“Hurry up!” Kit called back, her pace faltering as she strained to keep her magic aloft. “Keep it up, Cy. Almost there.”
“I’m trying, woman,” Cyren muttered through clenched teeth, the words soaring back to Elyria on a weak gust.
Elyria caught the way Zephyr winced as she and Nox hurried Gael along. The sylvan’s face was pale, her normally vibrant eyes dulled, as if exhaustion was about to overtake her. Still, it didn’t stop her from tossing her gaze behind her every few seconds, making sure Cedric and Elyria were keeping up.
The black glass of the island glimmered ahead. “We’re almost there. Keep going,” Elyria shouted, though again, she wasn’t sure who she was really talking to. Even as she said the words, her own steps slowed. They were almost to the island, but that only meant they were nearly halfway. Fatigue pulsed in her bones. Her magic was spent from putting the bridge into place. The heat was too much. And she would have to do it all over again.
A wave of hot air swelled at Elyria’s back, as if on cue. She glanced at the faltering mist around her. Kit and Cyren couldn’t keep this up. The tip of Elyria’s boot caught on a small divot in the stone slab, and she stumbled, drenched with the realization that she couldn’t keep going much longer either.
She couldn’t help the despondent thought that bubbled up in her mind. Could this have been where Evander’s journey through the Crucible ended, too? So close, yet so far? Because she felt like she had to be. Close, that was. Shewas so close.
The gate on the other shore pulsed with a soft light, beckoning her. An awareness settled deep inside that something important lay within, and the Crucible itself was inviting her to see it.
A hand brushed the small of her back, and Elyria grimaced at the feel of the fabric of her shirt, soaked through with sweat, clinging to her skin as Cedric steadied her.
“Just keep moving. We’ll make it.” There was no question in his voice, and once again, Elyria felt that boost of energy, that small thrum of power, flow into her.
She nodded, forcing her tired limbs to pick up the pace. Together, they crossed from the makeshift bridge to the island, trading one form of obsidian for another. Elyria braced her hands on her knees and bent at the waist, doubling over as she sucked in breath after breath. Nearby, Kit and Cyren were in much the same state, the latter having fallen to his knees on the dark, glassy surface, though they kept their hands loosely raised, magic continuing to swirl weakly around the group.
“We can’t”—Elyria panted—“can’t stop...We have to—” She blinked, looking from the champions surrounding her to the beckoning gate on the other shore and back again.
It was difficult to tell previously, but they did not actually appear to be in the dead-center of the lake. As if getting to the island had shrunk the distance behind it, they were far closer to the shore—and the gate—than Elyria thought. Moreover, it turned out the island was tied to the shore by a strip of obsidian rock. It was thinner than the bridge she’d constructed, but similar. And, most importantly, looked just as traversable.
A kernel of hope took root inside Elyria’s chest. One that only swelled in size as she realized something else about the place they now occupied.
She straightened. “Is it...” Elyria started, her voice trailing off as she grappled with the very real possibility that she could be hallucinating. “Cooler?”
The air around them was still thick, still heavy, but there was a distinct, distinguishable difference in the temperature. Elyria glanced at Kit and Cyren, the two of them exchanging a wary look.
Biting her lip thoughtfully, Kit let her hands drop, the swirls ofmisted water dropping with them.
The heat didn’t return.
“Another ward?” Cedric mused, walking over to the rocky edge where Elyria’s makeshift bridge met the island. Peering into the flames, he raised a palm before him, facing out, like he was greeting the air. “There’s definitely something here. Some kind of magic.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll take it.” Cyren dropped his hands to the ground and sat back on his ankles, chest heaving.
Zephyr guided Gael toward a raised section of rectangular rock and helped her sit on it—a makeshift bench. “I suppose it wouldn’t be fair if the Crucible let us all burn to death.”
“Right, because fairness seems to be of the utmost importance in here,” Cedric said flatly.
Elyria stared at him.
“What?”
Her lips tipped to one side. “I believe that’s the closest you’ve ever come to criticizing the celestials’ grand design here. One might think you positively sacrilegious.”
She laughed at his answering scowl, though there wasn’t much force behind it. Not with her strength and power sapped as it was. Elyria was so tired she could have curled up into a ball on the glossy ground and slept right there. If it weren’t for...
As if it called her name, Elyria drew her eyes back to the glowing gate. All that stood between them was another stony bridge. They were so, so close. So close to thatimportant thingthat she knew—she justknew—lay beyond it.
“We’re almost there,” she repeated, unexpected hope surging in her chest. “Surely, crossing was the last part of the trial. Now we just need to?—”
A deep, guttural rumble reverberated through the obsidian beneath their feet. Elyria cut herself off, her body tensing. The other champions froze in place, eyes flicking between the still-churning lake of fire, the ground, and one another.
“What in all four hells was that?” Cyren said, his voice a harsh whisper, his hand already reaching for the hilt of the blade at his hip.
Elyria’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as the rumbling beneaththem grew louder. The ground shook, the flames around them flaring in response. A crack sounded from the obsidian near Elyria’s feet, steam hissing from a sudden fracture in the surface. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kit, Thraigg, Nox, and Cyren close ranks around Gael and Zephyr by the bench.
