Page 134 of The Amber Sunburst

When the sun is almost down, Lazarus stands up and brushes himself off, in a placid kind of haze. Time has passed without him, but not the way it does when he’s anxious. More like he’s moving through molten amber; his limbs are disconnected from his brain which is working in slow motion.

He wanders with no destination in mind, reveling in how all the sounds are muffled and his eyes are blurring. Brain fog is a symptom of anxiety—he read that somewhere. Maybe he can exist in a foggy brain forever. Wouldn’t that be nice.

He walks and walks and walks and eventually finds a soft bed to lie on, under the sky. The lights from the city are too bright for stars to peek through, but he knows they must be up there somewhere.

When he snaps out of it, the first thing he hears are crickets.

The grass under him is wet, and the sky is black.

How late is it? He must have been here for hours.

When Lazarus sits up, his head aches sharply and he drops it into his hands until he regains his bearings.

Standing is a chore, but he needs to sleep in his bed. And he needs food. And water.

But what he needs more than anything is surety. He has to be sure of his success in the Trial five days from now. If he’s not, the stress will probably give him a heart attack in the arena.

His calm, fugue state made that very clear. If he’s overwhelmed, he’s unpredictable. If he fears failure, he’ll never have success. So what he needs is no fear. What he needs is a guarantee.

And then, like a Forms-sent miracle, he realizes what he’s been lying at the foot of for hours. A miniature marble temple with an agate signet ring on a pedestal, lit from underneath.

The Ring of Invisibility: the infamous relic from some other time, able to grant the wearer invisibility and all the power that comes with it.

With the ring, he could sneak into the Educator’s office and look at the plans for the Trial. He could listen in on other cohorts’ strategy meetings. He could move around the Trial itself completely undetected until he takes it off and is announced the victor.

Lazarus’ arm is reaching forward before he even tells it to. Part of him knows he should think this through. What if it’s alarmed? What if they notice it’s missing? What if they catch him?

But right here is a solution. Something to ease the constant panic clenching in his chest. To stop the episodes and keep him breathing. To make him okay.

It’s the last one that convinces him. He’s never been okay. Not since he can remember, at least. What will it feel like when he finally is?

The allure of it echoes in his ears, unbearably loud. He can only stand it for a few seconds before he snatches the ring from its pedestal.

A quiet bell sounds within the little temple, sweet and twinkling, like it’s being rung by a tiny forest nymph. He looks inside to find the source, but before he can fully peer into the structure, another bell rings in tandem from far off.

The Temple of the Scale, he realizes. Then another one rings, a little closer this time. Then another, then another, until an obnoxious noise clangs from the Main Building.

And, oh Forms.

He’s stolen the Ring of Invisibility—the ring that only exists as a test of worthiness, a trap for the desperate.

“No, no, no,” he whispers.

What has he done?

Lazarus takes off in a sprint. The night is dark enough to cloak his identity, and there’s no one behind him yet, but it’s only a matter of time until the Priestesses from the Temple of the Scale come to catch him.

He jumps down into the not-so-secret trapdoor by the Main Building, forgoing the ladder entirely, and his knees buckle when he lands, dropping him flat.

His head hits the ground hard and stars cloud his vision for seconds, maybe minutes. When he’s finally well enough to sit up, the trapdoor opens from above him.

And, this is it, isn’t it? They have him, the ring clutched in his hand. He’s done for. Exiled, if not executed. He’s kind of relieved that it’s all over.

“Lazarus?” he hears. When he looks up he finds, not an army of Priestesses, but Kallias standing alone. His head tilts, jostling his already ruffled hair. “What are you doing here?”

Lazarus tries to say something, anything, but the words get lost on his tongue.

But clearly Kallias is smart enough to crack it himself, because he looks up to where the bells are ringing, then back down to Lazarus’ clutched hand.