Prologue Iteration 986 Pariana was the last Abidan stationed in this nameless world. Sectors Ninety-Nine and One Hundred had been completely abandoned, but they still clung to Sector Ninety-Eight. All the sectors from Ninety up were border worlds in the process of stabilization. The Way had a tenuous grasp on 986, so it was strange, lacking many of the fundamental laws that kept other Iterations stable. It was a flat plane, not a planet, with a sky that was a patchwork of a dozen bright colors during the day. At night, it became a sea of black, with ethereal creatures flying slowly overhead instead of stars. She loved it here. Pariana had been born far from the human standard— she was three meters tall, bald, and golden-skinned, an outcast even in the world of her birth. But the population here, workers trained to operate in border worlds, had been born in Sanctum: the home of the Abidan. They were used to stranger sights than her. They treated her no differently for her appearance, nor for her power or status. She was only a one-star Titan, not too far above them. So they treated her as one of her own. That was why her teammates had left Pariana behind, as they were called one by one to fight off other border incursions in the sector. She actually liked it here. Ten thousand souls called this place home, and they had brought with them a collection of buildings and machines to support colonization. The longer they lived here, the closer the Way would become, until eventually this world would be stable enough to support a long-term population. At that point, it would either become a source of raw materials for the Abidan or be split into multiple fragments that would become new Pioneer worlds.
She had long felt sadness at the thought of that day approaching; the day she would have to turn over this Iteration to someone else. Now, she couldn't wait to see that day arrive. It would mean they had all survived. The Abidan had been without Ozriel for too long. Corrupted fragments were spreading, so it took longer for worlds to stabilize, and even stable worlds could begin to fall apart. The Abidan were stretched beyond their means, leaving Pariana alone in a world that should have been protected by a small team. Protected from invasion. Across the multi-colored sky, three massive circles of arcane symbols flashed into existence. Kilometers wide, these formation circles were her specialty. She had been recruited by the Abidan not because of her power, but because of her skill in creating these energy formations. The golden circles blazed with power, shining like the suns this Iteration didn't actually have, and Pariana heard a warning siren in her mind. [Impending spatial violation,] her Presence warned her. [World defense formations have automatically engaged. Sector Control has been notified.] The sky cracked like glass in between the golden formation-circles, revealing darkness beyond. Pariana heaved great breaths, her hands trembling. With a thought, she summoned her armor, which flowed over her in seamless white plates. Another thought, and alarms sounded all across the colony. "Danger!" a mechanized voice shouted. "Danger! Seek shelter immediately!" She didn't look back to see the workers dropping tools and hurrying toward the nearest fortified structures. She didn't need to see armored plates lowering over windows, or buildings sinking down into the earth for protection. She knew the security protocols. They had drilled for this, and everyone in this world was a trained volunteer. Many of them were also her friends. Now, she was the only one standing between them and the invaders. In minutes, the colony had sunk entirely beneath the ground, leaving only plains of crops and abandoned machinery. The cracks in the sky had widened until she could see the void beyond. She cast out her will, taking control over the formation-circles. Even as the one who designed them, she found it difficult; these were complex
structures, and controlling them one at a time required great skill and concentration. Controlling three was a point of pride. As soon as her Presence indicated that someone had slipped through the spatial crack, she fired. Each of the three circles released a white-hot beam of destructive energy that thundered through the air, focusing on the crack. She had over-fortified this world, both in her zeal to protect it and out of a lack of other things to do; any one of these formations was powerful enough to scour Iteration 986 clean in a single blast. Three at the same time released a blinding light and a deafening roar. Her Presence automatically protected her eyes and ears, throwing up a barrier around her to protect from the furious explosion of wind that tore up the plains for kilometers, shredding crops, sending a ring of dust blasting into the distance. As a Titan, she had been trained to produce shields and barriers of all kinds. With her best efforts, she could maybe have defended against one of these attacks. She would have no hope against all three. She trembled and caught her breath as the dust settled, trying to convince herself that this would be all there was to it. Her defenses had worked. The threat was over. [Incoming!] her Presence warned her, and Pariana drew on the Way. A perfect cube of blue power surrounded her, protecting her. It was just in time. A cloud of black smoke stretched out from the crack in the world, forming into a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. It bit down on her, large enough to swallow her whole, but had caught a mouthful of her Titan barrier instead. The teeth scrabbled on the solid edges of the blue cube for a moment, trying to find a purchase. Then her barrier began to break. Panic threatened to swallow her from the inside. She had yet to catch a glimpse of the enemy, and they had already shrugged off her best attack and casually broken her defense. This was not a probe or a scout; it was a true assault. And she was alone. Pariana reached out for her formations again, turning them onto her enemy, but a spike of pain lanced through her brain and suddenly she could
feel the defenses no more. [Your authority has been overridden,] her Presence told her. Impossible. She had designed and placed those circles herself. How could someone take them from her this easily? But even to her eyes, the truth was clear. The golden formations were shot through with red light, and as she watched, they turned to focus on her. The jaws stopped chewing on her barrier, the column of smoke slithering back to its summoner. Only then did she get a look at her attackers. Four enemies of the Abidan floated in the air before her. The first looked to be a standard human with dark brown skin, wearing a helmet with a pane of transparent red glass covering his face. Red light streamed from his fingertips, and its signature matched what had taken over her formations. The second was an aquatic-adapted human, with slick blue skin, no hair, and gills at the side of her neck. She carried a pair of sickles that looked as though they had been torn off of a giant purple mantis, each of which carried a dark power that suggested they should be sealed away in an Abidan vault. The woman looked at Pariana with clear hatred, as though the Abidan had personally offended her. She could see nothing of the third figure. He, she, or it was covered in a mechanical suit of synthetic fabric and steel. They carried a rifle, and even without examining it carefully, Pariana could tell the weapon carried far more power than her formations had. It felt like the sealed form of one of the Judges' weapons; it terrified her. The final invader was another standard human, with pale skin and long, black hair tied into a tail that fluttered in the wind. She wore furs and leathers that looked as though they had been taken from a dark-furred lion, and they gave her a barbaric air. The black smoke drifted around her palm. Her dark eyes surveyed Pariana with absolute disregard. The Abidan's Presence whispered, [All four match descriptions of tenthgeneration Vroshir.] Pariana didn't ask for their names. It wouldn't help. The first generation of Vroshir had worked for the Abidan, long ago. They lived to shatter the Eledari Pact and see the Court of Seven cast down. It was not a grudge that she could resolve.
In the face of her death, Pariana reached out to the Way. The touch of its absolute order soothed her. But she couldn't fight the despair. Everything she had worked for, everyone she loved in this world, was coming crumbling down. "Relinquish your Presence into our keeping," the black-haired woman ordered, drifting down to hover over Pariana's cracked barrier. "You shall be taken as a prisoner of war, and all others will be liberated." Did Sector Control respond? Pariana asked her Presence. [No. I cannot confirm whether they received our report or not.] Pariana closed her eyes. In truth, it wouldn't matter even if Sector Control had heard them. No one else was close enough to respond, and even if they had been, it would be too late. Destroy yourself before they capture you, she ordered. [Of course. I am sorry I could not serve you better,] the Presence added, its voice tinged with sadness. Smoke boiled out of the fur-clad Vroshir's palm again. "Too late," she said. The mouth shattered Pariana's barrier. At the same time, the formations she'd created turned on her home. Impossibly hot pillars of light carved furrows through the crops, spearing into the bunkers beneath. Pariana could feel the Way weakening as people died. She threw everything she had into a barrier to protect them, and a blue dome flickered into existence over the smoking hole in the colony, cutting off the weapon's beam. The gilled woman swept one of her sickles through the air, and a violet slash tore open a canyon in the earth. It split Pariana's protection in half. Earth blasted upwards as though a volcano had erupted underground, spewing fire and debris all the way into the atmosphere. The four Vroshir were surrounded by invisible barriers, protecting them and Pariana. The Abidan Titan collapsed to her knees, soaked in tears. The smoky maw had left her alive. For now. The armored figure had its rifle trained on her. Pariana surged forward— the Way was too distant for her to manipulate now, and her specialty had never been violence, but she had nothing left to lose. He shot her.
The sound of the gunshot somehow pierced the deafening sounds of exploding earth. It drilled a hole through her white-plated armor, through her personal barrier, through her chest, and out the back. Slowly, Pariana toppled to the ground. She could feel her Presence trying to eradicate itself when it was seized by red power and dragged out, a mass of colorless light like a ghost. The Way had never felt more distant. As she died, she desperately cast out her mind, trying to feel someone alive. Without her Presence to guide her powers, she was left with only her mundane senses. It was like going suddenly blind. Armor and powers broken, Pariana drifted into death alone. …but as the darkness had almost claimed her entirely, it stopped. "Fear not," said a woman's warm voice. "I have come for you." The world reversed itself. Pariana was pulled to her feet as though on a puppet's strings, her vision returning, her flesh stitched up and her armor restored. The cascade of debris fountaining into the sky froze, then drifted back down, sliding back into place. Pariana's Presence, a squirming mass of silver, ripped itself from the hands of the Vroshir in furs and settled back into her mind. She sobbed again, in relief at having this piece of her restored. One by one, she could feel the lives of the colonists coming back, like candles being lit once more. The only things in the world that had not been reversed were the Vroshir themselves. They resisted, pitting their wills against the power that had rewound the entire Iteration. They all rose into the air again, facing the source of that power, and of the blue light that shone down on the scene. Suriel, the Phoenix, Sixth Judge of the Abidan Court, floated with the power of the Way streaming off of her to either side like massive wings. Her mantle blazed behind her, like a river of light, her armor seamless and white—identical to Pariana's. Ghostly correlation lines, like strings of gray smoke, ran from her fingertips to the back of her skull. Her hair drifted behind her, bright shining green, and her eyes blazed with purple formations that could see Fate. At her hip hung Suriel's Razor, dormant now, like a meter-long ruler of blue steel. Pariana sagged forward, lowering her head in both respect and relief. A Judge had come for her. Now everything would be all right.
The woman in furs began to laugh. Ignoring Pariana, she threw her hands to the sky. Black smoke gushed from her hands, covering the world. The man in the red visor swirled his fingers in a significant pattern, and the smoke was threaded through with red lights. Pariana's golden formation-circles drifted beneath them, still under his control. The robotic figure pulled a mechanical device from behind him, like a computerized bear trap, activating it with a touch. And Pariana realized she could no longer touch the Way. The lives of the people behind her had been restored, and her connection should have returned with them, but now it was as though the Way had vanished completely. The world had been cut off. Suriel's mantle dimmed, weakening immediately, but the scars in the earth finished knitting themselves together. Finally, the entire Iteration had been restored to pristine condition. Only then did her mantle gutter and die. Even the blue 'wings' streaming from behind her vanished, leaving Suriel surrounded by enemies. Without the Way, the world's laws would eventually crumble, which the Vroshir wouldn't want any more than the Abidan would. They wanted to use this world, to add it to their network, not to see it dissolve into fragments with no causality or consistent physics. But that would take time. For now, they had simply rendered any Abidan in the world powerless. This had been a trap from the beginning. Suriel still floated in the air, but now she was relying on her own power, not her authority as a Judge. Pariana ran beneath her. "Do we have reinforcements coming, Judge?" "Stand down, Titan," Suriel said, and her words were calm and certain. "I am enough." A rifle, two sickles, three golden formation-circles, and a maw of smoke all turned toward Suriel. Each weapon carried enough power to rend continents and shatter space. The Phoenix faced them all with nothing but her own personal power. "Surrender, and I will grant you mercy," Suriel said. The black-haired woman bared her teeth in what Pariana hesitated to call a smile. "Keep your blighted tongue still, tyrant." With no discernible signal, all four Vroshir attacked at once. The aquatic woman slashed her sickles together, sending a cross of violet power rushing through the air. The attack cracked space behind her,
the world splintering for hundreds of kilometers in her wake. The earth quaked and shook, and Pariana could feel the world's tenuous hold on reality begin to shake. The woman in lion fur conjured a thousand ghostly mouths on wormlike bodies of black smoke. They dove for Suriel, and each one felt like a plague that could decimate planets. They carried ancient hatred that soaked Pariana's soul, and only her Presence's protection kept their energy from sending her into madness. The armored man's rifle cracked, and this time the sound echoed through the entire world. Air exploded away from him at the sound, and the bullet flashed forward with a thousand times the power he had used to kill Pariana the first time. That one shot alone carried enough energy to obliterate everything in this Iteration. Finally, the red-visored man triggered the three golden formations. They fired pillars of superheated destructive energy. The columns of light blasted down. Obliterating him instantly. The attacks happened instantly and simultaneously, so Pariana had to piece the entire scene together afterwards. Without being empowered as an Abidan, and without the Presence's effect on her mind, she wouldn't have been able to follow what happened at all. The formations fired, not at Suriel, but at the one who had taken them over. As she arrived, Suriel had taken control back, and neither Pariana— their designer—nor the red-visored Vroshir had noticed a thing. Suriel flew through the air in an erratic pattern, a bright streak that dodged the thousand mouths of smoke effortlessly. The X-crossed slashes from the sickle had grown in size and power, destroying everything in their path from ground to sky, and they would not be avoided. The Judge crashed through them. The violet light burst, sending shards of power and malicious intent spinning chaotically through the world, carving serpentine scars into the earth. Suriel's armor had cracked as well, pieces flying from it, and blood flew from her exposed skin, but she was safe. When the bullet reached her, she met it with her Razor. The sapphire steel hit the missile and sliced through it. Pariana had never seen anything like it. The Vroshir had obviously put their entire will
behind the bullet, but Suriel cut it as though it were nothing more than physical metal. Her weapon split the bullet, which broke into two halves that flew to either side of her, landing with the force of missiles. In the same motion, Suriel struck back. The Razor swept through the air again, though there was no one in front of her. Kilometers away, the armor-clad gunman's head flew off, streaming blood. As though by coincidence, Suriel's chaotic flight path took her close to the fish-woman. Pariana didn't see what happened, but the Vroshir pitched over. With no visible wounds, she went from alive to dead in an instant. Purple sickles fell from lifeless hands. The black-haired woman in furs screamed, pouring all her power into her legion of spirits until the entire Iteration screamed with her fury and hatred. An ocean hundreds of kilometers away was whipped into a frenzy, and dead fish began to bob to the surface. The luminous creatures inhabiting the night sky died one by one, falling to the ground like distant, shining meteorites. Even Pariana's consciousness began to fuzz. Then her formation-circles, under Suriel's control, fired again. The Vroshir woman was swallowed up by another sun-bright detonation, and her army of ghosts dissipated. But when the light faded, she strode out, protected by the power of her ironclad will. She raised her hands and her power together, enough black smoke boiling behind her to depopulate worlds. Still flying through the air, Suriel faced the Vroshir, and her voice echoed with transcendent authority. "Begone," the Judge said. Pariana felt like she were submerged under endless pressure, like all of reality had been squeezed like a damp rag. Then the one remaining Vroshir simply disappeared. All of her ghostly smoke was erased from existence, and her barrier sealing the world lifted. The Way shone through once again, a comforting warmth to Pariana's senses. A working like that took extreme concentration, even from a Judge. Suriel couldn't have done that while fighting the others—Pariana couldn't believe she had managed it even now. Wiping someone as significant as a full Vroshir from reality was all but impossible. [The Way does not make a Judge strong,] her Presence said.
Suriel slipped her Razor back onto her waist, where it stuck. Her armor re-formed, her mantle reignited, and the wounds on her skin vanished. The devastation left by the battle was wiped away in seconds. Leaving the Phoenix drifting in the air, in all her glory, pristine and unharmed. "Glory and honor to the Judge," Pariana said, once again bending her tall, golden body in supplication. Suriel spoke softly, the formation in her purple eyes spinning. "There is still much to be fixed. Yours was not the only world under attack."
Chapter 1 Akura Charity, Sage of the Silver Heart, stood looking at the broken doorway into Ghostwater. The jade doorframe, set into a cave in the side of the island, had been sliced apart from the outside. The smooth, fist-sized hole in the rock behind it told her what the technique had been: black dragon's breath. She had other tasks on this island besides watching Harmony, but she had still kept her eye on him until the end. The interference from the collapsing space had grown too much, and the picture had grown less and less clear. However, she had sensed it when the Blackflame artist and his contracted turtle had emerged from the pocket world. She had been surprised that her grand-nephew hadn't been the first out, but she hadn't worried much about it. She could still sense him, distantly, inside a Monarch's private space. She still had time before the world collapsed, and she didn't need a portal to enter. But when she had tried to cross space, she had been denied. A will greater than her own had locked Ghostwater down. She felt him arrive like a great ship passing by her in the ocean, stirring up the water with the weight of its presence. With Northstrider there, she'd had no chance of breaking in. She had been forced to wait, hoping that the Monarch would bring her young grandnephew home. She had started carving a memorial for Akura Harmony in that moment. From everything she'd heard, Northstrider's mercy was a thin thread from which to hang her hopes. When Northstrider's presence vanished, she tried once again to enter, but he had closed off the space. She slapped her power against his like a child trying to batter down a brick wall with her fists.
She felt the moment when Ghostwater crumbled to pieces. By that time, the spatial distortion had grown so great that she could no longer sense Harmony within. Now, she placed a bust of her grand-nephew at the base of the jade doorway. Carved with her own hands, the sculpture captured his delicate features, the arrogant tilt of his chin, the distant look of determination in his eyes. Hair cascaded down his shoulders, and a dark halo hung behind his head. A brief wave of sadness passed over her. His branch of the family had not produced someone so skilled in generations. He had hoped to become one of the legendary Akura clan pillars one day, like his great-grandfather Akura Fury or like Charity herself. He would have had a long road to travel before he reached that goal, if he ever did, but he had been practically guaranteed a good life. She regretted the loss. But she had buried younger relatives before. It was one reason she had never had children of her own. She stood in silence for many minutes, remembering Harmony. The Sage looked from the bust of Harmony back up to the slice in the doorway. One of the Blackflames had broken the door behind them, trapping her grand-nephew in a dissolving pocket world. They could not be allowed to take the Akura clan so lightly. An insult like this, gone without redress, would make the family look weak before their enemies. She was inclined to punish the sacred beast, simply on principle; any beast that dared to snap at a human should feel the consequences. But one did not reach Charity's level without a certain amount of cold logic. And the Heart Sage had great control over her own emotions. The Blackflame artist and his turtle had entered as the weakest individuals in Ghostwater. If they had truly grown to the point that they could threaten Harmony, then she couldn't blame them for doing so. Harmony had competed in a game—one in which he'd started with all the advantages—and lost. It pained her to think of one of her young relatives in such a way, but regret couldn't change the truth. She had known there was some risk to Harmony. Training him in the face of real danger was part of the reason they'd brought him here; no talents bloomed in a closed room.
And they needed talents. Now, more than ever. That thought made up her mind. She would not cut off the Blackflame boy's growth, unless of course he demonstrated hostility against the clan itself. He might grow into another valuable asset of the Akura clan. But she could apply some extra pressure. And if the Blackflame bloomed under pressure, then he would be qualified to pay off his debt. ~~~ Lindon knelt in the cramped confines of the cloudship, pushing pure madra endlessly into a script carved into a wooden panel. At the center of the script was a fist-sized crystal flask containing a rolling green cloud—the madra that powered their flight. The ship creaked and shook as though in the middle of storm-tossed waves. [You're doing great work,] Dross said in his head. [So great. In about five minutes, when we run out of cloud madra and fall screaming to our deaths, I want you to remember that you died doing your best.] They had found the Skysworn cloudship where they left it: on the edge of the island outside Ghostwater. It had been more or less intact, but the crystal flask that stored its cloud madra was not entirely full. The green Thousand-Mile Cloud wouldn't have lasted all the way back to land, so Lindon had been stretching it with pure madra. Unfortunately, that meant diluting it. They didn't have any wind or cloud artists onboard, so the Thousand-Mile Cloud got thinner by the day. Eithan had fueled a cloudship in this way before, but he had alternated between providing his madra and using scripts to draw aura. Either this cloudship couldn't do that, or Lindon hadn't figured out how. Yerin and Mercy took turns piloting the ship. Mostly Mercy. When Yerin took the helm, she tended to run them too close to aura storms, hostile sacred beasts, and mountain peaks. Though she did make good time. Lindon sent another pulse of madra into the script, and the green cloud rolling in the crystal flask weakened another notch. The ship shuddered, and he knew the large Thousand-Mile Cloud that was keeping them aloft had faded as well. He couldn't add any more power. Scripts on the ship's hull would draw in aura from outside to replenish their stores, which was the only reason they'd lasted this long, but that system couldn't keep up any longer. "Let them know," he ordered Dross.
He could feel it as the mental construct opened up his mind, projecting words into Mercy and Yerin at the same time. [Attention all crew: everything is fine down here, except that we're out of fuel. As long as we make an emergency landing right now, everything will be totally safe.] Lindon hurried up, bracing himself against the wall as the cloudship pitched. His pale right arm sank into the wood as though into soft mud, and it took him a moment to pull it free. There were no windows below the deck. He had no way of telling if they were close to landing or not. They could be inches from the ground or a thousand feet in the air, and he would have no idea. The worst part was not knowing, he decided. When the ship shuddered again and he lost his balance, he couldn't tell if the turbulence was nothing to worry about or if they were all on the brink of death. Finally, the ship stabilized again, so he shoved open the trap door and made his way outside. The weather was beautiful. He had been down in the dark so long that he had pictured it storming and raining, but in fact the wind was calm and the sky was clear. Yerin stood at a wooden panel covered in shining script-circles, her teeth bared and eyes furious. The two silver sword-arms behind her back had been jammed into the wood of the deck, nailing her in place. The control panel had been made for someone taller than she was, so it came up almost to her chin, but she glared down at it like she was about to crush it to splinters. Nearby, Mercy had lashed herself to the railing with long tendrils of darkness. She sat cross-legged, nestled in the center of her web, purple eyes shining. It seemed like she was looking forward to the danger, though he would have thought she'd have gotten enough on Ghostwater's island. Her hair was still short, shorter than Yerin's; a reminder that it had been burned off by a dragon Underlady and she'd spent weeks—and a fortune in elixirs —recovering from the damage. She raised one black-gloved hand and patted the wall of smoldering shell next to her. "We've got everything under control," she said. "No need to worry!" Orthos didn't poke his head out. He was tied to the deck by the same strings of shadow that bound Mercy. His voice rumbled out, echoing as
though from a cave. "You're the ones who should be worried. Not one of you has a shell." Lindon could feel that the huge turtle was barely keeping his fear under control. That made it harder for Lindon to wrestle his own nerves, but there was still a spark of pure joy left in Orthos' soul. He had been practically reborn in Ghostwater, and he hadn't stopped celebrating for the past two weeks. Even now, withdrawn into his shell and preparing for a crash, there was a part of him that exulted in his new, strengthened body. That was enough to help Lindon fight his way free of Orthos' fear and keep a clear head. Lindon pushed his way out and along the edge of the ship, keeping a tight grip on the railing. They were definitely descending, though the trees were getting closer at a much faster rate than he was comfortable with. And the green cloud keeping them aloft had faded to a sort of lime-colored haze. Maybe it was better not to look. Mercy had been controlling the ship until recently, when she ran out of madra, and then Orthos had tried before getting frustrated and threatening to blast a hole in the hull. Finally, Yerin had taken over, determined to land the ship even if it killed her. Through the creaking of wood and the rush of wind, he heard the soft tinkling of glass. Little Blue scampered up to him a moment later, a tiny spirit in the shape of a woman made of deep blue light. Her flaring dress slid smoothly over the deck. She pulled herself up Lindon's leg, nimble as a monkey, and a moment later she sat on his shoulder. Chimes sounded in his ear as though she were filling him in on everything that had happened since he'd gone below. Recently, he'd thought he was starting to understand her: she was telling him about the sights she'd seen during their flight. It could have been his imagination giving shape to the Riverseed's meaningless squeaks, but he responded attentively nonetheless, nodding gravely at her and making responsive noises himself. If she was telling him something, he didn't want to seem rude. Finally, he made it next to Yerin. "Apologies. I held on as long as I could." The ship pitched so far to one side that half the sky was replaced by an ocean of trees before Yerin corrected it. "We're just a skip from some town. Long as there's an Arelius family down there, we're—"
The ship shuddered, and the lights on the control panel shone. Yerin growled with effort, gripping the sides of the panel so hard the wood splintered, her scars standing out brightly against her skin. She shouted over the wind, sending another flare of madra into the panel. "Everybody hold tight!" Lindon braced himself, gathering Little Blue in his left hand and holding the railing with his right. It was less than encouraging to know that if he stopped cycling madra to the limb he would immediately fly off and be lost to the wind, but that was all the more reason not to stop cycling. The wind picked up, the boat shook, and they started to fall. Lindon couldn't tell if they were landing or crashing, and at that point, there might have been little difference. [Oh look, the owl's still there,] Dross noted. Lindon was determinedly staring at the deck and not looking over the edge of the railing, but Dross' comment made him realize he could see something at the edge of his vision. An owl—or at least a Remnant that looked like one—perched on the opposite railing. It was made of madra that looked like swirling silver smoke, edged with the occasional flicker of purple light. The Remnant had been following them for days. Maybe ever since they left the island. It showed itself once or twice a day, as though to remind them that it was still there. Lindon had tried to point it out to Yerin and Mercy, but the owl always seemed to vanish when they looked for it. Lindon might not have ever noticed it himself if not for Dross, as the thought-construct was far better at using Lindon's senses than Lindon himself was. He didn't spare another thought for the owl. Some Remnants had strange, almost obsessive behaviors; maybe this one was stuck following cloudships. He certainly wasn't going to deal with it while they were in the middle of a crash. The deck surged upwards, and Lindon almost thought they'd made a soft landing before he realized Yerin was pushing out the last of their cloud madra. After this surge, they would fall. For lack of something better to focus on, he kept his eyes fixed on the owl. Mercy sat up, staring at him. "Is it the owl? Is it here?" She craned herself around in her little nest of black madra, eager to see.
She had been desperate to catch a glimpse of the owl. She hadn't said why, but sometimes people could be superstitious about Remnants. Silver light flared from the script in front of Yerin, and the console exploded into splinters. The ship hung in the air for one brief, frozen second. Yerin sighed. Then the cloudship fell. …roughly two feet. It settled onto the ground with a crunch, rolling slightly on its side, and shuddering for another moment or two before it came to a halt. Lindon released his grip on the railing, sliding over to come to a stop next to Yerin. He nudged her with his elbow. "Congratulations on your successful landing, captain." From behind them, Mercy cheered. With her shoulder, Yerin lightly shoved him back. "Not the worst one of my life, I'll give you that." She eyed him. "You could have probably jumped down from the clouds and walked it off." "Well," Lindon said, "thanks to you, I didn't have to." It had been strange for both of them, over the last week or two, now that they were at the same stage of advancement. The atmosphere between them had changed, and Lindon was still trying to figure out how. The dark webs around Mercy dissolved in a rush of black motes of color, and she stumbled down the deck past them, bracing herself on her braided black staff so she didn't slip. She looked back as she ran. "Next time, we should all jump!" The ground rumbled as Orthos leaped over the side, landing on soft earth with a surge of relief that Lindon could feel. Gingerly, the turtle scooped up a bite of soil and grass, chewing with great relish. Lindon released Little Blue from his hand, and she scampered off to go join Orthos. From inside Lindon's head, Dross gasped. [Look, everyone! Look! Here come some friends! That's a relief, isn't it?] Dross must have been sharing the message, because they all looked in the same direction at once. They had landed in a clearing between trees, but the woods were thin enough that they had no problem seeing a nearby hill covered in low sandstone buildings. A large town or a small city—it was their destination,
though none of them knew exactly where they were. They had simply planned to stop at the first town of any size to try and contact the Arelius family. It would have been far easier to contact the Skysworn, who had agents all over the Empire. But given Lindon's previous experience, a Skysworn squad would be as likely to execute everyone as to welcome them back. Between Lindon and the town, only a few hundred feet away, a group of two or three dozen people had frozen in the middle of a celebration. Colorful ribbons were strung between trees, and they all wore fine clothing. There were a few different Goldsigns among the crowd: a green third eye in the middle of the forehead, a red flower of madra blooming over the heart, a wide and thick yellow-brown tail that was so dense it looked almost real. Many of these onlookers were children, and the entire group stared at Lindon and the others with wide eyes. Some of them held drinks halfway to their lips. But this wasn't the group that had grabbed Dross' attention. [Wow, they were quick to show up, weren't they? They must have been trying to catch up for days!] Over their heads, on the horizon and approaching quickly, was a group of green Thousand-Mile Clouds. They were heading toward the cloudship's wreckage. Lindon's heart clenched. "Dross," Lindon said aloud, "where did they come from?" The clouds had gotten close enough that he could see their riders, wearing exactly what he had expected: deep emerald armor. [Relax!] Dross said in a soothing tone. [They're from the same organization as you are. Nothing to worry about! We can take it easy and let them carry us home. And look, they're protecting us from every direction at once!] Yerin whipped around to the other direction, checking to see if there were really people behind them as well. Lindon had no doubt there were, so he continued watching the group of approaching Skysworn. "How many?" he asked. [Four Truegolds, four Highgolds, and six Lowgolds,] Dross reported. [And I believe one Underlord. Nothing to worry about with him around!] Orthos braced his feet, staring into the sky with eyes shining red. Little Blue stretched to her full six-inch height on his head, pointing into the sky
and letting out a mournful flute note. "The Empire is too big for a chance like this," Orthos said. "We were hunted." "Don't I just feel like the prettiest girl at the dance," Yerin muttered, drawing her sword. Seeing this, the people at the party began to run. Parents threw their food to the ground and grabbed their children, herding them back to the safety of the city. Lindon suspected the Skysworn would have evacuated the innocents as soon as they arrived, and indeed a pair of the Lowgolds broke off from the main group of Skysworn to dive for the fleeing party. That did nothing to loosen the knot in Lindon's stomach. They had agreed to go to the Arelius family first, precisely because they wanted Eithan on their side before they made contact with the Skysworn. And Naru Gwei, the only Underlord in the Skysworn, had come already. He represented a significant amount of the Skysworn's total combat strength. Lindon could think of only one reason why someone so important would hunt them down in person: he had decided to be rid of them once and for all. "We can talk with them," Mercy said, though her face was pale and she had started running one hand nervously through her short hair. "Run for the town," Yerin ordered. "They'll have to fight us in the streets, not rain fire on us from the heavens." Lindon sharply wished he still had his Thousand-Mile Cloud, but he took off running nonetheless. He and Yerin ran side-by-side, and the Skysworn ahead of them slowed their flight, pointing. Lindon realized it must look as though they were chasing after the group of escaping families. His breathing came quick, Blackflame madra boiling up behind his eyes, and the nausea in his gut deepened. The Skysworn had caught them too quickly. He had thought they would at least make it back to a major city, and had a chance to contact the Arelius family before the Skysworn caught up to them. Even if they had been caught, he reasoned, it would be by one squad: a Truegold or two and a group of trainees. He had never imagined they would respond immediately and with overwhelming force. Now, they had to hope the Skysworn were interested in talking.
Lindon glanced back to Mercy, sure she couldn't catch up to him and Yerin, but she had straddled her staff and was flying on it only a few feet above the grass. Little Blue clung to the top of Orthos' head, looking terrified, and Orthos glared up at the clouds. The Skysworn, of course, didn't let them make it to the town. One figure pulled up ahead of them and swept his arm in a low arc. Wind rose between them and the town, bright green in Lindon's aura sight, whipping and twisting in a transparent barrier. It was a Ruler technique, gathering up the wind to form a long wall of violent air a hundred yards long and dozens of feet high. Yerin skidded to a halt before she reached it, and Lindon followed suit. The wind-wall tore up chunks of dirt and grass from the ground, blowing them upward. Naru Gwei stood twenty feet over them, as firm on his cloud as on solid ground. His arms were crossed over his battered breastplate, his matted gray hair pulled back. One of his eyes was burn-scarred, an old Blackflame injury, and a massive dark slab of a sword had been slung across his back. Usually he looked as though he'd been woken in the middle of a nap, but this time his eyes were sharp and locked on Yerin. Lindon's heart raced as the worst-case scenario played out in his head. If the Skysworn launched Striker techniques from their clouds, he and Yerin and Orthos would be forced to defend themselves. And while Mercy seemed to have plenty of non-lethal options to choose from, he and Yerin did not. The only technique he could use that would reach the Skysworn on their clouds was his dragon's breath. The Path of Black Flame was not suited for taking prisoners. That was why he held up empty hands and tried not to cycle his madra too quickly. The minute blood was truly spilled, this would devolve into a brawl. And there would be no winning that. Not with an Underlord present. "Faces against the ground," Naru Gwei ordered. "Hands behind your backs. Spirits veiled. We're taking you back for your involvement in the death of Skysworn Renfei and the assault and kidnapping of her partner, Bai Rou." His tone brooked no debate, but Lindon didn't have to look at Yerin to know that she wouldn't comply. "We would be happy to explain ourselves," Lindon said loudly. "There's no need to restrain us, we will come willingly."
Gwei gestured, and the four Truegolds began cycling their madra, preparing to launch their techniques. "Faces against the ground," he repeated, voice harder. Lindon spoke in a calm, even tone. "We're on the same team." Mercy nodded vigorously in agreement, but Yerin was still crouched with her sword out, her Goldsigns gleaming over her shoulders. Naru Gwei's face contorted. "You turn on Bai Rou, then ask for my trust?" Lindon looked to Mercy and Yerin. He'd heard something about this over the last week or so, but he didn't know what had really happened between them. "Just a little scuffle!" Mercy called up. "No one was hurt!" Yerin looked from Skysworn to Skysworn, paying special attention to the ones behind her. Lindon expected her to be angry or resentful, but she spoke to him in a calm voice. "If they're supposed to bury us, why haven't they gotten on with it?" Lindon took that as encouragement, turning back to Naru Gwei. "We will give you a full accounting, I promise. Please, let us talk this out." The Skysworn Captain unfolded his arms. "We will listen when your spirits and bodies are shackled. Faces on the ground, final warning." Part of Lindon wanted to agree, but he had been locked up by the Skysworn before. And he was growing tired of letting other people decide what to do with him. "…I'm afraid if we do that, you are going to imprison us again." Finally, the Underlord's spirit flared. He raised his hand to the sky as though clawing for the sun, and wind aura rose at his command. The air grew rigid against Lindon's skin, and he felt himself pressed together by wind, stiffening up. Yerin, Mercy, and Orthos were chained in the same way. Orthos seethed, heaving against his bonds. "You have no standing to bargain," Gwei continued relentlessly. "My word is your law." The four Truegolds descended, covered by Highgolds above them, and began moving toward their captives. Lindon felt a great weight bowing his shoulders, pressing him down. "You have not advanced enough to question me." And that was it.
Lindon's fear ignited. When he'd been imprisoned by the Skysworn before, it was for no cause other than his Path. They had never trusted him to work for them, and had treated him like an enemy from the very beginning. They had used their superior advancement to push him and control him and keep him locked in a tiny room. If he continued to allow that, it would never stop. There had to be an end to it. He swiveled his eyes to the side until he met Yerin's gaze. He had planned to use Dross to send his intentions to her. But as soon as she saw his eyes, her lips curled up into a smile. A Truegold man twice Lindon's age seized his wrist in a gauntleted hand, extending a halfsilver manacle that would seal his sacred arts. The Burning Cloak blazed to life around Lindon, covering him in transparent black-and-red flames. Power flooded him, explosive force that demanded to be used. For an instant, Lindon struggled against the Ruler technique holding him in place. He was trying to swing his arm back, but it felt like he was pushing against a wooden wall. With a shout and a flare of Blackflame madra, he shattered that wall to pieces. Wind rushed out as the technique was broken, and his left fist flashed backwards. He hit the Skysworn with the back of his fist. The man was a Truegold as well, and he had been on his guard from the beginning. He raised one armored forearm to block, pink light shining out from his Enforcer technique. Lindon's knuckles made contact. The Skysworn blasted backwards. He tore through the air in a streak of green, his passage kicking up dust, until he tumbled head over heels to land in a pile a dozen yards away. Lindon's hand of flesh stung, so he shook out his fingers, keeping his eyes on Naru Gwei. "I would prefer to talk," he said softly. "But that doesn't mean I won't fight." The Skysworn Captain's expression darkened. "Take them," he ordered. The other Skysworn attacked at once.
Chapter 2 "Dross," Lindon said. "I need a battle plan." The three remaining Truegold Skysworn surrounded them. Three wouldn't be enough, but four Highgold teammates covered them from overhead, their hands starting to shine with Striker techniques. The Lowgolds were either evacuating the party or protecting the city. The odds were already stacked against them, even if Naru Gwei didn't move himself. Lindon needed an edge. He braced himself for the world to slow down. Instead, a lance of force pummeled Lindon in the chest, shoving him backwards. He twisted to the side as spears of golden light stabbed into the earth next to him, and Yerin slashed a spray of acidic madra from the air. Orthos roared as the Truegolds advanced under the cover of their Highgolds. [Not a problem!] Dross said. [Not a problem. Give me a minute or two to gather enough information on their Paths and behavior, so I can model them just right. One hour, max.] Lindon had missed his window to strike back, pressured by the Highgold attacks. Now a Truegold was on top of him—a woman with graystreaked black hair and forward-curving yellow spikes emerging from her shoulders. Her armor had been modified to allow her Goldsigns to pass through the plates. What can you do for me? Lindon asked desperately. The woman drove her palm toward him, her hand Enforced with shining golden madra. [Have you not noticed?] Dross asked, surprised. The Burning Cloak ignited around Lindon, a black-and-red haze around his body. He jumped to the side, and the explosive power of the cloak launched him ten feet away. He landed next to one of the two armored Truegolds fighting Yerin, an older man with balls of swirling green liquid
madra hovering around his head. He was gathering up a technique between his hands. [Oh, this is fun, you're going to like this. By living in your head, I can handle some of your unimportant thoughts myself! Only a few of the smallest ones, but I can keep them from distracting you. You should notice an increase in your concentration and your processing speed, and your reactions should be a little faster.] Another Highgold Striker technique was rushing toward his back; he could sense it. At the same time, the Truegold man had turned his attention to Lindon, seemingly unsurprised to see him land out of nowhere. He pushed the green liquid madra forward. Lindon barely needed to think. He spun to the side, catching a spear of golden Highgold madra with his right hand. He triggered the hunger binding for an instant as the enemy's technique made contact with his palm, just enough to destabilize the technique and cause it to break apart. In the same motion, he kindled dragon's breath in his left palm, shoving it into the Truegold's newborn technique. The gold spear dissolved into essence against his right hand as madra exploded in his left. The armored Truegold staggered back, smoke and bright particles of madra essence blasting around him, but the power of the Burning Cloak had already detonated inside Lindon, searing his madra channels. He slammed his right fist into the man's breastplate with the full weight of his body and spirit, red-and-black madra flaring. His opponent hurtled away. He slammed into the Truegold Lindon had knocked away earlier, falling on top of him in a pile. [Look at that beautiful stack. Couldn't have done that on your own, could you?] Dross was right. The whole exchange had felt fluid and natural, and Lindon's thoughts flowed like water. Not to mention his strength. He'd known the meat from Ghostwater had enhanced his body, but for the longest time he'd had no one to compare to other than Orthos, Harmony, and a bunch of monsters. The female Skysworn with the gold-spiked shoulders reached him only then, Forging a hammer of golden force the size of a wall. She slammed it
toward him even as more Highgold Striker techniques converged on his location. With a burst of Blackflame madra, he vanished. He stood in front of Mercy, who had turned her staff into a bow. Had it been a bow the entire time? She had an arrow nocked and was trying to track a target, but a tiny pink fireball landed at her feet. She stumbled back, but remarkably didn't lose the arrow. She loosed it at an armored Truegold who had noticed her, approaching with an axe that looked to have been made out of a living tree. The arrow stuck in his armor and did nothing. But Lindon was there now. He let his Blackflame madra drop, switching to his pure core. This time, the Soul Cloak sprang up around him, a fluid blue-white light. It passed through his body like a nourishing river, and his body responded without thought. Since the fight with Harmony, he hadn't had enough time to explore his new capabilities. Between the sacred beast meat enhancing his strength, Dross speeding up his thoughts, and the Soul Cloak guiding his movements, it was like he was in control of a completely different body. He stopped the swing of the wooden axe, dodged a Striker technique, kicked one of the Skysworn's legs out from under him, released a finger of dragon's breath to keep Orthos' opponent off-guard, tore the axe out of the Truegold's hands, dispersed another golden technique from behind him with his Remnant arm, smashed the Truegold with his own axe, then dropped the weapon and grabbed the woman following him by the spikes on her shoulders. She had already started pushing madra into her Goldsigns, but it was too late; Lindon had spun and thrown her with all the power he could draw. The two Truegolds landed on the pile one after the other. It had felt almost effortless. Like one long motion. He was out of breath and his madra channels felt sore, but he spun, looking for the next opponent. There came the chime of a great bell, and the four Highgolds—two on the ground, and two still on their clouds—all flew backwards at the same instant, sparks flying from their armor as though they'd been struck by invisible swords. The two in the sky fell, and Lindon launched himself toward the closest one: a girl with lines of crystal tracking down from her eyes like tears.
He couldn't know what this girl's Iron body was. Maybe she would be fine. But he'd worked too hard to avoid killing the others to let blood be spilled now. The Highgold Skysworn apprentice flailed in the air, Forging a tower of purple crystal beneath her to try and catch herself. Lindon leapt up before the tower formed, catching her in his arms and landing on the grass. She shuddered in his grip, clutching the front of his outer robe. He turned to see Yerin standing beneath the other falling Skysworn. As he was about to hit the ground, she reached out and caught him by his collar. His neck jerked backwards and his heels still slammed into the earth, but he was fine. A second later, Yerin dropped him anyway. Lindon gently placed the Highgold girl down on the grass…although now that he looked, she was probably older than he was. Mercy cheered, and Orthos laughed. Lindon's pile had already collapsed, three of the four Truegolds having risen to their feet, but none of them attacked. Yerin looked from the Truegolds to Lindon. "Tell me true. What were they feeding you while you were gone?" "Sea monsters," Lindon said. Naru Gwei surveyed the situation from his cloud, arms folded. In one long, slow motion, he pulled a finger-sized leaf from a pocket at his waist and placed one end into his mouth. Behind him, the wind wall had already died to half its original height. "No one is hurt too badly," Lindon said. "We can end it here." Naru Gwei chewed on his leaf, looking from one of them to the other. Lindon couldn't guess the Underlord's thoughts, but he kept pure madra cycling quickly through his channels. "Bai Rou," Naru Gwei said at last, "says that you all are a calamity waiting to happen. A bunch of indiscriminate murderers." Lindon relaxed a fraction. The Skysworn squads were bruised and embarrassed, but all still alive. Naru Gwei knew as well as anyone how much easier it would have been for Lindon to kill someone with dragon's breath. Although their enemies hadn't been out for blood either. The fight could have been a lot worse, on both sides.
"Looks like I need to take a look at you for myself," the Skysworn Captain said. Reaching up for the sword hilt over his shoulder, he stepped off his cloud. Massive emerald wings flared out behind him, and he glided over to Yerin, pulling his sword as he flew. The huge slab of dark steel was so pocked, pitted, and scarred that it didn't reflect sunlight. Yerin's, by contrast, gleamed white, and her Goldsigns shone silver. All three blades flashed as she swung them, sending three madra blades slicing through the air. He broke them with one sweep of his sword, but Yerin wasn't finished. She jumped at him as he was dealing with her techniques, smashing her weapon into his side. He responded quickly, swinging his own heavier blade, the two swords meeting with a deafening crash. Yerin smashed into the ground, but Naru Gwei didn't come out easily. He was launched back, his wings losing purchase on the air, flapping and twisting to try and land on his feet. A bar of Orthos' dragon breath blasted toward him. He pushed one armored hand against the black-and-red stream, holding it off like a flow of water as he landed on his feet. He drove his sword into the earth, making a clawed fist with his now-free hand, and Mercy stiffened. She had been drawing an arrow into her dragon-headed bow, but now she was gripped by invisible chains. She was only Lowgold…or, wait, she was giving off the pressure of a Highgold now. Had she advanced during the fight? Either way, she was still too weak to bother Naru Gwei. He had immobilized her to show that he could. He pushed his way up the stream of dragon's breath, shoving the Blackflame madra down, though his armor had dissolved around his hand and it was starting to disappear up his forearm. Orthos had finally had enough, biting off the Striker technique. Then it was Lindon's turn. He dashed in with a sudden burst of speed from the Burning Cloak, launching a punch at Naru Gwei's back. He didn't know how much it would do to an Underlord, but he could at least knock the man off-guard. With disarming speed, the Skysworn Captain spun around into a punch of his own. Aimed straight at Lindon's.
Their two fists crashed together. Naru Gwei's hand was bare, his gauntlet stripped away by Blackflame, and Lindon's was a skeletal Remnant white. Madra flashed, green against black-and-red, in an explosion that tore away the grass around them. Lindon was knocked back, pain shooting up his Remnant arm as though he'd cracked a bone, his shoulder aching. But Gwei backed up a step too. He shook out his hand as though it were sore. Then the towering pressure of his spirit vanished as he veiled himself. A familiar exhaustion crept over his expression, and he sighed. "I need your word—all of you—that you will at least help me unravel this whole mess around you and Renfei and Bai Rou. Then I promise you fair treatment." They all agreed, though Yerin muttered something under her breath that Lindon didn't catch. Naru Gwei rubbed at the burn over his eye with one thumb. "You've taken up far too much of my personal attention already. And I'm not so flush with strong Truegolds that I can afford to throw them away." The leaf in his mouth had been torn away in the fight, so he replaced it. When it was between his teeth, he grumbled around it, "…now I'm going to have to see the smug look on that guy's face." ~~~ Naru Gwei and his team had come in a cloudship of their own, and it was three times the size of the one that had carried Lindon and the others. There was plenty of room for all of them onboard, though Lindon, Yerin, and Orthos were all wary of sharing a ship with the sacred artists they had beaten only hours ago. The woman with spikes on her shoulders kept pointing at Lindon as they boarded; one of her arms was held up in a sling. Lindon didn't know if she was threatening him or pointing him out to her friends, but it wasn't comforting. Naru Gwei left orders behind in the town for a crew to repair and recover the cloudship Lindon had traveled in on, and then their ship was leaving. Though their previous cloudship had crammed them all inside, and this one had plenty of room to spread out, Lindon immediately found this trip the less comfortable of the two. No matter where he looked, there were Skysworn and Skysworn apprentices—some with armor, some without—all
sporting injuries that he and the others had caused. They treated him like a vicious, wild dog let loose among them, avoiding him at every turn. Yerin reacted by vanishing as soon as she could. Which left Lindon trying to find her. He passed over the deck, stepping around the young Highgold woman with the crystal tear-tracks on her face. She seemed less hesitant around him than the others. He hoped that catching her had built up some kind of goodwill. She kept shooting glances at him like the others, though he didn't sense any hostility from her. Maybe she was better at keeping her wariness under control. Past her, he walked around some Skysworn polishing armor to see Mercy leaning over the railing, staring down beneath her. Her hair had grown long enough to fall down around her face. She leaned so far over that Lindon thought she might pitch over the side, clutching her black staff in one hand. She gave an audible gasp and whirled around. When she saw Lindon, she dashed over and seized him by the wrist, dragging him over to the railing. "Look, look, you have to see this!" She pointed with one black-tipped finger at a circular patch of burning forest. It was only after a few seconds that he realized what he was really looking at. One massive tree, as big as a town but far below, with leaves that blazed. A quick glance at the vital aura showed him a huge sea of fire aura, but not nearly enough destruction—the flames were burning, but they weren't consuming anything. The leaves might have been made of fire. Around the branches flew fiery birds. They almost looked like leaves drifting off of the burning tree, drifting on the wind. There was a strange shiver at the base of Lindon's neck, and Dross spun into existence. The one-eyed spirit had pebbly purple skin and two stubby, boneless arms that drifted down to touch Lindon's shoulder. [Phoenixes! Oh, would you look at that! They're rated as the number one pet that you should never, ever bring to an underwater facility! I have a presentation memorized for the Ghostwater workers called 'You Will Never See A Phoenix.'] "I've never seen a wild phoenix before!" Mercy said, leaning over the railing again. "Just the ones my uncle keeps in his show garden."
A cold spark tingled up Lindon's right shoulder as Little Blue climbed to take her perch opposite Dross. She stared and pointed too, chittering loudly and pulling on his hair to make sure he was seeing them. Mercy turned around to look at the Riverseed. "Right? I've always wanted one!" Did Mercy really understand her so easily, or was she guessing? Little Blue made a bright sparkling noise. Even from so far away, the phoenixes were impressive to watch. They left ribbons of red-and-orange light behind them as they flew, and their cries formed a symphony that drifted up all the way to the cloudship. One phoenix swooped down into the burning leaves like a bat taking an insect, emerging with something huge and red in its beak. It opened wide, gulping it down. This time, Lindon was the one to point in excitement. "Did you see that? It grabbed a fruit! The fire tree has fruit!" Dross and Little Blue gave a simultaneous "Ooooooooh." "A wild natural treasure," Mercy said. "It doesn't look like anyone is harvesting it. Well, other than the phoenixes. You couldn't ask for anything better for a fire artist!" Lindon considered leaping over the side. But the cloudship was moving too quickly. The fiery tree was already almost gone, the phoenix-song fading into the sound of the wind. Mercy jumped up, pointing at something else. "Oh, look at that!" This time, it was a mountain that jutted straight from the earth like a spear. Its peak was covered in dark clouds flickering with lightning...too much lightning. It looked almost like a ball of lightning containing a little cloud. "You must have seen more amazing things than this with your family," Lindon said. Lindon had never spent much time watching the scenery, but he suspected that the wonders of a Monarch's home must dwarf these. "Well, sure, we keep fountains and gardens at home for decoration. But I'm always training at home." Purple eyes met his. "When you spend all your time training, you don't get to go out and just enjoy things, you know?" Spent all her time training? "Forgiveness," Lindon said hesitantly, "but if you spent all your time on training, then how are you still..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry if it's too personal."
Mercy looked down at the deck, laughing awkwardly and scratching at her cheek. "That's a little embarrassing, actually. The truth is, I used to be stronger." [And now the owl's back! There are so many birds around here. Maybe the bird aura is strong here. I know there's no bird aura.] Dross drew Lindon's attention up, where he saw the silver-and-purple owl swooping down from the clouds above them. Mercy saw him turn and followed his gaze. "Is the owl back? Where is it?" She sounded doubly eager to see the owl, almost like she was afraid to miss it. "It went under the ship," Lindon said apologetically. Mercy kept surveying the horizon, gripping her staff tightly. "I'm afraid it might be a...family thing." That brought up a thought that Lindon had been avoiding for weeks, ever since stepping out of Ghostwater's gate. He and Mercy had never really talked like this before, and this was as close to alone as they were going to get. "Speaking of your family, I wanted to—well, I wasn't sure how to bring it up. Do you know Akura Harmony?" Mercy hurriedly glanced from side to side. "I'm not sure now is the right time to talk about this." "I'm afraid I have some...news. Harmony is mmmph." Mercy covered up the last word by pressing both hands against his mouth. Her Goldsign, the black madra that she wore like gloves, felt slick and cool. "Ssssh! Nope! I don't need to hear it! I can guess!" Lindon tried to tell her he understood, but she pushed harder. "I get it! I understand!" She was still looking past him, as though desperately afraid of being overheard. [That's right, I thought she looked a lot like Harmony,] Dross said, fortunately only to Lindon. [I mean, like how Harmony used to look. Not how he probably looks now. Sliced into a thousand little cubes by a collapsing world and left to dissolve in a sea of chaos and oblivion.] When she finally noticed Lindon's nods, she released him and continued. "It's not as big of a deal to me as you might think. We were only engaged because—"
"You were engaged?" Lindon interrupted. His voice was a little too high. Little Blue reacted to his surprise, letting out a startled peep. "It was a family thing," Mercy said hurriedly. "His branch of the family wanted to improve their status, so they wanted to marry him off to the Monarch's daughter. And he thought the only one worthy of him was..." She trailed off for a moment and started fiddling with her fingers. "…the family genius." The cloudship shook, running across a moment of rough wind, and Mercy pitched over face-first. Only a quick string of shadow tied her to the railing fast enough to prevent her from slamming her nose into the deck. Her staff—or maybe it was a bow, in the form of a staff—hissed as it clattered to the deck. She scrambled to retrieve it. Lindon wondered in what area she had been considered a genius. A scripting genius? A refiner? Mathematics? Maybe she was a genius with shadow madra; he wouldn't be able to tell. "Did Harmony—" Lindon started to ask, but Mercy grabbed her staff and pushed it into his face. The dragon's head on the top glared painfully bright violet light into his eyes, hissing at him from an inch away. He was afraid to move with the staff so close, and he kept his eyes fixed on the dragon's snout, but behind it he could see movement. The silver-andpurple owl had openly landed on the railing next to them, only a few feet from Mercy. Its wide eyes stared straight at Lindon. "Good-bye, Lindon!" Mercy shouted. "It was fun talking with you! I'll see you later!" The owl continued staring at him as Mercy pushed him away. Dross spun off his shoulder and back into his spirit. [Some consider owls to be omens of death,] Dross said. [Especially mice.] ~~~ Yerin sat in the cramped confines below the deck of the airship, a sword in her lap, cycling. The aura was thin here, and she was almost wasting her time trying to pull power from the sword, but she would accomplish even less up above. Lindon, Mercy, and Orthos were up there, but if Yerin spent more than two breaths on the deck, she'd end up drawing swords on somebody.
A few more breaths, and the weak aura finally broke her patience. She gave up and stabbed her cycling sword into the wall, where it stuck, quivering. If she had wrapped her madra around it, the weapon might have split the wall in two. Cycling wasn't going to do anything for her, and besides, she'd spent most of the last couple of months cycling and running through the jungle. Lindon was back, finally; she wanted to do something, not sit here alone and wait on the mercy of the Skysworn. It was like getting a taste of freedom only to be hauled back by the collar. She fiddled with the hilt of her master's sword, restless. She wanted to be let out, to go... To go and do what? She wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she couldn't sit here anymore. The fight earlier had gotten her blood flowing. And speaking of blood, her Blood Shadow was as riled up as she was, seething inside her soul. They both wanted a challenge. She found herself thinking back to the Blackflame Trials, back in Serpent's Grave. She'd had a challenge then, something to try and overcome every day. And she'd pushed herself forward to meet that challenge. With Lindon. Images of the fight with the Skysworn rose up in her head. Compared to her memories of him in the Blackflame Trials, Lindon today was like an adult compared to a child. Only a month or so out of her sight, and he'd undergone a heaven-and-earth-shaking change. He was strong now. Too strong. He'd given her a brief outline of what had happened to him in Ghostwater, but she still wasn't sure about the details. Whatever had happened, it had rebuilt him from head to toe. And he had kept her from joining him. She'd always hoped that he would catch up with her one day, but it had happened so fast. Her Blood Shadow surged inside of her again, and she kept it suppressed with the strength of her madra. It still disgusted her, but it was supposed to be a ticket to great power. It hadn't done much for her so far, but maybe that was her way forward. Her personal Ghostwater. She shook herself. It wasn't like her to worry too much about someone else. She should focus on herself and her path to Underlord. That was
certainly what Lindon was doing. A knock at the door shook her back to reality, and she rose with Goldsign blades poised over each shoulder. A quick scan, and she knew who it was, though she was surprised to sense him here. She felt oddly guilty as she opened the door for Lindon, as though he might somehow have heard her thoughts. Maybe he was feeling the same way, because he wore an expression like he was smuggling weapons under his outer robe. He looked uneasy, which —on his severe face—made him look like he was plotting a murder. He ducked inside before she could say anything, glancing behind him. He grabbed the door from her and slammed it shut, pulling a small object from his pocket: a nail. Without a word, he started scratching runes into the door. "You kick Gwei between the legs and run, or what?" Yerin asked. It was helping her mood to see Lindon acting this way; if there had been something really wrong, she would have heard explosions. And he wouldn't have left Orthos and Mercy up there on their own. Which meant he was getting himself all worked up for something small. Still, she was curious. Maybe it was a big problem. She could hope. When he'd finished his script-circle, he ran some pure madra through it, and the runes erupted in light. The wood creaked at the force of the madra running through it, and some splinters flew off into the air, but Yerin's spiritual sense was suppressed. Lindon relaxed, slipping the nail back into his pocket. "Apologies, but I think there's an owl following me." He turned from the door to her, and suddenly Yerin was conscious of how small this room really was. It wasn't much of a room at all, more like a closet—she'd piled bags of uncooked rice into the corner in order to give her enough room to sit and cycle without cramping her Goldsigns. The training sword she'd jammed into the wall took up half the length of the space. Her face was on the level of Lindon's chest, and she looked up at him, standing over her. The heat from his body filled the space, and the quiet aura radiating from his spirit was stronger than it had ever been. He looked down, eyes intense, and her heartbeat picked up. He was the same old Lindon, but the strength in his soul made him feel older, more
reliable, and somehow new, like she had taken her eyes off him for a second and he had grown up. And he was so close. Lindon stretched his hand out, reaching for her face. She stared at the hand approaching, thoughts whirling in place. Her heart hammered harder. But his hand moved past her, reaching the side of the wall. She turned her eyes to follow him. A door opened in midair. She let out a heavy breath as the space appeared, her face suddenly hotter than before. She was both relieved and somehow disappointed, but she didn't examine either emotion too closely. She shoved them to the back of her mind, where she determined to forget them. Instead, she focused on the most shocking aspect of this whole situation: "Where in heaven's name did you get a void key?" It was like looking into a closet that hadn't been there before. A closet containing Lindon's belongings; she recognized the box he'd once kept his Thousand-Mile Cloud in, but most of the rest of it was new to her. The space was packed with jars, bottles, and vials of all shapes and sizes, though they looked like he'd scavenged them from a trash heap. Little Blue stared at her from within a bundle of firewood, and there was a bone-handled axe leaning up against the wall. Lindon hurriedly held up a hand, keeping his voice low. "The script doesn't stop sound. Could you grab that closest jar for me?" Close to the opening, beside Yerin's feet, was a clay jar covered in hastily painted scripts that looked similar to the one Lindon had carved into the door. She bent down and scooped it up, and then the portal instantly vanished. Without instructions, Yerin pulled the lid off of the jar, and Lindon didn't say anything to stop her. Blue light rushed out from within, and she sensed the rich power of a high-grade elixir. Her eyes widened, and she dipped a finger in, pressing a drop to her tongue. It tasted like sweet spring water, but the energy within was enough to shock her spirit into action. It nourished her soul directly, her madra rushing through its channels. "I don't know what Naru Gwei would do if he sensed this," Lindon said. "And Mercy…well, I don't know her too well yet."
"This…" she wasn't sure she had the words. "This is like something my master would drink. With a sword to my throat, I couldn't even guess how much this is worth." It took her another second to remember that she'd seen more bottles inside the void key. Lindon's eyes sparkled at her reaction, but he pretended to be casual. "It's yours. As far as I'm concerned, you can drink everything I brought out. I had much more than this in Ghostwater." Yerin pushed the jar back at him. "I'm not too polite to take a gift, but this is brainless. You've got two cores to fill, and one of them is still Highgold." "That's why you should have it. If you got the same chances I did, you'd be Underlord by now." A second later, he cleared his throat and added, "Besides, I doubt you'll need all of it. Once you reach the peak of Truegold, I can still drink whatever's left." Yerin slowly replaced the lid, unwilling to meet his eyes. She was ashamed of the tracks her thoughts had taken before he'd shown up; only a few weeks by herself, and she started thinking like she was alone again. "Will it not work for you?" he asked anxiously. "I thought it would, but I couldn't be sure. Did the Sword Sage give you something better?" Yerin ran a hand over her face as though to check what expression she was making. "No, sorry, my brain had run off without me. Had to pull it back." She slipped the jar into her outer robe—it was a little big for her pocket, so it would bulge out, but it wouldn't be a problem as long as she didn't fight. "You know I'll put it to good use." His face relaxed into a smile. "Good! I was—well, never mind, that's good! Don't get too comfortable, though. I won't let you get too far ahead of me." "I know you won't," she said. And to herself, she added, I won't let you.
Chapter 3 In his Imperial palace at the heart of Blackflame City, the capital of the Empire, Emperor Naru Huan stood in a courtyard looking into the sky. He wore his full Imperial regalia, from the intricate crown on his head to the dragon-adorned layered robes that hung from his shoulders. Emerald wings spread behind him, shimmering in the setting sun. An Emperor's appearance was important. He exercised daily to keep his body firm and toned—a straight back and broad shoulders showed strength. His beard was neatly trimmed and close to his chin, and his gaze was level and piercing. He had been trained for most of his life to project strength in everything he did. To his left, his first wife was radiant in robes that complemented his own. The smile on her face looked effortless and natural, but the way that she repeatedly lifted her hand to adjust her hairpin revealed her nerves. He wished he could calm her, but he was in need of some comfort himself. Two Skysworn in full green armor stood behind them, spears at the ready, Truegold souls unveiled. Today, they were nothing more than marks of his status. He was the strongest sacred artist in this quarter of the continent, but his visitor could obliterate them all as easily as lifting her hand. Behind the Skysworn were his contingent of four normal guards, all Truegolds themselves, as well as forty ministers, councilors, and advisers. Servants stood to the sides, carrying pitchers of wine or trays of food in case they were called upon. Their half of the courtyard was packed, but no one crossed the invisible line separating the other half. That was reserved for their visitor. No one wanted to accidentally offend the Sage of the Silver Heart. She had sent word to await her, but she had not said whether she meant to come in person or not. Therefore, he had no choice but to prepare as though Akura Charity could herself appear out of thin air at any second.
As far as he understood the powers of a Sage, she might well be able to do as much. She was an Archlady, at the peak of the Lord realm, but most Archlords never earned a Sage's title. There was something special about Sages, but only rumors and legends could tell him what that was. He'd never had a Sage to consult. The sun sank down to the level of the roof surrounding them, and the general level of chatter in the courtyard faded with the light. She said she would deliver her message at the first touch of night, and the closer that approached, the greater the tension in the air grew. Some of the people behind him even trembled in their spirits, and he wanted to turn and command them to master themselves or leave. But it would be beneath him to lower himself to that level. Shadows lengthened, and the sun disappeared. As soon as it did, another light replaced it. An ethereal, flickering violet light. The murmurs in the courtyard died out entirely. The source of that light came into view only an instant later, as four horse-Remnants galloped side-by-side through the air, their steps like drumbeats. They were made of layered violet light, and flames of the same shade flickered around their ankles. They bared teeth and rolled their eyes as they ran, which was as much detail as he had ever seen on Remnants. Through his spiritual sense, he felt the hidden heat of banked coals and the cool of a summer shadow. The Akura clan were famous for their use of shadow madra—it was not a distasteful power, like death or blood, but an aspect of madra as natural as wind. Even so, it had mysterious properties that were difficult to pin down. That made dealing with any shadow artist a trial. Dealing with the Akura even more so. After first glance, it became clear that the horses were harnessed together. They pulled a black carriage behind them, wrought of iron and floating on a deep purple cloud. The Remnants slowed slightly, trotted down the air as though on a slope, and slid to a halt in the courtyard in front of the Emperor. The black door of the carriage was marked with the symbol of the Akura family in silver: one great star flanked by two smaller stars, all rising over a mountain range. When he saw that, he inclined his head. Everyone besides him bowed at the waist.
They held that pose for one long moment before the door swung open and a woman stepped out. She was a slender, young-looking woman with black hair carefully bound behind her. If he hadn't known better, he would have said she was only twenty, but her deep purple eyes carried the weight of ages. She was dressed as befit her station, in ornate wide-sleeved robes of black decorated with purple lines that glowed softly in the shadows. The lines evoked stars and moons, but also reminded him of a script-circle. An owl stood on her shoulder. An owl made of feathery silver light, connected by ribbons and sparks of purple. Charity had her spirit veiled, so the pressure of her presence did not weigh on the souls of everyone nearby. Even so, she still radiated an unquestionable dignity. All else stilled before her, and even his trembling Blackflame attendants quieted, as though she carried with her the calm of a peaceful night. "Naru Huan, Emperor of the Blackflame Empire, I send you greetings on behalf of my family," she said. Her voice was smooth and young, but she spoke with the confidence of an empress. "I, Akura Charity, Sage of the Silver Heart, speak with full authority for my grandmother and in the interests of the Akura clan all across the world. Heed me now, as this is the greatest service you have ever been required to perform." The Emperor was not sure if he was expected to respond, but he bowed slightly anyway. "The Blackflame Empire is eager to know how we may serve the Akura clan. If there is any hospitality we can provide, please do not hesitate to say so." His servants stepped forward slightly, but the Sage ignored them. She met his gaze with her purple eyes. She gave no signal that he could see or sense, but the door of the carriage behind her slammed shut. The Remnant horses whinnied—it sounded like they were doing so from underwater— and took off, trotting into the air once more. When they were gone, the Sage continued. "When they feel the time is right, the great Monarch clans hold a tournament for their students, measuring their star disciples against one another to demonstrate their strength. It is in this way that those of the young generation can test themselves and grow against equal opponents. "This contest is known as the Uncrowned King Tournament."
It was with no surprise whatsoever that Naru Huan thought, Eithan was right. This was not news to Naru Huan, but it had never concerned the Blackflame Empire before. Their disciples were unworthy to compete at such a level. Had he not been warned by the Arelius Underlord, this sudden requirement would have caught him off-guard. "This year's tournament," Akura Charity continued, "will be the largest in history." She paused, hands folded in front of her, as though she could sense his questions. Naru Huan was unaccustomed to speaking humbly, but this was the time to show deference. "Forgive our ignorance, but affairs that concern Monarchs are far beyond us. If the Sage could enlighten us: what is so different this year?" The owl of silver and purple madra spread its wings, and the slightest shiver passed through Naru Huan's spirit. If it weren't for his abundant experience, he would have thought he'd imagined the sensation. "You have guessed correctly," Charity said. "Old powers stir. No one will remain untouched. Now, more than ever, we must make the balance of power clear, and raise up defenders from a new generation." The Dreadgods. He had suspected as much, but it was disturbing to hear his fears confirmed. "Therefore, our Akura clan will be inviting our vassal states to participate in the Uncrowned King Tournament as well. The coming years will challenge not only our head family, but all our subjects. So they all must be tested." Thus far, Naru Huan had learned very little new information. Eithan had made his predictions, and Naru Huan could infer some facts of his own. However, it had all been theoretical until this moment. Now, he faced a very real problem. "If we may ask, what stage must our disciples have reached in order to compete?" "The tournament does not permit anyone above or below Underlord," Charity said, "though advancements during competition are allowed. All competitors must be younger than thirty-five, and the younger your participant, the more favorably they will be viewed."
As he'd expected. It would be hard enough for him to produce a handful of Truegolds under thirty-five, much less Underlords. "We would give our lives to avoid disappointing the Sage, but we may not be able to live up to her expectations. For us, producing young Underlords is…" Purple eyes swept over the crowd gathered around the Emperor. Most of them, including Naru Huan himself, were beyond the required age. And no one but him met the power requirements. He thought he saw a glimpse of pity in her gaze, and she let out a short breath. "I am aware of your situation. For that reason, I will open to you the Night Wheel Valley, one of the sacred training grounds of the Akura clan. You should be grateful; this is where we often train Akura Golds." He was grateful, to the point that he had to fight to keep his expression dignified. His wife grabbed his elbow, fingers tightening, and gave a slight gasp. Depending on how many people he was allowed to send, this could be a huge opportunity for the entire Empire, not just the young Truegolds with the potential to break through to Underlord. He opened his mouth to express profuse thanks, but she held up a pale hand to stop him. The owl on her shoulder let out a low whistle. "Of course, I have not given this opportunity to you alone." His smile turned bitter. "I will open the way for the Seishen Kingdom as well. As the two weakest vassal states under our protection, you will compete with each other for the valley's bounty. By the time summer comes, I will select the three young Lords and Ladies that will serve us in this tournament. I could choose all three from one kingdom, or the best from both. You will be richly rewarded for every young Underlord that I appoint, though if I cannot find even three worthy between you, you will all be…" Her eyes flashed, and she let her veil slip enough to add spiritual weight to the next word. "…instructed." Naru Huan's thoughts turned cold. After the devastation of the Bleeding Phoenix, the Blackflame Empire was hanging together by a thread. The Jai clan had fallen, and the Arelius family had yet to rise to their place, so the west was fractured and lawless. The attacks from the Trackless Sea up north had intensified, the wall that defended them broken by the Dreadgod's rampage. To the east, the Wastelanders were having a difficult time holding