“With me!” I order, rushing past the stunned gladiator and racing toward that distant light.

“Where are you going?” Anas demands as he follows in my footsteps, cursing as he kicks a root sticking out of the ground.

“They went this way, to the party.”

“Seems like a great reason to not go that way,” he points out. I slow, turning to look at him in the dark. The inky blackness seems less absolute now, as if the sicarii had been pulling the light out of everything around us.

“Why should we die for senators? I would have thought you were tired of that by now.” I purse my lips, considering his point. I cast a slow glance over my shoulder, looking at the distant party with a critical eye.

“He’s a good man.”

“So was Gaius. So was Percy.”

“He’s someone who can make things better than they are.”

Anas is silent for a moment, surprised by my argument. Guilt coils within me, a treacherous, poisonous serpent. I am not certain if that is true. Varus is certainly no lush patsy like the members of the Argentum Consilium, but that is a small thing. I am not sure if I believe what I say or if I am once more an officer, saying whatever I need to get my men to hold fast in the front lines.

“We need him,” I say at last, finding an avenue that is less conflicting to my heart.

“Need him? For what?”

“If we win the Games, they make us citizens and set us free.”

“If we win the Aren—do you hear yourself?” Anas is so furious that he interrupts himself. “You’re talking about the dead-gods-damned Mars’s Arena. The bloodiest fighting pit in the Empire.”

“Yes,” I say, turning my back on him and racing toward the party. “I am.” Anas curses me for a fool, but I can’t help but smile as I hear him race to follow in my footsteps. It is not the first time he has followed me through a dark wood.

A hedge grows along the edge of the trees, separating the grounds from a more private garden that Delilah keeps for entertaining. The music still plays, which gives me hope that we are not too late.

I slash with my frozen sword like a woodsman clearing a path, leaping through the hedge with a mighty crash. Anas follows through the hole I make, swearing loudly. The violins grind to a screeching halt as we emerge, stunned by our entrance. A woman screams in fear at the bloody weapon in my grasp.

A dozen palatine nobles turn to regard us, with expressions ranging from embarrassment to terror. We stand in the middle of the beautiful garden we were led through earlier. Beyond it stands a terraced fountain. Meticulously trimmed plants hang from the structure and surround it on all sides. A large bronze basin carved with the faces of the gods burns with the everflame just beyond the seated nobles. Throughout the entire setting, a horde of fireflies swirl around the party like shooting stars. I have enough time to wonder how they have been gathered before my gaze lands on Varus and Delilah.

The two senators are seated on a pair of lecti, the reclining couches popular for eating with the elite. They’re dressed in beautiful white togas. Contessa hovers over our master’s shoulder and looks at me with the expression of a furious parent trying to control their child in front of her grandparents.

I ignore the lanista’s warning glare, instead casting my gaze around the now silent party. Anas swears again, quieter this time. I see Pliny sitting with three other people who seem like magisters. He gives me a solemn look. Alessandra is not far from them with a pair of young men I do not recognize.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Delilah demands, rising to her feet, wine chalice still in hand. Her words are slurred with the fuzziness of someone who has journeyed far into their cups. A pair of her legionnaire guards separate themselves from the hedge walls, heading toward us with grim, professional expressions.

“To arms!” I shout. “We are under attack!” I raise my bloody sword to emphasize my point, shaking it in front of the palatine partygoers. The same woman lets out another moan of concern, but everyone ignores her. Varus watches from his seat, expression unreadable. His gaze flicks from me to Anas, measuring us.

“Attack?” One of the young men sitting next to Alessandra rises to his feet, giving me an arrogant stare. “I see no enemies, only you. It seems more likely that you have done something evil, slave. Have you killed one of Senator Delilah’s servants?”

“They cannot be seen, idiot,” I snap. The young man’s face burns red with rage. I push out with my animus, sensing for the iron that the cloaked ones carry. I can feel them, lurking along the edges of the party, watching. We are surrounded. I turn back to my master, pleading with him for his trust. I feel like a performing fool, pleading before the invaders’ watching eyes.

“They are here even now.” Still, despite my performance, they do not attack. Perhaps they wait to see if the partygoers will blind themselves further. The other palatines shift their attention to the older senator, waiting to see how he will handle his out-of-control gladiator. Varus lifts his chalice and takes a sip, calm and unperturbed.

“Go back to your quarters, Castor,” he says in a heavy tone. “Contessa will deal with you both.” The legionnaires still approach but have slowed their march, watching us with wary eyes. A sicarus moves behind them, hiding in the shadows. One angles toward my back. The wolves are beginning to circle the nest. By the time anyone believes me, it will be too late.

Another stalks toward Alessandra and the two young men. For a heartbeat, the cold in me wants to do nothing. Let them reap the reward for not trusting me. I warned them—this ruin is their own doing. Then something powerful shifts within me, like a fist grabbing my Cor in its hand and beginning to squeeze. The oathrod’s power twists my insides as it enacts the vow that I made to Varus only a few weeks ago. I will uphold the honor of my House. Apparently, my Heart thinks that means protecting it from assassination too.

If no one will believe my words, then there is only one avenue left to me—action. With a furious snarl, I hunch my shoulders and surge toward Alessandra and the pompous young lords. Perhaps to his credit, the one who rebuked me steps between us, attempting to shield her from my ire.

I ignore him; the pack of palatines is not my true target. The wolf that lurks in my shadow follows me as I move, coming in close. He thinks that he is safe because he does not understand what I am. I follow his choreography like a dancer, spinning backward into a lunge.

As I turn, I hold my right hand up at throat level and call upon Ancient Frost, twisting my weapon like I have a thousand times in the training arena. My gladius shifts, crackling as the icy sword grows into the longer form of a dueling blade. My sword’s sharp edge passes through thin air in a spray of blood as it slices the foolish wolf that thought I was a sheep. Another figure dressed in black flickers into view, a woman this time, her hands wrapped around her throat as she tries to hold her neck together.

I take a sort of satisfaction from the palatine screams of horror that echo as the would-be assassin falls to her knees. But there is no time to gloat. My vow compels me to act. Darkness floods the party, drowning out the light like the coming of a fell storm.

I close my eyes, letting Iron guide me. I summon a second frozen blade in my left hand as I race toward Varus and Delilah in the center of the garden, where the wolves now sprint. A sicarus leaps toward me from the side, their weapons blazing to my mind like beacons in the dark.

I block their first strike with my right, turning to slash with my left. They counter, driving me back a step with the force of their parry. I feel my bones rattle with every blow. The other assassins may have been Coppers, but this one is not! I gasp in shock as my sword is almost wrenched from my grip by a heavy overhanded smash.

We dance for a few seconds, precious time as the rest of his pack ravages the unsuspecting partygoers. I cannot afford to let this assassin delay me. I can feel the battle raging all around me as blades move. It’s growing harder to distinguish which iron is friend and which is foe. The darkness that surrounds us is overbearing.

My opponent presses his advantage, wielding his strength like a club. He’s not only stronger than I am but faster too. I try to strike past him, but he only redoubles his aggression, forcing me to stay on my back foot. He reminds me of a furia—my assault does not drive him back even a single step.

I can feel the ice of my swords cracking under the power of his blows. I grit my teeth, pouring my will into reinforcing them. The frozen blades act as essence sources, allowing me to refill some of my Ancient Frost from their presence, but I am losing it faster than I can replenish it.

I am going to die. I do not know what his Symbol is—something in the domus of Shadow, probably. But it does not matter, because his body is better than mine. If he is a Silver, then he must be close to the peak of what we can be. I cannot overcome his strength, and I cannot seem to come up with a plan to outsmart him.

I fall back another pace as he crashes into me. I retreat another and stumble as my foot misses the step of the stairs behind me. I may be able to sense Iron, but Stone is silent to me.

I stagger, trying to find my balance, but the crafty sicarus lunges forward, ramming me with his shoulder. Blind and disoriented, I fall, flailing in the air like a bird pushed from its nest. My lower back slams into something hard and metal, tearing a scream of pain from my lips as I tilt over the lip of the giant bronze brazier and into the everflame that burns there.

It’s hot.

The fire burns, tearing at me like it is from the depths of Hades. I drop my swords into the basin, hoping the water will extinguish the inferno that rages around me. But as the steam hisses, the flames only seem to grow, as if my attempt to put it out has angered this remnant of the gods.

Even now, I still cannot see—the unnatural shadow hangs over the garden like a cloud, obscuring my sight. I cling to Iron and Ancient Frost, but their chill only makes the flames that tear at me seem hotter. I’m screaming, I know I am, but I cannot hear it over the roar.

It feels alive, this fire. It swirls over me, rabid and hungry, seeking a way in to burn me from the inside out. Only my Silver body keeps me alive. If I did not have my Cor, I would already be ash. It sweeps over me in waves, a relentless, hungry presence. This flame is ancient in its own way. It has burned for centuries and has not gone out. But no matter how fiercely it rages, I refuse to be consumed. We are kindred spirits, unwilling to surrender.

Let me in, it demands.

I cling to my Symbols like shields, hiding behind them to numb my pain.

Let me in.

I will survive this. My story does not end here. I have not yet fulfilled my votum to Nemesis. My father’s killer still draws breath. The gods are not done with me. Blindly, I flail inside the bronze brazier, trying to find a way out.

Let me in. The fire thunders against my defenses. Ancient Frost melts and fails against its natural predator. Iron tries to protect me from the onslaught, but it, too, is susceptible to the unrelenting heat. Is not a gladius forged in the flames? My defenses shatter, my will snaps, and the inferno pours into me, hungry to devour.

I burn from the inside out.

Heat fills my every extremity in a flash; I am melted and reforged. Now I truly feel the fire, as my body and it become one. In my chest, my Corda twist and move, making space for a new reserve that fills with an essence that is wild and unruly. An insane strain pulls at me as my body tries to tear itself apart from the inside out. I inhale, grabbing air to scream one last time before I am consumed. But before I can cry out, the everflame goes out as if snatched by the wind.

I am reborn in a bronze basin. Only I and the ash remain of the fire that once burned to guide wayward souls home. I run, shaking hands over my body checking for burns but find none. My skin is whole. The flames tried to consume me, but they could not, for they found that we burn with the same heat.

My Cor Hearts struggle with each other, trying to contain a new essence that rebels against the cool temperature of its other prison mates. I burned through most of the reserves of my original Symbols trying to survive the inferno, and now they are dwarfed by the interloper. Unlike Iron or Ancient Frost, Unrelenting Fire does not make me calm or logical—it rages.

And so do I.

I reach a shaking hand up to the lip of the bronze brazier and grab it, levering myself to my feet. The metal is cool to my touch, or perhaps I am the same temperature as it. I vault out of the basin over the lip, staggering to the side as I try to force the antithetical forces within me to behave. There is no sign of the man who fed me to the flames; I have lost him in the fight that my iron senses tell me still rages around me.

I stagger toward the nearest weapon I can feel, snatching an iron gladius from the ground. It must have belonged to one of Delilah’s legionnaires, which does not bode well for how the battle is going. I feel an immediate sense of relief as some of the iron essence flows into me, helping to stabilize my Corda in their struggle against each other.

My animus shows me a Shadowbound before me who wields two shortswords and stabs them downward, presumably to finish off one of the partygoers. Rage bubbles up inside me, and I lunge forward, gutting the sicarus from behind.

I rip my gladius free, letting the assassin drop bonelessly to the ground beside his victim. The fire within me only grows hotter. I stalk forward, shoulders hunched like some primal hunter. A legionnaire clatters to the floor, his lorica like a beacon in the darkness. His dropped gladius bounces in my direction, and I scoop it up without looking.

The two sicarii that laid him low turn to face me, their shortswords painting the direction of their gazes like arrows. I snarl, increasing the length of my stride to close with them faster. My foot bounces off a hard object that I cannot see, causing me to stumble. I am still mostly blind in this manifested murk.

To my surprise, the two interlopers withdraw a pace, as if studying me. They know that my sense of them is not perfect, and they wonder what betrays them. These are not frontline fighters like legionnaires or gladiators. They do their best work in the dark, true scavengers. I have killed enough of their comrades to make them wary.

I pursue them again, moving in shuffling steps to keep my footing like Percy taught me. Confidence burns in me like a beacon, lit by the fire I carry. I have been hunted by berserkirs in the pitch black of the great forests of the North. I am much stronger now than I was then. The two assassins retreat further, separating like wolves to circle me. More screams echo in the gardens as the rest of their comrades continue their grim work.

I turn to keep one in front of me while moving my other gladius to track the other in a sharp threat. There is no hiding from me. At least there wasn’t, until as one, the sicarii drop their shortswords, letting them clatter against the paved stones of the garden. Their daggers follow a heartbeat later, stripping them of any trace of iron.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself not to react in fear as my awareness of them vanishes in the unnatural murkiness that surrounds us. Mercury’s Rotting Beard! They’re clever. My heart hammers in my chest as terror blooms. My colder Symbols excel at helping me keep my emotions under control, but Unrelenting Fire feeds them.

I continue my turn in the direction the sicarus on my right was moving, gambling that he continued that way even after dropping his weapons. It’s a blind guess, but my only hope is to make them uncertain if their guess on my ability was correct. If I panic and flee, they will be on me before I make it a dozen steps.

The whisper of a foot on stone behind me is the only warning that I get as the Shadowbound warrior strikes. My left wrist explodes with pain, and I curse as my gladius is sent flying from my numb fingers. But as my attacker’s fist meets my flesh, a strange sensation blooms between us.

My senses flood into him over the brief moment of contact, as my warmth merges with his. My opponent’s form flares in my mind, painted in shades of red, mapping the heat of his body. I’m so startled by the knowledge, I fail to strike back at the assassin before the moment is gone, and he vanishes once we are no longer touching.

Unrelenting Fire is the key. All living things are warm; all I need to do is seek that heat, and my Symbol will deliver these fools to me. I reach inside myself, hoping to feed my newest essence to my animus and send it sweeping out around me, but it will not budge. It feels like an ancient foundation stone, buried in the earth and unmovable. My victory turns to ash in my mouth as I realize my mistake.

My new Heart has not Ascended—the Cor that is attuned to the Unrelenting Fire has merely gone from rasa to Copper. I am once more bound by the limitations of the first tier of being an electus. I cannot see or affect anything related to fire unless I am touching it.

There’s a sound to my right as a foot crunches on a leaf. I twist, striking out with my gladius blindly, but it slices through only air. A fist connects with my exposed stomach, driving me back a handful of paces. Another heat-filled vision of my opponent flares in my mind before it is gone.

If only I could make this knowledge last! The two assassins grow more confident as they circle me. Bit by bit, they will wear me down until I am unarmed and exhausted. I scream in frustrated rage, flailing through the murky dark with my blade, but I only wound the wind, and this is not the wind that I have sworn to kill.

I am back on the mountain pass, in the snow. Death hovers behind me, cruel Thanatos with his scythe waits to reap my soul, if I indeed even have one, and if he is alive to do so. My enemies begin their attacks in earnest, bombarding me with their fists. I see them in flashes of red as they dance in and out. Each blow is like a burst of light in my mind, timed with the shock of their strikes.

I reel under the savagery of their aggression, trying to time my gladius’s swing to catch them, but they have trained in their dark arts as much as I have trained in mine. It is a simple thing for them to avoid my weapon. After a few steps of this dance, a booted foot knocks my sword out of my hand, leaving me truly defenseless. The everflame burned away most of my Ancient Frost. I don’t have enough to summon a paring knife, let alone the full Glacialis Falx.

But with each flash comes a bit of inspiration, a clue from the growing knowledge that burns inside of me. Attuning a new Symbol is like discovering a muscle that you did not know you had. It is a part of me, but it takes time to learn how heavy a load it can carry or how far it can bend.

Crack, a strong blow bounces off my chin, sending me staggering as one of the Shadowbound boldly closes with me. In the flash of heat vision, I can see he is no longer set to retreat, his feet are firmly planted on the ground. I am toothless; no danger to him now.

But why should heat only be something I can touch?

Why is it something that I should not see?

Tentatively, I reach inside myself, tracing the network of heat that runs through my muscles and flesh. In my skull, two pinpoints of warmth burn, outshone only by the mass that must be my brain. I reach out to the heat within them and pour Unrelenting Fire essence into them to fuel my will.

Show me, I command.

Pain. Furious and fiery pain tears through me, causing me to fall to my knees. I scream as the world ignites. The darkness around me does not dissipate, but it begins to be filled in by the blurry red shapes of the warmth moving around me. This is not the knowledge of an animus—my Symbol still cannot reach out to touch them, but it can adapt my eyes to be more like itself.

The sicarus in front of me watches me as I fall to my knees, head cocked to the side. Heat radiates from him in red waves, as if he, too, is burning.

I’m still screaming as I rise to my feet and lunge forward, arms extended.

He’s so surprised, he doesn’t retreat, instead catching my wrists as I get close. I respond in kind, wrapping my own hands around his. My Symbol fills me with the knowledge of his warmth, but I ignore it. The only thing I wish to know about him is how much fire he can handle before he dies.

Essence pours out of me as I shove my will into him with one simple intent: Ardemus—we burn. My hands glow like Sol to my new vision, growing so bright, I have to look away. A new set of screams joins mine, and the assassin tries to pull away, flailing frantically. But I channel Iron into my grip, holding him like a vise.

After a dozen heartbeats, my opponent collapses, and I open my eyes to stare at the heat that devours him from within. It is as if I forced him to drink a flagon of lava. Numbly, I release his wrists, letting him flop to the ground. I have never killed like this before. A blade is a tool; in the moment, using it can often feel like chopping down a tree. But this? This is another kind of power, and it terrifies me.

Bam, another flash of insight as his comrade slams into me from the rear, renewing his assault. The blow knocks me out of my stunned reverie. I turn to look directly at the second man, who hesitates when he sees that I can track him once more. Slowly, I bend down to pick up one of the shortswords that they dropped moments ago. Iron rejoices within me to feel a weapon in my grip once more. The cooler essence flows into me, helping my almost empty reserves to dull the pain of my burning eyes to a faint roar.

I’m not screaming anymore.

The sicarus stares at me, frozen by fear. I can sense his confusion. He and his comrade figured out that I was Ironbound and used that to their advantage, but now I have killed his partner with my bare hands, and I can see him through the dark shroud even though he carries no Iron.

A dry chuckle escapes my lips as I realize that he may be one of two living people to truly know my secret—to understand that I carry more than one Symbol and what that means.

“What are you?” a hushed voice echoes through the din of the battle around us. I smile with no warmth, striding toward my unarmed foe with certainty.

“You’ll never find out,” I promise, lunging forward with my stolen blade. The sicarus ducks to the side, still quick on his feet, but we both know this will be a short dance. He tries to skirt along the right side of my range to get toward another sword on the ground, but I cut him off, intimately aware of the weapon’s presence thanks to my animus.

We circle a few more times. He may not have a weapon, but I am bruised and beaten, and he is unscathed. With every moment that passes, the Iron essences within me surge through my body, pushing the pain away as my Silver and Copper Hearts work together to restore me. Already I can feel an increase in the speed with which my body recovers.

I feint low, aiming for one of his thighs, before continuing into my lunge, lowering my shoulder to ram into his chest. My opponent lets out a surprised oof, flying backward. I’m on him before he can recover, driving my blade forward with all my strength. The will-reinforced blade cuts through his sternum easily, burying itself up to the hilt in his chest. The gurgling assassin collapses to his knees as I turn my attention toward the rest of the garden.

I leave my borrowed sword in him, bending low to pick up a gladius from the ground. The longer blade of the legions feels at home in my hand.

My new vision is powerful in the darkness, but it is limited in the range that it can sense heat. Human eyes are not meant to be warped like this, no matter what Symbol they might be attuned to. If not for the strength of Iron, I think the pain might have already driven me mad.

I extend my Silver animus, letting it sweep beyond the range of what I can see. On the far side of the garden, a member of the Spartan Guard fights against a sicarus, sheltering behind his scutum like a wall, relying on it to protect him in his limited vision. I ignore him for the moment; my body shivers as the imperativus placed on me by the oath relic drives me in a different direction.

I must protect my domus. Despite my lack of free will, I am surprised to realize my concern is real. I do not wish for Varus to be dead. Nor do I want Contessa, Pliny, or Alessandra to come to harm.

Five more sets of shortswords dance in the center of the garden, where Varus and Delilah were lounging. I cannot sense what holds them at bay, only read the savagery of the battle in their sharp reactions. The intensity of the struggle fills me with relief. There must be at least one Gold electus who still draws breath.

If he still lives, my master will be in the middle of that maelstrom. I break into a long stride, still being careful to take guarded footsteps. The earth is not warm enough for me to sense. I pass over the cooling forms of corpses that serve as guides, but without them, I would be blind to the ground’s shape.

I scale a set of low stairs as I approach the battle. One of the sicarii whirls in my direction, throwing their blade like one of Fannia’s knives. The iron weapon screams in warning to me as it hurtles toward my head.

I snag it out of the air with my left hand without breaking stride.

That sends a ripple of uncertainty through the other attackers. Two more spin in surprise to stare at me. A new advantage to their Symbol reveals itself to me. The strongest of them can use the shadow that shrouds us as a canvas for their animus in the same way that I was able to sense through the snow in the North.

Despite this understanding, I feel a grin peeling at my lips. Unrelenting Fire fans the flames of my rage, turning it into an inferno, delighted to consume anything before me. One of the watchers makes a sharp gesture, their sword describing a harsh line in the dark. The other two respond instantly, rushing toward me without any of the fear or hesitation that the two dead assassins behind me showed.

These must be their most dangerous warriors. Like their comrades before, the pair splits to distract my attention. As they draw near, they enter the range of my heat vision, revealing that it is a man and woman who come to face me. I ignore the man who circles behind me, instead hunching my shoulders and lunging to close with the woman to my right, who carries only one sword after generously donating her other one to me.

My gladius rings as she blocks my first strike. I follow my attack up with a vicious stab using her blade. She’s quicker than her comrades and dances backward out of range of the shorter weapon. She’s happy to distract me. It gives her partner time to⁠—

I spin my gladius into a reverse grip before driving it backward, angled upward in a vicious stab. The Shadowbound behind me barely manages to stop short of impaling himself on my weapon. Another inch, and he would be bleeding all over the senator’s garden.

Unfortunately for him, an undead god gave me the ability to change the rules.

With the final dregs of my Ancient Frost essence, I trigger the Glacialis Falx, imagining only the single-sided tip of a longer dueling blade growing over the end of my gladius like an encroaching moss. At first the ability resists my attempt to warp its desire. It resents the new heat that burns within me. But I condense my will and convince it that the iron is ice. After all, they are both a part of me. Cold pours out of my reserve as the frost travels down the blade, crackling with anger as it reaches for my opponent.

In a heartbeat, it blossoms from the point of my blade and punches through the assassin’s eye. The man lets out a bloodcurdling scream as my weapon digs into his skull, before I rip it free, spinning the blade forward to attack the woman I drove back.

She retreats in earnest now. I can read the terror in the heat of her body. Her heart grows colder, as if it feels the dead hand of Pluto reaching out to take her into Hades. She knows now that I am something terrible, something that should not exist.

She raises her shortsword to block my overhanded smash, and I reach out with the Iron Symbol, encouraging her blade to part before mine. My sword carves downward, unbothered by her attempt to ward off my attack, and slices into her chest, opening her from neck to waist.

I pass by her as she collapses, flicking my iced gladius to the side to cleanse it of some of the gore that clings to it. As I stride toward the center, only one pair of shortswords still fights. The rest litter the ground. A snort erupts from me as I am pulled by my oath toward that conflict. I have no illusions that my three Corda add together to equal the power of a Golden electus, especially one that is the head of an ancient house like Varus Pelias.

They should have brought more sicarii.

I draw close enough to witness only a moment of my master’s power. Varus’s heat burns like Sol itself to my modified vision. Power courses through him in an inferno. I raise my hand to shield my gaze from the brightness. His Cor’s veins shine brightly as they channel the power of his Symbol.

The last assassin darts forward, blade extended, but the senator simply raises his arm, letting the sword bounce off his forearm. With his left hand, he gestures at the ground, and there is a sharp crack before the man attacking him is torn to shreds by something I cannot see or sense.

My eyes burn as the darkness collapses. I scream in anguish and shut my eyes, shielding them from the oppressive light that now burns everywhere.

I release Unrelenting Fire’s working on my eyes but hesitate for a moment before opening them, afraid of what I will find when I do. It was reckless and foolish for me to use my new Symbol in that way, but I chose to live. Now I will find out what the cost of my survival is.

My left eye cracks open, and I wince at the strength of the light around me, but it does not sear me like it did before. Feeling reassured, I open both and blink owlishly as my pupils begin to adjust. They are tender, but whole. Relief floods through me as I spot Anas on the far side of the garden, bloody and bent, but still standing. I give my brother a nod, grateful that he too still lives. To lose him again would have cut me deeper than I can bear.

“You should have told us!” a young man’s voice screams. I twist to see the young man who had dismissed my warnings glaring at me with rage. I blink in surprise at his expression. His toga is stained with food and dirt, but he seems otherwise unbloodied. His eyes track over my gore-stained weapons, and the sight seems to only make him angrier.

Alessandra appears over his shoulder, pale but otherwise also unharmed. Her eyes flash against mine as she sees the state that I am in. My heart skips a beat, and in my excitement, my animus pulses, extending through the party. My eyes go wide as I realize what I am sensing.

“I demand this slave be whipped⁠—”

Moving automatically, my left hand surges forward, sending my stolen shortsword in an overhand throw directly at the foolish palatine. He lets out a shriek, dropping into a crouch, but he needn’t have worried. My target was never him. It was right next to him.

My weapon appears to bury itself in thin air as it sinks into the chest of a sicarus who lurks behind Alessandra. The Shadowbound woman drops her weapons, trying to staunch the spray of red blood coming from her throat, but it is too late. She sinks to her knees with a gurgle, leaving my detractor paler than his toga.

I turn away from the dead assassin to find Varus watching me, eyes dark and wondering. A different fear begins to creep in my chest as I follow his gaze down to my arms.

They are different.

The familiar white rasa veins that I have had since Segesta still intertwine with the Silver lines of Ancient Frost and Iron. But nestled among them like an interloper shines a series of new Copper lines, proudly displaying my status to any who can see.

“Oh, Varus, you’ve killed us all,” Delilah breathes from behind my master, staring at me in horror. Mons Olympus glitters in the dark sky above us, illuminated by Luna’s light.