That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling of my room. Or at least, what was left of the ceiling. The faint glow of my starlight forest bled through every corner, curling around stone and timber alike, roots and branches sprawling as if walls meant nothing. Pale light twinkled overhead, not harsh, not overbearing—just soft, jeweled glimmers, like moonlit gemstones or faelight caught in glass. Beautiful. Too beautiful.

And impossible to ignore.

The air carried a hush, the kind of silence only living things made—when they breathed together. My forest did not creak or groan like normal wood. It whispered, as though the trees leaned toward one another in endless conversation.

A part of me wanted to let it spread. To say screw it and give in. If this power wanted to lay claim to everything around me, then why not let it? Why not see how far my roots could reach, how vast the canopy could grow? My instincts itched with the desire to expand, to consume space, to be.

But reason cut through, cold and merciless. That was exactly what Lumivis had warned me against. A forest without boundaries devours all. It would not stop with my room. It would not stop with me.

So I breathed, counting the rise and fall of my chest, but the pulse of aura beneath my skin answered back like a second heartbeat.

A soft weight pressed against my arm.

Basaroiel had settled beside me, his feathers ruffling against the faint glow. He was half-curled, beak tucked close, but not asleep. His eyes glimmered faint gold, fixed on me in that way he had—wordless but knowing. I reached out, fingers threading automatically through the soft down along his head, searching for pinfeathers to preen. He chirred low in his throat, pleased, tilting his head to give me better access.

The action calmed me more than my own breathing exercises.

"You're too good for me," I whispered, running my thumb down the sharp line of his beak.

His answer was a simple intent pressed against my mind—wrong. Not words, but meaning: we are enough together.

My chest tightened, and I buried my face briefly in his neck, inhaling the faint scent of feathers and earth.

But when I looked again at the glowing branches crawling across the ceiling, I knew I couldn't ignore it.

Lumivis was right. Intent wasn't mastery.

If I didn't learn to cage this, it would only keep spreading.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine barriers—something to contain the glow, to fence it off before it swallowed the whole room. I thought of Marybelle's glass walls, Nathan's vineyard trellises, even Morgan's blade arcs—anything that contained instead of released. The effort made my temples throb, the air around me tightening, light dimming in fits and starts as if the forest resisted.

Basaroiel stirred, sensing my strain, his intent brushing against me again: slow.

"Slow…" I echoed under my breath. My grip eased slightly in his feathers.

The glow dimmed. Only a little, but enough to notice.

My eyes opened again, staring at the ceiling where the starlight pulsed softer, no longer blinding. The forest did not vanish—it clung stubbornly, roots still etched into stone—but it had quieted, responding to my will instead of spilling freely.

I let out a shaky laugh, more relief than joy. "Guess that's a start."

Basaroiel warbled, satisfied, before nudging my hand insistently again for more preening.

And so I lay there, grooming him in the hush of my own half-made world, knowing that tomorrow Lumivis would demand more. That the phantoms would press harder, that the bow would tremble in my hands again, that the Odachi would tempt me toward brute force instead of discipline.

But for tonight, beneath the glow of my impossible forest, with Basaroiel's warmth steady against me, I let myself believe that mastery was possible.

The next morning, the Pendell City Labyrinth stretched around us, alive beneath my skin.

Walls of ink-black stone rose and shifted at my will, corridors bending into new angles, dead ends collapsing into open fields, staircases spiraling upward where moments before there had been none. The labyrinth was mine—an extension of my Lexicon Arte—but even I couldn't claim full mastery. It buckled sometimes, seams of unreality running jagged through its edges, as if the whole structure strained against being called into the waking world.

And that was exactly why Lumivis had chosen it.

"You are all raw," Lumivis said, his voice calm, but laced with the chill of starlight. "Together, you must become a blade. Not six edges clashing in chaos—but a single cut, clean and whole."

He raised his hand. Stars gathered at his fingertips, condensed into motes before sinking into the stone of the labyrinth.

The walls shuddered.

Then the first beast came.

It tore itself from shadow and rubble, a wolf with too many eyes, its body stitched together from broken stairways and shattered masonry. It howled—a sound like falling stone—and lunged forward.

"Go!" I barked.

Sven reacted first, his rifle flashing as a shot split into three midair, streaking across the corridor. The creature flinched, its stone-hide fracturing under the impact but not breaking.

"Too shallow," Wallace growled, shoving forward. His shield gleamed as he met the beast head-on, bracing against its weight. Claws scraped sparks against his barrier as he held the line.

Ten spun past him, chains rattling, the spiked balls at her ankles glowing faint with her Arte. She slammed one down, its weight suddenly multiplied mid-swing, crushing through one of the wolf's limbs. Stone shattered, dust exploding outward.

Cordelia's eyes narrowed, her flowers blooming in midair—phantom blossoms that shimmered before detonating in the wolf's many eyes. It reeled back, blinded, staggering into the wall.

V darted forward, salt glinting in his hand. He flicked it across the creature's wounds, and the cracks spread faster than they should have, corrosion racing like fire through dry wood.

I raised my bow, aura coiling around me, but Lumivis's words echoed—intent is not mastery. The forest stirred inside me, branches pressing against the walls of my chest, eager to break free. My hands trembled.

Basaroiel shifted in the bag at my side, his muffled chirr grounding me.

I drew. My arrow glowed starlight, sharp as silence itself.

The release was clean.

It pierced the wolf through the core. A heartbeat later, the entire construct collapsed into rubble, scattering across the floor with a thunderous crash.

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The team barely had time to breathe before Lumivis raised his hand again.

Three more beasts clawed their way free this time—one serpentine, one avian, one hulking like a bear.

"Together," Lumivis intoned. "Or not at all."

The labyrinth shifted at my will, walls collapsing to widen the corridor into an open chamber. The air filled with dust and roars.

"Wallace, keep the serpent off Cordelia!" I shouted. "Sven—target overlap with V! Ten, break the wings before it takes the air!"

Orders flew faster than thought, instinct spilling into command. The others moved—not perfectly, but close enough. Wallace slammed his barrier between Cordelia and the serpent's strike. Ten leapt, chains whipping as she clipped the bird's wing at the joint, weight multiplying until bone snapped. Sven's triple-shots aligned with V's explosive salt, peppering the bear with detonations that staggered it backward.

Cordelia seized the opening, her blossoms twining into vines that lashed upward, binding the serpent's jaw shut. Her teeth clenched from the strain, but she held it.

I drew again, the glow of the forest pulsing harder, pressing against me like a tide.

Basaroiel nudged inside the bag. Slow.

I exhaled. One arrow, not ten. Focused, not bled.

The shot lanced the bird clean through the chest. It dissolved into starlight fragments before it could even crash.

The bear lunged past V—too close, too fast—until Wallace's shield slammed against its maw. Sparks flew. Sven's shot cracked its skull. Ten's chain swept low, dragging its legs from under it with crushing weight.

And then the serpent burst free, fury twisting its coils. Cordelia faltered, sweat beading down her brow.

I snapped my hand outward—labyrinth walls collapsed in an instant, burying half the serpent beneath rubble. It screamed, thrashing.

"Now!"

The entire team converged. Salt. Chains. Barriers. Blossoms. Bullets.

And my bowstring.

The labyrinth chamber shook with the force of our strike.

When silence fell, rubble and fading starlight were all that remained.

I bent over, breath ragged, sweat running down my face. My aura still hummed too strongly, my forest pressing against every seam, but it had not broken free. Not completely.

Lumivis's gaze settled on me—not unkind, but unyielding.

"Better. But still not enough."

He raised his hand again.

The labyrinth roared to life.

This time, five beasts came

Five shadows bled from the stone.

The labyrinth groaned as they crawled into existence—clawed shapes grinding against the walls, howls like metal dragged across glass. A hound with three snapping jaws. A scorpion large enough to blot the corridor. A horned thing made of fractured glass. A centipede whose legs were blades. And a figure that looked disturbingly human, but faceless, wielding a sword twice its height.

The others stiffened. Even Ten's grin faltered for a fraction.

"Stay together," I snapped, forcing my voice steady. "Wallace, anchor. Sven, focus fire. Cordelia—control the swarm. V, opportunistic strikes. Ten, harass and break."

Basaroiel shifted in the bag at my side, feathers brushing my arm. His intent pressed faintly against my mind: Steady.

The hound struck first, jaws snapping as Wallace raised his shield. Sparks shrieked across its surface, the barrier groaning. Wallace grunted, pushing back, his Arte blooming as glowing wards wrapped around the shield's rim. "It's heavier than it looks!" he barked.

"Then we make it lighter," Ten snarled. She swung her chains low, Arte flashing, the spiked balls suddenly feather-light as they spun—then impossibly heavy when they connected. The hound's knee buckled under the weight, bone cracking with a sick crunch.

The glass-horned beast screamed, shards flaring from its body like a storm of razors. Cordelia clenched her fists, psychic blossoms unfurling in a dome around the group. The petals absorbed most of the impact, but each fracture strained her control, her jaw trembling.

"I can't—hold—long—" she gasped.

"Then I'll thin it!" Sven's rifle thundered. One shot became three, then six as he chained fire with calculated precision. Each impact shattered shards midair, lessening the hail enough for Cordelia to catch her breath.

Meanwhile, the centipede rushed the flank, its blade-legs clattering against the stone. V darted forward, a salt-pouch in his hand. He scattered it along the path in a spiral, and the centipede's legs faltered as the grains hissed like acid against their joints. "Bought us ten seconds," he muttered, ducking back.

That left the scorpion and the faceless swordsman.

The scorpion's stinger lashed, catching Wallace's shield and hurling him back into a wall hard enough to rattle the labyrinth. He groaned, but stood again, blood trailing from his temple.

The swordsman moved with eerie grace, blade sweeping wide. I barely pulled Fractal back in time, her form flickering as the blade cut through empty air.

My turn.

I lifted my bow. My forest surged again, pressing at the seams of my chest, branches clawing at my ribs. My hand shook.

Basaroiel's intent pressed firmer: Not flood. Focus.

I forced the forest into a single breath. Drew. Released.

The arrow struck the scorpion's stinger mid-swing. It detonated in a flare of light, sending fragments of obsidian shell scattering. The scorpion shrieked, staggering back.

"Nice!" Ten barked, leaping forward to capitalize. Her chains coiled around one leg, multiplied in weight, and with a heave, she snapped it out from under the beast.

The hound lunged again, Wallace slamming his shield into its jaws with a roar. The centipede broke free of V's trap, blades shrieking as it surged.

"Fractal!" I shouted.

She flared like a star, fractal light bursting in all directions. The centipede reeled, blinded, giving Sven and V their opening. V tossed salt into the air—Sven shot through it—and the air itself ignited, shredding half the creature in an explosion.

Cordelia seized the chance to bind what remained, her blossoms twining around its body, crushing with psychic force until it fell still.

"Three down," I panted. "Scorpion, swordsman, hound still up."

The swordsman moved then, its faceless head tilting as though mocking us. It dashed forward with impossible speed, blade sweeping for my throat.

Too fast.

But the labyrinth was mine.

I slammed my palm against the wall. The corridor twisted, collapsing between us. Stone walls erupted upward, blocking the strike at the last instant. The blade sheared through, nearly cleaving the barrier in half, but it bought me a heartbeat.

Basaroiel chirred in the bag. Breathe. Control.

I nodded, forcing my aura to compress, not spill. My bowstring hummed as I drew again, forest-light coiling like veins down my arm.

"Alexander!" Wallace's voice roared over the chaos. He had the hound pinned against a wall, shield braced. "Finish it!"

I loosed.

The arrow lanced through the hound's three skulls at once. It convulsed, then collapsed into rubble, finally silent.

"Two left," I gasped.

The scorpion lashed its claws, catching Ten mid-dodge. She snarled as it hurled her across the chamber. She slammed into the wall hard enough to cough blood.

"Ten!" Cordelia cried, blossoms flaring to shield her, but the scorpion loomed over both.

I turned—too far. The swordsman was already there. Its blade swept down.

Wallace barely intercepted, his shield shattering with the impact. He crumpled, bloodied but alive.

Everything was falling apart.

The forest inside me screamed for release. My vision blurred with starlight, branches clawing at my throat, my skull.

Basaroiel pushed harder. No flood. Root. Anchor.

I staggered, knees trembling. "Anchor…"

Yes. Not a storm. A root.

The labyrinth obeyed.

Walls surged upward, spiraling into a dome, caging the scorpion and the swordsman inside with us. V's salt spread across the ground, glowing faintly in the confined space. Sven's rifle gleamed as he steadied his aim. Cordelia's blossoms unfurled overhead, raining psychic petals. Ten rose again, spitting blood, chains rattling as she staggered to her feet. Wallace planted his broken shield like a wall, even cracked and dented.

And I drew.

Not the flood. Just the root.

The forest condensed into the arrow, burning with compressed light.

"Together," I whispered.

And we all struck.

Ten's chains crashed into the scorpion's claw. Wallace's barrier shoved the swordsman back. Sven's shots split into nine, all converging on a single point. V's salt ignited in the air. Cordelia's blossoms constricted, binding both foes.

And my arrow pierced through them all.

The chamber detonated in starlight and saltfire. The roar shook the labyrinth itself, walls trembling as rubble fell around us.

When the smoke cleared, the beasts were gone.

We stood gasping, bleeding, trembling—but standing.

Lumivis's voice drifted through the dust, calm and inexorable.

"Better. Yet still not enough."

Basaroiel stirred in the bag, feathers puffing. His intent brushed against me again, sharper this time, like a warning. Next will break you if you are not ready.

My breath shuddered. My forest still pulsed, restless and hungry.

And Lumivis raised his hand again.

The labyrinth roared to life.

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