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IF AT FIRST YOU DON’T SUCCEED

ELYRIA

Elyria’s wings ached as she soared over the Chasm, the cold air biting at the exposed skin on her face and arms. She should have hired a gryphon in the capital once she learned that Kit had already left for the Lost City. The flight from Coralith to Aerithia had already taken a lot out of her—she wasn’t used to flying long distances anymore. The hours in the sky had sapped her strength. Her wings felt leaden. But Elyria hadn’t been willing to wait. Whether flying on her own or as part of a caravan, Kit would be traveling quickly. Elyria didn’t know how much time she had until the aurora disappeared, signaling the Crucible’s start. She only knew she had to find Kit before she reached Luminaria.

And so, Elyria flew. Her wings beat. Her back twinged. She drew a breath, wound a finger through the air, and wrapped a tendril of magic around her shoulders—a brace. It would do for now.

Her stomach lurched as she glanced down into the seemingly bottomless abyss of the Chasm. The jagged scar separating Nyrundelle from the Midlands was narrower than the one that ran through the human side of the continent, but it still made for quite the sight. Mist billowed along the cliffs, pouring into the gorge like a smoky waterfall. The clouds hung still, as if even they dared not cross the mighty canyon. Above Elyria, the vibrant colors of the aurora mixed and swirled in the sky. Below her, fathomless darkness.

Elyria barely remembered what life had been like before the Shattering. Before the twin Chasms ripped through the continent, from the Sea of Serenity to the Ironpeak Mountains. Before the realm was cleaved in three. To the west lay Nyrundelle—home. To the east, the human kingdom of Havensreach. And the wild, untethered Midlands in between.

Located just south of the Forest of Valandor, the Lost City of Luminaria was the only real landmark of note left in the Midlands. There were, of course, the small bouts of territory marked by encampments and the evidence of battles gone wrong. While the Chasm kept the vast majority of humans tightly locked in their third of Arcanis, groups were constantly infiltrating the Midlands, their sights trained on areas where mana springs had formed.

Elyria thought of what Ollie had said—how the battles over those bits of land were getting worse, how humans were starting to fight dirty. She’d thought by now King Lachlandris would have perfected the art of pushing back the magic-hungry mortals whenever they got too ambitious. But perhaps their desperation had finally reached the point where they felt they no longer had anything to lose.

She recalled the time a dwarven trader, a frequent patron of The Sweltering Pig, had spent an entire evening regaling Elyria with tales of what Havensreach was like. He’d tried to paint the overcrowded streets in the capital city of Kingshelm as exciting, if somewhat pitiable. But one description of navigating through throngs of clamoring, hungry children, and all he’d done was leave her with a sour taste on her tongue.

That part was unfortunate, Elyria would admit. Children of any kind—even human ones—were precious. They deserved full bellies and soft places to lay their heads at night. Still, that was hardly a good enough reason to encroach upon what was Arcanian territory by right. Humans could reproduce so easily, so quickly. So unlike the fae. Perhaps if they took that blessing seriously, they might have carved a different future for their progeny.

That thought left an even worse taste in her mouth.

The tips of what remained of the crumbling Castle Lumin appeared in the distance and whatever feelings she might have had regarding the human situation in Havensreach were erased. Elyria’s heart lurched. The last time she’d flown this route, Evander soared beside her. His golden eyes had been full of resolve. Now, the loss of him echoed through her with each beat of her wings.

Her back twinged again, the burden of keeping Kit from following him weighed Elyria down. She couldn’t let her repeat his mistake.

She spotted the first wisps of campfire smoke making its way up to the sky—a traveler camp that had been set up on the outskirts of the city. The smell of wood smoke and roasting meat wafted up to greet her as she approached.

She noted the clear delineation between the Arcanian and human camps with amusement. Not only were they separated in distance, the human camp set up on the far side of the city gates, but the camps could not have looked more different. Where the human tents were plain and practical, set up in orderly lines, the Arcanian tents were a patchwork of vibrant color, scattered haphazardly.

Typical , she thought. Leave it to humans to suck all the color out of the occasion.

Despite the ancient magic that prevented violence within the Midlands as long as the aurora bloomed, it was clear neither side felt the need to get too friendly. She didn’t blame them. They were after the same thing, not on the same team. Each side sought to win the crown. Wanted to wield its power for their own reasons.

Elyria wanted to scream at them all just how stupid that desire was. Neither side would win it. After a hundred years and countless champions lost to the Sanctum, it was clear nobody ever would.

Heart pounding in her chest, Elyria descended into the Arcanian camp. An uneasy silence hung in the air, punctuated by the occasional crackle of fire and murmur of hushed conversation as she hovered. Her eyes darted over clusters of travelers, searching for any sign of?—

There. Cropped moonlight hair. Gold-and-silver wings that glinted in the firelight. Water deftly weaving through the air as if at the behest of a conductor’s baton. And radiating from her very being, a vivacity that could only belong to...

“Kit.” Elyria landed with a soft thud , folding her wings neatly behind her as she approached with hesitant steps.

Kit stiffened. The water magic she’d been playing with dissipated into mist as she turned with agonizing slowness. Fierce eyes—one blue, one green—met Elyria’s. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was detached, disinterested. As if Elyria were a stranger.

Shame crept from Elyria’s gut. “I?—”

She had rehearsed her speech over and over while in the air. She’d known exactly what she would say to get Kit to see reason. She would appeal to the love and loyalty Kit had for her mother. For the duchy she was one day destined to lead. And if that didn’t work, Elyria would say whatever she needed to convince Kit to give this up, to turn back. She would make her understand how foolish this was, that she was throwing her life away. Would remind her that three times, the Crucible had been met. Three times, the strongest in the realm entered the Celestial Sanctum. And three times, they failed. It had swallowed up Evander and it hadn’t even bothered to spit his body back out so they could give him a proper Sending.

Now that she was here, Elyria couldn’t remember a single word. And so, what came out of her mouth was, “You cut your hair.”

Kit raked an appraising look over Elyria. She took in the wrinkled blouse tucked under beat up leathers. The smears of sweat-streaked dirt running down each arm. Her sharp eyes narrowed when she reached Elyria’s face—lips chapped, cheeks chafed from the wind. “You look like you crawled out of the first quarter of hell.”

Elyria attempted a grin. “Not much time for primping and preening when I’m chasing your ass across the continent.”

“And why would you do that?” Kit asked icily.

Elyria wished she had a drink in hand. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“My mother has become desperate if she felt the need to seek you out. Truly, I didn’t think she would ever stoop that low.”

Elyria deserved that, but the words cut, nonetheless.

“All right then, give me your best shot, Revenant .” Kit wielded the moniker like a weapon, hand braced on her hip. “Say what you’ve come to say, and then go back to wherever it is you’ve been hiding. You won’t change my mind.”

Elyria took a steadying breath. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you ask stupid questions?”

Elyria’s jaw ticked. She had forgotten how quickly Kit could get under her skin. “The Arcane Crucible is an unwinnable challenge. You’ll be throwing your life away, and for what? I beg you, don’t do this.” She hesitated, searching Kit’s face for any sign of softening. If anything, her expression only grew harder.

A different tactic then. “Think of your mother, of your people . You can’t just run into?—”

“Yes, well, you know a lot about running, don’t you?” Kit interrupted.

Elyria swallowed the ball of shame that attempted to lodge itself in her throat. Now was not the time to react defensively. She fisted her hands at her side, digging her fingernails into the flesh of her palm to keep from lashing out. “Yes, I do. I ran. Ran from my pain. Ran from my grief. And I won’t lie to you—I would still be running, if I could. But I’m here because?—”

“You think I didn’t feel pain? That I didn’t grieve? He was my brother . My best friend in this world.” Mismatched eyes met Elyria’s for the briefest moment before Kit ripped them away.

Elyria heard the words left unspoken. My best friend in this world ... aside from you. Her heart cracked. All that time spent mentally rehearsing, imagining this conversation from every angle, and she was utterly unequipped. She wasn’t sure anything could have prepared her for how this would go. For how this would feel .

So, Elyria said nothing.

Her silence only fueled Kit’s rage-filled words. “And I am here because of my people. With your talent for shutting yourself away, perhaps you have not noticed, but I have. I see the way my people struggle with the Chasm. The cost of maintaining the bridges. The burden of crossing, even for those with the ability to make the journey on their own.” She gestured to her wings, then to Elyria’s, still folded on her back. “Without the Midlands, we are half a realm. My brother believed in the power of the crown, in the magic it holds to heal this land. And if the humans steal it first...” Her expression turned grim. “I cannot allow it. And neither will I toss away my only chance to save him by?—”

An immense sadness pressed on Elyria’s chest. Save him ? “Kit.” Her voice was soft. “He is long since lost.”

Kit’s eyes became unfocused. “I see him, you know. In my dreams—my nightmares. He calls out for me. For our mother. For you. For anyone to help him. I see him with black eyes, bleeding. His wings a shredded mess.”

Elyria’s heart stuttered. “You—You’ve seen visions of him like this?”

Kit’s expression softened as her gaze refocused on Elyria, just for a moment. Then, it hardened again. She turned away. “I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were.”

“And I am not a fool.”

“Kit, I?—”

“I know he no longer lives, Ellie.” Some of the tension in Elyria’s chest eased at hearing Kit call her that—the nickname only she ever used. “But neither is he at peace. It’s like his spirit is...trapped. He is being tormented in the Hereafter. Unable to move on because his work is not finished. And it will remain so until the Crucible is complete, the crown won. Maybe then, the ancient magic will deign to return his body to us, and he can finally rest.”

“Kit . . .”

“How can you ask me to ignore this chance to bring my brother peace?”

“At the cost of your own life? That is not what Evander would want.”

Kit whirled, her eyes blazing with anger. “Who are you to say what he would want? You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say his name.”

The words were a hot poker scraping through Elyria’s insides. Her eyes burned, but she continued. “He wouldn’t want you risking yourself. If he were still here?—”

“Well, he’s not here.” Kit was shaking now. “ And you haven’t been either. The minute he was gone, so were you.”

“Please.” The inner corners of Elyria’s eyes pricked. “Don’t let his memory drive you to your death.”

“You know nothing about what drives me!” As if acting on reflex, Kit raised her hand, and a burst of water slammed into Elyria.

Twenty-five years of pent-up anger and resentment poured from Kit’s hands. The attack was unexpected; it stunned Elyria, knocking her off balance. She hit the grass, ass-first, with an undignified thump . Yelps sounded as nearby travelers scattered.

Elyria grappled with what to do. She’d expected Kit would be angry—livid, irate even. She hadn’t expected her to lash out physically. And even if she had, shouldn’t the Crucible’s magic be stopping this? Wasn’t the whole point to prevent fights from breaking out before champions entered the Sanctum?

Another spray of water smacked Elyria in the face. She sputtered, flipping her now-soaked periwinkle braid to her back. Perhaps the magical contract only applied to brawls between humans and Arcanians. Perhaps the celestials found infighting amusing.

Perhaps they just liked torturing Elyria.

She scrambled back to her feet, wet wings flaring out for balance. “You need to stop right this instant, Katerina.”

Kit laughed—a hollow, empty sound. “Did you truly track me down after decades of silence only to scold me like a child?”

“When you stop behaving like a child, I shall stop treating you like one.”

Scoffing, Kit advanced toward Elyria, each step a threat. Her hands wove intricate patterns in the air as she called upon more magic. Elyria narrowly avoided a waterspout that burst from the ground with such force it would have launched her into the sky had it hit her.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Elyria said, even as she felt her wild magic gathering in her hands. There was so much nature here. The grass below her feet, the trees surrounding the camp. Elyria could feel it all.

“You want me to turn back because you agree with my mother that I am not strong enough to best the Crucible,” Kit said. “Let me show you how wrong you are.”

She didn’t give Elyria the chance to deny the claim. Kit thrust her hands forward, a torrent of water surging toward Elyria, who raised her arms in defense. Roots erupted from the ground, quickly weaving together into a shield that absorbed the majority of the water’s impact.

Kit let out a frustrated screech as a vine snaked up her left leg, wrapping around her wrist and pinning her in place. But it was clear Kit had been training for the Crucible. Training hard. One by one, she curled the fingers of her free hand in toward her palm until they formed a fist. A massive sphere of water appeared, the surface roiling as it advanced on Elyria. She knew that Kit didn’t truly want to hurt her. She also knew if she let herself get trapped inside that bloated bubble, there was a very high possibility it would drown her.

Darkness stirred from somewhere deep in Elyria’s core, displeased at the thought. She pushed it back down.

“Kit, please,” Elyria shouted over the tidal roar. The ground started to rumble, her magic reacting reflexively to the threat. “I loved him too.”

“I loved you !” Kit cried, her voice breaking. “I needed you. And you weren’t there!”

Just like that, the fight in Elyria died. She dropped her arms. The vines caging Kit slithered away. The earth stilled. The sphere burst, water spreading over the grass, a tiny tide that lapped at Elyria’s boots.

Kit and Elyria stared at each other, their eyes ablaze with anger and pain, fury and guilt. Elyria’s heightened hearing picked up the whispers of onlookers, hoofbeats plodding along the road, excited shouts echoing from the human camp. She blocked it all out as she opened her mouth to speak—then closed it. What could she say? Twenty-five years ago, she had left the grieving sister of the man she loved— her sister—to mourn alone. To pick up the pieces of her shattered life, alone, while Elyria sought solace at the bottom of a bottle and in the bed of some meaningless distraction or another, night after night.

No, Kit was not a fool. Laeliana was, for asking Elyria to do this.

Elyria was, for actually thinking she could.

Her mouth opened again. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t pretend you care,” Kit spat. Then, without so much as another glance, she stalked away.

Elyria felt heavy as she watched her go. She was soaked and exhausted, her back still aching from the flight and the added strain of the unexpected fight. And then there was the matter of the weight on her heart.

She had come all this way. She had failed.

She could not fail.

Evander would never forgive her if she let his sister walk through the Gate, knowing what was sure to happen.

Elyria approached a burgeoning campfire, ignoring the wary stares of the travelers around her. Using a flicker of magic to dry her wings before cloaking them from view, she squatted next to the fire. The woman next to her stiffened, a bottle dangling precariously from her hands as she deliberately avoided making eye contact.

“Are you going to finish that?” Elyria asked.

The woman met Elyria’s eye for a single heartbeat before thrusting the bottle into her hands and scurrying off, dragging along a young boy who had been gaping at Elyria.

Dubious, Elyria eyed the contents of the bottle, then shrugged and took a swig. It burned as it went down. Though she shuddered at the bitter taste, it did more to chase away the chill that had settled in her bones than the fire did. She sighed, looking to the sky where the vivid colors of the aurora blended with the orange hues of sunset. She was running out of time. Soon, the aurora would vanish in a burst of brilliant light, and the Gate to the Celestial Sanctum would open.

Slowly, conversations resumed between the travelers surrounding Elyria. Friends, family, and supporters of the champions who would be attempting the Crucible. Others who made the trek to the Lost City in order to say they bore witness to the occasion—should this attempt finally be the one to become historic. Elyria wondered who amongst them were here in support of Kit—or if any of them were at all. The duchess wouldn’t be coming. Wouldn’t be able to face the sight of her daughter walking through the Gate, never to be seen again.

Elyria didn’t know if she could face it, either.

But until that moment came, she would try. She would give Kit time to calm down, give her room to breathe after this ambush.

And she would try again.