“There’s no way we’d go in there!” Morgan yelped, her voice cracking like a whip across the heat-stained corridor.

  “I can carry you the whole way,” Caron offered, unflinching.

  “No need, Sir Caron. I can run,” she said, stepping ahead of us. It looked more like a standoff than a lead. Her arms barred the way as if she were holding back not just the path, but the fate that awaited us inside. "I think I'll just escape along with the prisoners up there."

  “No,” I said too fast. I caught her hands before she could drift farther. “You can't part away with us after Skymint already did."

  Her fingers were cold. Softer than I expected, but trembling like a leaf about to snap. She didn’t pull away.

  “I don’t want anyone else I care about to get hurt,” I continued, quieter now. “Especially not out of my sight. You’re a noble. A prisoner might take advantage of that.”

  “And the guards won’t stay frozen forever,” Caron added, voice grim. “Come on, I’ll protect you.”

  Morgan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you sooner. I’m afraid of enclosed spaces.”

  Her admission echoed louder than a scream. Shame lingered in the air.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “We’ll go through it together. You’re not alone.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m not letting go.”

  And I didn’t.

  We entered the labyrinth.

  Heat warped the air like a mirage, distorting the edges of our sight. But I felt none of it, thanks to the gemstone of heat resistance. A flickering line of torches barely held back the dark, their flames hissing against the damp breath of the underground. Caron led, the enchanted map clutched tightly in one hand. I followed, my fingers still locked around Morgan’s. I could feel her breath quicken, feel the weight she didn’t speak of pressing down with every step.

  Skymint better not have gone far. But a part of me hoped he had. Hoped he was already at the pyramid, already confronting Jamaico. Already saving my cousin.

  We descended deeper. The labyrinth coiled like a living thing, heat seeping from its walls like breath from a sleeping beast. Morgan clung tighter. Her footsteps were uneven, her pace jagged. The fear in her pulsed like a second heartbeat between us.

  “It’ll be okay,” I murmured. “Just hang on.”

  A whisper of movement stirred the sand.

  Caron didn’t hesitate. His whip flashed, ice-laced and gleaming, and snapped through the figure that rose from the ground. A mummy, half-buried and half-dead, crumbled as the whip tore through its midsection. No blood spilled—only a cascade of fine sand, like time itself slipping from a broken hourglass.

  The dead died again.

  We didn’t stop.

  “I almost had a heart attack,” Morgan muttered breathlessly. “Still, I’d take mummies over this place.”

  Heart attack.

  The words hooked something inside me. Uncle Dicester’s face rose unbidden in my mind—pale, contorted, breathless. Guilt clawed up my throat. First Dorsey. Then Llanova. One gone. One imprisoned. And both tied to me.

  What if I really had done it? If I had the power to twist perception, to bend reality, wouldn’t I use it to protect myself? No. The witness saw her. Not me. I didn’t kill him. But death followed me like a curse. One coincidence too many.

  I’ve always avoided thinking about it. Pushed it away like a hand from the fire. But lately... the thought has clawed its way back.

  Could there be something wrong with me?

  Lady Collfumes once told us nobles a bedtime story—a cautionary tale, really—about a forbidden spell. One that could split a soul in two, separating the conscious self from a darker, buried persona. I used to scoff at it, chalk it up to superstition. But the way it’s lingered in my mind... it gnaws.

  What if there's truth buried in the myth?

  What if I’m living it?

  Maybe if I found a Magical Item in this place, I could know for certain. Even if the answer would ruin me.

  "Morgan, can I ask you something?" I said, already knowing I had.

  She blinked, as if reading my hesitation.

  "Why am I afraid of enclosed spaces?" she asked instead.

  That wasn’t supposed to be my question. But I let it slide. It was easier to be concerned with someone else’s trauma than expose my own.

  "Yes," I said simply.

  She exhaled, the sound hollow. "When I was a kid, it was nighttime and I was bored so I went to a maze in our underwater kingdom, and there was a really strong current that trapped me in place. I'm glad the Aquamarinian guards have found me, but it took an eternity before rescue came, so it got etched in my mind to never go in such a place again."

  A pause.

  "I was lucky the Aquamarinian guards found me. But by then, the damage was done. It carved something permanent in me."

  "That’s horrible," I said. My voice caught in the back of my throat. “I hope you find the strength to break free from it someday.”

  "Yeah." She gave a half-hearted shrug. "What about you, Arie? What’s your fear?"

  The question sliced deeper than expected.

  Before I could answer, the sand stirred with menace.

  Then they rose.

  A dozen mummies emerged from the dunes, bandaged and brittle, with yellow eyes glowing like cursed lanterns in the dark. Their gaze latched onto us.

  I froze—not from magic, but sheer, primal fear.

  "Holy Glacia!" Caron roared, finally breaking his quietude.

  He cracked his whip, coiling it around two mummies and wrenching with such force that their dried bodies tore apart like paper. I lunged forward, casting out an arc of frost that enveloped the next wave. Morgan stayed close behind, quiet, still not fighting.

  They weren’t coming from the walls. They were rising from beneath. As if summoned. Spontaneous emergence like this… it had to be inner magic. Possibly Llanova’s.

  When a sorcerer dies, their spells don’t always vanish. Some persist, buried in the threads of the world. If it was a permanent enchantment, these mummies might keep coming.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Caron growled, scanning the corridor. "They’re swarming. Stay behind me."

  Morgan didn’t move. Her hands twitched, but she didn’t summon water. She couldn’t—not here. She knew it would flood the chamber.

  Then more of them burst from the sand behind us.

  I spun, ice lacing my boots, and kicked hard. Frost webbed across their limbs. Caron moved like a storm: whip and spear in tandem, his strikes crisp and decisive. Each hit from our ice-forged weapons left mummies frozen in place, crumbling from within.

  That’s the nature of outer magic.

  When a frozen object wielded by an ice user comes in contact with something, they're able to freeze them. It's the same with other elements.

  There are thirteen known elements in outer magic: ice, water, plant, rock, flame, lava, wind, sand, light, dark, electric, phantom, and the elusive double-elemental. None of them occur naturally in humans. They’re drawn from Magical Fruits, stored in rare fruit cubes scattered across the kingdoms.

  But inner magic... that’s different.

  Dreamer’s Magic. Vampire’s Magic. Binder’s. Puppeteer’s.

  Older. Rarer. Born, not consumed.

  Long ago, a Dreamer's Magic user enchanted fruits because people wanted a taste of power, making their dreams come true in a literal way. And with it, the world changed.

  We followed the map’s path through the winding corridors of the labyrinth, each step drawing us closer to the pyramid. The sandstone walls loomed tall and ancient, etched with forgotten symbols, their surfaces stained with the brittle frost left behind by frozen mummies. Whole squadrons frozen mid-charge, their shriveled limbs caught in a moment that would never move forward again.

  We came to an intersection.

  A head rolled out from one of the adjacent paths: bandaged, eyeless, still twitching with some long-dead nerve. Dust trailed behind it like smoke.

  Then we saw him.

  Skymint.

  His chest rose and fell sharply, shoulders tense, the edges of his frost-laced sleeves trembling as he tried to catch his breath.

  “Skymint—”

  “Y’all done freeing the fruit cubes?” he asked, voice low, eyes fixed ahead. Not on me.

  Morgan stepped forward, brushing sand from her face. “Yes, we did it.”

  “You look tired,” I said, stepping closer. “Take a rest. We’ll clear the path.”

  Caron draped his golden-armored arm on Skymint’s back with casual camaraderie. "Hard as your bravery, boy. You have potential to be a Class 5 fruit master."

  We didn’t linger. There wasn’t time. I thought of giving him the ring then, the one that shielded me from the heat, but my hand hesitated. Not because of the loss. But because of us—the unspoken thing stretching thin and awkward between us like a strand of half-burned rope.

  We ran on. Turn after turn, shadow after shadow. Mummies lunged. We froze them mid-snarl. And then, finally, we reached it: a long, spiraling staircase carved from sun-bleached stone, winding like a corkscrew into the ceiling above.

  Caron paused, map in hand. "I'm not sure if this is it, but it's labeled as Pyramid's Staircase." He traced a finger over the parchment. "And it seems that only a part of the labyrinth is drawn in the map—it doesn't show what's further ahead. There are more unexplored pathways beyond here."

  I moved in to look, but I yanked Morgan’s hand too hard in my rush.

  She flinched.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I just wanted to see the—”

  "No apologies," she said, slipping her hand free. "I think I'm fine now."

  "You sure?"

  A quiet smile tugged at her lips. “Yes. We’ve got Skymint with us, anyway.”

  She didn’t ask about the final battle in the arena. Not yet. Maybe she sensed the weight of it or the way I couldn’t bear to meet Skymint’s eyes when it came up.

  We stopped at the base of the spiral.

  “This staircase is longer than my lifespan,” Morgan muttered. “Why build it at all when we could just fly?”

  “Hold on.” A voice rang out behind us, smooth and dry as sifted sand. “We can fly?”

  We turned.

  Pandust.

  The Sandman noble stepped into the flickering torchlight, his beige fur dull, eyes glinting like flint under pressure. Sand swirled at his feet, forming a vortex that shimmered with quiet menace.

  “You freed the prisoners,” he said. “I’m not letting you go.”

  The sand gathered behind him like wings preparing to unfold. “I’ll make this simple. Give me one of you, and the rest may leave.”

  Morgan clutched my arm, a soft gasp slipping from her lips. “Not the choking again,” she whispered.

  Caron stepped forward, golden armor gleaming faintly beneath the torchlight. “I’m a knight of Glacia,” he said. “I won’t let you harm them.”

  Pandust tilted his head, voice sharpening. “Correction—former knight. That armor isn’t yours. You stole it from our dead.”

  His gaze scanned us, lingering on Caron. I saw it in his expression: take him, it said. Let the rest go. But we had come too far. None of us were going back.

  Then I remembered the cruelty carved into this kingdom’s bones. In Sunstar, being an aristocrat was less privilege and more punishment. That’s why he’s chasing us—not out of duty, but out of fear.

  “Caron, back away,” I said sharply. “He has full control here.”

  Pandust stepped forward, his movements measured but assured. “You won’t find the ritual without this.” He lifted a hand, revealing a rolled map stained with time. “There are dozens of pyramids in this area. One wrong turn, and you vanish.”

  Caron’s gaze flicked toward me, jaw clenched. “Don’t go in yet. Could be a massive trap. I’ll get the map.”

  Without another word, he lunged—whip in one hand, spear in the other. Pandust met him barehanded, bandages curled around his wrists like quiet threats. Their weapons clashed, movements too fast to follow. I held my breath. I couldn’t interfere. My magic wasn’t precise in a blur. I might freeze the wrong body. The wrong heart.

  “Why are you doing this?” Skymint asked, voice low. When I turned, he was looking directly at me.

  “What?” The word slipped out, more reflex than answer.

  But the wind had already swallowed the moment.

  Sand churned, veiling the world in gold and grit. A sandstorm howled into being, its voice like a beast screaming underwater.

  “…manuh…pluh…ting…uths…”

  Skymint's voice fractured and vanished. But something in his eyes stayed with me. An accusation, maybe. Or a plea.

  I couldn’t be sure.

  Morgan clung tighter to me, coughing into my shoulder. We pushed forward, sightless and mute, until a stair rose beneath our feet like an omen. And then, suddenly, I was no longer grounded.

  Something dragged me upward.

  I plummeted, only to land hard. My boots hit the floor outside the pyramid’s sealed door. The wind here was thinner—quiet, almost reverent. The air cleared, revealing Skymint a few paces ahead, half-shadowed. We stared at each other—no words, no judgment—before he turned and vanished again.

  He returned moments later, Morgan slumped against his back like a fallen leaf. He laid her beside me with more care than he wanted to admit.

  “We have to save Carrie,” he said, eyes cast downward.

  “But Sir Caron—”

  “Before it’s too late,” he cut in, dismissing Morgan’s protest without looking at her.

  Morgan stayed quiet for a breath, then spoke in a trembling voice. “He fought for us. That means the Sandman will take him because he chose to stay behind.”

  Below, the storm thickened like smoke. Grit stung my eyes, and I covered my mouth, breath shallow.

  Then, without warning, Morgan raised her palms.

  A tide of water surged from beneath the sand, defying logic. The storm hissed as it met the cold. And slowly, the figures below emerged.

  Pandust was half-encased in ice, immobilized in a sculpted prison. Caron stood on a gleaming ice platform, weapon raised. His domain. Water always gave him the upper hand.

  With a final lash of his whip, he leapt—ice rising beneath each step—and landed before us. He held out the map, breath steady despite everything.

  "This is really the pyramid we're looking for, no doubt," he said, tapping the pyramid’s symbol. “I’ve been fooled twice already.”

  My heart thudded, loud and deliberate, as Caron’s spear clattered to the ground. But no trap sprang. No whirring blades or collapsing floors. Only the slow groan of the door unlatching itself.

  Of course, the button had been marked on the map.

  Inside, the air was thick—pyramid dust and something older, like time sealed in sandstone. I stepped forward and froze.

  Carrie was bound to a rectangular altar. No—more like a pedestal. Vines, thorned and glistening like glass, coiled tight around her limbs. She was upright but limp, her neck craned, her breath shallow. Our eyes met. Hers were dull, sun-faded, rimmed in weariness.

  "Skymint..." she rasped.

  He was the first to move. “I’ll cut the vines,” he said, stepping forward.

  Something bitter flickered in my chest, sharp as flint. I didn’t name it.

  But before his fingers reached her, her expression hardened.

  “Don’t,” she said. “I’d rather die here with the Sun God.”

  "What are you talking about?" I asked, already fearing the answer.

  From the far end of the chamber, a voice curled like smoke from a brazier.

  “Yes, that’s correct, my tribute,” said King Jamaico.

  He sat upon a throne draped in gold and sin—bejeweled, elevated, smug. A chalice twirled idly in his hand, its contents thick and dark.

  "It is imperative that I reclaim your soul," he continued, tone light, almost bored. "All I needed was a wounded princess. I’ve yet to mummify one with royal blood. Aside from my sister-in-law, of course. Llanova’s mother. She had it all, my brother included, until she gave her heart to some common Polarman. Tragic, really. But expected. Love makes fools of queens.”

  Skymint’s jaw clenched. “You showed him his parents were watching. In the arena.”

  Jamaico chuckled. “Replicas. Puppets. Mummified bodies obey like well-trained dogs. I gave him what he wanted—a lie to die for.”

  “Praise the Sun God,” my cousin murmured.

  Caron stepped forward, voice tight. “What have you done to her?”

  “Come now, Carrie,” I pleaded. “You’re not a tribute. You’re you.”

  Her gaze drifted over us like fog, unfocused. “No... you don’t understand. I’m on my way to a paradise. One where suffering ends.”

  "Too bad Ice Princess," Jamaico turned to me, "You are Felipe's, so I only had to pick between her and Royalty."

  So he had considered me. A fight between three princesses sounds worse.

  He’s brainwashing her, I thought. But even that felt too clean. Too simple.

  "No," something whispered. "Let her die. That way she won’t steal your bear-boy."

  I froze.

  What?

  Where did that come from?

  It hadn’t been spoken aloud. No one else flinched. No one else heard it.

  It came from inside.

  And the voice was mine.