They moved quietly through the underground compound. In the dim blue glow of the gas lamps hanging every fifty meters, Mart noticed his two companions throwing him quick, sidelong glances now and then. He returned none of them and kept a steady pace.

The moment he stepped into the open air and caught sight of the darkened sky, his eyes began to sting. An outsider would hardly call the air here clean or fresh, but he drank it in greedily. For most people it was something simple — but for him… A lump formed in his throat, and he squeezed his eyes shut to hold back the sudden tears.

He was really out of his cell.

Only after taking several deep breaths did he manage to pull himself together.

“Come on.” Aravin’s voice sounded just as shaky as his own. “My doublewing is ready.”

Your doublewing. Mart gave a derisive snort at the thought of that flying machine with its wings stacked one above the other. Aravin used to dream about building one. And while Mart had been rotting away in a cell, his friend had gone right ahead and made those dreams come true.

His shoulders tensed as he shot Aravin a bitter look. “Why would I go anywhere with you? You never visited. Not once. You didn’t even send a note.”

Aravin lowered his head. “I thought you hated me.”

“I do now.”

“We can be in Koperhaven before the Golden Heart rises again. If you don’t want to help Alyss, you can go your own way from there.”

“And if I refuse to come with you? Are you going to drag me back to my cell?”

“No. But… Mart, you’re dead. Everyone thinks you died when you were sentenced to execution.”

His knees buckled beneath him. He grabbed hold of the lamppost that lit the entrance to the prison block. “W-what?” Sentenced to death? And they thought he was dead?

“I swear I’ll answer every question you have. But once we’re out of here. Once you’re safe.”

And when you’re safe. That much was painfully obvious. Aravin cared more about his own safety than Mart’s. And now that they suddenly needed him — for whatever reason — here he was again, standing right in front of him.

Mart hated how much he depended on them. But he didn’t want to die now, not when life no longer seemed as bleak as it had in those endless years before. So he gave a grim nod.

Alyss and Aravin didn’t speak to him — or to each other. Probably to give him space, to let him process things. From time to time, Mart had to stop and catch his breath. It had been so long since he’d walked this far, and pain crept steadily into his legs and the soles of his feet.

They made their way toward the Tincture Pillar, behind which stretched a concrete square where five flying machines stood parked. Mart averted his eyes from the towering spire where he’d once lived. Where his mothers still lived. Thinking I’m dead. His head spun. He shoved every thought of them aside — at least until he was in that cursed plane, far enough away that an emotional outburst wouldn’t cost him his freedom.

Aravin walked ahead of him to the nearest aircraft. The dark had swallowed its color, but Aravin had always wanted a dark green one.

“There are only two seats,” Aravin said. “Alyss will have to sit on your lap.”

Mart said nothing. He circled the flying machine, pulled open the door, and climbed in. Alyss caught his eye for a brief moment before he turned his head away. He hadn’t even wanted her to touch him earlier — so this kind of closeness was the last thing he wanted. Especially with Aravin right there beside them. But there was no other option. He stayed silent, ignoring the quickening of his breath as Alyss squeezed through the narrow doorway and settled on his lap.

His arm got pinned awkwardly between the wall of the cockpit and her side, and he hesitated before resting his hand lightly on her waist.

She shifted, tucking her legs as far to the left as she could. Her movements were stiff, her body tense.

Aravin slipped into the pilot’s seat and slammed the door shut. Mart glanced down at the spirals that ran from his wrists to his elbows, the loops filled with copperas. On his left arm sat his wealth meter. He stole a glance at Alyss’s — hers held more loops and a deep red color, and also some tiny green buds. They’re not consorts. The image that had nagged at him for so long — Alyss wrapped in Aravin’s arms while his so-called best friend smirked at having gotten rid of his rival — twisted in his chest.

Mart turned his face away from them both. He stared out the window as the plane rumbled into motion and began to lift off the ground. His fingers clenched when the truth of what was happening finally hit him. They were flying. Hundreds of meters up.

And if Aravin — the last person on Faux he trusted — made a single mistake, they would all plummet to their deaths.

Not long ago, Mart had believed that time couldn’t possibly crawl slower than when you were rotting away in a cell. But every single minute aboard the flying machine dragged by painfully.
The last meal he’d eaten came up in his throat more than once, and the dizzying altitude made him lightheaded—especially after Tranendal disappeared beneath the horizon. The doublewing rattled and sputtered with such a constant, grating noise that holding a conversation was impossible. Even his thoughts dissolved into mechanical clatter.

By the time Aravin finally landed the machine, Mart’s head was pounding. He flung the door open, pushed Alyss off his lap, and climbed out of the wretched vehicle himself. He took a deep breath. Dust swirled around them, stirred up by the landing, making his nose itch until he sneezed.

Alyss smoothed down her skirts and opened her pocket watch. “An hour left before the Golden Heart shines again.”

“Good.” Aravin had circled the machine and unfastened a bag, pulling out a metal flask. He offered it to Mart. “You must be thirsty.”

He was—too much so to grumble about it. He snatched the flask, unscrewed the lid, and took a few long gulps of water. Without handing it back, he turned away from the pair and stared into the distance.

Shapes of buildings broke the horizon, though the dim light made them hard to make out. Here and there, faint blue glows flickered, but it was clear the lighting network here was nothing like Tranendal’s.

Copperhaven. Mart didn’t know much about it.

It wasn’t the kind of place a Scion would willingly set foot in. Rumors spoke of shady dealings and lawlessness, much like the other border oases. No one in Tranendal cared what happened out in the fringes—out there lived the exiles, the ones who didn’t fit under the Pillars’ rule.
He’d heard of gangs running the place.

The thought of having no choice but to live in this dump instead of returning home left a bitter taste in his mouth.

As far as Tranendal is concerned, I’m dead.

He’d been able to push that thought away during the flight, but now it hit him full force.
He took another sip of water and turned to Aravin. “Why does everyone think I’m dead?”

Aravin exchanged a brief glance with Alyss, whose face revealed nothing. “Do you know what you did to Vince?”

For a heartbeat, Mart saw the steel rod again. His throat tightened and he inhaled sharply. “I…”
The moment of truth. He wetted his lips, trying to convince himself this was what he wanted—answers. “I don’t know what happened,” he confessed, lowering his head. “There’s a gap in my memory until I woke up with a splitting headache.” He lifted his gaze again. Thought he caught a flicker of relief on Aravin’s face. It stoked his suspicion. “Don’t you dare feed me some half-truth. I want the real story. Even if it means I’m… that I’m a murderer.”

“A murderer?” Aravin’s voice shot up, disbelief clear in his tone. “No, Mart. You didn’t kill him. You… did the opposite.”

Mart rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. What? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “My memories… they’ve been a mess for years. What happened, Vin? Why… why did you leave me?” He looked from his former best friend to his ex. Their betrayal festered like a wound that refused to heal. He didn’t know if their explanation would be a bandage or a pile of salt on it—but letting it rot any longer would only poison him from the inside out.

Aravin kicked a pebble aside. “Remember when we went to the Mechanical Gardens together? When we both passed out?”

That memory stood out clearly; one he actually cherished. How old had they been? Thirteen? Fourteen? They’d wandered the Gardens chasing robot rabbits, eaten so much ice cream they’d gotten sick, laid in the grass talking about wild adventures—and then, during some roughhousing, they’d both blacked out.

They’d blamed the ice cream.

“Yeah?” he muttered, not sure where Aravin was going with this.

Aravin let out a long breath, glanced briefly at Alyss, then back at him. “You were the only one who passed out. I… couldn’t move, but I was wide awake. I saw everything.”

Mart kept staring at him, waiting.

“There was this ice-blue glow coming off you. It… took your shape. And then it stretched over me… sank into me…”

“What?” Mart barked. Was this some kind of sick joke? He clenched his fists.

“It was a soul-binding, Mart. A merging. A fusion. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Bullshit,” he growled.

“I thought so too. Until… I started picking up on your thoughts sometimes. Feeling your emotions. You’ve never felt that? Feelings that weren’t yours?”

Mart wanted to deny it. He even shook his head. But the words wouldn’t come. Because it had happened. Especially in prison—random moments when he’d be staring at the ceiling, strange emotions would wash over him. Rage. Despair. Unlike anything he’d ever felt. Once, even a surge of raw lust, which he’d blamed on fever dreams.

Deep down, he’d known their bond ran deep. He’d just thought it was normal for best friends. He ground his teeth, glaring coldly at Aravin. This wasn’t answering his questions.

“Only a Soultaker can merge their soul with someone else’s. I just… didn’t know which one of us it was. And later… it faded. I thought I’d imagined it. Until that day with the rods, when Vince fell and… and impaled himself.”

He impaled himself. Tears sprang to Mart’s eyes. I didn’t kill him. He blinked the moisture away.
Relief lifted some of the weight off his chest—but it only made things more confusing. Why had he spent years rotting in prison?

Aravin took a step toward him. 

Mart instinctively stepped back. 

And… he felt it. The regret. The self-loathing.

Not his—Aravin’s.

“You betrayed me.” Mart didn’t know how he knew, but it hit him like iron.

“You knelt beside Vince,” Aravin said quietly. “He was dead. And you… you brought him back. You gave him every bit of energy you had. Your own, the plants, the trees…”

Mart thought of the withered shrubs. Burned into his memory like everything else. He swallowed hard, a sudden chill wrapping around his heart.

“You’re a Soultaker, Mart. And I… Even if you saved him, they’d have killed you for it. No Soultaker's ever been spared. So I knocked you out before he fully came back. And then I panicked and… and people were coming and…”

“And you blamed me.” He clenched his fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. “And let them lock me up.”

Aravin bowed his head and nodded. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought… in prison, no one would find out your secret. And I could look for a safe place. I thought maybe there were others like you. I—”

Mart couldn’t hold back any longer. He lunged at his former best friend, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him to the ground. “Five years!” he roared. He straddled him, hand tightening around his throat.

Aravin’s eyes widened in shock—but he didn’t fight back. Of course not. Too much of a coward.

The thought only fueled Mart’s rage, and he slammed his fist into Aravin’s jaw.

Aravin let out a muffled grunt.

“Mart…” A hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off. “You knew? And you still hang around this… this rat?”

“I had to tell her something,” Aravin rasped, sitting up and rubbing his jaw. “And she deserved the truth. I made her take a blood-oath tincture so that she wouldn't contact you. For all our safety.”

“Of course you did.” Mart snorted. “You’re right—I picked up on your feelings sometimes. I know you were jealous of what we had. And you were glad to see me gone. Don’t pretend it was anything else.”

A bitter smile tugged at Aravin’s lips. “You think I had a thing for Alyss? You’d think your best friend would know better—especially if you can feel my emotions.”

“I know what I felt,” Mart growled. “You’re just trying to smooth things over now.”

“Maybe you know what you felt, but you’ve never known what I felt.” Aravin shoved him off and got to his feet. “I should’ve done things differently. Should’ve told you sooner. But I didn’t know you’d lost your memories. Or if you even knew the truth about yourself. I thought… you’d rip my soul out. I panicked. And I tried to protect you. In my stupid way. And by all the dragons—it wasn’t over a girl.”

He meant it. Mart could feel it. And it twisted everything inside him. So it hadn’t been jealousy, but some idiotic ‘rescue plan’? Because I’m a Soultaker? The monsters they taught about in history—who drained the life from everything around them? He thought of how easily he’d drained those plants. Without even realizing it. A sour taste filled his mouth. He’d felt the same disgust everyone else had during those lessons. The day the Soultakers were wiped out in the Soul War had seemed like justice. The best for all of Faux. And now I’m one of them…

He lifted his hands, staring at them as if some dark power might burst from his skin.

Mart turned away from them both. He needed to be alone. To let this sink in. His mind felt like it was going to burst.