There was nowhere to go but forward, so Vhalla pushed on. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but as they rounded the back end of the structure, Vhalla barely contained a sigh of relief and a groan of frustration. All she could see was more of the same. More magically shaped stone defending the building’s contents from everything—even the trees.

She stilled, repeating the only facts that she knew about the axe. Achel slept in a stone tomb. Judging from where Za had been focused, Vhalla was certain that this was the “stone tomb” she had been referring to.

The Gods watch over what is theirs.

She turned her face upward. Vhalla squinted through the edge of the canopy where the trees couldn’t encroach upon the top of the structure. High above was the great eye that peered down upon the whole world: the Gods.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Daniel hissed as she planted her feet against the rock.

“We have to go in through the top,” Vhalla whispered in reply, her feet already by his head.

“Vhalla, if you fall—”

“Falls can’t hurt me, remember?” Anyone else would have likely been dissuaded from tackling such a tall climb. But Vhalla found herself breathing easier with each pull of her arms, with each footing she found that brought her upward. The air was freer up high than in the inky blackness of the jungle floor. Climbing toward the sky was freedom.

Daniel was a cacophony of noise the moment he tried to ascend as well.

“Daniel!” Vhalla tensed, stalling on a narrow ledge. He created enough clanking to alert anyone who was even remotely close to their presence. He was too encumbered by his armor to go further. Vhalla sighed softly, knowing what needed to be said. “You can’t follow me.”

“Vhalla!” he protested with genuine panic.

“You said it yourself: if you fall, it won’t be good.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Don’t make me watch another man I care about fall.” The words escaped before she gave them any thought, just unfiltered truth. Another man I care about, she watched as it sank in on his face. Vhalla’s expression likely mimicking the surprise his hazel eyes carried. Vhalla swallowed. “Go back to the camp side, wait for me there. If I’m not out by the time the sky begins to lighten, get Aldrik.”

“Do not keep me worrying for that long,” he demanded.

“I won’t.” Vhalla watched as Daniel started back for the Imperial side of the ruins.

She turned back to the rock. It was uncomfortable beneath her hands, as though it rejected her every touch. Finding places for her feet gave the sickening feeling that she was putting the soles of her boots on someone’s face. It wasn’t a hard climb, but the disgust the ruins seemed to radiate toward her made it take longer than it should.

When Vhalla crested the apex of the structure, the moon hung right above her. She panted softly from the exertion of the climb, but her eyes focused on the dark spot in the middle of the roof she now stood upon. Vhalla walked over, shuffling her feet toward the hole to peer over the edge.

She gasped sharply. The moonlight flowed through the oculus only to be dashed upon hundreds of points, fracturing it into starlight in a swirling microcosm of raw magic. This was the power that was being kept inside the thick stone wall of pure earth. Vhalla crouched at the ledge, gazing down. The bottom did not seem very far, if she could land easily with all the crystals below.

Inching to the edge, she took a breath and stepped off. The moonlight faded quickly and Vhalla welcomed the air beneath her, easing her fall onto a large crystal. Which she proceeded to slip off of and land awkwardly.

Vhalla rubbed the back of her head where it’d hit against a stone—a less than graceful descent. The domed ceiling above her seemed to glow with magic. But it could be her eyes playing tricks on her. Blinking the haze away, Vhalla pulled herself to her feet.

Every crystal she touched radiated power. The second her feet or hands brushed over the stone it shimmered and sparked to life with a color as ancient as the glacers in the tallest mountains of the South. She felt the magic reaching out to her, twirling around her fingers, inviting her to use it. For all the power the room held there was one thing that drew her attention.

Achel was unimpressive in its size. It was no longer than the length of Vhalla’s forearm. The flat hilt had been wrapped in thin leather strips that were now brittle with age. But the blade. It shone wickedly, and the whole thing seemed to be carved from a single shimmering stone. It radiated a power so deep that it grated against Vhalla’s bones.

Crystal weapons were real.

There was nothing else in the structure. Only the crystals growing from every wall, all reaching toward a center pedestal in which Achel rested. The blade of the axe was embedded in the crystal beneath it.

Vhalla approached slowly.

There was no sign of foul play; if anything, that made her more leery. It was so beautifully enticing to her magic that it gave her a nervous edge. It radiated power that felt like Aldrik’s, which gave Vhalla the sensation of his skin on hers. Her eyes fluttered closed a brief moment.

They opened again quickly at the returning feeling of someone’s stare. She peered over her shoulder nervously. There was no one there; it was just crystals. In fact, she had no idea how she would get out of the room.

Vhalla stared at the axe in a heated debate with herself. Reaching out a hand, she hesitated. What if it was far more protected here than it could be anywhere else? Her trembling hand caused the tip of her finger to brush against the hilt and magic flashed brightly.

Forced to cover her eyes as the whole room lit up, Vhalla blinked stars trying to get her sight back.

“Leave it.” The voice was ghost-like, faint, chilling, and oddly familiar. Scraps of magic floated through the air, drifting like shining feathers made of silvery moonlight.

She was no longer alone.

Across the room from her was a woman dressed in tight black leathers that hugged her generous curves. A long scarf was piled around her shoulders and head, dyed a deep crimson color that reminded Vhalla of the robes the crones wore. The only part of her face that was visible was two glowing ruby eyes.

Vhalla wanted to ask the woman who she was. She wanted to plant her feet and prepare to fight. But she couldn’t seem to move a muscle.

“Leave the blade; do not take Achel from its tomb,” the woman repeated, the scarf muffling her voice. She raised a hand, runes that Vhalla had never seen before glowing ghostly white above her arm. Vhalla was vaguely reminded of the strange magic that the Chieftain had used. But this woman didn’t look like a Northerner. From the tan skin around her eyes and stray hair falling from under her head wrap, she looked Western—perhaps.

The woman placed a palm on the crystals behind her, and the stone groaned and crackled, bending unnaturally to her will. They cut open a pathway to the jungle beyond, the same fractured moonlight drifting through the air. The runes that glowed above her arm faded.

“Heed my warning and leave. Do not touch the magic of the Gods, Vhalla Yarl.”

The air seemed to shudder and the light began to fall faster.

“Who are you?” Vhalla found her voice, control slowly returning to her.

“I’ve had many names,” the woman whispered.

She glowed faintly, turning into more light than substance. The woman seemed to break under her own weight and the darkness shattered her visage. By the time Vhalla could move again, her visitor was gone.