“Well, join us tomorrow evening. Wyatt caught some fish, and though we don’t have everything available, we thought we’d make do. Then the twenty-fifth is turkey, of course.”

  “What’s Christmas?” Lessa whispered.

  “I’ll explain later,” he replied.

  “Come join us, alright?” Mrs. Calder said. “Jace, we might not have known you as well as your brother or father, but there’s still time. And if things are as dire as they sound…well, at least this way, you’ll have a reminder of what’s out there. The people who are counting on you.”

  “As if that doesn’t make the pressure worse…” He cast her a smile. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be there.”

  By the time Ash and the others reached the ninety-ninth floor, they were exhausted. Perril was out of Aes, and no matter how many more enemies there were, she couldn’t draw Vitality without Aes. And then there was Lady Fairynor, who was keeping up as best she could. But she was only a mortal, and she was getting old. They couldn’t keep going forever without taking a break.

  After clearing out the floor, they stopped to rest. Ash set up a campfire and spread out his rations to everyone, then stared over at the portal to the last level. It was difficult to tell what was on the other side of the door, but it reminded him of some sort of observatory, with a domed roof and machinery clinging to the walls.

  “Let’s just hope it’s empty, aye?” Perril said. “Just like the fiftieth floor. What are the chances you’ve cleared out all the challenges and can go free?”

  Ash chuckled. “It’s never that easy. Never.”

  “What if it was?”

  He shook his head. “Then I’d give you everything I had on me right now, even the clothes off my back. We can call it a bet.”

  “Does that mean I have to do the same if you win?” Perril asked. “You’ve got a dirty mind, don’t you?”

  Ash chuckled. “I didn’t hear you complaining about me taking off⁠—”

  Lady Fairynor cleared her throat.

  “Apologies, my lady,” Ash said, dipping his head to her. “I will be more aware of my speech.”

  “No, Ash. I need you to be ready. I need you to rest. In the morning, you will face your greatest challenge yet. And let that be my last command to you, before you become the supreme power of the Realm, and my words hold no sway.”

  He nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

  “You’d better not call me ‘my lady’ when you become King of Artanor.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if he called me ‘my lady,’ ” Perril muttered.

  He winced. “We’ll see, my ladies. Until the morning, then.”

  The next morning, Jace took his new rifle outside and tested it on a row of snowmen he’d built—before Lessa even woke up. This was their last magazine of plasma shells, so if it didn’t work, they were in trouble. They wouldn’t be able to test its effect. He stuck the stock into the mount on his hip, then readied the bolt. It was hard to grasp and required a bit of fiddling, given how the machinery and the protective case it was in now formed a large block on the back of the rifle.

  It completely ruined the weapons’ sights, too, but that wasn’t a problem for him.

  He flooded the runes with hyperspace Aes, then fired a bolt with a tap of his finger on the trigger. With a boom, the weapon discharged, firing a bolt of plasma and disintegrating the snowman, but not removing it from existence entirely.

  He didn’t want to see any steam. If he saw steam, that meant it just melted.

  Pushing more Aes into the runes, he fired at the second snowman, but it wasn’t enough.

  Shouting with exertion, and flooding the weapon with as much Aes as he had on hand, he fired the last bolts in one steady barrage. The barrel glowed red-hot, and the runes flared bright blue.

  Instead of magenta, the bursts of plasma turned bright blue. They whizzed out without even a flash in the air, and when it pierced the last snowman, it hit with a burst of power that completely shattered the snowman.

  But it did more than that. It was like the air was a window. A sheen of golden light rippled away from the snowman, then cracked like it was glass. Fragments of it floated through the air, then burst into sparks with a great, deep shattering noise.

  “It worked…” he breathed. “Maybe we actually do have a chance.” The gun was the most cobbled-together legendary weapon in the history of the galaxy, but if it could do that?

  There wasn’t even a sign of the snowman. No heap of snow. No pile of powder waiting for him to kick through. Not even a wisp of steam.

  Ash was planning on leaving without Lady Fairynor and Perril if they hadn’t woken up. Whatever they faced on the last level of the Citadel Tower was going to be their most powerful foe ever, and he didn’t want them to risk their lives if they didn’t have to.

  But they were both awake before him.

  “My Aes is half full,” Perril said. “It’s enough to repair your whole body once over, Ash, but more than that and I won’t have enough.”

  “I understand,” he said. He packed up his equipment and tied his Whistling Blade’s sheath to his hip, then marched toward the portal. “You two don’t have to⁠—”

  “We came this far with you,” Perril said.

  “I would not miss the pride of seeing you reach the top of the Citadel Tower.” Lady Fairynor sighed. “If I had a son of my own, I wouldn’t have wished this upon him, but you have done well enough to make any mother proud, Ash.”

  He winced, then set off toward the portal, drawing his Whistling Blade and holding it out to the side.

  Turning his shoulder, he passed through the portal with a pop. It bent around him, then finally, let him and the others through.

  The next room was almost entirely empty, save for a column of machinery at the center. He walked toward it.

  “You know, I might be getting all your possessions after all…” Perril muttered.

  “No, you won’t,” came Ash’s voice.

  But it wasn’t him who said it. The voice came from the other side of the final floor.

  A copy of Ash, made entirely of black smoke, stepped out from behind the central pillar, holding a shard of night in its hand—the same length as the Whistling Blade.

  42

  REFLECTION

  “What is that?” Perril asked.

  “It is an evolved Nightmare,” Ash replied—the real Ash, not his dark clone. “An advanced darkling that has ascended well beyond its original bounds. The dark aura of Aes it spreads overwhelmed itself and completely overtook the old corpse of the darkling. Now it has no set form.”

  “How do you know what it is?” she whispered. “You’ve never fought one before, aye?”

  “I never have,” Ash said.

  “It is the creature that defeated Thralm II,” Lady Fairynor replied. “It has studied you your whole climb. It knows you.”

  Ash trembled. The Nightmare filled him with a chill and a massive weight. It exerted the strength of a Deity-Making Wielder, and the fact that it said nothing as it strode forward made it far worse.

  “Why does it look like him, then?” Perril asked. “It looks like him, aye? Not just speaking with his voice?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m not made of living black smoke,” he muttered. “But yes. In the rest of our ascent, it took impressions of me. All the leftover energy from the Nightmares raced up to the top, forming this.”

  “Can we kill it?” Perril asked.

  “Everything can die,” Ash said. “Come on. Keep your distance and let me handle this.”

  He approached cautiously as well until he was about five paces from the shadowy clone of himself. He held his blade out to the side, and it mimicked the same stance as him. He stepped to the side, and it moved the other direction, circling him.

  “Enough of this,” he grumbled. He was still tired, and the Nightmare was just toying with him. He half expected someone to tell him not to get angry, but Perril and Lady Fairynor simply remained behind him, waiting.

  He might’ve kept circling cautiously for an hour. That was how he’d approached most of the challenges, and it had worked fine.

  So when he crossed the circle, holding his blade out in an aggressive stance, the Nightmare wasn’t expecting it. He slashed through its head, dispersing its skull in a puff of darkness, then adjusting his guard to protect from a counter-attack.

  Nothing came.

  “Was that it?” Perril asked. “Is it…done?”

  It couldn’t be. Ash backed away, but his sword drifted down slightly. Lady Fairynor lowered her rifle, and Perril dropped her hands as the Nightmare melted away into the floor. Its body collapsed like an ice sculpture melting into the marble.

  But it didn’t disperse.

  “Watch out!” Ash shouted. “Get back, both of you!”

  Perril jumped away, leveraging a Wielder’s mobility, but Lady Fairynor was too slow. A spike of black dust shot up, spearing her through the leg before ripping through her body and blasting up through her shoulder. She gasped and choked, eyes widening, before they rolled back in her head.

  For a brief moment, the Nightmare must’ve latched onto her memories. She quivered and shouted, mumbling nonsense, before the spike of darkness pulled away, dropping her in a wet heap. Blood pooled around her.

  Ash tried to sprint over, but he’d turned his back and lowered his guard on the Nightmare. A spear of black mist pierced through his back. One tendril stabbed through his lungs and another through his lower back.

  He tried to pull himself off the Nightmare’s weapons, but he couldn’t move. Terror reached into his body, freezing him with unnatural force. His mind clouded over, depositing him in a vision.

  Once more, it was his memories, but a more recent memory. Only about a year ago. Lady Fairynor met with him in a secret office near the base of the Artanor Hall.

  “Ash, the worldjumpers are arriving,” she told him. They’d been talking for an hour, cramped in the small office, discussing how she should guide policy and shift the direction of the parliamentarians. About the impending attack on Celacor. “You cannot delay any longer.”

  “I’m not ready,” he said.

  “And you never will be!” she snapped. “Stop this! You’re more than your blood.”

  “Then why call me a king? Why bother with that?”

  “So you’ve read philosophy. You’ve attended the Sevencore Academy, you were a Watchman apprentice. But you never finish anything! You’ve disguised yourself and rejoined the Watchmen now as my man on the inside, yes but what do you do except wallow? You only pretend to have completed your training—with the papers I had forged for you.”

  “What would you have me do? My very own master turned on me. And again, at the academy, they found out who I was. It was only with the help of Dr. Tamaldin and Dr. Elgin that I escaped with my life! It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t finish my training.”

  “Was it? Or were you too weak-willed?” She slammed her hand down on the table. “Always, you say it can’t be done. But if you were stronger, it could be done. If you wanted it enough, it could be done!”

  “I can’t ascend the tower until I reach the peak of Spirit Burning. And I can’t be a king if I can’t ascend the tower.”

  She shook her head. “So you’ll heap it all on the worldjumpers. We don’t have time. It’s too slow. One will arrive every year, but we don’t have four years. You’re alright with dropping everything on one boy? You know what the worldjumpers are—they’re lost, confused, and yes, they are powerful allies. But we cannot rely on them alone.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Travel with me. I am bringing a fleet. The Watchmen will likely intercept me and attempt to stop me, and I need you in their ranks. You are my agent.”

  He sighed. “Of course, My Lady. Your word is of utmost importance.”

  “When are you going to start making your own decisions? When are you going to take matters into your own hands?”

  He hung his head. “I don’t know, My Lady.”

  “You’re pathetic.”

  His eyes widened. She hadn’t said that, not the first time. Yes, it was the first time she had yelled at him, but she hadn’t yelled that. His mind churned, trying to remember what she had told him the first time.

  He couldn’t.

  “This is wrong,” Ash said. He had control of his voice in the memory. He used it. “Who are you?”

  “Do you need to ask?”

  The illusion of Lady Fairynor melted away, leaving only a shadowy twin of Ash standing behind the desk. It spoke in his voice.

  He lunged forward, drawing his Whistling Blade. It would’ve cleaved through the ancient wooden desk, but in this memory realm, it passed right through. The Nightmare didn’t flinch.

  “Did you truly think you could beat me? I am a part of you.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re an agent of the Enemy, trapped in this tower. You’re the final challenge.”

  And what did Ash have to do to defeat the final challenge?

  If it was meant to show that he could be a king, that he was the right person for the job, then what did it want from him?

  It wasn’t consciously pushing him. But if this tower had been created in an era when the Split was in balance, it would know that it had to deploy a Nightmare against him to test him. It could use the tools of the darkness to overcome him. But it could also use those tools to bring out the traits it wanted to see.

  “You killed her…”

  “You refuse to take your power.”

  “I’m almost there. I’ll be strong enough.”

  “Is ruling about power? What does it mean to lead?” the Nightmare spat. “You won’t answer, because you don’t know.” It walked forward, passing through the desk, prowling toward Ash. “You believe in power, don’t you? The power to make a difference?”

  “It needs to be tempered. It needs to be in balance with itself.”

  “Oh? So you’re the one to decide how to balance your right to rule half the galaxy, to guide the destiny of trillions of souls, are you? How can one man have such power?”

  “I don’t rule alone. The kings never had.” His back pressed up against the door. “The Realm had a Great Charter that existed since its birth! There are things the king can and cannot do⁠—”

  “And who will stop you if you choose to break your Great Charter, hm? You think you have all the answers.”

  Ash pressed his eyes shut. He had thought he’d had all the answers, that was true. It led him to reject everything about his birthright, about what he needed to do. The questions of power, of Wielders, of kings, those could come later. He’d delayed too long, thinking the answers to those were important.

  Nothing was more important than their survival.

  Then something clicked in his mind.

  The first time, Lady Fairynor had said, “There’s no hope anymore.” That was what she’d told him—not that he was pathetic. “But you could bring it back. Yes, there are oaths to honour. Yes, there is a bloodline that says you rule by birthright, yes, you could muster a unified force unheard of. But the truth is, it’s about giving everyone something to believe in.”

  Ash clenched his eyes, then charged forward. “It doesn’t matter if I don’t have the answers.” He plunged his Whistling Blade through the Nightmare’s chest. “It matters that I try! That I do right by the galaxy! That I give them something to fight for.”

  The Nightmare landed on its back. Ash had volume and weight again, and his sword bit into the beast with a satisfying pop. Its black lips curled up in a grin, before disappearing.

  The illusion faded around Ash. He found himself laying on his side on the marble floor. The nightmare burst apart behind him, scattering black mist around the room. But the mist dispersed in seconds, fading away and rising up to the ceiling.

  Perril knelt beside him, using her healing technique cards. Ash pushed himself over. His Vitality was already taking effect. He would live.

  “No!” he shouted. “Help Lady Fairynor. Help her, not⁠—”

  “She’s dead, Ash. I can’t resurrect anyone,” Perril replied.

  “Where are you drawing Vitality from?”

  “Myself. Enough to help heal you.”

  Ash shook his head, then glanced back at Lady Fairynor. She had been staring at him in her final throes, believing in him.

  It was time to finish the job.

  He pushed himself up, then limped over to the central pillar of the Citadel Tower. He manifested the [Light the Stars] card, something passed to him from his father and his father’s father before him.

  Then he triggered the card and slammed his hand into the central pillar.

  43

  THE BROADCAST

  Kinfild and Ken were eating dinner in the mess hall when shouts of amazement and surprise echoed around the room. It was a small chamber located at the edge of a dome city, boasting a perfect view out over the barren, gray surface of Santuree, if you were willing to look past the grimy portholes and through the clouds of smog shrouding the dome.

  “What’s going on?” Ken asked.

  Kinfild beamed. “You’re in for a treat. Come on, come look.”

  He stood up from the long table where contractors and workers were eating and walked with Ken to the porthole, their stolen scavenger uniforms clanking and clattering, their safety vests swaying in the artificial gravity.

  Although there were millions of stars in the night sky, they had doubled tonight. Massive lights shone in the void. There were wisps and whirls, as if the galaxy had gained an extra spiral in the immense emptiness of the void.

  “Did more stars just turn on?” Ken breathed.

  “Not exactly stars,” Kinfild replied. “Ancient megastructures floating through the void. They have no star of their own, and we don’t know how they function. They’re immensely difficult to get to, because no hyperroutes lead to them. Not normally.” He grinned. “But when a king Lights the Stars, he extends vast tendrils of the Split out to these structures. They shine immensely brightly, temporarily connected to the Split.”