“Then trigger my stasis. But go, Hollow. And know this. The other legacies aren’t following orders. You won’t only face a pair of two down there. They’re working together, guarding the quarry from all sides. You’ll have to fight your way through quickly and reach the blade before the others get to you. The blade is enchanted. Touch it and you’ll be teleported back to Confluence along with everyone else who lives. Touch it, and this all ends.”

I nod my head, considering if I want to stab him and trigger his stasis token, removing the possibility of a threat to Nessa. Behind him, his air elemental stands in the rain, leaking white mist from numerous wounds. Wounds it suffered trying to save us from the windborne.

“Dammit,” I say, reaching a hand out to help him to his feet.

Bastian takes it, stands, and winces as fresh blood oozes from a deep wound on his thigh. “Hollow. There’s one more thing. The ceremonial blade has a reputation. The one who claims it never survives to graduation.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I say, walking past him into the pouring rain as thunder booms overhead. “If anything happens to Nessa while I’m gone, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

I look back toward the group of fallen allies and enemies once before heading deeper into the forest. Bodies coated in blue litter the area like fallen leaves. It’ll be up to Typhon and Bastian to keep all of them safe if any stragglers from Malakai’s group arrive. But Typhon was right. The real threat is letting this thing go on—risking the arrival of more windborne.

A flash of lightning illuminates Typhon's massive form as he mantles his wings over Nessa, sheltering her from the storm. His eyes meet mine across the clearing and he gives a deep nod.

I turn and head for the quarry, sprinting through the forest. The layout of the Crucible grounds is etched into my memory from hours of scouting the area over the last several weeks. Even through the darkness and downpour, I navigate with precision, aware that every second counts.

The lightning seems to intensify as I approach the quarry, each flash burning afterimages into my eyes. Thunder rolls continuously overhead, as if the sky itself reflects the chaos below.

Through our tether, I can still feel Nessa, though her presence is faint, flickering like a candle in a windstorm. Hold on, I think desperately, hoping some part of her can hear me. I'm coming. I'm ending this.

The quarry appears ahead, a massive gash in the earth illuminated by braziers that somehow remain lit despite the storm. Stone steps descend into the pit where, on a central dais, glints the ceremonial blade.