I stop altogether, grounded by curiosity more than anything else. I tear off one of the heads of wheat and rub it gently between my palms until the kernels separate, the same way as when I first encountered the field. Each kernel remains golden and glistening. I pick up one between thumb and forefinger and toss it toward the nightbeasts. It’s light, so it doesn’t go far, but it lands a few feet away from the nearest nightbeast—a strange badger of sorts—which darts back as though I’ve thrown fire at it. The badger then hisses at the kernel, turns its back, and rapidly kicks dirt over it.

Even covered, the nightbeasts keep their distance.

All of that from a single kernel.

I remember now how, when the children fell off the nightbeast dragon, a few final wheat kernels had fallen from my pocket. And then the cardinals came and saved the children. Were those actually from the kernels? Was the thing Stranna dropped from the sky actually a kernel and not a lit match?

I tuck the rest of the wheat into what would have been my money pouch, had I made any money during my time here. I ponder while I travel. Are these kernels like the rocks with light threads in them? Can I create with them? Now that I’m away from Castle Ithebego I’m not sure what I can make. I don’t want to use nightmist, even though it’s easy here. But it makes the roots come from my soles, and all it ever does is make me want to create more out of it with emotions I can’t control.

I liked my saber-toothed tiger and my hound dog. I was fond of them, and a little pang hits my chest at the feeling of betraying them by abandoning nightmist. But now that I’ve created with the strange light threads in the stone, I can’t go back to the other way.

I set off toward my destination. It wasn’t until I left the wheat field that I realized what that destination is. It’s not the coliseum. Not yet. I need a way to get past its fire.

So I head toward the Tunnels.

The Tunnels are far off, and on foot the journey is slow and conspicuous, especially if Luc and his tirones fly overhead. But the Vetters at the Tunnel exits—like James from when I first arrived—have a key to one of the coliseum gates. And I need a way in.

I break into a light jog, causing my body to pound in pain from my Real World injuries. I keep glancing toward the sky, waiting for Luc to show up, but there are too many buildings and broken towers around to get much of a view beyond directly overhead.

I reach the catacombs and swallow irritation. I was heading too sharply along the edge of the Nightmare. I need to go more toward the bottom edge of the map. I can’t make myself think of it as south because such cardinal directions imply there’s a sun to read them by.

But here this no sun. There is no direction. Only death and confusion and darkness.

I use my arrival at the catacombs to my advantage and hike up the incline to where the phoenix’s nest is. The phoenix isn’t here. I grit my teeth. Flying would be faster. And safer. But from here I do have a view of the coliseum. It’s distant, but close enough to reveal small specks circling the mammoth structure, like buzzards circling a kill, but none dive, and none seem to be carrying riders.

As I stare at the odd scene, there is a small puff of mist above. Three more buzzard creatures appear in the air.

They’re being created. By Luc. Chills trickle down my skin. They’re sky steeds, and there are enough for an army. The attack on Castle Ithebego is sooner than I expected.

I swivel my gaze to where the Tunnel exits should be, but they’re cloaked in gray cloud, the same as when I first arrived. It’s going to take hours to get there on foot. Where is the phoenix?

I search the skies to no avail. Did the buzzards get her?

I scan her nest for any threads of light or warmth or gold so I could possibly create something. Nothing but regular straw, colored the way it should be and not glowing the way the rocks do.

I reach into my pouch and pull out a wheat kernel. It still shines with the life of the wheat field bound in it. Surely this will work. I hold it tight in my fist, close my eyes, and let my imagination send a message. Not a command, but more of a dream.

The ground rumbles around me, and my eyes snap open and widen. The kernel is no longer in my hand.

Instead, before me, stands a giant rhino. Or maybe it’s the size of a regular rhino—I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been this close to one before.

Its skin is leathery and gray, and when it snorts, mucus lands on the ground. It bucks its head, and I hold back my reaction, not wanting to get gored. But when it meets my eyes, I see something I never witnessed in my nightbeasts: obedience. It’s not tame, but it seems willing to submit. Why? Because I’m its creator?

I run my hand along its cheekbone, then shoulder, then back. It holds still. I mount with the help of a nearby boulder. There’s a small dip in its spine that gets the closest to imitating a saddle, but that doesn’t mean the back of a rhino is comfortable.

“Let’s go to the Tunnels,” I prompt.

It swivels around. I lurch for a handhold, but there’s nothing. No mane, no bridle, not even feathers like on the phoenix. I do the only thing I can: I drop low and hug its form like I would a horizontal tree trunk. It takes a while for me to meld with the rhythm of its lumbering gait. Once I think I’m stable, I dare to lift my head. We’re in the midst of the abandoned houses, where the snakes attacked me and Larry. From what I can tell, we’re making good time.

I’m thankful this creature seems to know where the Tunnels are. After half an hour we enter fog, and the rhinoceros slows but stays on target. I pat its side as it heaves and snorts.

“Slow down, big guy. Catch your breath.” There’d be no sneaking up on the Tunnels with this loud mouth-breather.

I slide off his back. “You stay here for now, okay?”

He paws the ground and then flumps down on it with the impact of a level-4 earthquake.

I creep through the mist, not entirely sure how far I am from the Tunnels, but I must be close. Luc’s map runs through my head as I navigate past rubble and houses and then . . . nothing. No trees, just sparse grass poking from dry rough ground. The same type of ground I landed on with my hands and knees the first moment I exited the Tunnels.

A few more gentle steps and the fog clears, revealing the crackling campfire of the Vetters. Beyond it are the four cages built around the exits to the Tunnels. The crooked, dying tree is still off to the side of the campfire, and the ring of keys gleams in the firelight. Two men and a woman huddle around the campfire, drinking their coffee.

Meanwhile, each Tunnel cave is filled with three or four to a cage. Most sit and cower—Fears. But there are two who stand and shake the bars, pounding their fists against the wood. Occasionally shouting at the Vetters to explain, to let them out.

I remember that feeling.

Confusion. Entrapment. Anger. This cage only makes it worse for them. They need answers: they need freedom. How long have these dreamers been trapped here? While their physical bodies deteriorate in the Real World?

Some of them might have kids in Castle Ithebego. When I think of it that way, I lose focus of the keys altogether. I left the castle to stop Luc, but these people need help too.

“We’ve got enough for each of our quotas. Let’s load ’em up.” A Vetter tosses a final splash of coffee into the fire, and it hisses when the liquid hits the coals.

“Not while whatever’s going on at the coliseum is still happening,” the female Vetter says. Her face is turned away from me, but I recognize her voice. “I want no part in that battle. I’ll take my chance here with the nightbeasts and dreamers.”

It’s Helene.

Helene is a Vetter? After all she’s gone through to reunite with her daughter, now she’s enabling the coliseum Games?

I pull up short as her head turns slightly. In the flicker of the campfire, I catch a glimpse of her face. I’ve seen that face, but younger. Same freckles, same narrow nose and wayward curl by her ear.

Helene is Heidi’s mom.

One of the men speaks up. “We have a quota to fill, and I want to get paid. I chose Vetting for my conscription. They can’t make me ride some skybeast in the Emperor’s war.”

“Barys . . .” Helene sounds weary. “Let’s just finish our coffee.”

The lead Vetter, Barys, rises with the other man. “Get working, Helene, or I’ll report you.” He crosses to a cage cart. Helene takes one final slow sip from her tin cup, then joins him.

I want to believe she’s undercover, has some ulterior motive. But she checks the harnesses of two cougar nightbeasts hitched to the front of a much larger transport cart, like she’s done it a hundred times.

I have information that could get her on my side. At least briefly.

I know where Heidi, her missing daughter, is. If I can only get her alone . . .

The Vetters lead the cougars and cart to the first Tunnel cage. The Fears who are trapped inside shy away. A brief light sparks.

“Did you see that flash?” the male Vetter, a short, tattooed man, exclaims. His hands jerk away from the cage lock.