Arie’s POV

  Resurrect? I was sure I heard it right. That meant—Llanova. He had to be the Dreamer’s Magic user in this kingdom.

  It made sense now. Jamaico must be holding his parents hostage. That’s why Llanova served him, why he kept his magic hidden from Skymint all this time.

  And the dark elemental fruit cube? He bought it from the Wolfmen. He’s been part of this longer than we thought. Imprisoned here, making Skymint worry. Making me doubt.

  I couldn’t let him be the sacrifice. I had to act—now.

  Knowing Skymint, he wouldn’t be able to kill Llanova. So I will.

  My heart thundered in my chest as I launched another barrage of ice, aiming to trap Llanova before he could slip back into shadow form. He never seemed to sweat, as if even the sunlight passed right through him.

  The wind tossed strands of my disheveled hair into my eyes. The air reeked of blood, sharp and metallic. Each shard of ice tore through his cream-colored fur, staining it red.

  A thrill jolted through me. Sharp. Cold. Wrong. I shouldn’t feel this. But I did.

  Why did it feel so good to see his blood?

  I needed to end this quickly, not torture him. The burning sun was getting on my nerves, and I wanted out of this arena.

  “Stop it!” Skymint shouted, rushing toward me.

  No. He can’t come closer. He’ll get hurt.

  I summoned a block of ice that struck him mid-sprint, sending him flying to the far edge of the battlefield. I hadn’t meant to hurt him—just keep him away. Keep him safe from his own stubbornness.

  Gasps rippled through the Sunstarians. Disapproval rained down on Skymint instead of me.

  Good. Let me finish this.

  Llanova darted away again, using his stamina to keep distance. I matched him step for step. The heat grew worse. The applause grew louder.

  Each time my ice found its mark, it kept me going.

  But I was running out of time and strength.

  He was hard to aim at. Normally, I had patience. But in this scorching arena, it was like my blood was boiling. My fists clenched. My throat was parched. I coughed on the sand swirling in the heat.

  The world tilted.

  I staggered to the arena gate, gripping its metal handle to ground myself. My breath came in short, ragged pulls.

  I wanted to freeze this gate solid, anything to keep myself from collapsing.

  But the voices came again. Louder this time. Hysterical laughter tangled with sobs. Echoing from the walls. Or maybe from inside me. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t want to.

  “Stop,” I whispered, clutching my head. “Please stop.”

  Pain lanced through me, sharp and sudden, like a thousand needles threading through muscle and bone. My knees gave out. My skull pulsed with a throbbing chill. My heartbeat crashed against my ribs, a war drum begging for more. More blood. More ruin.

  Maybe I should let go.

  Maybe this was it.

  I’d die here. Nameless. Spent.

  No reunion. No mother. No kingdom.

  But Skymint—

  Skymint, who had saved me. Who stayed when I had nothing left.

  I wouldn’t let him die.

  Not for me. Not for anyone.

  Across the arena, I saw Llanova charging toward him, arms braced for a final spell. I didn’t think. I moved. Ice cracked beneath my hands as I crawled across the scorched sand, frost blooming beneath my touch. Each step was a war against my failing limbs.

  I reached them just as Llanova's mouth opened. He didn’t even see me—until the ice slipped down his throat.

  Not just ice. Me.

  Fury and desperation shaped into frost, sliding past his lips like a whispered curse.

  His blood slowed, then stilled. Crystals spread beneath his skin like blooming flowers. Cold ones. Silent ones. He locked in place, upright and unmoving. Eyes wide. Not in pain.

  In disbelief.

  Skymint’s gaze jerked between him and me.

  I met his stare, unflinching.

  I saved him, didn’t I?

  Llanova had sworn to sacrifice him. And I stood against that. Against resurrection, against the lies that draped themselves in holy names. I knew what that kind of magic did. I knew the cost.

  Still trembling, I turned my eyes to Llanova's frozen body, almost pristine, except for the quiet death swelling beneath his skin. My vision blurred, but I noticed the glint on his hand—a gemstone nestled in his ring. Heat resistance.

  Perfect.

  I pried it off and slipped it on my finger. The warmth that followed wasn’t kindness. It was relief. Clinical. Consuming. A balm pressed over a gaping wound.

  I smiled at Skymint, hoping the gesture would do something. Soften things.

  But he flinched.

  Not from pain. From me.

  Something cracked in my chest. I opened my mouth to speak. To explain, to beg—I wasn’t sure—but the words slipped away. What could I say?

  What would he believe?

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  “Arie Glaciouso and Skymint Polarion win, acquiring their second victory!” the herald’s voice rang out, descending at the center of the arena like some theatrical angel.

  A flurry of light particles shimmered across Jamaico’s balcony.

  Gone.

  He’d vanished, likely halfway to embalming my cousin in one of his cursed pyramids. The logic of it unraveled in my mind, twisting in and out of comprehension. But then again, he was a lunatic. That was all the explanation he needed.

  The guards escorted us toward the door beside the arena gate. Until they stopped. Froze, like statues carved mid-breath.

  Caron stood before us. His shirt was damp with sweat, his hands encased in brittle frost. Beside him, Morgan beamed like this was some kind of reunion.

  “Caron!” I cried.

  He gave my head a rough pat, his expression warm but distant. The smile he wore didn’t quite reach the storm in his eyes.

  “Later for emotional stuff,” he said. “We need to leave. Now.”

  I looked toward Skymint. Searched for something—anything—but he avoided my gaze. Just nodded at Caron, like it hurt to do more.

  We descended the trapdoor and followed the corridor beneath. The path was dim, the air cold and stale like a tomb that never asked to be opened.

  “I cleared the guards,” Caron said over his shoulder, voice low. “No one in the arena will catch on soon.”

  Morgan walked at my side, radiant with misplaced cheer, while Skymint’s quiet footsteps echoed behind us.

  “How did you get out?” I asked her, just to break the silence clawing at me.

  “Oh, I didn’t do much,” she said, tossing her curls like she’d won a pageant. “I just told Sir Caron where you were, and boom—he suddenly had the power of ten men. Took out the guards like they were paper dolls.”

  She launched into an animated recounting of their escape, her voice a blur in my ears.

  My mind had splintered elsewhere.

  Llanova’s death replayed like a looped curse. His wide eyes. His frozen blood. I had done it to save Skymint. I knew that. But what if he didn’t see it that way? What if all he saw now was the monster?

  I wanted to say I was sorry.

  But the words wouldn’t rise. Not with Caron here. Not with Morgan’s laughter bouncing off the walls like we weren’t in the belly of a nightmare.

  Sorry. As if that would be enough.

  I gritted my teeth and forced the thought aside. Focus.

  The prisoners.

  If I couldn’t fix what I did, maybe I could at least stop more deaths.

  “Caron,” I said, cutting through the noise. “Do you still have the keys to the metal boxes?”

  He slowed. “Yeah. Why?”

  “We need to find where they’re keeping the fruit cubes. If we can return them to the prisoners, they might stand a chance. Their outer magic—it’s the only way they’ll get out of this place.”

  Guilt still clung to me like frostbite. Maybe setting them free would numb it.

  “I agree,” Morgan said at once, her tone sharpening.

  Skymint—silent until then—stepped forward, his voice steady. "I could use my passive to quickly destroy the doors."

  Caron stopped. His steel-blue hair swayed as he turned to face us. For a moment, his silver eyes locked on Skymint’s, lingering just long enough to suggest something unspoken.

  “Then let’s do it,” he said. “We save them first.”

  Together, they went to work. Metal groaned under pressure, frost cracked across the iron seams.

  Each room had closets, drawers, and beds—likely built for guards or perhaps special guests staying underground to escape the kingdom’s scorching heat. What stood out, though, was the square photo frame on every wall: Jamaico’s portrait. Regal. Handsome. Yes, he looked good, but did he really need to plaster his face in every room? His golden eyes seemed almost alive, watching us. I hoped the portraits weren’t enchanted. If they were, we were doomed.

  "Where were you headed before they captured you?" I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity.

  "To the Finnian Kingdom," he replied. Before I could ask why, he abruptly turned away and blasted open another door, clearly avoiding the question.

  We unlocked a few more rooms. Still nothing.

  “I heard footsteps,” Skymint whispered.

  My heart dropped. This was my fault—we were going to get caught again. I shouldn’t have trusted myself.

  “Quick, hide in the closets,” Caron ordered.

  I didn’t hesitate. I ducked into the nearest one, and Skymint and Morgan followed. I trusted Caron. He had once been Glacia’s royal knight.

  He remained outside, doing what he always did—saving us. And here I was, hiding in the dark, thinking more about whether Skymint hated me than whether we’d survive.

  A guard entered.

  Caron froze the man’s spear mid-thrust, lunged, and twisted his neck. I heard the sickening crack. The body hit the floor with a dull thud.

  Caron dragged the corpse away. A few moments later, he returned to the doorway, now disguised in the guard’s uniform. Golden helmet in place, whip on his side, spear in hand.

  “What are you doing here?” another guard demanded. “The Sand General ordered all units to find the missing prisoners before King Jamaico returns.”

  “Finding them,” Caron replied, voice deeper.

  “Or perhaps—”

  Caron struck first, jabbing the guard with his spear and hurling him into the others. Ice flashed. He froze them all, except one. Only that guard’s head was left unfrozen.

  Caron ripped off the helmet and pointed the spear at the man’s face.

  “Where are the fruit cubes?”

  Silence.

  Then, “Turn left twice. There’s a door in the center.”

  “Sounds believable,” Caron said, and froze his face without a blink.

  “You may come out,” he called.

  Skymint, Morgan, and I stepped out of the closets.

  “I thought we’d pretend to be your hostages,” she said.

  “That won’t work anymore. If I put the cuffs back, you’d lose your outer magic. And if your wrists are free, no one will buy it.”

  He handed me a thick scroll. As I unrolled it, a glowing arrow hovered inside a chamber. I moved a step—so did the arrow.

  I was tracing the path the guard mentioned when Morgan plucked it from my hands. The symbol jumped.

  “Woah. It tracks the one holding it,” she said, pacing. Skymint studied it, sharp-eyed, committing each turn to memory.

  Caron passed the last frozen guard. “Liar, was leading me to the General’s quarters.”

  Sunstar Kingdom’s punishments were severe. Jamaico made sure of that. No wonder the Sand General wanted us locked away before his return. Easier to survive with silence than failure.

  As we walked down the corridor, Skymint’s arm almost brushed mine—almost. He recoiled like he’d been burned.

  My brow tightened. I didn’t understand.

  “I… I can’t stay,” he said suddenly.

  We all turned.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. My voice cracked. I kept it steady.

  He didn’t look at me. “Carrie’s still in Jamaico’s hands. We don’t know what he’s doing to her in that pyramid. I can’t wait any longer.”

  "But—" I stepped toward him.

  He flinched.

  Something in my chest cracked.

  "I know you want to help the prisoners. That’s... good." He looked at me then. Really looked. “But someone needs to stop Jamaico before it’s too late.”

  "You’re going alone?" Caron asked.

  Skymint nodded. “I’ll go through the labyrinth. I’ll find her.”

  Morgan gasped. “That’s suicide.”

  “I’ve handled worse,” he murmured.

  I wanted to reach for him. Say something. But my throat stayed shut. He didn’t even say my name.

  Skymint turned. “Good luck freeing them.”

  Then he ran, white fur blurring into the distance.

  And I couldn’t stop him. Only his unspoken resentment stayed behind... and my guilt for killing Llanova.

  I pulled my attention back to the moment.

  "Over this wall—it leads to the opposite side. That’s where they hid the fruit cubes," I said, pointing.

  Caron fired an ice blast. The cool stone cracked, then fell apart. A chamber revealed itself, lined with metal boxes.

  "These are too many. How do we even unlock them?" Morgan began.

  Caron tossed us keys. “Same locks.”

  He disappeared through the hole, freezing any guard that approached.

  The boxes were enchanted—immune to magic, just like the cubes they stored. But once opened, the fruit cubes shot upward, bursting through stone and steel, homing in on their rightful masters.

  Freedom rushed faster than any order could stop it. No more arena. No more battles. They wouldn’t be captured again. Still, Skymint’s absence pressed against me.

  Suddenly, something smashed into the chamber.

  Caron crashed in with a burly man—both slammed through another wall.

  One stood up.

  Caron.

  The Sand General was frozen solid.

  “We’re done here,” Caron said.

  Frozen guards lined the corridor like shattered statues, limbs locked mid-motion—silent remnants of the chaos we’d left behind. We sealed the chamber with frost, entombing the Sand General where he stood. It wouldn’t kill him. But it would hold. For now.

  Thin sheets of ice wrapped around our boots, muting each step with a hushed crunch—except for Morgan, whose water affinity made the enchantment unnecessary.

  We ran.

  The walls blurred with streaks of frost and splintered stone. I handed the map to Morgan. Her passive ability sharpened her speed, but her breath was already faltering.

  “I’m getting exhausted,” she muttered, almost apologetic, though no one had blamed her.

  Without a word, Caron dipped beside her. She barely reacted as he hoisted her onto his shoulders. His pace never broke. With his own passive gift, he could run fast too.

  “Are we really going into the labyrinth?” Morgan asked, voice thin. “There’s no other path?”

  “He can’t face Jamaico alone,” I said. The words came out low.

  And then the door emerged—towering, cold metal flushed with old blood. Caron pressed his hand against it. It groaned open.

  Beyond, the sand-colored walls twisted inward, the stench of decay heavy in the air. We’d catch up to Skymint—no matter what waited for us.