“Ollie,” she said, clutching the straps of her enormous backpack as the path beneath our feet shuddered again, “I want to be extremely clear that this is not one of your accidents.”
“I KNOW,” I said, very relieved. “I haven’t even tripped yet today.”
“It’s nine in the morning.”
“It’s a personal record.”
The Rumbling Ridges stretched out ahead of us — a wide, rocky landscape striped with deep orange cracks where warm light pulsed up from somewhere far, far below. The rocks were dark and jagged like giant broken teeth, and little wisps of steam shot upward without warning, making the whole place look like a pot of soup coming to a boil. A very large, very dangerous pot of soup. The Champion’s Crown on my head buzzed with a warm, steady hum — the kind it had made right before we’d found Captain Cactus’s fortress, and before we’d walked into the Ender Earl’s courtyard, and before about seventeen other moments I’d rather not think about too hard.
Four villains down. The crown glowed brighter than I’d ever seen it.
But right now, something else was glowing too.
