Chapter One Hundred Fourteen: One Small Step

  The sky was still dark when the group gathered in the mess hall—an early meal and quick strategy session before the trip to Roandia. Plates were full, seats just taken, when a low buzz filled the air, sharp and sudden, like a warning wrapped in static. Then a tear in the universe—a slow, golden swirl that hovered midair, humming like reality had a sore throat.

  Ell sighed and dropped her gear inspection. Her hand went straight to the weapon she definitely wasn’t supposed to have.

  The portal spun a little faster, like it was enjoying itself.

  Then it coughed up a figure.

  He tumbled out like a human cannonball, arms flailing, and crashed into the stack of books balanced on the chair next to Alice. The impact sent pages flying and earned a noise somewhere between a thud and a yelp. Impressive. Also loud.

  “Delivery completed!” chirped a disembodied voice, far too cheerful. “No refunds, no exchanges, all cosmic transport final!” The portal thumped shut.

  The heap of limbs and questionable fashion on the floor groaned, then slowly reassembled into something like Dex. Not exactly the same Dex who’d vanished with cryptic warnings and a wink. This one looked... worn. Not aged, but different. A new scar traced his jaw. His eyes held a weight Jace hadn’t before.

  From the pile: “I’m fine! Totally meant to do that.”

  Ell pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course you did.”

  “Did I miss breakfast?” he asked, like he’d just popped out for milk.

  Dex didn’t wait for an answer before gracefully swiping a croissant from Jace’s plate. He didn’t just eat. He devoured. He tore into a newly acquired plate like a starved animal, barely pausing to breathe. A roll vanished in one bite. Eggs, gone. Bacon, inhaled. He made a noise of primal satisfaction, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and without hesitation, reached across the table and stole Alice’s toast right off her plate.

  Alice froze mid-sip of her tea, staring in mute horror.

  He didn’t stop.

  Jace’s hash browns? Gone.

  Ell’s sausage? Swiped before her fork even touched it.

  Marcus’s entire plate? Vanished while the man was looking the other way.

  Dex tore through the food with wild abandon.

  “You weren’t gonna eat that, were you?” he asked between mouthfuls, reaching for another slice of toast.

  “Dex?” Jace slid the rest of his breakfast toward him. “You okay?”

  Ell and Alice pushed theirs forward as well, like a peace offering to a ravenous beast, looking vaguely traumatized.

  Marcus, to his credit, tried to mount some kind of resistance—fork in hand, eyes steely—but Dex met his gaze, lifted the last strip of bacon directly off Marcus’s plate, and stuffed it in his mouth without breaking eye contact.

  Marcus put his fork down. “You need help.”

  Dex licked butter off his thumb.

  Dex downed the last bite, leaned back, and exhaled—a sound caught between satisfaction and a food-drunk stupor.

  “Dex?” Jace tried again, nudging him this time.

  Dex blinked like he’d just noticed someone was speaking. His eyes met Jace’s, unfocused for a beat—then awareness clicked back in. He sat up slightly and brushed himself off, releasing small clouds of dust and... whatever else had hitched a ride back with him.

  “Oh, yeah. Mostly. Probably. Definitely? I still have all my original fingers and everything.” He stared at his hand, wiggled his fingers, and nodded. “Yep. All mine, I think.”

  “How long were you gone, on your side?” Alice asked, rebuilding her carefully organized stack of books.

  “Hard to say. Months? Maybe more. Time’s... bendy when you’re not in it.”

  Ell folded her arms. “You look like you’ve been through a blender.”

  He aimed for a nearby chair and dropped into it with his usual flair, but there was something new in the motion. Less chaotic. More… deliberate.

  “You smell terrible,” Jace said. “And you’ve got silver in your hair.”

  “Eleven dimensions and a hop-skip through time will do that,” Dex replied, pulling strange objects from his pockets: a coin that shimmered like frozen starlight, a vial of liquid shadow, and a rubber duck that hummed quietly. “Also, Tuesday is sentient in the seventh realm. Fun fact. Lovely chat. Terrible poetry.”

  Alice raised an eyebrow. “Time travel?”

  “Time, space, everything in between.”

  Marcus crossed his arms. “So what was so urgent it couldn’t wait until after our mission?”

  Dex hesitated. Just a flicker. Then the grin returned. “It’s complicated. Also, I signed a non-disclosure agreement. With the god of communication. Irony.”

  He stretched, joints cracking loudly. “Anyway, it went fine. Long story. I’d tell you but I’d have to kill you, and all that.”

  Ell looked unconvinced.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Jace asked.

  Dex paused. Just a beat. Then he smiled, softer this time. “I’ve missed linear time. And physics that mostly behave. I’m just happy to be back. Hey, did I miss the thing? There was something important… Oh, yeah. Roandia. Did I miss the thing with Roandia?”

  “We leave in three hours,” Alice said, gathering the last of her scattered books. “Try not to get abducted again before then.”

  “No promises,” Dex said around a bite of donut. His eating had slowed to a reasonable pace. “Though I think Thursday owes me one. Weirdly pushy for a weekday.”

  They didn’t ask. Some questions were safer that way. Besides, they had a mission to prep. Hopefully one with fewer portals, and more predictable problems.

  Dex grinned, that old boyish charm sliding back into place. He was still him—and that, at least, eased some of the growing knots in Jace’s chest.

  But still... something lingered. Something beneath the grin, behind the eyes. Something had changed.

  Jace knew that feeling—the weight of things you couldn’t say. He wouldn’t pry. Dex would tell him when, and if, he could.

  Their reunion was cut short by another sharp buzz—louder this time, followed by a voice. The announcement crackled to life through the glowing crystals embedded in walls, each one pulsing faintly with the speaker’s words, just as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon.

  “The Inken Trials are over.”

  It sounded as grumpy as someone who’d been awoken too early and had every reason to be displeased. Jace was already with his friends in the mess hall, picking at the remains of an early breakfast. A handful of other students had gathered, bleary-eyed, across the scattered wooden benches.

  Dex, Ell, and Alice sat with Jace, the three of them close enough to hear the amused mutterings of the few other students. Molly and Marcus had promised they’d meet the group at the portal. Jace noted that they had been spending an odd amount of time together.

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  The voice—undoubtedly Brutus’—crackled again, dripping with sarcasm. “For whoever rigged my toilet with the ink bomb... I’d like to commend you for your cleverness and attention to detail. You’ve clearly been paying close attention in Artifice and Artifications class.”

  Jace shot Dex a sidelong glance, catching the flash of his friend’s devilish grin and the sly wink that followed. Across the table, Ell merely shook her head, her lips quirking in a faint smile as she sipped her tea.

  Brutus’s words crackled through the aether-enhanced crystals, sharper now.

  “Additionally, when I find you—and I will find you—you’ll wish you weren’t born.”

  The silence that followed was heavy, stretching across the mess hall like an uneasy mist. Dex’s gulp was unmistakable in the stillness.

  The announcement concluded with all the joy of a death sentence. “All remaining students, gather at the Hermes District gates for transport. We leave for the Southeastern Stronghold in one hour. If you don’t make it, you will be left behind.”

  The announcement rippled through the small morning crowd, murmurs growing into cheers, as if the very air held their collective relief. Of the thousand students who had entered, only 489 remained.

  Jace and the rest of the Scooby-Gang had dragged themselves out of bed before dawn, the kind of early that made their eyes sting and their tempers short. Rumor had it that Brutus would offer only a narrow window and try to weed out a few late waking students. He seemed eager to wash his hands of this year’s Games, and a part of Jace couldn’t help but think he might have the right idea. With everything spiraling out of control lately, the prospect of the Games felt more like a curse than an event. But it was a curse that Jace had no intention of avoiding.

  The students were directed to Hermes District, a place that hummed with life and magic. Jace and his friends moved as a group, the energy of the district around them almost infectious. Dex swaggered ahead, his grin widening every time Ell rolled her eyes in response to his antics. He looked back at her, his face lit with mischief.

  “C’mon, Ell, admit it. You’re impressed,” Dex said with faux charm.

  Ell gave him another dramatic eye roll, her tone dry as she shot back, “The only thing I’m impressed by is your ability to beat expectations. Just when I think you’ve done the dumbest thing you could, you go ahead and surprise me.” Despite her words, there was no venom in her tone—just the usual exasperation Dex seemed to inspire.

  “You do realize that the Inken Trials were technically over at dawn today,” Alice said. “We could have just waited.”

  “And let Brutus think he bested us? I don’t think so,” Dex countered.

  Ell huffed, but a small, reluctant smile finally broke through her feigned irritation. She gave Dex a light bump with her elbow as they walked, her demeanor softening. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

  “It’s part of my charm,” Dex replied, winking. He swaggered a little further ahead, and Ell just sighed, shaking her head, though her smile lingered.

  Marcus and Molly appeared, cheeks flushed, walking beside the group as they made their way.

  “Where have you two been?” Ell asked, her tone playful, masking a hint of faux sternness.

  Marcus opened his mouth, “Uh—“ but Ell cut him off with a small laugh.

  “I see,” she said, with a knowing grin. “Well, heads in the game, we are almost there.”

  “It’s not like that,” Marcus protested. Molly just smiled.

  A row of grand pillars flanked the path, standing sentinel at the entrance to Hermes District. These ancient, towering structures were carved from obsidian-hued stone, so dark it drank in the dawn light and left nothing behind. Their surfaces shimmered with intricate runes, glowing faintly like captured moonlight, each rune a testament to the centuries of protective enchantments etched into their being. The carvings seemed almost alive, the light flowing in delicate pulses, hinting at layers of magic woven deeply into the pillars’ foundations, as if Hermes himself had whispered secrets into the stone.

  Molly eyed the runes. “You know,” she said, her voice low with intrigue, “I heard these were designed during the War of the Fates. Supposedly, they can seal off the entire district if something dark tries to slip through one of its many portal arches.”

  Beyond the entrance, Hermes District unfurled before them like a living tapestry, a kaleidoscope of magic and motion. The scent of parchment mingled with citrus and the metallic tang of active enchantments, energy pulsing in the very air around them.

  Streets of polished lapis stone shifted subtly beneath their feet, each step awakening a soft, glowing trail that spread across the ground like ripples of light. Ripples transformed into sprawling waves, illuminating wherever they stepped, as if the district itself remembered and guided each traveler with a gentle, shimmering embrace.

  Above, enchanted courier birds—small constructs of brass and feathers—darted between floating lanterns glowing in hues of amber and emerald. Their wings were a blur of grace and precision, delivering scrolls and parcels to their rightful owners.

  Dex dodged as a bird swooped particularly close, almost grazing his head. “These fancy feather dusters have it out for me, I swear.”

  The Archway Path stood as the centerpiece, a towering marvel of both engineering and magic. Each arch was distinct, each a gate to a different realm, a different domain of wonder. The group gathered with other students—many of whom had camped out even earlier, now waiting with eager, restless energy. But this arch was unlike the rest. Chains and iron bars wove around its frame, large and imposing, almost daring anyone to try and pass through. Its stone surface was etched with intricate glyphs. Massive locks, an amalgamation of both mechanical ingenuity and arcane spellwork, crisscrossed the arch, barring entry to whatever lay beyond. A faint hum filled the air, a subtle but persistent static that raised the hairs on Jace’s arms the closer he got.

  Seeing the gathered students—once a thousand strong, now reduced to this small group—made the reality sink in. The number on the leaderboard was one thing, but seeing how few remained drove the point home with undeniable clarity.

  “Less than half made it,” Alice murmured, her sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd. “Brutus wasn’t kidding about thinning the herd.”

  Dex let out a mirthless chuckle. “Thinning the herd? More like nearly wiping it out. I only wish I’d come up with that little trick sooner—might’ve spared a few more necks.”

  Ell shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing. “Your ‘little trick’ was reckless,” she retorted. “You’d better hope that Brutus has enough of a sense of humor—or enough patience—not to vaporize you on the spot when he realizes it was you. And he will figure it out.”

  Jace tuned out their familiar bickering, his thoughts lingering on Thistle, their gnomish tank and friend—the one piece missing from the Scooby-Gang. He had visited Thistle in the infirmary the day before, and the sight had left an unsettling impression: Thistle was pale, gaunt, his movements sluggish, his eyes distant. The spiritual counselor had explained that Thistle’s soul fragments were still knitting back together after the possession—a delicate process that required time, nourishment, and space.

  Using his Soul Affinity, Jace had confirmed it himself. Thistle’s essence was fractured, like shards of glass slowly trying to reunite, each fragment struggling to fit back into place. It was painful to witness, like watching a shattered vase attempt to make itself whole, cracks still visible but promising eventual restoration.

  “He just needs time,” the counselor had assured him. “And a chance to feel strong again.”

  Jace had resolved to help Thistle when the time was right. But for now, his friend needed to heal at his own pace. Shaking off the thought, Jace redirected his focus to the task at hand, the weight of impossible responsibility settled heavy on his shoulders, a familiar burden.

  Brutus strode confidently to the base of the arch, his heavy boots thudding with authority. He halted before a series of levers embedded in a pedestal, his hand moving with a deliberate familiarity. The locks on the arch began to disengage, one after another, each release accompanied by a deep, resonant clang—like ancient machinery shaking off centuries of dormancy. With each grunt of exertion, he pulled a lever, the sound of each released lock echoing like a hammer striking an anvil, deep and resonant. The gears groaned in response, mechanisms grinding against years of enchantment as the arch slowly awakened.

  “This isn’t just to keep us out,” Alice murmured to Jace, barely audible. “It’s to keep something in.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” he replied.

  The final lock disengaged with a thunderous boom, echoing through the district. The glyphs flared brilliantly before fading into a faint, steady glow. It was unlocked but not activated.

  Brutus turned to face the students, his expression carved from stone. “What lies beyond this gate is not for the faint of heart,” he said firmly. “Remember what you’ve learned. And damn your pride! If you can’t handle a challenge, step aside rather than gamble away your lives in some misguided bid for glory.”

  Uneasy glances flickered between the students, his words a heavy fog. Yet, beneath his warning, anticipation simmered, a spark slowly igniting, flickering to life in their eyes.

  The chatter of students faded into silence as Professor Dranice Thorne stepped forward, again from apparently nowhere. His crimson cloak billowed dramatically, catching the light like a flickering flame.

  “Listen closely, beyond this gate lies the last stronghold of Roandia. It is a refuge, yes, but also a crucible. Representatives from across the world—gods, mortals, schools—all gather there. Your actions will not go unnoticed. Everything you do reflects upon you, your future, and this University.”

  His gaze swept over the gathered students, sharp and assessing. “Remember: a single death, or activation of your Escape Orb means disqualification. You will exit the Tower immediately, your journey over.”

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but a stern glare from Dranice silenced them instantly. “This is not a game, despite the name. Do not disgrace yourselves—or this institution. You represent Mount Olympus University. Act accordingly.”

  With a swift flick of his wrist, the arch flared to life. Runes ignited along its frame, glowing in brilliant gold and silver, swirling like molten fire. The air around them seemed to shimmer, a faint hum building until it vibrated through their very bones.

  The portal burst open in a blinding flash, before settling into a shimmering twilight that enveloped the arch. Its surface rippled like liquid starlight, shifting and swirling in an endless, mesmerizing dance, as if the very fabric of the cosmos had been woven into the gateway. The light gathered and refracted, forming an event horizon that seemed to bend reality itself—an ethereal threshold that blurred the line between this world and whatever lay beyond.

  Brutus was the first to move, stepping forward without a word and vanishing into the arch.

  “Go on, step through,” Dranice commanded, his voice brooking no argument. He stepped aside, gesturing sharply for them to follow, his gaze daring anyone to hesitate.

  Jace caught Alice’s gaze, and she gave him a small nod—an unspoken promise of solidarity. Together with the others, they moved forward, stepping into the portal. The world blurred around Jace, swallowed in light and sound, his senses overwhelmed by the rush of magic.

  As the brightness faded, Jace blinked, his breath catching in his throat as the sprawling city—the last stronghold of Roandia—unfurled before him, vibrant and alive, stretching endlessly under the vast blue sky.