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HOT GIRL THINGS

ELYRIA

Elyria closed her eyes and raised her hands, letting her focus slip back into the ground at their feet. Further, deeper, cutting through fire and flame until she felt it—the obsidian that lay beneath.

She paused, sucking in a sharp breath.

“What? What is it?” Cedric’s voice sounded far away, but she could hear the concern in it.

She didn’t answer him. It didn’t feel like the rock and stone she was used to reaching for. It felt like a wall. A wall made up of thousands of steel bands. Keeping her out.

Making sure to keep her shadow tucked away, Elyria reached out with her wild magic. She searched. She prodded. She tried to pull the bands apart, to get through to the thread of magic that she knew must lay within. Each band felt like a shard of ice against her own power—sharp and jagged, so cold it burned.

She dropped her hands.

Cracking her eyes open, she said, “I—I don’t know if I can reach it. It’s fighting me.” She took a single step closer to the edge of the lake, the heat licking at her like a taunt.

“Like outside the labyrinth?” Kit asked.

“No, not exactly. It’s more like...I don’t know how to describe it. Not so much tangled as...inaccessible? I can’t find a way in. I just need...” Elyria closed her eyes again. Tried, again.

She let out a frustrated huff. And then a hand was resting on her shoulder, a warmth seeping into her that felt so different from the boiling air around them. That familiar feeling in her chest throbbed, as if her body recognized his touch.

“Let me help,” Cedric murmured, his breath caressing the shell of her ear. “Just tell me what to do.”

A shudder trailed up her spine. Her fingers twitched. And her voice was barely more than a whisper when she said, “Okay.”

Elyria and Cedric drew a deep, synchronized breath. The warmth trailing through her intensified as he stepped squarely behind her, and that tug inside of her pulled her backward until she was leaning against his chest. He rested his other hand around her waist as she settled, and Elyria had to push aside the warring, conflicting thoughts that entered her mind.

Later , she thought. I’ll deal with that later.

“Follow the trail of my magic.” She didn’t know how much he would really be able to do, but she understood enough about human magic to know that the mana he wielded should be able to recognize her own, at the very least.

Cedric adjusted his hand on her shoulder to touch his token. His mouth moved against her hair, a silent spell on his lips. Elyria extended her senses once more, letting the wild beat of her magic hum in her veins. She followed it down, down, through the dancing flames. And this time, when she reached that steel-banded wall of obsidian, he was there too.

She felt him tense at her back as he parted the bands with ease, as if they wanted to comply with his magic. She didn’t understand why, but she couldn’t dwell on it. Not as tendrils of her own power were finally able to reach inside.

Her eyes shot open as she grabbed it—that cool, slick, thread of magic beating within the heart of the obsidian at the bottom of the fiery lake.

It was slow at first. Elyria focused on pulling—not too fast, not too hard—until she felt the earth shift. With a grunt of effort, she dislodged a long slab and drew it to the surface, the black stone shining like rippling glass as it broke through the flames.

“Ye’re doing it.” Approval radiated from Thraigg’s voice.

Elyria’s hands began to shake as she locked the first slab into place.

“Just four more, I think,” said Nox, their keen crimson eyes pinned to the first part of the makeshift bridge Elyria had just created.

“Oh, is that all?” Elyria gritted out.

Sweat dripped from her temple as she pulled up another slab. Then another. And another.

Cedric’s hand tightened around her waist, and she could’ve sworn she felt a boost of strength flow directly into her.

Which didn’t make any sense. Because as far as she knew, that was not how human magic worked.

Later .

With Thraigg guiding her and Cedric maintaining an opening in the obsidian’s shield, she drew a final slab up, overlapping its edge with the previous one until a shiny floating pathway cut across the fire.

“Well done, Ellie,” Kit said, voice soft, as Elyria placed the final piece.

Through sheer mental grit, Elyria resisted collapsing into Cedric’s arms. Wiping a hand across her exhausted, sweat-laden brow, she straightened and pulled herself out of his embrace. She then ignored the distinctly bereft feeling that came after as she faced Kit. “Your turn.”

Kit and Cyren exchanged a glance, the smallest of smiles playing on their lips.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Cyren said, his signature wink making an appearance before his gaze fell back on Gael and his expression grew serious again. With the slightest flicker of hesitation, the pair moved forward, wings folded tight, hands raised.

“Oof,” Kit said, stepping onto the bridge with a wince. Elyria was sure the temperature must have jumped ten degrees in those few paces alone.

“On three?” Cyren asked.

Kit rolled her eyes, already swirling droplets of water in the air. “Just do it, Cy.”

Long strands of hair pulled free from the bun on his head as Cyren began to cast in parallel with her. A gust blew over Elyria’s shoulders, whipping a few pieces of her own hair around her face. While she wished the air were cooler, even just feeling it moving across her skin was a balm in this oven.

Cyren’s wind swept through the tiny droplets of moisture Kit hung in the air, stirring them into a cooling haze that spread over the bridge—a misty tunnel.

“Time to go, everyone,” Kit said, her voice strained but measured as she and Cyren started to move, their steps matching one another’s as they strode forward.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Thraigg said, darting to his feet in a surprisingly nimble motion and striding onto the bridge.

“Gael?” Zephyr’s small voice asked. Unshockingly, the flamecaller didn’t respond, only continued staring blankly into the flames. Zephyr looked past Gael to where Nox stood and exchanged a look with the nocterrian. Each of them took one of Gael’s arms and placed it in their own, guiding her forward.

“Ready?” Cedric asked, his hand outstretched. He stood on the edge of the bridge, looking back at her with an expectant expression on his chiseled face. Elyria hadn’t noticed when he’d stepped around her, but she was now the only one remaining on the shore.

She bypassed his proffered hand, striding past him with one brow raised. “Of course. I was born ready,” she quipped, then clamped her lips together when she heard him chuckle in response.

The heat was still stifling, each step like walking through a sauna, but it was bearable. Elyria glanced at her feet, surprised at how steady the bridge was below them. She’d thought it would feel more precarious, that the bridge would be more akin to a raft floating on this sea of molten fire. But it was as if the surface lay right below the flames, like they trod a path on solid ground. Flames lapped at both edges of the obsidian slab, but that’s all they did, never creeping closer.

“Not bad,” she muttered to herself, a flicker of pride surging in her chest even as a wave of heat broke through Kit and Cyren’s vaporous tunnel.

“Not bad at all.”

She glanced up and to the right, where Cedric was looking at her with a confounding expression she didn’t know how to categorize. It wasn’t discomfort or pain, despite the still-smoldering air. In fact, the knight seemed mostly unaffected by the surging heat. If she didn’t know better, she might think that the blush of pink creeping into his cheeks had nothing to do with their surroundings at all.

“Hurry up!” Kit called back, her pace faltering as she strained to keep her magic aloft. “Keep it up, Cy. Almost there.”

“I’m trying, woman,” Cyren muttered through clenched teeth, the words soaring back to Elyria on a weak gust.

Elyria caught the way Zephyr winced as she and Nox hurried Gael along. The sylvan’s face was pale, her normally vibrant eyes dulled, as if exhaustion was about to overtake her. Still, it didn’t stop her from tossing her gaze behind her every few seconds, making sure Cedric and Elyria were keeping up.

The black glass of the island glimmered ahead. “We’re almost there. Keep going,” Elyria shouted, though again, she wasn’t sure who she was really talking to. Even as she said the words, her own steps slowed. They were almost to the island, but that only meant they were nearly halfway. Fatigue pulsed in her bones. Her magic was spent from putting the bridge into place. The heat was too much. And she would have to do it all over again.

A wave of hot air swelled at Elyria’s back, as if on cue. She glanced at the faltering mist around her. Kit and Cyren couldn’t keep this up. The tip of Elyria’s boot caught on a small divot in the stone slab, and she stumbled, drenched with the realization that she couldn’t keep going much longer either.

She couldn’t help the despondent thought that bubbled up in her mind. Could this have been where Evander’s journey through the Crucible ended, too? So close, yet so far? Because she felt like she had to be. Close, that was. She was so close.

The gate on the other shore pulsed with a soft light, beckoning her. An awareness settled deep inside that something important lay within, and the Crucible itself was inviting her to see it.

A hand brushed the small of her back, and Elyria grimaced at the feel of the fabric of her shirt, soaked through with sweat, clinging to her skin as Cedric steadied her.

“Just keep moving. We’ll make it.” There was no question in his voice, and once again, Elyria felt that boost of energy, that small thrum of power, flow into her.

She nodded, forcing her tired limbs to pick up the pace. Together, they crossed from the makeshift bridge to the island, trading one form of obsidian for another. Elyria braced her hands on her knees and bent at the waist, doubling over as she sucked in breath after breath. Nearby, Kit and Cyren were in much the same state, the latter having fallen to his knees on the dark, glassy surface, though they kept their hands loosely raised, magic continuing to swirl weakly around the group.

“We can’t”—Elyria panted—“can’t stop...We have to—” She blinked, looking from the champions surrounding her to the beckoning gate on the other shore and back again.

It was difficult to tell previously, but they did not actually appear to be in the dead-center of the lake. As if getting to the island had shrunk the distance behind it, they were far closer to the shore—and the gate—than Elyria thought. Moreover, it turned out the island was tied to the shore by a strip of obsidian rock. It was thinner than the bridge she’d constructed, but similar. And, most importantly, looked just as traversable.

A kernel of hope took root inside Elyria’s chest. One that only swelled in size as she realized something else about the place they now occupied.

She straightened. “Is it...” Elyria started, her voice trailing off as she grappled with the very real possibility that she could be hallucinating. “Cooler?”

The air around them was still thick, still heavy, but there was a distinct, distinguishable difference in the temperature. Elyria glanced at Kit and Cyren, the two of them exchanging a wary look.

Biting her lip thoughtfully, Kit let her hands drop, the swirls of misted water dropping with them.

The heat didn’t return.

“Another ward?” Cedric mused, walking over to the rocky edge where Elyria’s makeshift bridge met the island. Peering into the flames, he raised a palm before him, facing out, like he was greeting the air. “There’s definitely something here. Some kind of magic.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll take it.” Cyren dropped his hands to the ground and sat back on his ankles, chest heaving.

Zephyr guided Gael toward a raised section of rectangular rock and helped her sit on it—a makeshift bench. “I suppose it wouldn’t be fair if the Crucible let us all burn to death.”

“Right, because fairness seems to be of the utmost importance in here,” Cedric said flatly.

Elyria stared at him.

“What?”

Her lips tipped to one side. “I believe that’s the closest you’ve ever come to criticizing the celestials’ grand design here. One might think you positively sacrilegious.”

She laughed at his answering scowl, though there wasn’t much force behind it. Not with her strength and power sapped as it was. Elyria was so tired she could have curled up into a ball on the glossy ground and slept right there. If it weren’t for...

As if it called her name, Elyria drew her eyes back to the glowing gate. All that stood between them was another stony bridge. They were so, so close. So close to that important thing that she knew—she just knew —lay beyond it.

“We’re almost there,” she repeated, unexpected hope surging in her chest. “Surely, crossing was the last part of the trial. Now we just need to?—”

A deep, guttural rumble reverberated through the obsidian beneath their feet. Elyria cut herself off, her body tensing. The other champions froze in place, eyes flicking between the still-churning lake of fire, the ground, and one another.

“What in all four hells was that?” Cyren said, his voice a harsh whisper, his hand already reaching for the hilt of the blade at his hip.

Elyria’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as the rumbling beneath them grew louder. The ground shook, the flames around them flaring in response. A crack sounded from the obsidian near Elyria’s feet, steam hissing from a sudden fracture in the surface. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kit, Thraigg, Nox, and Cyren close ranks around Gael and Zephyr by the bench.

“Get ready.” Cedric’s voice floated into Elyria’s ears as he moved behind her, turning so his back was to hers. His sword was already in his hands.

Her own hands trembling, she pulled one of her daggers from its sheath at her thigh. She scanned the horizon, searching for movement, for any sign of whatever cruelty the Crucible was serving them now.

Nothing happened.

The champions exchanged cautious glances. “Was that supposed to be some kind of warning?” Kit asked, clearly dubious.

“Yes, perhaps the trial has gone on too long and the Crucible is simply urging us along,” Zephyr agreed, though she didn’t sound too convinced.

Cyren exhaled. “How anticlimactic.” Sheathing his sword with a theatrical flourish, he grinned at Elyria. “Here I was thinking we were in store for some kind of dramatic finale after all this.”

Elyria rolled her eyes. “Crossing a flaming lake by the very skin of our teeth wasn’t dramatic enough for you?”

He winked, grin widening. “I suppose I’ll have to find another way to drum up some excitement. You wouldn’t happen to?—”

A deafening roar split the air.

The flames around them surged upward, creating a fence of fire that licked at the obsidian surface of the island and the invisible barrier that seemed tied to the edge.

And then the lake came alive.

Liquid fire churned and roiled as a massive form burst from its depths. A towering serpentine creature with scales that gleamed bright orange, like iron newly pulled from the forge.

Glowing red eyes narrowed on the group from below horned brows.

Elyria’s breath caught in her throat.

“Fyre wyrm.”