of course, but I feel like the more vulnerable need me by their side in case anyone shows up here. I will stand by the cave opening and keep watch.”

I hugged her tightly, feeling Brandon’s curious gaze on us. “I know. You’re doing the right thing. Besides, we’ll only use the flare if we don’t have any other way to lose our pursuers.”

“We each have five in our bags,” Thayen reminded us. “They’re part of what we took from the armory before blowing it up, so it’s a limited supply. We agreed to use them wisely.”

“It’s fine,” Mom replied.

Richard frowned, crossing his arms in protest. “I’m okay, though. I could go with Thayen’s crew. Believe me, I’m much more alert than, say… yesterday.”

“You were an actual zombie yesterday,” Jericho chuckled. Richard wanted to contradict him, but Thayen threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight bear hug.

“I need you to stay here and keep the others safe. Viola is but one Daughter, and those runes still limit her, remember? And there’s only so much teleporting she can do before her batteries are drained. This place is different. It takes a toll on us,” he said to Richard.

“Yeah. You’re right. Okay, I’ll hold back and protect the weaklings, then.”

Dafne shot him a cold grin. “Don’t let Voss hear you say that, or he’ll kick your ass six ways from Sunday when he wakes up.”

We took a few minutes to get our things in order. I left Mom and Richard with Voss, Isabelle, and Chantal. Soph asked to stay with them, as well, arguing that a limited Daughter and a barely recovered wolf-incubus would not be enough to protect our friends. She would’ve liked nothing more than to be part of the offense, but our friends needed to be kept safe, and Soph was a fierce protector. On our side, we had plenty of power even with reduced numbers—we were packing two Valkyries and a Berserker, after all, so there wasn’t any point in taking the entire crew over to probably meet the evil mastermind—that had never turned out well for others, so why would it end any other way for us?

No, we needed a small recon group. That much we’d all agreed on, so Soph staying behind wasn’t a bad idea at all. Thayen and I led the team this time, though we were following Brandon’s guidance. Myst and Regine were with us, along with Dafne and Jericho. The fae dragon’s fire would help with the Valkyries’ weapons, much like my light, but the ice dragon’s fighting skills were required along with her ice shards, in case things got bad fast.

With this plan in place, I allowed myself a few minutes of solitude outside the Black Heights while the others finished getting ready to leave. It took me a while to shake every nasty thought out of my head. My heart was still drumming harder and faster than usual, especially when I was around Brandon. I feared an in-depth examination of the meaning behind that reaction, however, so I set it aside for later.

“You know, your eyes are even darker when you’re brooding,” Brandon’s voice shot through the momentary silence. I turned my head to find him standing barely a foot to my left, his flaming blue gaze drilling into me.

“I’m not brooding,” I replied. “Just thinking.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“It depends on what you’re thinking about. Brooding is more… negative,” I said.

He chuckled. “What were you thinking about, then?”

“Whether we’ll survive this or not.” It hit me then that I was, in fact, brooding. But Brandon didn’t say a word. Not even a hint of “I told you so,” and I appreciated that. We sat on the ridge, black stone pebbles shifting and slipping down the narrow slopes below. They disappeared into the murky green underbrush. This whole place felt wrong. It was a constant reminder of it not being home, yet Brandon’s presence—while weird in itself—made me feel like I could find my way back. “I’m putting my trust in you this time.”

“Regarding this journey to Hrista, you mean.”

“Yes. Your allegiance has been… inconsistent, and I understand why. But it’s still hard for me to have faith in you, realizing that you could turn away from me at any time,” I said.

“You have every reason to hesitate,” Brandon replied. “These are unusual circumstances for all of us. I belong in Purgatory, in the arms of darkness. It’s all I know, and that’s where I must return. In order to do that, however, I must help break this place and everything it represents. I cannot do it alone, which is why I’m assisting you as best as I can.”

The thought of him going back home didn’t sit well with me. It was the obvious and natural thing to do, since Brandon didn’t belong here, but… ugh, it felt wrong. He seemed to pick up on my unspoken discomfort. “Of course, there’s also a chance I will never be allowed back into Purgatory after this,” he said, only half-joking. “I’ve aided Hrista and her minions. I’ve broken so many of Order’s laws…”

“Do you want to go back?” I asked, pushing myself to look into his eyes, where, for a moment, blue turned to white.

“I should.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s complicated,” Brandon replied. “Just know I stand by what I said before. I will do everything I can to get you and your mother and your friends out of here.”

I would’ve liked to press him further. “Complicated” didn’t even begin to cover what this whole thing was, but I had a feeling I’d already gotten everything I could from Brandon at this point. It left room for me to speculate and maybe even imagine a potential outcome where he might stick around, but I knew it wouldn’t be healthy for me to indulge in possibilities that might never come to pass. Yes, I would’ve liked for Brandon to stay, but it wasn’t my decision to make, and I didn’t want to influence it, either. It wouldn’t be right.

We spent a few minutes in comfortable silence, watching the perpetual night stretch across the fake Shade. Under different circumstances, I would’ve seen this whole place as a fascinating homage to our world. It was beautiful in its own way, and the creatures inhabiting it deserved better than what they’d been given. If there was one thing I’d learned in my few years of life, it was that hate wasn’t something you were born with. Hate was taught. Someone had taught the clones to loathe us, to want to kill us.

“Do you know how she made the clones?” I asked Brandon after a while. “I know samples of our DNA were used, but why couldn’t she make them with real souls? I don’t quite understand that.”

Brandon nodded slowly, gazing out into the distance. “Berserkers and Valkyries don’t have the life-giving powers of your kind. Neither do the Reapers. Everything that’s beyond the realm of the dead is incapable of creating souls. That’s what I know, anyway. I could be wrong. There may be some exception prior to the land of Purgatory, I guess… but Valkyries don’t have that power. And whatever else she might be, Hrista is still a Valkyrie. All she has is our particular brand of magic and one gargantuan ego to feed.”

“So, she has the bodies made out there, in The Shade’s extension,” I replied, trying to visualize the process. I remembered Ta’Zan’s operations from the startling details in GASP’s history and science classes, but I wasn’t sure if it resembled Hrista’s in any way. “Does she use certain types of machinery or magic? Or both?”

“Both would be an appropriate answer. I have no idea of the details, however,” Brandon said. “I never set foot inside the labs. All I did was deliver the DNA samples. What I do know is that Hrista is perpetually bothered by her inability to make souls. She’s insanely competitive against the likes of Order, Death, and the Word. Of the three, the Word is the hardest to replicate. Order is our supreme authority, but she’s made us in her own image, more or less. Death… well, her magic and Reapers and scythes are pretty easy to figure out. I know there are stories in Purgatory about a time when a Reaper tried to come through and live with us…” He paused to laugh lightly, the idea clearly amusing him.

I, on the other hand, was instantly curious. “Wasn’t that the Spirit Bender, like Thayen said?”

“No, it’s someone else. The whole thing happened way before I was made. Perhaps Edda or Bodil might know more. Unfortunately, neither is here to help us figure things out,” Brandon said with a heavy sigh. “Sometimes, I wonder if they’d be able to do anything against Hrista. She’s got some serious mojo going on here, Pinkie. Mojo she’s not supposed to have, and I don’t know where she got it from or how. That’s what really scares me.”

It was the first time I’d heard him say he was afraid. It couldn’t be an easy thing to admit, especially for a punisher like Brandon—for a Berserker. I wished I knew what to say, but all I could do was place my hand over his. The feeling of our skin touching triggered strange reactions inside me, and heat bloomed in my chest as his gaze found my face.

The second that followed felt like the longest I had ever experienced. I waited for something to happen. Holding my breath, I didn’t look away from him. His eyes smiled when his lips wouldn’t. There were things he would’ve liked to say, that much was obvious. But he didn’t. He held it all back and stood, stretching his arms as if he’d just gotten out of bed.

“Come on, Pinkie. I’ve got two Valkyries to disappoint.”

I stood too, and he moved away from me, even as the tension between us persisted. There was something happening here, for sure. Something I wasn’t sure was real or okay. But the heart was a fickle thing, and I had to admit to myself that I wasn’t strong or experienced enough to know how to handle it.

We had one hell of a problem waiting for us at the end of this journey, so I chose to focus on that instead. The Valkyries might need me more than ever before. Thayen, my mom, my family and friends… their safety and wellbeing came first.

Leaving Mom with our “sleepers,” plus Richard and Soph, Brandon took us down the south side of the Black Heights, through the deep woods where only the occasional deer dared to graze. Neither the Berserker nor the Valkyries believed they were able to teleport us like my mother could—they assumed it had something to do with them being from Purgatory and not of the living realm, but that hadn’t stopped the Reapers from zapping us around. No, there was another issue at play here. While I was curious to figure out what that was, we didn’t have time to debate or study the phenomenon.

We trekked down the rocky and wooded mountain side until we reached the grassy hills leading to the Vale. From there, hidden from sight with invisibility magic, and careful not to get too close to any of the populated areas while Jericho covered our tracks, we made our way across the fake Shade and into the witches’ Sanctuary, which… wasn’t like our Sanctuary at all.

The whole place had been terraformed, for lack of a better word, and it was nothing like the rest of The Shade. The greens were greener here. The reds redder. This part of the charade was remarkably beautiful and realistic—a lush clearing with patches of tall grass and citron-yellow flowers blooming everywhere.

“This is not the Sanctuary,” Thayen whispered as we took a minute or two to understand what we were looking at. Brandon nodded his agreement.

“Witches don’t live here, for starters. This was made to suit Hrista’s desires,” he said. “It’s her residence.”

Regine grumbled. “This is wrong.”

No one said a word. We knew she’d have to accept the truth in her own time. Cautiously, we walked across the clearing, the occasional dry leaf crunching beneath the soles of our boots. Not far from us, a deer raised its head from a thick underbrush, casually chewing on roots and blades of grass. Its big eyes were strange, black, and devoid of any emotion. This creature only lived to serve as food, I realized. It had no other role in this false world. HQ must’ve taken DNA samples of animals and plants, too, in order to build this world.

Ahead, an elegant villa rose up, its white walls covered in lilac wisteria, fully bloomed and sprawling everywhere. It looked as though it was pouring down from the flat stone roof. Tall oak trees cast their cooling shadows against the house. Shadows born from the faint celestial glow and the orange-fire torches mounted around the property on a thirty-yard radius, while a carefully manicured garden surrounded the ground floor. The wisteria blossoms had vines intertwining with the wrought iron railing of the double semi-spiral steps leading up to the front entrance—a pair of white lacquer French doors with frosted glass panels that almost beckoned me to open them.

“It feels like an invitation to go in,” Myst murmured, deeply concerned by the sight before us.

“Do you sense her?” Brandon asked.

She nodded once. “Closer than ever.”

“Damn her,” Regine hissed. Finally, she was ready to accept reality. I imagined she would be angry once the initial shock wore off. I hoped it would come sooner rather than later, in case Hrista tried something against us. Brandon’s concerns from earlier came back to haunt me—what powers and tricks did she have to make him so worried? And what were our odds of defeating her, even with two Valkyries and a Berserker on our side?

I’d have my answer soon enough.

There wasn’t any movement around the house. There were no guards, and I didn’t see any movement through the windows of the two-story villa. At first glance, it looked gorgeously abandoned. With our hearts in our throats, we took the first steps toward the front stairs, ready to follow Brandon inside.

“Where is she?” Regine whispered.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Probably inside, plotting who knows what. It’s all she’s been doing lately, according to what I’ve overheard from those who unwittingly pointed me in this direction. Well, either holed up in here, or out beyond this realm, doing whatever it is she does when she’s not around. Forgive me if I’m not in charge of her daily itineraries.”

His sarcasm died along with everything else as the double doors opened brusquely. A heavy, silent darkness oozed from inside, pouring down the steps like liquid smoke. My blood ran cold as I realized we had been expected. Torrhen emerged, tall and proud and grinning with tremendous satisfaction, his third eye gleaming with violent delight. “Ah. There they are,” he declared, looking straight at Brandon. “It took you forever.”

“You set us up?” Myst croaked, then grabbed Brandon’s arm.

He yanked it back, livid and insulted. “No, damn it! I had no idea!”

A delicate laughter echoed from inside the house. Torrhen straightened his back and stepped aside as a Valkyrie came to stand beside him, stopping at the head of the stairs. She was stunning, with golden hair, blazing blue eyes and glossy pink lips. Her skin was fair and smooth as milk. She didn’t wear the Valkyrie armor, though. No, she was neatly squeezed into a black-and-white leather dress. Half of it, from high neck to ankle, was white. The other half was black, both meeting along the middle seam in a perfectly straight line. The leather was so thin and soft that it clung to her body like a second skin.

“Hrista,” Myst gasped upon recognizing her sister. “What… what is the meaning of this?”

“Forgive Brandon. He really didn’t know we’d be expecting you,” Hrista replied, her voice as sweet as honey. I had identified a clear pattern regarding the Valkyries. They’d been made to entice, to conquer, and to take your breath away. The same could be said about the Berserkers, albeit in a darker sense. Hrista’s appearance made it hard for me not to stare, and I wasn’t the only one: Thayen’s jaw was on the ground; Jericho was at a loss for words; Dafne was frozen in place. Regine and Myst, on the other hand, were vivid portrayals of anguish and heartache. Brandon glanced my way, looking vindicated.

“Please, tell me this is all a bad joke,” Regine snapped, drawing her sword with a metallic screech.

Hrista exhaled sharply, and the liquid darkness swallowed the grass and the yellow flowers, rushing toward us in an unforgiving tide. As soon as it reached Regine’s ankles, her sword dropped, its glow lost. Its blade turned dull and gray. “Oh, honey. It’s not a joke. It’s something I’ve been working on for a very long time. And frankly, it doesn’t concern you.”

“How can you even say that?” Myst replied, stepping back to escape the black mist. In an instant, I caught her wrist and pulled her away before she could touch Regine. Her sister was paralyzed, unable to move or speak. Something within me had screamed danger, and I didn’t want Myst to get sucked into whatever this was.

“It’s a pity,” Hrista sighed, shaking her head as though she were genuinely disappointed. “You should’ve stayed in Purgatory. Now, you may never leave this place.”

Myst gave me a petrified look and tried to reach Regine again, but Brandon helped me pull her farther back. “Don’t,” he said. “Whatever is paralyzing your sister will affect you too.”

Our troubles were only just beginning. Merely looking at Hrista told me that much. She was too calm. Too pleased with herself for any of this to be sheer coincidence. All at once, the truth exploded in the back of my head like a heat bomb. Every step we’d made thus far. Every decision. Every push and every pull… They had served her, not us.

“She wanted us here,” I whispered.

Hrista had allowed us to move around, to make friends, and to fight our way through this place. The languid smile on her face all but confirmed it. By Brandon’s will or by ours, it didn’t really matter. We had been pawns, gradually taking the necessary steps to reach Hrista. She didn’t bother to hunt us down. This black mist alone would’ve been enough to trap us quickly and easily, but no, she’d let us stew for a while before drawing us to her.

Now the pawns were in their positions, and Hrista was ready to play.