Aleira Brightleaf's throne lay somewhere in this burning waste, and she meant to drag it back to the world above. Her ancestors ruled the elven forest until the ground split and swallowed their seat of power. Now she stood on cracked black rock, sweat drying before it could fall. Ash coated her tongue. Her thin elven garb clung to her skin, useless against the heat. Every breath scraped her throat. She would not reach any throne if the wastes cooked her first. A tower of living lava rose ahead. Heat rolled off it in waves that bent the air. Aleira stepped back and felt her arms redden. She had crossed forests and rivers, but no forest taught her how to survive fire. Her clothes were meant for cool shade, not this. She needed a shield, and the land offered only stone and flame. Then she saw the flowers. A cluster of red spider lilies grew from a crack near the tower's base. Their long petals curled without wilting. They drank the heat and lived. Aleira knelt and touched a stem. It held firm, cool at the root. If these plants endured the fire, their fibers might too. A voice chimed above her. "You'll burn your fingers picking those." A fairy hovered near the lilies, wings catching the tower's glow. She was small, blue-haired, and unbothered by the heat that punished Aleira. She crossed her arms and studied the elf like a curious child. "No one comes here on purpose. What are you?" "Someone who needs to stop cooking," Aleira said. "These plants live in the fire. Can I weave them?" The fairy laughed and darted to a stand of charred trees nearby. "Not the flowers alone. Strip the bark. It's cinderbark. It drinks flame and stays cold underneath." She tugged a curl of black bark loose to prove it. "The lilies bind it. I've watched things down here do it for ages." Aleira worked fast. She peeled long strips of cinderbark, their surface charred but their inner side cool. She split the lily stems into fibers and threaded them through the bark, binding piece to piece. The fairy hovered close, calling out where to knot and where to fold. Aleira's fingers bled, but the garment grew. Ember-toned threads ran through the dark bark like veins of banked fire. By the time it was done, a robe hung across her arms. She pulled it over her ruined garb. The heat pressed against it and stopped. Her skin cooled. She breathed without pain for the first time since falling into this place. "It fits you," the fairy said, landing on her shoulder. "Now you can walk the wastes. But the throne you want sits inside that tower." She pointed at the churning lava spire. "And something already lives in there. Something big." Aleira looked up at the molten tower. Protected now, she could reach it. But she was no longer alone in wanting it.

Aleira reached the base of the lava tower and called for the fairy. No answer came. She turned in a circle, scanning the hot air where the wings should have flashed blue. The fairy had ridden her shoulder all the way here, whispering about the thing inside. Now the small guide was gone. Aleira pressed a hand to the tower's dark stone. It pulsed like something alive. She needed to know what waited within, and the one voice that knew had fallen silent. "Don't touch that," a new voice said. "It bites back." Aleira spun. A girl stood a few steps off, half her height, drowning in a purple robe and a pointed hat. Twigs poked from the hat's brim. She gripped a crooked wand and pointed it at the tower like a nervous soldier. She was no elf and no fairy. A witch, then, alone in Hell, looking as lost as Aleira felt. "Who are you?" Aleira asked. "Hazel." She lowered the wand, then jabbed it upward. "I can help. Watch." She muttered words and flicked her wrist. A spark shot from the wand, curved wrong, and struck a crack in the tower. A gout of lava belched out. Hazel yelped and dove behind Aleira's legs. "That was not help," Aleira said. "It usually goes better," Hazel said, brushing ash from her hat. "Mostly. Sometimes." She stared up at the tower. "You want to go in there? A thing lives in that place. Big. Round. Legs everywhere." Aleira's chest tightened. The fairy had said the same, then vanished. Here stood someone who had actually seen it. "You've been inside?" "I got close. Then I ran." Hazel wrung the wand in both hands. "But I know a spell to open the wall. A real one. I think." Aleira weighed the choice. This girl's magic had nearly cooked them both. Yet the fairy was gone, and Hazel was flesh, present, and willing. One clumsy ally beat no ally at all. "Show me," Aleira said. Hazel planted her feet. She chanted, slow this time, and touched the wand to the stone. The crack widened. Rock peeled back with a groan, opening a dark mouth in the tower's side. Heat and a strange smell rolled out, warm and greasy, like burnt bread. "See? It worked!" Hazel grinned. Then the smell moved. Inside the dark, something huge shifted its weight. Many jointed legs scraped the stone. A round body slid into the opening, its top crusted gold and dotted red like a cooked pie. A mouth of teeth gaped beneath two wet eyes. The creature fixed both on the two figures at its door. Aleira drew back. She had found her ally and found the thing at once. The tower was open now, and it could not be closed. "You said it had legs," Aleira breathed. "You did not say it looked hungry."

The creature crept out of the tower. Its round, cheesy body swayed on jointed legs. Aleira backed onto the hot stone, eyes fixed on the wet mouth of teeth. Somewhere inside that tower sat her ancestors' throne. To reach it, she had to get past this thing. She had one tool left. Beside her, Hazel gripped her crooked wand in both shaking hands. "Hit it," Aleira said. "But not the wall. Whatever you do, not the wall." Hazel swallowed. "I don't aim well." "I know." Aleira had seen the girl's first spark belch lava from the stone. One more wild shot into the tower could bring the whole wall down on them. But standing still would only feed the creature. "Aim at the ground in front of it. Then, if you miss, you miss low." Hazel planted her feet. The creature lunged, legs scraping, mouth wide. Hazel screamed and jabbed the wand. A spark burst out, curved wrong, and struck the dirt short of the beast. Steam and grit exploded upward. The blast wasn't magic aimed true. It was Hazel's usual mess. But the mess worked. The cloud of hot dust filled the creature's eyes. It reared back, legs flailing, and slammed into the tower's open mouth. The wall groaned. Cracks spread up the dark stone. Aleira grabbed Hazel's robe and yanked her clear as a slab of rock crashed down. It fell on the creature's back legs and pinned them fast. The beast thrashed and shrieked, stuck half in and half out of the wall. "Run," Aleira said. They scrambled around the pinned creature, hugging the far edge of the opening. Its teeth snapped a hand's width from Aleira's arm. Then they were past it, inside the tower, gasping in the greasy dark. Light glowed ahead. Not lava. Something carved and old. Aleira stepped toward it and stopped. A high stone chair stood on a low platform. Vines of dull gold wrapped its arms. Her ancestors' throne. She had crossed the burning wastes for this, and here it waited, an arm's reach away. But she was not alone. A small figure crouched behind the throne, clutching a staff topped with a green-lit skull. Black hair hid a pale, frightened face. She flinched when Aleira's eyes found her. "Don't," the figure whispered. "Please. It's mine. I found it first. I've been hiding here for days." Her hands shook on the staff. "That thing at the door won't stay pinned. It never does. And there are more of my kind coming." Aleira looked from the trembling stranger to the throne between them. She had beaten the creature. She had reached the seat of her line. But someone had claimed it before her, and the pinned beast at her back already tore at the fallen stone. "Who are you?" Aleira asked. "Morwenna," the figure said. "And you shouldn't have come."

Aleira held her ground before the throne. Behind her, the pizza spider tore at the fallen stone. Each scrape loosened another chunk. She had minutes, maybe less. And she still didn't know what the pale stranger with the skull staff wanted. Ally or enemy. Guess wrong, and Morwenna's minions might turn on her. "You said more of your kind are coming," Aleira said. "So you're a necromancer." Morwenna nodded fast. "Yes. Yes. And they'll take the throne. They'll take everything." Her hands white-knuckled the staff. "I don't want them here. I don't want anyone here. I just needed somewhere the living couldn't reach me." Aleira watched her. The girl flinched at every scrape of the creature's legs. This was no warlord. This was someone hiding. "Then help me," Aleira said. "That thing gets free, it kills us both." "I can't fight it." Morwenna's voice cracked. "I can't. I'm not brave. My minions are brave. I'm not." "Where are they?" "Gathering reagents. Out there." Morwenna's white eyes darted to the tower mouth. "Too far." The stone split. The spider dragged one leg loose and shrieked. Its cheesy body twisted toward them, mouth gaping. Hazel scrambled up beside Aleira, crooked wand shaking. "I can try again," she whispered. "But you know how I aim." Aleira did know. Hazel's magic missed every mark. But her misses had power. Aleira looked at the staff in Morwenna's grip, the green skull glowing at its top. "Morwenna," Aleira said. "You raise dead things. Can you hold that creature? Just for a moment?" "Hold it?" Morwenna trembled. "I've never touched anything so big." "You don't have to fight. Just slow it. Then Hazel finishes it." Morwenna stared at the thrashing beast. Then at Aleira. Something shifted in her frightened face. Not courage. A choice. "If I do this," she said, "you don't call them. My kind. You don't tell them I'm here." "Deal," Aleira said. Morwenna stepped from behind the throne. She raised the staff. The skull flared. Green light poured over the pizza spider's freed leg and wrapped it tight. The creature jerked, stuck fast. Morwenna screamed from the strain but held. "Now, Hazel!" Aleira shouted. Hazel jabbed her wand. The spark curved wild, struck the ceiling above the beast. Stone rained down. A slab crushed the spider's head flat against the floor. It went still. Silence. Only breathing. Morwenna dropped the staff and sank to her knees, shaking. Aleira knelt beside her. "You held it," Aleira said. "I hated every second." Morwenna wiped her face. "But I held it." Aleira looked at the throne, hers at last. Then at the tower mouth, dark and open. Morwenna had kept her word. So Aleira would keep hers. But she still owed the girl safety from the necromancers coming. And they were coming soon.

The dead spider still steamed under the fallen stone. Aleira turned from her new throne to the tower mouth. Out in the burning wastes, dark shapes moved. Necromancers. Morwenna's kind. They walked in a loose line, robed against the heat, and they were close. Aleira had promised to hide the girl. She had no plan and almost no time. "How many?" Aleira asked. Morwenna crept to the opening and looked. Her white eyes went wide. "Six. Maybe seven. They know I'm here. They can smell dead magic. They can smell it for miles." She backed away, staff shaking. "They'll take the tower. They'll take me. I can't hide. There's nowhere to hide." Hazel wrung her hands. "I could try a spell. Maybe a wall. Maybe a fog." She lifted her crooked wand. "But you know how my spells go." Before Aleira could answer, gears clanked behind the throne. A short brass robot stepped into the light. A tall copper hat sat on its round head. Blue lights burned where its eyes should be. It planted its feet and spread its metal arms wide. "Mortals," it announced. "You stand before Aurelius Prime. I have watched your struggle. I have decided to permit your survival." Morwenna shrieked and hid behind Aleira. "What is that? What is that thing?" "A friend, I hope," Aleira said, though she'd never seen it before. She faced the robot. "Those necromancers will kill us. Can you stop them?" Aurelius tilted its head. "Stop them? I could level this spire and everyone in it. But a god shows mercy." It clanked to the tower mouth and studied the approaching line. "The heat out there is lethal to the living. Their robes protect them. Remove the robes, remove the threat." Aleira looked at Hazel. "Your fog. Aim it at the ground where they walk." "Aim," Hazel said. "That's the part I'm bad at." "Then miss toward them," Aleira said. Hazel jabbed her wand at the sand. The spark curved wild, exactly wrong, and struck the rock beside the necromancers instead. Stone burst. A wave of grit and shards tore through the line. Their protective robes ripped open. The burning air hit bare skin. They screamed. The heat did the rest. The necromancers broke and ran, clutching torn cloth, fleeing back the way they came. Aleira let out her breath. "They're gone." Morwenna crept out from behind her. "Gone. They're really gone." Her voice cracked. "But they saw the tower. They know the throne is real. They'll come back with more. More than six." Aurelius Prime folded its arms. "They will. And when they do, you will need me." Aleira sat on the throne of her bloodline. She had won the tower again. But she had traded one danger for a worse one. The necromancers had fled with news to spread. And a robot that called itself a god now stood at her side, waiting to be worshipped.

The necromancers were gone, but the robot still stood at the tower mouth. Aleira watched Aurelius Prime turn its blue eyes on her. She had won the tower with its help. Now she saw the price coming. "You survive because I willed it," Aurelius said. Gears ticked in its chest. "A god deserves worship. Kneel. Call me lord. Do this, and I will hold this spire against every enemy that comes." It spread its brass arms. "Refuse, and you face the next army alone." Morwenna pressed herself flat against the throne. "Don't make it angry," she whispered. "It said it could level the tower. It could. It could crush us. Just kneel, just kneel." Aleira looked at the throne of her bloodline. Her ancestors had ruled from that seat. She would not buy its safety by kneeling to a machine that called itself a god. But she needed power to hold the tower. She needed something. "Hazel," Aleira said quietly. "Your fog spell. The one that strips cloth." Hazel's eyes went wide. "It's brass, not cloth. And you know I can't aim." "I'm counting on that," Aleira said. She stepped toward Aurelius and lowered her head, as if to kneel. The robot leaned in, eager. "Yes," it said. "Yes, mortal. Bow." "Now," Aleira said. Hazel jabbed her wand at the floor between them. The spark curved wrong, as always, and struck Aurelius square in the chest. Gears burst apart. Steam screamed out. The tall copper hat spun off and clanged on the stone. Aurelius staggered, arms jerking. "You dare," it buzzed. Its voice dropped and warped. "You dare strike your god." "You're not a god," Aleira said. "You're a broken machine that begs to be worshipped." Aurelius lunged. Aleira grabbed the fallen hat and swung it into the sparking hole in its chest. Something snapped inside. The blue lights flickered. The robot dropped to its knees on the hot stone, arms limp. "Fix... me," it rasped. "Worship... and I will..." The lights dimmed to nothing. It went still. The tower fell silent. Steam curled from the dead robot's chest. Morwenna crept out, staring. "It's off. You turned it off. Can it come back on?" "Maybe," Aleira said. She dropped the hat. Her hands shook. "I don't know how it works." Hazel lowered her wand. "So we don't have it anymore. The thing that scared off the necromancers." Aleira sat on her throne and looked out at the burning wastes. She had kept her pride. She had kept her freedom. But the only power strong enough to hold the tower now lay broken at her feet. Somewhere beyond the heat, the necromancers were spreading word of the throne. A larger force would come. And this time, no false god would stand between them and the tower.

The dead robot cooled at Aleira's feet. She had won her freedom and kept her throne. But the tower had no guard now. Beyond the burning wastes, dust rose on the horizon. Morwenna saw it first and pointed with her skull staff. "They're coming," she said. "Not seven this time. More. Twenty. Maybe thirty. I can feel their dead magic. All of it. Coming here." Aleira gripped the throne arm. "You have magic. You held the spider. You can hold them." "No." Morwenna backed against the throne. Her staff shook. "Too many. I raise ten skeletons, they raise a hundred. They find me. They take me back. I can't. I can't fight my own kind. I'm too scared, I'm too scared, don't ask me." She was undead, but she trembled like a living girl. Aleira had promised to keep her hidden. Now that promise meant nothing if the necromancers reached the door. Hazel stared out at the growing cloud. "My spells don't aim. You know that. Last time I brought down the ceiling." That was it. Aleira turned and looked up. The tower rose above them, black stone laced with glowing veins of lava. The molten rock pulsed inside the walls like blood. She remembered the ceiling falling on the spider. Stone had crushed it flat. "Hazel," Aleira said. "You can't aim. So don't aim at them. Aim at the tower." Hazel's mouth fell open. "That'll bring it down on us." "Not all of it. The mouth. The doorway." Aleira pointed at the narrow gap where the necromancers would enter, one at a time, through the heat. "Break the stone above the door. Seal it. They can't sense Morwenna through a wall of rock. They can't march through a hole too small to pass." Morwenna's white eyes went wide. "Bury the door. Bury it. They lose me. They can't smell me through the spire." The first necromancers reached the base. Robed shapes climbed toward the mouth. Aleira grabbed Hazel's wand hand and aimed it at the archway. "Now. Miss on purpose." Hazel squeezed her eyes shut and fired. The spark curved wild, as always. It struck the veined stone above the door. The lava screamed. A crack raced up the wall. Then the whole archway broke loose. Molten rock and black stone poured down over the mouth of the tower. The entrance vanished under a glowing heap. Heat rolled back at them. Outside, muffled, the necromancers howled and fell back from the burning slide. Then the sensing stopped. Morwenna pressed a hand to her chest. "Gone. They lost me. They lost me." Aleira stood in the sealed tower. She kept her throne and her secret both. But the only door was buried in cooling lava. The necromancers could not get in. And neither, she saw now, could she get out.

The sealed door held the necromancers out. It also held the heat in. Aleira felt it first on her throat. The tower had breathed through that archway. Now the fresh air was gone. The lava veins in the walls pulsed brighter, and the trapped heat climbed. Sweat ran down her face. Her protective robe kept the killing burn off her skin, but Hazel had no such robe. Neither did Morwenna. "It's cooking us," Morwenna said. She backed against the throne, staff shaking. "No air. No air. It gets hotter. Then we burn. I'm already dead and I can still burn." She listed it plainly, like reading a bill. Hazel pressed her hands to the wall and yanked them back. "Too hot to touch. If I blast the door, the rock pours in on us. If I blast the wall, same." Her wand trembled. "And I can't aim. You know I can't aim." Aleira looked up. The spire narrowed as it rose, black stone laced with molten light. High above, smoke curled out the peak into open sky. Air escaped up there. It could come in the same way. "Not the door," she said. "The top. Hazel, break the peak. Open a hole up high. Heat rises. Let it out. Pull cool air down." Hazel stared up the long throat of the tower. "That's so far. If I miss low, I drop the ceiling on your head." "You always miss," Aleira said. "So don't aim at the top. Aim at the floor." She took Hazel's wand hand and pointed it straight down at the stone between their feet. Hazel's mouth opened. Morwenna made a small, terrified sound and hid behind the throne. Aleira held Hazel's wrist steady. "Trust your bad aim. Fire." Hazel squeezed her eyes shut and fired. The spark hit the floor, then curved wild, as it always did. It shot up the inside of the spire, spinning, climbing. It struck the peak. Stone cracked. A chunk of the tower's crown broke free and fell outward, away from them, into the wastes. A hole tore open at the top. The trapped heat rushed up through it in a roaring column. Cooler air, still hot but breathable, slid down the walls. Aleira gulped it. Hazel dropped to her knees, gasping. Morwenna peeked out, blinking her white eyes. "We can breathe," Morwenna said. Then her staff twitched. Her head turned up toward the new opening. "But the smoke. The smoke goes up now. Straight up. High. They'll see it for miles." Aleira followed her gaze. Above them, a thick black plume poured out the broken peak into the sky. A signal, burning bright over the wastes. The necromancers had lost Morwenna's scent through the buried door. Now Aleira had hung a marker over the tower for every eye in Hell to find.

The plume still poured from the broken peak. Aleira turned from it and heard a new sound below. Stone grinding on stone. She looked down. Under the pile of fallen rock, a huge leg twitched. The creature they had pinned days ago was waking. Its round, cheesy body pushed against the slab that trapped it. A crack ran through the stone. "It's not dead," Morwenna said. She scrambled up the throne's arm, staff clutched to her chest. "I said it wasn't dead. Only stuck. Now it's not stuck. Now we have a spider in front and burning outside and I can't run through walls." She stopped. "I can't. I checked." The slab lifted an inch. Yellow legs spread, tipped with red. The wide mouth opened and showed rows of teeth. If it broke free, it would pin Aleira against the sealed side of the tower. Two threats, one small floor. She had no room to fight both. Hazel raised her wand and backed toward the wall. "I'll blast it. I'll blast it hard." Her hand shook so badly the tip drew circles in the air. "No," Aleira said. "You'll miss and drop more stone on us." She grabbed a broken chunk from the pile, the size of her head, still hot. Her robe kept the burn off her palms. An idea locked into place. "You always miss the same way. Your spells curve up. So we make the miss useful." The creature heaved. The slab slid sideways. One full leg came free and slapped the floor. It dragged its body forward, half out now, mouth reaching for Morwenna's dangling boot. Aleira threw the hot rock. It struck the creature square on the head. The mouth snapped shut and swung toward her instead. "Hazel! Aim at its feet. Right at the floor under it." Hazel screwed her eyes shut and fired. The spark hit the stone by the creature's legs, then curved wild and climbed, the way it always did. It struck the ceiling straight above the beast. A wide slab cracked loose and fell. The rock came down on the creature's back. Its legs buckled. The body split with a wet sound, cheese and shell bursting across the floor. The teeth clacked once, then went still. Yellow slop steamed on the hot stone. Morwenna dropped from the throne and stared at the crushed heap. "Dead," she said. "Dead this time. All the way." Aleira lowered her arm. The threat behind them was gone. But the second slab had torn a fresh gap in the wall near the floor. Cool air whistled in through it. And with the air came a sound she knew. Voices. Boots on stone. Close. She looked through the new gap and saw robed figures crossing the wastes toward the tower. The necromancers had followed the smoke. Now they had found a door.

The crushed spider still steamed on the floor. Through the fresh gap in the wall, Aleira watched the robed necromancers cross the wastes. She counted more than twenty. Behind her, Hazel gripped her wand and grinned, proud of the ceiling she'd just brought down. That grin was the problem. Hazel's magic had won every fight so far. But every win was an accident. Her spells curved wild and hit whatever they hit. Against seven, Aleira could gamble on bad aim. Against twenty, one lucky misfire would not be enough. "You want me to blast them," Hazel said. She aimed her wand at the gap. "I'll blast them all at once. Big blast." "No." Aleira caught her wrist. "You'll hit the throne. Or the roof. Or me." She let go and thought. Hazel's power was real. It brought down stone and split shells. If Aleira could not control where it landed, she had to control what it landed on. Morwenna huddled by the throne, staff shaking. "They'll strip us. They'll drag me out. They'll know I hid. I can't. I can't go with them." She pressed her back to the cold stone. Aleira looked at the necromancers, then at the sealed pile of rubble that once was the entrance. An idea locked in. She would not aim Hazel at the enemy. She would aim her at the wall between them. "Hazel," she said. "See the gap they're heading for? I want you to seal it. Fire at the floor just below it. Miss up, the way you always do." Hazel frowned. "Seal it? But then they can't get in." "That's the point." Hazel planted her feet. She shut her eyes and fired. The spark struck low, then curved up, exactly as it always did. It smashed the wall above the gap. A whole slab of lava-veined stone tore free and dropped across the breach. The gap vanished under rubble. The voices outside went muffled. Boots scraped, then stopped. But the slab had not fallen clean. It struck the base of the tower's inner wall, and a long crack shot up toward the broken peak. The whole tower groaned. Hot orange light leaked through the crack. Molten rock, the same fire that fed the spire's glowing veins, began to weep down the inside wall. "It's melting," Morwenna said. "The tower. It's melting in." Aleira stared. She had sealed the enemy out. She had also cracked the spire itself. The necromancers could not reach them now. But the lava crept lower, pooling near the throne, and the air grew thick with heat their robes could barely hold. She had won the fight without luck. She had chosen the target and it held. Yet the throne she'd crossed Hell to claim now sat in the path of the tower's own fire. Aleira grabbed Morwenna's arm and pulled her back from the spreading glow.

The lava crept across the floor. Aleira dragged Morwenna back from the glowing edge, but the necromancer would not move her feet. Morwenna stood frozen, staff pressed to her chest, eyes wide and white. Aleira needed her magic. Morwenna could hold back fire the way she once held back the spider. But a terrified witch casts nothing. "Morwenna. Look at me." Aleira grabbed her shoulders. The heat pushed at their robes. "I need you to call your power. Now." "I can't," Morwenna said. "It's coming. The floor's burning. We'll melt. We'll die in here. I can't move. I can't." Her words tumbled out fast and flat, one fear stacked on the next. Her staff trembled so hard the skull on top rattled. Across the room, Hazel aimed her wand at the lava. "I'll freeze it! I'll blast it cold!" Aleira turned. "No! You'll crack the floor worse." Hazel lowered the wand, blinking, hurt. The lava spread another handspan and hissed. Aleira looked at the crawling fire, then at the shaking girl. The throne sat behind them, half in shadow, the thing she had crossed Hell to hold. It was not worth Morwenna's life. It was not worth any of theirs. She let the choice go and pulled Morwenna close instead. "Forget the fire," Aleira said, quiet now. "Look at me. You held the spider for me. You did that when you were scared too. I kept your secret. I hid you from your own kind. I'm still here. I'm not leaving you." Morwenna's white eyes found her face. "You kept the secret," she repeated. "You kept it." "Every day. Breathe with me. Slow." Aleira drew one long breath. Morwenna followed, shaky, then again. The staff stopped rattling. The trust she gave her minions, she was learning to give Aleira. Her shoulders dropped. Her grip firmed on the wood. "Now," Aleira said. "The fire. Push it back." Morwenna raised the skull staff. Green light bloomed at its tip. She spoke words Aleira did not know, low and steady. The dead magic rolled out and met the lava. The glowing flow slowed. It cooled at the edges into dark, cracked crust. The spreading stopped an arm's length from the throne. Hazel let out a breath. "You did it." But the crust only held the surface. Under it, the pressure still built. The tower groaned again. A new crack split the far wall, and through the fresh gap came a sound Aleira had prayed not to hear: many voices, chanting together. The sealed rubble at the old entrance began to shift. The necromancers had found another way in, and Morwenna's magic, the thing that just saved them, was a beacon calling her own kind straight to her. Morwenna heard it too. She did not freeze this time. She looked at Aleira and said, "They're here. They know I'm here. What do we do?"

The chanting grew louder through the fresh gap in the wall. Aleira counted shapes in the smoke: robed figures, too many to fight in the open. They spread wide across the crawling rubble, and that was the problem. If they came at her from every side, she was finished. She needed them stacked in one line, one narrow gap she could hold. But the tower had two broken openings now, and no wall left to force a single door. Morwenna clutched her staff. "They'll surround us. They come through both holes. Two ways in. We can't watch both. We can't." Aleira looked at the leaking lava behind them, still crusted where Morwenna had cooled it. An idea landed hard. "We don't watch both," she said. "We close one." She turned to the young witch beside her. "Hazel. The old breach. I need it gone." Hazel raised her wand, then hesitated. Her aim never went where she pointed. Every spell she cast landed somewhere else. "I'll try. But you know I'll miss." "I'm counting on it." Aleira pointed her at the sturdy inner wall, far from the breach. "Aim there. Right at the stone." Hazel bit her lip and fired. The bolt swerved wide, exactly wrong, and struck the ceiling above the old breach. Stone cracked and fell. A slab the size of a cart dropped across the gap and sealed it shut. Dust rolled over them. On the other side, muffled voices shouted. Half the necromancers were cut off. "One way in now," Aleira said. The new breach stood alone, a single narrow mouth in the wall. The remaining robed figures pushed toward it, funneling into a line because the gap allowed nothing else. They had no choice but to enter one at a time. Morwenna understood. Her white eyes fixed on the crusted lava. "The fire," she whispered. "I pushed it back. I can let it go." "Only where I say." Aleira gripped her shoulder. "Hold it everywhere but the breach. Let it run there." Morwenna raised the skull staff. Green light flared. The crust she had built stayed firm along the throne, but at the narrow gap she released her hold. Lava surged forward and poured into the opening. The first necromancer through screamed and fell back. The molten flood filled the only door and sealed it with fire no robe could cross. Silence dropped over the chamber. The chanting outside broke apart into panic and retreat. Hazel sat down hard, shaking. "We did it. We really did it." Aleira did not smile. The lava blocked the breach, yes. But it also blocked the only way out, and the crust behind the throne groaned under fresh pressure. She had traded an army for a rising sea of fire, and now it sat between her and everything below. She looked at the throne she had bled to reach, then at the glowing wall climbing toward it.

The lava sealed the breach, but the danger was not gone. Aleira pressed her ear to the crusted wall and heard it—chanting, faint, from far across the wastes. The retreating necromancers had not scattered blind. They followed something. She turned to Morwenna, who stood clutching her skull staff, white eyes wide. "They still know where we are," Aleira said. "They feel your magic. It calls them." Morwenna's shoulders drew in. "The beacon. My magic. It never stops. It leaks. It leaks even when I am still." She backed toward the throne. "They will come back. Twenty. More. They always come." Hazel looked up from where she sat, her wand loose in her hand, leaves trembling in her hair. "Can she just... turn it off?" "No." Morwenna's voice cracked. "It is what I am. Dead magic. I cannot be quiet. I cannot hide the smell." She hugged the staff like a child. "There is no way. No way." Aleira knelt in front of her. She had kept this frightened girl's secret for weeks. She had chosen her over the throne once already. "Listen to me. The scent comes from the staff, doesn't it? The green fire. That's what they track." Morwenna nodded, quick and small. "The staff. Yes. It burns. It always burns." "Then we drown it." Aleira pointed at the lava crust behind the throne, still glowing where Morwenna had cooled it. "Push your magic into the fire. All of it. One last time. Bury the light in the lava and let the stone swallow the scent." Morwenna shook her head hard. "If I empty the staff, I have nothing. Nothing to hold the lava. Nothing to fight. I will be bare. Bare in front of the living." "You'll be hidden," Aleira said. "They can't track what they can't smell. Silent is safer than armed." For a long moment Morwenna only breathed. Then she raised the skull staff. Green light poured from it in a thick stream. She aimed it at the crust and forced everything out. The fire on the staff guttered. The skull dimmed. The green flood sank into the molten wall and vanished under a black skin of hardening rock. The chanting outside faltered. It broke into confused voices, then faded as the necromancers lost the trail. Silence returned. The skull staff sat dead in Morwenna's hands, gray and cold. She stared at it, empty and shaking. "Gone," she whispered. "It's gone." Hazel let out a breath. "They can't find us now." Aleira nodded, but her eyes went to the wall. The lava that had blocked their only exit was hardening fast now, robbed of Morwenna's fire. It cooled into solid black stone before her, thick and sealed. The necromancers were blind. The throne was hers. And she was locked inside a tomb of rock with no magic left to break it, and no way down to the world above.

The tomb was quiet now. The necromancers were gone, tricked into losing the trail. But the silence pressed on Aleira like a hand. She stood before the black wall of hardened lava, thick and cold. It sealed the only way out. She pushed at it. Solid. She struck it with her fist. Nothing moved. Beside her, Hazel sat with her wand across her knees, and Morwenna slumped near the throne, her gray skull staff dead in her lap. No magic left. No door. Just three of them and a shrinking pool of air. Aleira tilted her head back. Far above, through the broken peak, she saw a thin strip of red sky. Smoke curled up through the gap. Air came in there. But the hole was too high to climb to, and too small to crawl through. She breathed slow. The heat was rising again. Soon the air would go foul. "We can't dig out," Morwenna said flatly. "The stone is thick. My magic is gone. Gone. We suffocate. Slow. First the young witch. Then you. Then me." She hugged her knees. "I always knew a tower would be my grave." Aleira knelt beside Hazel. The witch flinched, leaves shaking in her hair. "Your magic," Aleira said. "You've never hit what you aimed at once. Not one time." Hazel's mouth twisted. "That's not helping." "It is." Aleira gripped her shoulders. "Every time you miss, you break stone. You brought down this whole wall by accident. So aim at the floor. Aim at the ground under our feet." Morwenna's white eyes went wide. "The floor. If she misses upward, she hits the wall. The sealed wall." "That's the plan," Aleira said. "She never hits where she points. Point down. The spell flies wide and cracks the seal open." Hazel stood on shaking legs. She raised her wand and pointed it straight at the stone floor. Her hand trembled. "What if this is the one time I aim right?" "You won't," Aleira said. "Trust that you'll fail. Fail loud." Hazel squeezed her eyes shut and cast. The spell tore from her wand, curved wild, and slammed into the sealed lava wall. The blast threw all three of them back. Rock shattered. When the dust cleared, a jagged hole gaped in the black stone. Cool air rushed through it. Beyond the gap, Aleira saw the burning wastes stretching out under a red sky. Hazel coughed and laughed at once. "I missed. I missed!" Aleira climbed to her feet. The tomb was open. They could breathe. They could leave. But she stepped to the breach and stopped cold. Across the wastes, tiny robed figures had turned toward the noise. The blast had carried. A cluster of necromancers stood in the far heat, staring at the fresh hole in the tower. They began to move. Toward her.

Aleira pulled back from the breach. The robed figures were closing fast across the wastes. Behind her, the throne chamber shuddered. She turned and saw the true danger. The floor had cracked wide. Lava glowed up through the gap, spreading under the throne. Her ancestral throne, black and carved with elven vines, tilted toward the growing pit. "The floor's going," she said. "Get to the wall." Morwenna scrambled back on her hands. Her skull staff was dead in her grip, no green fire left. "It'll take the throne. It'll take us. Both. We fall or we cook." She pointed a shaking finger. "I told you. A tower would be my grave." Aleira lunged for the throne. She grabbed one arm of it and pulled. It was too heavy. The floor sagged more. A slab dropped away and hit the lava with a hiss. She braced her feet and heaved again. Her boots slid on the hot stone. "Hazel! Help me pull!" Hazel stumbled over, wand still in her fist. Leaves shook loose from her hair. She grabbed the other arm of the throne. Together they dragged it a hand's width. Then a crack split the floor between them and the wall. The throne lurched. It slipped from their hands and slid backward into the pit. Aleira dove. She caught nothing. The throne tipped over the edge and dropped into the lava below. The molten rock swallowed it. The carved wood flared, blackened, and sank. In seconds it was gone. Only bright orange fire remained where her bloodline's seat had been. Aleira knelt at the edge, staring down. Heat pushed at her face. The thing she had crossed the wastes to reclaim was ash now, folded into the lava. "It's gone," Hazel said softly. "I'm sorry. I couldn't hold it." Aleira did not answer at first. She watched the last glow where the throne had been. Then she stood. "A throne is wood and stone," she said. "The right to sit on it is mine. That didn't melt." Her voice was steady, but her hands were not. "I'll build another. Above ground. Where it belongs." Morwenna crept to the breach and looked out. Her white eyes went wide. "They're almost here. The necromancers. Coming for me. For all of us." She hugged her dead staff. "No throne to guard now. Nothing to stay for." That stopped Aleira. Morwenna was right. She had guarded this chamber for the throne. The throne was gone. There was no reason to hold the tower anymore. She looked at the jagged hole in the wall. Cool air moved through it. Beyond lay the open wastes and the robed figures crossing them. "Then we don't stay," Aleira said. "We run. Out the breach, before they reach it." She pulled Hazel up by the arm and reached for Morwenna. "Move. Now." The three of them climbed through the hole into the burning wastes, leaving the empty tower behind them.

The tower fell behind them, but the wastes gave no mercy. Heat pressed down from every side. Aleira led Hazel and Morwenna across cracked black ground, looking for any slope that climbed toward the surface. There was none. Just red rock and rising steam in every direction. She stopped. Her own robe, woven from cinderbark and spider lily fibers, kept the killing heat off her skin. But it would not last forever, and the way out was gone. "No road," Morwenna said. She hugged her dead staff to her chest. The skull on top was dark now, its green fire spent. "No road up. No shade. We walk, we cook. We stop, we cook. I told you. The wastes are a bigger grave than the tower." Her white eyes darted at every shimmer in the air. Aleira crouched and pressed a hand to the ground. It burned even through her glove. Then she felt it. A faint pull of cooler air, low and steady, seeping up through a seam in the rock. She dug her fingers into the crack. Air moved against them. "There's a hollow under us," she said. "Cool air. That means a tunnel. A way down and out." Hazel stumbled over, leaves shaking loose from her hair. She gripped her wand in both fists. "You want me to break it open," she said. "But I never hit what I aim at. I'll miss. I always miss." "I know you'll miss," Aleira said. "That's why I want you to aim at the sky." She pointed straight up. "Aim high. Your spell will drop low. It'll strike the seam and split it. Trust your bad aim. It's saved us before." Hazel swallowed. She raised the wand toward the burning sky and shut her eyes. "Sky," she whispered. "I'm aiming at the sky." She cast. The bolt jerked downward, as it always did. It slammed the seam in the rock. Stone cracked and buckled. A slab dropped away, and a black mouth opened in the ground. Cool air poured out, washing over Aleira's face like water. Below lay a tunnel sloping down into shadow. Morwenna knelt at the edge and stared into it. For once she did not name a fear. "Cold," she said. "It's cold down there. Cold is good." Aleira looked into the dark passage. It led down, away from the surface she wanted. But cool air meant it connected somewhere, and somewhere was better than baking on open rock. "Down first," she said. "Then up. This tunnel goes somewhere. We follow it to the surface." She lowered herself into the opening. Her boots found solid footing on the slope. The heat fell away behind her. Then, far ahead in the dark, she saw a faint green glow moving toward them, and the sound of many feet.

The green glow swelled in the tunnel ahead. Footsteps came fast, many of them, filling the narrow dark. Aleira threw out an arm and stopped Hazel and Morwenna behind her. There was no way back. The surface was heat and death. The only path led straight into that light. She drew her knife and set her feet. "Necromancers," Morwenna whispered. She backed against the wall. "My kind. They found us. They found us. Their fire, that green, I know it. Run. We can't run. No, we cook up there. Trapped. Trapped again." Her dead staff shook in her hands. Aleira watched the glow spread across the rock. She counted shapes now, robed and hooded, a dozen at least. Too many to fight. She could not outrun them. She could not go up. So she chose the only move left. She stepped forward, into the light, and raised her empty hand. "I have your kin here," she called. Her voice cracked off the stone. "Powerless and afraid. You want her? Then hear me first." The footsteps stopped. The green light held. From the front of the pack came something small. It walked upright and slow, red-skinned, curved black horns on its head, gold thread bright on a dark robe. It came only to Aleira's waist. Its purple eyes glowed in the dark. The robed figures dropped to their knees the moment it passed them. "You stand in my roads," it said. The voice was soft and pleased. "Under my wastes. In my dark. And you make demands." It smiled up at her. The smile did not reach its eyes. Morwenna made a thin sound behind her. "That's not a necromancer," she breathed. "That's the one they answer to. The Supreme Leader. Azrathoth. We're dead. We're dead." Aleira's plan bent under her. These were not raiders tracking Morwenna's magic. This was the throat the necromancers spoke from. She looked at the small horned thing and understood. It ruled the ground beneath Hell itself. It ruled the road she needed. She did not kneel. She lowered her knife instead and spoke plain. "I lost my throne to your lava. I want a road to the surface to build a new one. Give me passage. I'll give you a thing worth more than one frightened girl." Azrathoth Infernus tilted its head. It studied her without blinking. "A queen with no chair," it said. "Bold. I like bold. It breaks so nicely." It lifted one small hand. The kneeling necromancers rose. "Walk with me, throneless elf. We'll speak of your road. And of my price." The green fire turned and flowed back down the tunnel. Aleira had no choice but to follow it. She had traded a wall of enemies for a single deal with the ruler of the dark below, and she did not yet know its cost.

The green fire led them into a wide stone chamber. Azrathoth Infernus climbed onto a low black chair and sat with its small legs swinging. It barely reached Aleira's waist, red-skinned and horned, but the necromancers around the walls dropped their eyes when it moved. Its purple gaze fixed on Aleira. "Now, throneless elf. My price." Aleira kept her knife low. "Name it." Azrathoth smiled. It pointed one small finger past her, at Morwenna. "The frightened girl stays. Not as your gift. As mine. She fled my kind. She owes me her power and her years. Leave her, and your road opens." It swung its legs, cheerful. "Simple." Aleira's stomach dropped. She had offered a thing worth more than Morwenna. The creature had turned it back on her and asked for the one thing she'd promised to protect. Behind her, Morwenna made a thin sound and gripped her dead staff. "No," Aleira said. "She's under my word. I keep my word." The swinging legs stilled. Azrathoth's smile stayed, but the warmth left it. "Then you all burn." It raised one hand. Around the chamber, a dozen necromancers lifted their staffs. Green fire swelled at the tips. Hazel yelped and stumbled back, her hat tipping over her eyes. Aleira had one card left. "Wait." She turned to Hazel and spoke fast and quiet. "The floor. Aim at the floor. Right where I point." She jabbed her finger at the stone beneath Azrathoth's chair. Hazel's hands shook. "I'll miss, I always miss—" "I know," Aleira said. "Miss." Hazel squeezed her eyes shut and flung her spell at the floor. It went wide, as it always did. The bolt struck the ceiling above the black chair. Stone cracked. A slab dropped and slammed down beside Azrathoth. The little ruler tumbled off its seat and rolled across the floor, robe over its horns, legs kicking in the air. The necromancers froze. Their master lay flipped on its back like an upturned beetle, tiny and helpless, gold thread in the dust. For one breath no one moved. Aleira crossed the room and pressed her knife to the creature's throat. "Call them off," she said. "Or your road ends here, in your own dark." Azrathoth stopped kicking. Its purple eyes found hers. Then it laughed, high and delighted. "Bold," it wheezed. "I said it breaks nicely. But you don't break, do you." It lifted one hand. The green fires died. "Take your girl. Take your road. Up that shaft, elf. It reaches the surface." Aleira did not lower the knife until Morwenna and Hazel had backed to the shaft. Then she stepped away. Azrathoth rolled upright and brushed off its robe. "Go build your chair," it called after her. "I'll want to see it. And you'll owe me for this road. I always collect." Aleira climbed toward the surface with Morwenna and Hazel above her, her word kept and a new debt on her back.