Ending

A column of light rose into the air from her body, like she was a falling silver star. She grasped at the Sword Sage's memory like the fading edges of a dream; her master remembered that moment more vividly than she did. That moment: their first meeting. When she'd tried to save him from the power of her unwelcome guest. Jai Long stood over her, and she found enough energy to stare defiantly back. He was far enough back that the sword energy didn't cut him, but he was a sword artist himself—he could fight through the violent storm of her advancement to continue the fight while she was vulnerable. But he merely crossed his arms and waited. He could defend himself from this weapon, this seed of a true Blood Shadow, with only a fraction of his madra. He was in no danger. But she didn't know that. And she forced her body to its limit, muscles straining, blood running from the lip she was biting to keep the parasite from stretching any closer to him. He was a stranger to her. The Blood Shadow had already consumed everyone she knew. All the others he'd seen in her position had given up— they had lost all reason to live, and thus all reason to fight. Their parasites thrived in such situations, filling their bodies like husks, stealing their power to bring it away. And here, a little girl fought with all her body, mind, and spirit. She held on, her eyes furious and determined, resisting to the end. And the fragment of a Dreadgod was no easy foe. Yerin climbed to her feet, madra filling her, seeping into her weapon. Sword aura was so thick in the air, bright silver even to the naked eye, that it had started gathering on the edges of her blade. With half the effort it normally took, she executed her weapon Enforcer technique: the Flowing Sword. The technique collected aura with every slash and thrust, making the weapon stronger as it moved. Everything in the Path of the Endless Sword revolved around vital aura. Most sword Paths could be used without a sword—their madra itself was sharp enough to cut old oak, so who needed the weapon itself? You could Forge whatever you needed for a fight. On her Path, every technique was half a Ruler technique. Made her more powerful, gave her techniques extra heft…so long as she held a sword. If

she didn't have a weapon with a sharp edge, she was worth less than any other sacred artist. That's what her Goldsign was for. Looking down on her, Jai Long must have felt the power building to a crescendo. He stood just beyond the silver light that poured as a torrent into the sky, and debris scattered by aura blades crashed against his chest. Still he waited, arms crossed. Obviously, he expected more. He had come to kill her, but here was a child who stood against a Dreadgod's madra. She had power of her own—otherwise, the parasite would have chosen someone older—and enough resolve to keep on fighting even when the battle was lost, when she had no one left, when there was no hope of victory and nothing to fight for. She was perfect. Her master's memories and attitudes soaked into her, washing over her with a palpable sense of his presence. He had chosen her because she fought to the last breath. Because, when backed into a corner and given no path to victory, she would still attack. The Path of the Endless Sword had no defense. Sword aura could not shield her, it could only cut. Whether she fought to escape, to kill her opponent, to protect herself, or to save someone else, she had to do so by attacking. That was the one weapon in her arsenal, the one road forward. She'd studied the Path of the Endless Sword for years, and she knew exactly what it could do, but now she felt it. Bone-deep. The silver light around her faded from a blaze to a halo and then died. Pebbles and droplets of blood, held aloft by the force of her spirit, scattered on the ground. The vital aura had carved out a smooth crater in the stone beneath her, and many of the rock pieces now drifted in the air as a fine dust. "Congratulations," Jai Long said, in his flat voice. Yerin stretched her second bladed arm, which loomed over her other shoulder. With the pair of them, she looked like she'd glued a couple of steel fishing rods to her back and strapped knives to the end. "Highgold," she said, feeling the new resonance of her spirit. "Well, that's got a kick to it." She pressed her fists together, a sacred artist's salute, and noticed her fingernails had stopped bleeding—Lowgold to Highgold

wasn't a big advancement, but advancing always did the body good. "Thanks for waiting." "I need an opponent," he said softly. "Not a victim." Madra flooded through her flesh and into her skin, fueling her Steelborn Iron body, sinking into her muscles like water into thirsty soil. She kicked off, and the leap took her over Jai Long's head. He lashed out with a hand glowing like a star, but her Goldsign blurred and met his technique. They clashed with a sound like steel on steel. Her second Goldsign whipped out, and he had to turn it with his other hand. When she followed up with a hit from her white sword, he took a step back. Aura flashed out from her sword, slashing one of the strips of cloth from around his face, and he backed up again. This time, he thrust a palm forward, and a Forged snake flashed through the air to bare fangs of light in her face. He was following up with more snakes, defense and offense in one, and his spirit still hummed against her senses. She was far from being able to compete with him in raw power. At least, as far as madra went. While she was suffering through the birth of her Steelborn Iron body, her master had painted a rosy picture of its future. 'It grows with you,' he'd said. 'Our body Enforcement techniques aren't worth a chip of rust, see. So you need a body that Enforces itself.' She'd seen him bend a steel door in half and crush a rock to powder. 'You won't notice at first, but it'll be sharper every stage.' For the first time, Yerin could feel the gift her master had left for her. *** Something had changed for Yerin at Highgold, and it wasn't her spirit. Jai Long had fought dozens if not hundreds of Highgolds, and it wasn't that her spirit was so much stronger than usual. Her techniques became sharper, like she'd spent a month practicing, but Jai Long could understand that. Highgold was a journey through the skills and experiences embedded in the Gold Remnant, so she'd have inherited some insight from her master. It was her sheer physical strength that baffled him as she crushed his serpents, shoved his attacks aside, and matched his movements even

through Flowing Starlight. She drove his Enforced punches apart with her twin Goldsigns, which now moved as quick as her hands. He ducked her sword stroke, which she'd telegraphed by shifting her weight…but then she caught him in the side with a kick. The force of it strained his Iron body and sent him rolling; he gathered himself and vaulted over from one peak to another. Now he was on the slopes of Shiryu Mountain's main peak, beneath the Jai family palaces. When she saw how far she'd kicked him, she looked more stunned than he was. Jai Long's whole purpose in allowing her to reach Highgold had been to measure himself against her. He was still ahead. The power of his techniques, his precision and timing, his speed: these were all beyond her. But they should be. He was Truegold. He shouldn't feel any pressure from her attacks, but he did. He should be so much faster with his Flowing Starlight that she couldn't keep up, and yet she did. She shouldn't be able to threaten him except with her weapon, but that kick had nearly broken his ribs. There was less of a distance between them now than there had been six months ago. He'd used the Ancestor's Spear to gain power faster than any other sacred artist could, and she was still closing the gap. Fear crawled up his spine, and for the first time, he focused his full power. He had to kill her now. If he didn't, then the next time they met, she would kill him. He gathered points of light on the tips of his hands, forming Star's Edge techniques. It would have been more effective with a weapon, but he worked with what he had. Yerin leaped over to the slope with him, slashing out in a Striker technique. He broke it with one Star's Edge, sending a Serpent's Shadow at her to cover her movement as he leaped up the slope. She followed, of course. Only when he reached the cliff and stood beneath the Jai clan homes did he turn and wait for her. When she landed on the cliff, tattered black robes fluttering in the breeze, she sheathed her sword. "You'll need that," he warned her. She shrugged. "Still better armed than you are."

A hand-sized Striker technique shot out from one of her Goldsigns, and though he crushed the madra immediately, she'd closed the gap. He drove a Star's Edge at her throat. They exchanged a dozen blows in an instant, his Enforcer techniques crashing against her Goldsigns. His core had finally started to weaken, dimming from a bright moon to a fading star, and hers couldn't have been much better. Her breaths were still in a cycling rhythm, but they were ragged. She flicked her eyes to his hands, watching for his next attack, and he took the opening. He squeezed one last burst of speed out of Flowing Starlight, dashing behind her. This was his chance. He didn't have the power for a prolonged battle with her, certainly not without a weapon. She wasn't even a priority target; if he'd known she would grow so fast, he would have taken Gokren's suggestion and crushed her with the full power of their numbers. He had one chance to end the threat she represented, and this was it. Her back was open and unprotected. In one invisible motion, he slashed a razor-sharp Enforced palm at the back of her neck to sever her spine. As he moved, his spirit cried a warning. He leaped back as the air rippled, and sword aura tore the space where he had just been standing Yerin's Goldsign had twisted behind her, launching a Ruler technique in her blind spot. She spun, face red with anger—at herself for letting him get behind her or at him for trying to stab her in the back, he wasn't sure—and sent another rippling slash at him. With his Star's Edge, he broke that technique, and the next one, but she seemed to be trying to empty her core in one breath. The Striker techniques kept coming. His Star's Edge shattered too early. There was still a rippling silver-edged distortion in the air, heading right at his face. He needed a moment to call his Enforcer technique back, but he didn't have time. Before he had time to think, he acted on instinct. Jai Long used his Goldsign. His jaw unhinged like a snake's, tearing the red bandages away from his face. He bared a mouth full of glowing white fangs: his inheritance from the serpentine Remnant that had nearly taken his sister's life. They twisted his

face, reshaping his jaw, and anytime he opened his mouth he looked like a nightmare. He opened his mouth wide and bit down on the rippling slash of energy, his teeth shattering the technique like glass. The shards of madra slashed at his cheeks, tearing the rest of his mask away, and he glared at Yerin with open hatred. She kept her eyes on his, hand on her sword. Her spirit's power was fading, but she was the picture of resolve, prepared to keep fighting. Jai Long cast his perception back over the city. The tide was turning against them, he could feel it in the ebb of Stellar Spear madra throughout Serpent's Grave. Shame overcame him in a moment. The Jai clan had lost a battle in their own city. But as much as it pained him, he was part of the clan again. His oath tugged at him, pulling him to do the responsible thing, to preserve himself for the family's sake. He was wasting too much time on an uncertain battle, and fair fights were a fool's game. As soon as the clan regrouped, Jai Long intended to suggest that Jai Daishou kill Yerin personally. Because Jai Long wasn't sure he was up to the task. With one last glance at the Sword Sage's apprentice, he leaped off the cliff to regroup with his family. *** Even with her core emptied for the second time that evening, and both her spirit and body aching with exhaustion, Yerin tried to follow Jai Long. "Get back…here, you…" Her voice was mumbled, and she wasn't even sure the sounds that came out were real words. She staggered after the enemy until her knees buckled, and then she sank to the rock, panting. The energy that came to her from her master's Remnant would return, but for now, it was tapped out. Her brief burst of clarity and insight was already fading away like a dream. There was more to gain from the Remnant, but that sense of his presence had gone. Leaving only a memory. She was exhausted in body, mind, and spirit, and saying goodbye to the Sword Sage a second time struck her like a physical wound. His absence tore through her.

And there on the mountain, she wept again for her master's death. *** Orthos was wounded. His skin oozed dark blood, and Lindon could feel the pain of venom working its way through the turtle's blood and spirit. His spirit was in chaos, and Lindon couldn't sense whether Orthos' mind was in control or not. A massive black paw, the size of Lindon's entire torso, smashed down onto his stomach, slamming his back against the ground. Lindon tried to scream, but it came out as a rush of air. He clawed at the leathery leg, but he might as well have been slapping a tree. The great turtle stretched out his neck, looking Lindon in the eye. He growled and choked into Lindon's face, as though trying to speak, but no words came. The sacred beast gave a great scream of frustration that tore Lindon's face. He squeezed his eyes shut. Some deaths had to be faced with eyes open, but this was not one of them. His core flared with a dark, bloody light. Blackflame raced through his madra channels, scouring him from the inside out, making him gasp. Is this what it's like to leave a Remnant? he wondered. He'd always imagined it as a sensation of the spirit tearing itself away from the body, which was exactly what this felt like. His spirit burned hotter and hotter, Blackflame racing along his channels, until he could bear it no longer. He screamed, and Orthos screamed with him, dark fire racing from the turtle's mouth and scorching stone. Lindon cycled furiously, trying to digest some of the power—not Eithan's Purification Wheel, but the simplest, fastest breathing technique he could. He ignited the Burning Cloak, which raged around him, giving him the strength to lift Orthos' paw and throw it off him. But Orthos roared in response. A red-and-black corona flared around him, and suddenly the leg was pressed back down like a mountain collapsing, claws digging into Lindon's chest. Lindon built up power in his hands, pushing rivers of Blackflame out through both of his palms. The Burning Cloak raged, and he could feel red and black aura flaring all around him.

The power was too much for him, he could feel it; his channels and his core were stretched to the point of bursting. He hadn't reached the end of Jade—his spirit wasn't mature yet. So he clawed at his pack, searching for the one thing that might help him: the Sylvan Riverseed. He tore at his pile of belongings like a man on fire looking for a bucket of water. Tongues of Blackflame licked at the fabric of his pack, scorching away chunks, but he couldn't care. The glass case tumbled out and the Riverseed rubbed her head, as though she'd knocked a skull she didn't have. Lindon didn't wait to get her attention and draw her in; he felt as though his spirit was shriveling and blackening. Instead, Blackflame burned through the side of the glass. It didn't melt; it hissed and blew away in a cloud of grit like fine dust. Lindon stretched out trembling fingers, and the Sylvan Riverseed cocked her head to look at him. For a second, she seemed uncertain, like she didn't recognize him. Then, firmly, she seized his middle finger in both hands. A surge of liquid blue flowed through his madra channels, quieting the flow of dark madra and soothing his channels like cool water on a burn. Blackflame madra kept coming, and Lindon kept cycling, but the Riverseed poured all she had into him. Finally, the flow of fire slackened. Orthos pulled his paw from Lindon's core and staggered away, unspeakably weary. The Sylvan Riverseed sprawled on her back, chittering like a frustrated wind chime. She had lightened to the blue of a robin's egg, and after a moment she squirmed back into his pack and started digging around for scales. And Lindon lay there panting, spirit and body aching. Much of Orthos' madra had been diverted into his Bloodforged Iron body, so Lindon's smallest wounds had closed and the venom in his veins had been burned away, but he still hurt like he'd been beaten all over with hammers. Then Gokren stumbled back through the exit, hair wild and furs burned off. He stared wildly around, fixing his gaze on Orthos, and leveled his spear. Four Sandvipers entered behind him, moving to flank the turtle.

Lindon's spirits fell like a sack of bricks. It just wasn't fair. Suriel was playing a trick on him—surely every mortal's trials had to end sometime. "The dragon advances," Orthos declared, eyeing Gokren. Lindon could feel the turtle's spirit, strained to its limits, but he still roared and lumbered toward the Sandviper. Lindon started to gather Blackflame madra between his palms, but he froze. His pure core was still empty. He couldn't make a shell around the Striker technique. Orthos took a hit from the side and screamed, while Lindon hunkered behind the stone tablet explaining the Ruler technique, trying to condense Blackflame madra. The Riverseed whined, shaking his knee with both her hands and pointing to Orthos, trying to get him to help. Lindon tuned out Orthos' screams and the Riverseed's pleas, focused on the black fire flickering between his hands. This was a dragon's technique. He needed to think about it like a dragon. He poured more power into the ball, and when he felt himself about to lose control, he forced it into place. A dragon wouldn't try to bend or shape its power; a dragon would make the power submit. The dragon conquers. When he finally succeeded, he almost didn't realize it, dripping sweat over a fireball twice as big as his fist. He stumbled out from the shelter of the stone tablet, watching Orthos withdrawing all his limbs into his shell. Sandviper madra crashed on the outside without leaving a mark, but Lindon knew the fight was over. Orthos would never have hidden unless he was prepared to die. His spirit was a mournful song, an aching wound of injured pride. There was nothing in Lindon's mind except his desire to push the enemy away from his partner. He shoved both hands forward, releasing the madra he'd stored up into a Striker technique. If he could knock Gokren off-balance, even a weakened Orthos might be able to kill him. Maybe they could escape. But that assumed that Lindon's pitiful Jade technique could even wound a Truegold. An arm-thick bar of Blackflame madra streamed toward Sandviper Gokren, the technique dense and liquid smooth. The Truegold condensed a

green spear out of madra, slamming his Forged weapon against the spike. Truegold Sandviper madra met Lindon's Blackflame. The dark fire washed over Gokren's defense, taking his hand off at the wrist. He stumbled back, eyes wide as he stared at the place where his hand used to be. Lindon stared, just as stunned. He had put everything he had into that Striker technique, to the degree that he was feeling dizzy from the strain on his spirit, but he had only hoped to take some pressure from Orthos. Even the Lowgold Sandvipers stepped back, turning their focus from the turtle to Lindon. Orthos poked his head out of his shell. In the stunned, frozen moment after Lindon's Striker technique, he extended the remainder of his madra. Lindon sensed what he was doing through their contract, but he didn't comprehend it until he opened his Copper sight. The red-and-black aura was rising like a tide, spreading to encompass all the Sandvipers. The Sandvipers came to their senses, running from Orthos' ruler technique, but Gokren bared his teeth and swung the spear in his remaining hand down. It glowed green, shining with toxic madra. Lindon shouted, spraying Blackflame madra in his direction. It didn't even come close to reaching—he hadn't taken the time to concentrate the technique and keep it under control. But Gokren, who had just lost a hand to Lindon's deadly Path, flinched. His spear wavered. And Orthos activated his Ruler technique. Five roses of fire bloomed out of nowhere, centered on each of the remaining Sandvipers. The golden-orange flames flared, spotted with inky black and bloody red, devouring five bodies in an instant. Not one of them managed to scream as the Void Dragon's Dance consumed them. The fight was over almost too quickly. Five minutes later, Lindon still didn't believe his own memories. First, the madra had obeyed him more easily than it ever had before. Then, his technique had worked on someone at the peak of Gold. Based on everything Lindon knew, the force of Gokren's madra alone should have been enough to block anything a Jade could do.

Orthos dragged his massive body over to Lindon, chewing on a mouthful of bones as he went. "You're not a Jade," he announced. "I gave you more of my power than a Jade could handle." Lindon looked at the turtle, then down at his jade badge, then scanned his own spirit. "I'm stronger, certainly, but I don't feel so different. Nothing like when I advanced to Iron or Jade." The stone wheel at the center of his Blackflame core might have spun a little faster, and his spirit cycled with the force of a raging river instead of a trickling stream. But Iron had come with a new body, and Jade with a new soul. Compared to those changes, this felt too simple. Maybe if he had adopted a Remnant, instead of taking in power through a contract, he would have seen a real difference. Orthos gingerly stretched out a leg, wincing at the pain. "Humans make every stage into a legend. A Lowgold is just a Jade with teeth. The only difference between Jade and Gold is a mountain of power." He gave Lindon a look that radiated smug pride. "Now you see the real glory of Blackflame." Lindon was still dazed, but he couldn't argue with reality. Sandviper Gokren's legs—the largest remaining parts of him—lay a few dozen yards away. His skull was sliding down Orthos' gullet. Lindon was Lowgold now. A real Gold. This was the power of Gold. But Orthos' soul still pained him—if his condition went untended, he would lose himself again. That was a problem Lindon thought he could solve. He placed the Riverseed on Orthos' head and, after a moment of panic, the spirit placed both hands on the turtle's skin. Blue light flowed into a Blackflame spirit, smoothing and calming as it went. Orthos shouted like a man doused in icy water. The Riverseed gave a terrified peep, scuttling back up Lindon's arm. She stumbled at his shoulder, her skin pale, and collapsed on his head to curl up in his hair. "Forgiveness," Lindon said, bobbing a bow. "I didn't think to warn you." "The insect stung me!" Orthos said, gnashing his jaws. The Sylvan trembled against Lindon's scalp. He swept his perception through her and confirmed what he'd suspected: the tiny spirit was exhausted.

Orthos' madra already flowed more smoothly, even weak as it was, and his madra channels didn't pain him as badly as before. It looked as though it had calmed his soul without diluting his madra, and allowed his channels to repair themselves. The damage would have returned in days, if he hadn't shared his power with Lindon. Combined with their contract, the Sylvan's attention might be able to—over time—make some real improvement in the turtle's soul. "You should feel a little better at least," Lindon said, knowing he did. "I have survived three hundred winters and the fall of the Blackflames," Orthos grumbled. "I would have survived this." On his behalf, Lindon patted the Sylvan on the head with one finger. Lindon extended his perception, and it unspooled much more easily than before, his perception floating over the mountain. He caught a trail of sensations that felt like Yerin, as though her voice still echoed behind her, but not her. "While you were out there…" Orthos finished the thought. "I felt her in battle on the main peak. Not now, but her spirit is likely weak." Laughter rumbled out of his chest like aftershocks. "There is another familiar soul in that direction as well." Lindon let his perception float, and he sensed exactly what the turtle meant: Eithan was no longer bothering to veil his power, and the full force of an Underlord shone like a signal-fire only a short distance away. As Orthos insisted he could walk, Lindon slid his pack on and headed in that direction. Where Eithan was, and where they'd last seen Yerin. The Sylvan Riverseed rode on his head.

Chapter 20 Jai Daishou was living a nightmare. He and his Truegold elders launched their Striker attacks together, streams of white light that should have pierced the enemy from seven different angles. Then, to his eyes and senses both, Eithan vanished. One moment he was standing there on the other side of a distorted aura barrier, holding a broom in his hands, and the next… …the next an elder's skull was crushed like an eggshell outside the boundary formation. His body toppled as Eithan stood over him, broom bloodstained. Jai Daishou reacted before any of the elders could, blasting a Star Lance in Eithan's direction, but he slipped back into the formation like a fish into water. That was impossible. The boundary stopped everything physical from passing. Pushing through it like that was like pushing through a burning wall. Even if his body was so monstrously strong that he could do it, the formation should have crumbled. Only madra could pass. Eithan's upper body popped out of a different side of the bubble, seizing another elder and dragging him back inside. There came a crunch and a scream, and a spray of blood was stopped by the aura. Only one possibility made sense: he could be covering his body in a shell of madra to pass through the formation. But it would be easier to Forge a human-sized ball and roll through: the amount of power it would take to slip in and out while covering every inch of his body would beggar even an Underlord. Jai Daishou himself might have been able to do it once, if he could control his madra precisely enough, but he wouldn't be fit to fight on the other end. Either this was a trick, or an illusion, or Eithan had madra reserves that the Jai Patriarch could only describe as monstrous. Maybe he had stolen a

ward key, somehow. Jai Daishou ordered his remaining four men back, adjusting his tactics. If Eithan was using speed and mobility against them, he could compete with raw power. He had no use for this mountainside anyway. His spear thrummed with power, a fan of Forged spears hovering in the air above him. Each weapon held the full power of his madra and blazed with sword aura; they would hit like bombs, and even if they missed by three feet, the aura alone could peel meat from bone. But that wasn't enough. He tapped into the soulfire he'd stockpiled over the past decades, channeling the faded flames into each spear. The power sunk into them until the air around them shook. These were seven deadly attacks capable of drilling through steel plate, spread out to cover every angle of escape. Each technique launched with a split-second difference in timing, to cover any openings and preventing the enemy from grasping the timing. Eithan would meet a wall of unstoppable spears, burning heat, and slashing blades. He may as well have been nailed to a board. The cliff shone with white light like a dawning star, invisible gouges appeared in the dirt from the force of his sword aura, and his spiritual sense trembled with the power of his seven spears. Jai Daishou used this technique to level fortress walls, not to kill individual enemies. This was the culmination of all the individual spear arts passed down among the Jai for generations. Jai Daishou called it the Fall of Seven Stars. He thrust his spear forward, unleashing a stream of deadly white madra and six Forged missiles that screamed as they blasted through the air. The pale, deadly lights washed over the cliffside like a shining wave, the air between each light churning with sword aura that chewed up pebbles and spat dust. Utter devastation scoured the cliff, shredding the boundary flags and dispersing the formation, churning the fallen bodies of the two elders into bloody mist. The technique plowed through stone and soil, and when the cloud of dust cleared, the entire half of the outcropping where Eithan once stood was completely gone. A chunk had been gouged out of the mountain, and a chunk of night sky replaced what had been rock a moment before.

Jai Daishou took a deep breath of satisfaction and let his madra begin to cycle. He had strained his spirit too much for this, but at least— His spirit shouted at him, and he spun, leaping in the air and readying the Ancestor's Spear in both hands. With his broom, Eithan had swept a Truegold's ankles out from under him. While the old man was still in the air, the broom's handle crashed down on his back. There was a crack as the man's spine snapped. The wooden broom stayed intact. Eithan hadn't escaped the Fall of Seven Stars unscathed: blood trickled down into one eye, which was stuck closed, there was a bloody slash across his left shoulder, and his fine blue robe was half-shredded. But he had escaped, and that was frightening enough. Jai Daishou shouted to draw Eithan's attention, and to give his three remaining elders time to run. He whipped Stellar Spear madra in a line—the Star Lance was the simplest Striker technique possible, but also the fastest. No matter how quickly Eithan could move, he couldn't dodge this. It was practically instantaneous. A technique of this degree couldn't kill an Underlord, but it could pin him down, keep him from chasing the remaining Truegolds and butchering them one by one. Eithan raised his hand like a man blocking out the light of the sun. And when the Stellar Spear madra came within a foot of his hand, the madra dispersed. It dissolved. It vanished, as though the Underlord were simply wiping out his technique. Jai Daishou landed, his metal hair flogging his back like chains, and began channeling Flowing Starlight. He needed to devote everything he had to speed if he wanted to keep up. Though if he couldn't figure out Eithan's Path, speed might not matter. The man could eat his techniques. Eithan blurred and moved again, but with the Flowing Starlight running through him, Jai Daishou tracked his movements. He kicked madra behind him and launched, intercepting Eithan's broom with his spear before the man could crush a fourth elder's ribs. They strained against each other for an instant that lasted three full breaths, the world around them crawling. Even the fastest Truegold elder

seemed as though he was moving through water as he dashed madly away, the white lines of Flowing Starlight sliding over his limbs. Jai Daishou had the full force of his body and his Enforcer technique pushing Eithan's broomstick back, but the blond Underlord pushed against him just as heavily. Eithan's jaw was set, his one open eye blazing with fury, sweat trickling down his jaw. He trembled with the effort. But Jai Daishou was using a legendary weapon forged by his ancestor. Eithan was using a broom. He may have imbued it with soulfire, but every significant artifact had that treatment. The Ancestor's Spear would have been tempered in soulfire many times. Despite the difference in their weapons, Eithan was still holding him off. His body is younger, but my spirit is stronger. He channeled a Forger technique, and a fan of needles longer than his forearm condensed over his head. One by one, they launched themselves at Eithan to break the deadlock. A pulse of madra flooded out of the Arelius Patriarch's entire body. Jai Daishou felt nothing on his skin, but his Forged needles melted like ice in the summer sun. Finally, he got a good sense of Eithan's power. Jai Daishou shoved, pushing his opponent away, and spoke in confusion. "Pure madra? Who uses pure madra?" "It has…its uses," Eithan panted, leaning heavily on his broom and flashing a smile. Now Jai Daishou had to make it out alive. He'd read a dozen theories about the mysterious Eithan Arelius' Path, and all of them were wrong. Bringing this information back to the clan was the only way to bring the Arelius family down. Worse, none of the Truegolds would have heard him. They were too far away. Even so, despite what his perception told him, he still wondered if it was some kind of trick, maybe a Soulsmith's device hidden on Eithan's body. Eithan had Enforced an ordinary broom—even one washed in soulfire—to survive contact with the spear of an ancient Jai Matriarch. He had suspected madra of earth or force, to be so effective at hardening a weapon.

To do that with pure madra…it would be the least efficient technique possible. He must be gushing madra into that broom just to keep it from exploding. All his senses told him Eithan was ordinary, if any Underlord could be considered ordinary. He was ranked eleventh, putting him near the bottom of all the active Lords in the Empire. His only two extraordinary aspects were his senses—as expected of an Arelius—and, apparently, the depth of his madra. That shouldn't be enough. Sudden fear tickled his spine and trembled in his gut. Fear that he hadn't faced since he transcended Gold: fear of an unknown opponent. Fear for his own survival. He stiffened his spine and burned that fear for anger. He was the Patriarch of the ancient Jai clan. He would bow to no man. Not even in his own mind. Even if it crippled him, he had to win tonight. Jai Daishou unleashed his full power, his core blazing, his Flowing Starlight technique shining in blinding lines on his skin. Even Eithan seemed to crawl now, and the young man's blue eye widened in surprise. Like every aspect, pure madra had its strengths and weaknesses. It was second to none for attacking and defending the spirit, but it had no ability to interact with the physical world. Eithan had no power over the forces of nature. So he was helpless before the techniques of a Ruler. There were no Ruler techniques on the Path of the Stellar Spear, but the decades Jai Daishou had spent perfecting his own sacred arts were not wasted. Stellar Spear madra was a blend of the sword and light aspects, so he focused on his spear, staring into the white-and-silver aura braided along its edge. He seized that silver power, spreading the aura into a blade the width of an axe. He activated the aura, and it shone silver. Like this, he could slice through a tree with no more effort than cutting tofu. And there was nothing Eithan could do about it: he had no authority over sword madra, and no way to stop a blade. The Jai Patriarch had burned through too much of his madra too quickly, but this would end it. He thrust his spear with all his strength, though the

aura-empowered blade would slice through Eithan's body even if a child pushed it. Eithan dropped the broom, which fell so slowly it seemed to hang in the air, and reached into the pocket of his outer robe. Jai Daishou watched everything as though it played out for him at half speed: the silver blade of aura sliced through strands of yellow hair, piercing the silk threads of Eithan's robe. The Arelius Underlord was leaning back, away from the strike, but not fast enough. His hand emerged from the pocket. The silver blade drew blood from Eithan's cheek, spilling red droplets that drifted lazily up. Eithan sliced open the back of his hand as he slid it in front of his face, holding what he'd drawn from his pocket as though it were a talisman that could ward off the spear's approach. As Eithan held it into the path of the silver blade, Jai Daishou saw what it was: a pair of black scissors. Ordinary scissors with long blades, of the sort a tailor might use to cut fabric. He sensed nothing unusual about them whatsoever—they weren't even made of goldsteel. Just, as far as he could tell, iron. He had to assume they had been washed in soulfire, which would make them stronger and allow them to conduct madra and aura more efficiently, but there was only so much an Underlord's blessing could do to mundane materials. The aura crashed into the scissors and, instead of slicing them in half, split like a wave running against the rocks. Jai Daishou was so committed to his attack that he could only watch in horror as the blade of silver light split around the scissors, dispersing, spraying immaterial aura light to either side of Eithan's face. A few more blond hairs fell to the ground, but no more blood spilled. The spearhead reached the black blade, and Eithan gripped his scissors in both hands, shoving Jai Daishou's full-power strike to one side. As the Jai Patriarch staggered, the Arelius bent over, breathing heavily, scooping up his broom. "Close one," he said, between ragged breaths. He straightened with a tailor's scissors in one hand and a janitor's broom in the other, standing over the lord of a warrior clan whose spear had failed.

Jai Daishou wondered when someone would wake him from this nightmare. Even using soulfire, it was impossible to Enforce ordinary iron to that degree using pure madra. Impossible. It would empty Jai Daishou's core three times over. "Tell me how," he demanded, looking up at his rival. Then black scissors met his throat, and the pain blasted away his Enforcer technique. Time staggered back into focus. Eithan considered a moment. "I'll tell your Remnant," he said. *** Lindon found Eithan sprawled out on his back at the edge of a cliff. Yellow hair fanned out behind him, his blue robe looked like he'd fed it to a gang of dogs, and he was bleeding from half a dozen wounds that Lindon could see. Just out of reach of his outstretched hands lay a broom and a pair of scissors. "Are you hurt?" Lindon asked, sliding his pack down to pull out the bandages. It almost slipped out of his grip—one of the straps had been burned halfway through by a tongue of Blackflame. Eithan cracked one eye, though he might have tried to open both; one was gummed shut by a mass of blood. "I am taking a break and enjoying the brisk night air. You look like you were beaten with clubs while climbing through an erupting volcano." Orthos was still picking his way through the debris between the two cliffs, his frustration echoing through the contract, but neither he nor Eithan seemed to expect another attack. Lindon extended his perception and felt a handful of very alarming spirits on the slopes above him. "They aren't going to attack us, are they?" he asked. Eithan barked out a laugh, then winced. "Oh, that's…that's tender. No, after the show I gave them, they wouldn't come near me if I had a spear through my chest and was begging for death. Couldn't say if any Skysworn were watching us, but I suspect my ranking among Underlords is about to be adjusted." A feather's weight lifted from Lindon's head, and the Sylvan Riverseed hopped to his shoulder, sliding down his arm, ocean-blue hair drifting behind her. She jumped off his hand, landing on Eithan's chest. The Underlord raised an eyebrow. "Why, hello there."

She walked up to kneel on his forehead, looking down curiously. Then she rubbed his head with one hand, whistling like a flute in a way that Lindon suspected was meant to be comforting. "Your power can't help me," Eithan said, flinching as he sat up. The Riverseed scurried up to sit on top of his head, still making a sympathetic face. "Madra doesn't get any more pure or gentle than mine." He looked to Lindon as though something had just occurred to him. "Speaking of which, I see you're making good use of my cycling technique. Reliable, isn't it? No fun to practice, but there are always tradeoffs." "Yes," Lindon agreed immediately, "I couldn't be more grateful. Without…" The implications of Eithan's statement caught up to him a second later. "…ah, pardon, but when you say 'your' cycling technique…" "I mean mine," Eithan said cheerily. "The one I'm using right now. It was in the family library, but everybody else can supplement their cores by cycling aura. Focusing on capacity is inefficient, unless—as you've experienced—you can't add to your power with vital aura. Pure madra Paths aren't as rare as everyone seems to think they are." "You…" Lindon began to express suspicion, but there was a more polite way to confirm. He extended his perception, scanning Eithan's spirit. This time, the fog that usually covered Eithan's core was lifted. And he felt a pool of pure blue-white power, just like his own. "I didn't pick you up because of your impeccable fashion sense," Eithan said, touching two fingers to the corner of his blood-stuck eye. "Hm. I think this is swelling. Anyway, a pure core is one of two ways in which we are similar, so I thought I might be able to provide you with some unique guidance. And that you might help me as well, in the long run." Lindon was sure he was supposed to ask, but he played his role anyway. "What's the second way?" "You left it back in the Trials after you advanced to Gold," Eithan said. "It happens. Advancement can play havoc with the memory, especially when the process is traumatic. It should be lying in the dirt, but it followed you. Now it's in your right pocket." Lindon reached into his pocket, knowing what he would find, and withdrew Suriel's marble. The ball of pure glass sat on his palm, its sapphire flame steady, casting blue light over him.

"Do you know what this is?" Lindon asked, and he wasn't sure if he was afraid or excited. "I wasn't sure at first," Eithan said, reaching into his own pocket. "Not everything that blocks my senses is from the heavens." He pulled out his own glass marble the size of a thumbnail. "And yours looks somewhat different from mine." Inside the hollow shell was a ball of perfectly round darkness. It looked endlessly deep, like a bottomless hole suspended in glass. Eithan held it up to one eye, inspecting it. "Maybe they're like coins," he mused. "This could be the celestial equivalent of tossing a scale to a servant." Lindon had so many questions that they all tried to exit his mouth at once. They came out together, so they sounded like, "Bluh." Eithan nodded as though that was exactly the question he'd expected. "Yes. Precisely. Well, let's trade stories while we're not surrounded by hostile strangers." He slipped his black marble into his pocket and pulled something else out: a gold plate slightly bigger than his palm, set with white, dark blue, and a black crescent in the center. "This is the authority of the Arelius clan's Patriarch," he said, tossing it to Lindon. "You'll need that to run a quick errand for me." Lindon cradled the ornate emblem in both hands. "It would be an honor," he said, still trying to catch up to the rest of the conversation. "Above us, you'll find the homes of the Jai family. One of the homes has a decorative tower on the grounds, a tree with pink leaves, and the statue of a crane and a dragon locked in combat. Break into that house and search for a girl named Jai Chen." "Should I bring her back here?" Eithan's grin widened. "That's Jai Long's sister, held captive by the Underlord to ensure his cooperation. In all the confusion, I'm afraid she's been left alone." "Really," Lindon said, and Blackflame surged in him. Eithan snapped and pointed to him. "That! When you are stopped by Jai clan members, show them the emblem, look them straight in the eyes, and do that. If they don't listen to you then, I'll come kill them." "I'm…sorry, look them in the eye and do what?" Lindon asked. He'd done nothing but cycle.

"You don't need a Remnant to have a Goldsign," Eithan said, then lifted the Sylvan Riverseed on his palm. She hopped back over to Lindon, who settled her on his shoulder. "Now, go. Go!" When Orthos felt that Lindon had changed direction, his spirit surged with irritation, and he reluctantly turned to follow. *** Jai Chen was trapped in a room nicer than any she'd seen since she was a child. The Patriarch had locked her here, but he hadn't bothered to tie her —there was no need. She lay in bed as though a great weight pressed down on her limbs, focusing the full force of her spirit just to breathe. As always. She'd considered killing herself. Jai Daishou had to be using her against her brother, or she wouldn't be here, and killing herself would burn one of the cards in his hand. But it wouldn't change anything. Jai Daishou was an Underlord; he would get what he wanted with or without a hostage. Instead, she focused on cycling. Some of the medical experts who had examined her over the years had suggested that she might eventually regain partial function in her spirit if she diligently exercised, so she spent most of her day attempting to cycle. It was like jogging on broken legs, but she persevered, shoving madra through shattered channels. If the cracked madra paths were the only problems, she would have been thankful. But her power squirmed away from her direction, fighting every cycling technique, slithering against her will. The same power that brought her brother's techniques to life polluted her spirit, keeping her core out of her control. She tried anyway. A wave of heat washed against her face, and her eyes snapped open in time to catch the door to her room dissolving. Jai Chen pulled sheets up to her chin as though they could protect her from enemies, rooting under her pillow with a half-asleep hand. She only found the knife when she cut her finger on its edge. She held out the weapon with both hands as dark fire consumed her door. It dissolved the painted wood like black acid, sending a cloud of dust and ash billowing over her. A massive black shadow blackened the area past the door, its eyes burning circles of red. She let out a squeak, arms trembling as she held out

the knife. The shadow passed, moving away from her door, and she almost let out a breath of relief. But it had left someone behind. A man stood in her room, and he had eyes like a death Remnant. They were black all around, with rings of blood red shining in the center. With those eyes, he could be nothing but a monster, come to kill her…and black fire still played around his fingers. Her arms were too heavy to keep holding in the air, and it was taking all her focus to gasp in enough air to breathe. All she could see were his eyes. The man bowed at the waist. "Forgiveness, please, I thought you were deeper in the house." The fire faded from his hands, and the darkness from his eyes bled away like paint in water. They were perfectly normal eyes now, staring at her intently. Now that he didn't have the gaze of a soul-eating monster, she got a look at the rest of him. He was a tall young man, about her age, broadshouldered and wearing a bulky pack that must weigh more than she did. His outer robe was smudged and stained with mud, ash, and probably blood, until she couldn't make out its original color. A jade medallion hung on his chest from a dark silk ribbon, etched with the image of a hammer. He seemed like a perfectly normal sacred artist, though he stared at her like he never intended to blink. With his other eyes, the look would have given her nightmares. But her bed shook, and a growl echoed around the hallway. There was something else in the house, not just him: something with the silhouette of a giant beast and another pair of evil eyes. "I'm so sorry I frightened you, that was not my intention. I'm here to take you out of here." Jai Chen's breath was finally catching up with her fright, but she still couldn't respond. "I assume the Jai clan is keeping you hostage so your brother will cooperate," he went on, looking a little pleased with himself. "I can take you away." "Eyes," she said at last. "Your…eyes."

After a moment of confusion, he picked up a nearby hand-mirror. "My eyes?" He glanced into the mirror, saw they were normal, and turned his gaze back on her. She didn't take the time to explain. Maybe it was just his Goldsign. Jai Chen shook her head to signal a change in topic. "Can't…leave. They…will…kill…him." Not that she would go with this stranger and his demonic beast anyway. He seemed stumped by this response, but sighed and moved toward her anyway. "I know you don't know me, but you're in more danger if you stay. Excuse me for my rudeness, please." Before he could grab her, she slid out of the bed—embarrassed for an instant, as she realized that she was wearing only her bedclothes—and stood on her own shaky feet. With both hands, she drove the dagger into his chest. It pierced his outer robe and then fell, bloodless, to the ground. That was all the strength she could muster. Another instant and her knees gave out, though he grabbed her under the shoulders before she could collapse. Instead of throwing her over his shoulder, as she had expected, he gently lowered her to the floor. His gaze was still wide and intense, but now he looked concerned. An instant later, as she was trying to gather enough madra to stand, she felt a shiver in her spirit as his scan passed through her. "Pardon my curiosity, but what happened to your spirit?"

Chapter 21 She took a few heavy breaths before answering. She considered refusing, but it wasn't a secret. "Remnant…fed on…my spirit." A few more gulps of air. "Brother…killed him…halfway." He nodded, chin in his hand, frowning like she'd given him a riddle. "You had to have seen healers. What did they try?" Was he some kind of…traveling spirit-healer? With eyes that could turn black, and a beast rattling around in the other room? Or was he trying to get to know her so that she would agree to leave? She debated for a long moment, but eventually told him. If he meant her any harm, he could have killed her without lifting a hand. "Channels…core, need…repaired. Expensive…elixir. Then…pure madra…for core." Jai Long usually gave her longer breaks between sentences, and he and Sandviper Kral were the only ones who ever talked to her. She cycled madra to her lungs as best she could, though the energy tried to squirm out of her grip. He knelt in front of her, pulling his pack off and setting it down. This close, she could see black scorch-marks on the canvas. In a low, crooning voice she couldn't hear, he murmured to something inside the pack. Was there an animal in there? She flinched back against the bed, imagining the sandvipers from the Desolate Wilds. They would crawl into packs sometimes. Or boots. Or beds. A moment later, a girl the size of a hand popped out of the pack. She looked like a Remnant of water madra, blue the color of a sunlit lake, but far more solid and detailed. Her head bobbed as sapphire eyes scanned Jai Chen from head to toe. Cute. For a moment, she wondered if this man would let him pet the little Remnant.

"What do you think?" he murmured, and it took Jai Chen a breath to realize he was talking to the spirit. The miniature woman pulled herself entirely out of the pack, her legs flaring into an azure dress—Jai Chen wasn't sure if she was wearing a dress, or if her bottom half just fluttered out. The spirit considered her for a second, then jogged up to Jai Chen. They locked eyes for a moment, and she lowered a hand to pat the little woman on the head. The Remnant hopped onto her palm and scurried up her arm. Jai Chen barely had time to gasp before the spirit slapped her on the cheek. It was like being slapped by a raindrop. But the real surprise came from her spirit. A deep blue power rolled through the madra channels in her head, sliding through her like mercury. Her madra tried to squirm away, but it couldn't escape: the blue power slid through it… …and where the tiny spirit's azure power passed, she regained control of her madra. She must have jerked like a spooked horse, because the man looked concerned, but she couldn't explain. Her power still moved, it still slithered in a way that normal madra didn't, but it was hers again. Then the liquid blue spark ran into a broken madra channel, and Jai Chen slammed against the floor. Her consciousness dimmed, and a sharp pain rang through her spirit. The foreign light faded as it tried to push through her broken channel, like it expended something of itself to drill through. Her limbs started twitching, but she was afraid the blue light would stop. Go, she urged it. Break through. "I need another one," the man said distantly, and there came a sound like muffled bells. "I know you're tired, and I'm sorry. I'll feed you scales until you explode." Jai Chen cracked an eye to see the spirit returning to her, tiny blue fingers extended. She looked more pale than earlier, like a winter sky. A second sapphire light joined the first, then a third. They drilled through her channels, shaking her limbs until he had to hold her down, but they were doing it. They were drilling new connections through her madra channels. Where they passed, the loops of light were connected again, healthy and free.

The first light was soon extinguished, but when the second and third converged on the core, she blacked out. …only for an instant, it seemed, because she woke up to the same situation and a man's voice saying, "Forgiveness. I only know how to do this as an attack." She braced herself before a hand struck her in the stomach. The blow itself was light, but a rush of madra flooded into her, scattering her core, forking like lightning through her channels in reverse. Her madra was scattered, her circulation broken, and even her living madra seemed stunned. But more madra came in behind it, like a tide. The first pulse had broken the damage, and now his energy filled her, settling into her new channels. It filled her, stretching her core, soaking into her spirit. This must be pure madra, because her soul accepted it gladly, even her serpentine power not resisting at all. As a test, she cycled madra to her lungs, trying to Enforce herself as she usually did to breathe. Opening her mouth, she took her first full breath in years. Her spirit was weak, her core tiny and dim, and her madra channels felt tender as burned skin. Her entire soul ached, and spiritual pain was deeper than physical. But she could cycle now. Madra ran from her core in loops, flooding her body, bringing life, and returning to the core unobstructed. She lifted her hand, and it didn't feel like trying to lift a brick with a willow switch. She could move. The blue spirit curled up on the man's shoulder like an exhausted dog. She was shivering and almost white, and the broken door was visible through her body. The man rose, standing over Jai Chen. He scanned her again, letting out a breath of relief. "My name is Wei Shi Lindon. I can leave you behind, if you tell your brother what happened tonight. Will you do that?" She was focused on breathing. How much sheer joy could be packed into a single breath? "Lindon," he repeated. "Will you remember that? Do you want me to write it down?"

"Wei Shi Lindon," she said, and she didn't have to pause to gulp down air between each word. "Yes. I will remember, and I'll tell him, I…" She trailed off as she realized her hair was a mess, her bedclothes were askew, and she was huddling on the floor in front of him. They were back in the real Empire now—appearances would matter to this young man. Jai Chen straightened, hurriedly smoothing out her clothes, but her legs were still unsteady. She caught herself on the edge of a desk, and avoided his gaze; she didn't want to see him judging her. "My name is Jai Chen. I've never hosted a guest, so I'm not sure what I can…but I don't want to be rude to…" Lindon held up both hands to stop her. "No, please. I can't stay long anyway; I told the old men outside I was on Arelius family business, but they could come in here with spears at any time." But he didn't leave. He paused awkwardly, as though he meant to say something else. Her spirit shivered again. Jai Chen risked a glance up at his face and realized he was staring intently, almost glaring, at her stomach. Which was only covered by a thin layer of silk. She didn't want to be rude, but…Slowly, she moved her hands to cover her stomach. His head jerked up. "What? Ah, excuse me." His eyes climbed away from her until he was staring at the ceiling. "I was looking at your core. This might be a rude question, but is your madra alive?" Her madra was still as animated as before, but this time it was on her side. Her spirit didn't fight her anymore; it was almost as though it fought for her, slithering along according to her cycling technique. "It used to fight me," she told him. "I think your Remnant brought it under my control. Thank her for me, if you would." He returned to looking at her stomach, realized what he was doing, and jerked his eyes to the side. "Her madra cleanses and restores, I think. She helped me too." He patted the sleeping spirit on his shoulder. "Ah, I have to go. Please tell your brother: I'm Wei Shi Lindon, and I'd be much happier if we didn't have to fight." She felt dazed, wondering if this was somehow a trick and her spirit would collapse into wreckage again. If she didn't, then she owed him a debt she didn't know how to repay.

Because she didn't know how else to express that, she bowed. "Thank you," she said at last. Lindon was staring at her again, but at least it was at her face this time. "This may sound terrible, but have we met before? If I've forgotten you, I apologize, but you seem familiar to me." Jai Chen had heard about him from her brother, but she'd never seen him in her life. "Maybe I look like…" She cut herself off before realizing what she'd been about to say. "No, I've never seen his face," Lindon said. He shook his head. "Anyway, if you'll excuse me." He gave a little smile, bobbed his head, and started to walk out. Without knowing why, Jai Chen spoke to his retreating back. "Um…did you kill young master Kral?" He stopped, hitching up his pack. The heavy monster in the other room growled again. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Jai Chen," Lindon said, without turning around. "If I've done anything wrong, or if you need her help again…" He patted the sleeping woman on his shoulder. "…then you can find me at the Arelius family. I'm sorry for disturbing your night." He walked out, pausing briefly in the dusty wreckage of what once had been the door to her room. A moment later, he opened the front door, and she got a glimpse of the outside world through the hole in her bedroom wall. A Jai clan warrior in blue held a spear at Lindon's chest, while an elder to the left looked nervous. Lindon turned his head, meeting the elder's eyes, and the old man flinched visibly. Jai Chen could understand; if his eyes had turned black and red again, the elder could be forgiven for thinking he was a death Remnant in human skin. Then Lindon dipped into a bow, his pack bobbing behind him. "Thank you for your patience," he said, and walked away. A giant turtle followed him, big as a horse, munching on a chair as it left —a couple of painted legs disappeared into its lips as it rounded a corner. The doorway was already damaged where the sacred beast passed through earlier, and the frame shattered further this time.

Smoke rose from the giant turtle's shell, and the cracks between the plates smoldered red. The sacred beast growled in Lindon's wake, snorting black fire at the elder on the outside. The old man yelped and hopped back in time to avoid burning his toes. After a moment of debate, the Jai clan members shut the remainder of the front door without asking her a word. Jai Chen sat down on the edge of her bed, stunned. So much had happened in such a short time that she felt like she'd been slapped in the face. Now that she thought of it, she had been slapped in the face. But she could move again. Ordinarily, she had to be careful when she opened her wardrobe, so she didn't strain herself. Now, she opened and closed the door. Open and closed. Open and closed. Her brother found her half an hour later, standing on her own two feet and opening and closing her wardrobe. His mask had torn, exposing the lower half of his face. His skin was pale and tinged with blue, his jaw swollen and misshapen, and light leaked from between his lips as he spoke. "What did they do to you?" He sounded ready to find someone to murder. Jai Long was standing in the ashes of what had once been her doorway. She must have looked insane, standing in her bedclothes with her wardrobe door in one hand. And tears were running down her cheeks. Her eyes were swollen, her nose stuffed, and she'd been sobbing. When had she started crying? Jai Long walked over to her, gently guiding her closer to bed, but she pushed back against him. He noticed her strength and his eyes widened between the remaining strips of his mask. "Tell me what happened," he demanded, and her spirit shivered at the touch of his scan. Her voice was quivering, and she was still uncertain about many of the details. But she told him. *** Jai Daishou woke on a crumbling, icy cliff inside a pile of moon-white Remnant parts. They were already dissolving in streams of essence, so he must look like he was bathed in stars. Which was no comfort to a man who had just died.

His limbs trembled as he hauled his way to his feet, his joints screaming like he'd packed them with broken glass. Every breath was agony, and his vision blurred. He pushed the palm of his hand against his aching head, trying to shake loose his memory. An image snapped into place: Eithan Arelius, standing over him with face bloody, hair blowing in the wind, scissors held against Jai Daishou's throat. Snip. Pain, blood, absolute exhaustion…and something breaking in his soul. He ran a thumb over the fresh, tender scar on his throat and shivered despite decades of self-control. Without his good fortune years ago, he would have lost his life tonight. The Underlord plunged his awareness into his spirit, looking for a blackand-red ornate box that usually floated above his core. The Heartguard Chest was a spiritual object, a treasure he'd plundered from an ancient clan of Soulsmiths, but it had an invaluable function. It contained enough blood and life madra to save you from death once. And only once. He'd thought it might prolong his lifespan for a few months, when time eventually claimed its due. Sure enough, the box was open, and the Chest itself melting away to nothing. Jai Daishou had spent months filling it with a decoy Remnant, one convincing enough to fool—it seemed—even Eithan Arelius himself. He coughed heavily into his hand, the force rattling his bones, and he was surprised when he didn't find blood in his palm. Even with the healing of the Heartguard Chest, his body was finished. He was held together by little more than hope and wishes. If he lived out the year, it would be because the heavens smiled on him. He cycled what little madra remained, his channels burning, his core throbbing like a bruised muscle. He needed his remaining elders to find him alive. Before Eithan Arelius did. Because Jai Daishou was the only one in the Empire to know the truth about the Arelius family Underlord. Pure madra. He'd always thought of Eithan as nothing but an overgrown child, and he was more right than he could have known.

He wouldn't die until he could plant that knowledge like a dagger in Eithan's heart. *** Iteration 216: Limit Iteration 217 Harrow TERMINATED As Harrow and Limit dissolved and crumbled away into the void, Suriel witnessed once again the death of an Iteration. The endless darkness of empty space had peeled away first, like black wallpaper peeling away…only to reveal an even deeper hole. The void surrounded them, infinite nothing dotted with swirling balls of color, like a rainbow of fireflies dancing in the night. The planet itself faded away like a ghost, leaving fragments: pieces of the planet with a strong enough identity to hold together even in the chaos of the void. There, a disc of earth holding a forest spun into the distance, its trees frozen in a wind that no longer blew. Time worked strangely in the void. Fragments tended to either live the same moments in a loop or to freeze entirely, waiting to join back into an Iteration. Fragments with inhabitants crawled along, their time drifting slowly forward, but the inhabitants tended not to fare well. She had sent Ozriel's population shelter straight to Pioneer 8089. With a population of over thirteen million, they had good odds of surviving until their world stabilized into a true Iteration. Of course, if the Abidan didn't survive Ozriel's absence, it wouldn't matter. Iterations were like fruits, and the Way was the vine. So long as the worlds were healthy and connected to the Way, they enjoyed luxuries like causality and existence. As a world's population shriveled, that strained its connection to the Way, which invited infection. Whenever a corrupted world—like Limit and Harrow—broke into fragments, those pieces still contained some of their corruption. Corrupted fragments were like parasites, drifting up and down the vine, looking for

healthy fruits to infest. When that world was corrupted, it broke into diseased fragments as well, and the corruption spread exponentially. A few thousand standard years ago, the Abidan could only care for two hundred and fifty Iterations. That was as far as they could stretch their forces, because they had to protect each world from the chaos-tainted fragments that hunted the edges of the Way. When Ozriel appeared, someone who could dispose of a corrupted world without breaking it into toxic pieces, the Abidan went through a period of explosive growth. They stitched healthy fragments together into new Iterations, spinning out new universes that they could protect. Without infected world fragments flying around, they could expand without worry. And they did. Suriel and her predecessor had known the danger of putting the weight of their entire system on a single component—Ozriel—but they were saving lives. Every Iteration under Abidan protection was another reality not left to the ravages of chaos or the Vroshir. And everyone agreed: they would replace Ozriel as soon as they found another candidate. The problem was, they had never found one. And they'd kept expanding. They held ten thousand worlds now, with only enough Abidan to secure two and a half percent of that number. If any of the other Judges had gone missing, they could have found someone else to fill their function, but not Ozriel. He was irreplaceable. And now, in all likelihood, dead. [The probability of Ozriel's death is unknown,] her Presence said, its voice robotic and cool. [If he is capable of hiding from the Court of Seven, he is capable of faking his own death.] He had left a fractured message behind with just enough information to allow her to reconstruct its contents. And a body's worth of unidentifiable blood and decay staining the walls. And evidence of a battle that had conveniently not spilled over into the room where the rescued inhabitants of Limit lay sleeping. But there was no reason to fake his death. Makiel wouldn't believe it, so Suriel couldn't call off the search. And if he were pretending to be dead, he wouldn't have left her instructions on what to do in his absence.

He had most likely been attacked while preparing to disappear, and either been killed or driven deeper into hiding. She had to assume he was dead. If he was still alive and hiding even from her, she'd never find him until he wanted her to. The only logical step was to proceed as though he had been killed here. His death was another weight on her soul. She had known everything: the pressure they put on him, his desire to change the restrictive rules of the Abidan, Makiel's refusal to listen. She could have joined him, lobbied for change. Another chunk of the planet crumbled to nothing, leaving a loose collection of fragments drifting in an ocean of nothing. A slice of city spun away, all but frozen in time. A great machine of springs and copper gears kept pumping away as it tumbled into the distance, and a hundred-kilometer mass of flesh and limbs drifted away. Ozriel had finally taken matters into his own hands, as he always did. He'd manipulated Fate so that no one could see his departure coming—if anyone could twist the future to such a degree, Ozriel could. He'd prepared to minimize the damage of his absence, but he'd been caught. But who had caught him? [Entities confirmed capable of killing Ozriel, while he is fully armed and aware: NOT FOUND.] Well, that was telling. [Entities possibly capable, though not confirmed:] The possibilities spooled out in Suriel's consciousness, a mix of images, text, and memory. Information requested: Judge Killers Beginning report… Vroshir: Our information on Vroshir worlds is limited, so the capabilities of the Vroshir themselves are largely unknown. Only a handful are projected to possess combat power that rivals a Judge. The Silverlords gather armies from the worlds they conquer. Between them, they may have found a combination of specialists and assassins

capable of catching Ozriel unaware. The Horseman rides from world to world, gathering energy systems and replicating their effects. He has demonstrated capabilities from at least thirteen dead worlds, and under certain conditions, he could have bypassed Ozriel's protection. The Mad King hosts an entity that has killed Judges before, but the Court would have been notified if he had left his Iteration. If he has found a way to cross the Way without alerting Sector Control, then he represents a Class One threat. The Angler has stolen six weapons from Abidan Iterations, and she remains at large. Her confirmed arsenal holds nothing that could threaten the Reaper, but certainly possesses other weapons beyond the knowledge of the Court. Fiends of Chaos: True Fiends defy classification by nature, and the only individuals known capable of threatening Judges remain imprisoned in Asylum. Also, no Fiend has ever demonstrated the ability to pass into existence without disturbing the Way, and the Spider Division has reported no such violation near Harrow or Limit prior to Limit's expiration. If a Fiend capable of doing battle with Ozriel has passed through the Way undetected, current quarantine levels are insufficient. Contact the other Judges to prepare for system collapse. Abidan: For security reasons, each Judge's combat potential is not available for access. However, inferences can be made from publicly available data. Razael, the Wolf, has expressed a personal grudge against Ozriel since the creation of the Reaper's office. She was capable of depopulating an Iteration even before her first conscious contact with the Way, and Razael's Sword was designed for the execution of Judges and Class One threats. The Wolf Division contains many destructive powers that are not public record, and Ozriel may have underestimated them. Makiel, the Hound. As the Judge of Fate, he is the only individual whose prediction skills rival Ozriel's. In combat power alone, he was once considered capable of assuming the role of Razael, though he declined the

mantle. He has attempted to replace Ozriel many times, fought to deny Ozriel the rank of Judge, and led the opposition to all Ozriel's proposed modifications to the Eledari Pact. With the Reaper gone, he will propose an imperfect replacement within the standard year, and unofficial reports suggest he has been developing his own Scythe. Due to the personal biases involved, an encounter between Makiel and Ozriel is virtually guaranteed to end in conflict. Report complete. As the report faded away, so did Harrow. Suriel drifted in a black nothingness like the darkness of space, with swirling balls of color instead of stars. They were world fragments—one of the closer spots carried the fractured black tower from Harrow. Another fragment was a shining blue bubble with an island floating inside; water streamed down from the island and hit the bubble, looping up the inside to fall as rain. The power of the Way was weak here, where chaos thrived. Each fragment was a little pocket of order and energy, which could someday be combined once again into a new Iteration. With Gadrael's isolation gone, her information requests arrived from Cradle one after the other: Lindon and Yerin, together, left Sacred Valley and went into the Desolate Wilds. He was trained by a local Soulsmith in the very basics of the art. They encountered the Transcendent Ruins, where they were the first to retrieve the treasure at the top. Lindon killed a Highgold, initiating a rivalry with a young man named Jai Long. Good. Pressure would help him grow. His sister was more interesting: she would have met Lindon in a few more years, if not for Suriel's interference. The exact nature of their relationship would have changed depending on several factors, but the destiny between them must have been quite strong to survive Lindon's divergence. A minor point of interest, nothing alarming. Fate adjusted for such small variations as a matter of course.

After a few moments of reviewing her Presence's predicted future for Lindon and Jai Long, Suriel noticed a handful of gaps. She reviewed the data, pulling up extra information, comparing the reports. Finally, she found what her automated requests had overlooked. The Arelius family. A young Underlord had found Lindon and Yerin, adopting them, and taken them back into the Blackflame Empire for training. Suriel frowned. That could be a problem. She was familiar with the Arelius family—or rather, their ancestors—and they hadn't come anywhere near Lindon in any of her projections. Why would they? He was a weak child from nowhere. She tore open a blue hole in the void, stepping into the Way: the power of order washed over her, soothing and empowering, soaking her body and mind in comfort. Here, she was close to every Iteration of reality. She could get some answers. Through her Presence, she reached out to Cradle, requesting information on Wei Shi Lindon. [Significant deviations detected,] her Presence announced. [Entity Wei Shi Lindon has deviated from primary course. Any analysis of current conditions or projections of future activity will have a low degree of accuracy.] She'd made a mistake somewhere, but a quick review of her actions found nothing to account for this degree of change. She'd altered his future, true, but she should still be able to call up information about his current status. If her Presence couldn't even connect to the fate of Cradle, then something was badly off-course. None of her assumptions were reliable any longer. And all of her predictions were wrong. Irritation growing, she requested general information about the status of Iteration One-one-zero. [Iteration One-one-zero has deviated from primary course. Any relevant information will have a low degree of accuracy. Direct contact with Iteration is recommended to ensure precision.]

Suriel cut off her physical reactions before she could feel irritation, anger, and uncertainty. Abidan were allowed a certain degree of autonomy when responding to a spatial or temporal violation, especially Judges. She was permitted to alter the course of many individual lives, so long as the fate of the world remained intact. Nothing she'd done should have violated those restrictions. Even if Wei Shi Lindon defied all odds and transcended Cradle, it would only mean one more potential Abidan recruit. On a cosmic scale, that was virtually irrelevant. Cradle wouldn't notice when he was gone. Something else had changed. The Hound Division would have seen this. She had to go back to Cradle and determine the origin of this deviation before— An eyeball the size of her head popped into being in front of her. A human eye, in appearance: pure white sclera, black pupil, purple iris ringed with symbols like a Cradle script-circle. It looked very much like one of her eyes, in fact, only larger. [Judge designation zero-zero-six, Suriel,] Makiel's Presence said, by way of greeting. [Please travel to the following coordinates. Judge designation zero-zero-one, Makiel, requests a meeting.]

Chapter 22 Years ago, when Renfei had first earned her way into the Skysworn, her instructor had congratulated her with these words: "You'll stop rebels, rivals, and runaway killers all over the empire, and you'll do great service to the emperor. But somewhere, someday, you'll run across somebody trying to revive the Path of Black Flame." He'd chewed on a straw as he spoke, tapping the burned half of his face. "When the Blackflames return, that's when you'll really stretch your oath. Can't help but wonder if you'll fight, or if you'll leave your honor behind." The challenge had hovered over her, unanswered, for twelve years. She had fought with the Kotai clan against walking sharks on the beaches of the Trackless Sea, executed exiled criminals trying to sneak in across the eastern border, and returned runaways to the Stonedeep Mines. But, though she had kept her spirit open in special vigilance, she had never encountered a Blackflame. Until a week ago. She and her partner had been patrolling near Serpent's Grave, keeping an eye on the battle in the city with their spiritual perception. They wouldn't interfere in the battle; a clan was well within their rights to pass judgment on citizens in their territory. But conflicts led to crimes, so they remained vigilant wherever swords were drawn. Of the many things they sensed that night, one in particular had drawn them to Serpent's Grave like flies to rotting flesh: the power of Blackflame. The Arelius turtle, Orthos, was known to them. His madra had flared during the battle, which was to be expected, but what they hadn't anticipated was a second source of the Path of Black Flame. As they had for the past seven days, Renfei drifted next to Bai Rou over the dragon-bone city, dodging horned skulls and yellow ribs that clawed the sky. They flew on emerald green Thousand-Mile Clouds: the symbols of the Skysworn. Over this week, they'd sensed occasional flares of Blackflame through the city, but not much they could track. "South-southeast?" Bai Rou asked, his voice coming from the shadow beneath his broad bamboo hat. His great bulk was shrouded by a huge, heavy coat that covered him from shoulders to toes, and his eyes—his Goldsign—shone yellow from within the shadows over his face. She extended her own perception and checked. Not a Blackflame, just a fire artist practicing. "No. Two more days, and then we confront the Jai Underlord." Renfei had come to her own conclusion: their mysterious source wasn't a sacred artist at all. Rather, it must be a Blackflame weapon that one of the two Serpent's Grave Underlords had unearthed for their battle. The hints they'd gotten since then were only the weapon being transported throughout the city. They had planned to confront both Underlords once they had evidence of the weapon's existence, but thus far, they'd found none. And the Arelius Patriarch had fled the city before the Skysworn arrived. That suggested a guilty conscience to Renfei, but she needed more than suspicions to pursue claims against a Lord. So if they found no more trace of the weapon soon, they would take Jai Daishou's testimony anyway. Bai Rou wordlessly agreed—he was only twenty-eighth among the Skysworn Truegolds, while she was rank thirteen and a disciple of the prestigious Cloud Hammer School. While they were assigned together, her opinion would override his. Deadly heat flashed in the direction of the great black mountain that loomed over the city, and she started to call its position to Bai Rou. Then flames blasted into the sky from Mount Shiryu's peak. The fire was streaked with red and black, and Blackflame aura gushed into the sky. All over the city, scripts flared to life, as sacred artists scrambled to defend themselves from another attack. Renfei and Bai Rou streaked toward the dark peak, their clouds leaving green trails behind them. "Testing," Bai Rou said, voice hollow.

She agreed. Someone had decided to test the weapon; it must be based around a Ruler binding, based on the vital aura and flame that erupted from the mountain. As part of standard procedure, the Skysworn each veiled their spirits, suppressing their power so they wouldn't be detected as they approached. An Arelius would see through it, but Naru Cassias Arelius was with his family at the moment, and Eithan Arelius was gone. They hovered over the mountain until they looked down into a canyon. The same narrow canyon that contained the Black Dragon Trials. Renfei had checked this location as soon as they had arrived, finding no extra lingering Blackflame power, but obviously someone had managed to hide the weapon from her. It was their own foolishness that they had revealed it so soon. She and Bai Rou flew over a circle of ninety-nine black, scripted dummies. The Ruler Trial. No better place to test out a Blackflame Ruler weapon than the course that taught them to use their Ruler technique. Warm air still gushed from the canyon, buffeting their clouds, but it only took a minor expenditure of madra to stay steady. There were two people inside the canyon, neither of whom Renfei had seen before. One, a shrunken old woman with gray hair in a bun crawling around on spider's legs. She had a goldsteel bladed hook on her back, and she was tinkering with one of the dummies, exposing the construct inside. A Soulsmith, then, in charge of the course's operation. The other must be the one using the weapon, but his hands were empty. He was tall and looked stern despite his age, and a very careful scan of his spirit didn't pick up anything of his madra. She couldn't check him more thoroughly without alerting him to their presence, but he must be very skilled to have veiled his spirit from even a cursory scan. His madra almost felt pure, which was a testament to the power of his veil. Currently, he was sitting in a cycling position, a tiny blue Remnant on his lap. "The weapon?" Bai Rou asked, but she shook her head. There was no way to make Blackflame madra look so much like pure water. If she had to guess, she'd say that was a natural spirit. Maybe it helped activate the weapon.

"We'll wait until they draw it again," she said, as the young man stood up. "It shouldn't be too—" The young man's spirit changed. His veil must have dropped, because his soul suddenly burned like a hungry flame. His eyes turned black with shining blood-red irises—that wasn't the Goldsign from the Path of Black Flame she remembered, but otherwise his power felt just like a black dragon's. "A Blackflame in the wild," she muttered. Bai Rou's yellow eyes flared. "Who would be this stupid?" Aura gathered like clay, wrapped around the activation crystal for the course, and then flared to black-and-red light. The Ruler Trial began. One dummy came to life, drawing an orange bow and firing a blast of light at the young Blackflame. A lance of sword energy followed, and then a fireball, then a crystal of dark ice stabbed up from the earth beneath his feet. The course was designed to keep its participants on the defensive, pressuring them so they couldn't hold on to their Ruler technique. When the Blackflames had taken these Trials, their guardians had countered the techniques while the one on the Path of the Black Flame readied the Void Dragon's Dance. But this boy… Black-and-red madra covered him like blazing fog, and he dodged the arrow of light, took a cut from the sword energy, shattered the fireball on his fist—which must have left burns on his hand—and broke the ice with a kick. All the while, his madra was still gathering vital aura, scooping it up like piles of gold. He took control of all the Blackflame aura he could, building a mountain over the dummies. He fought as the attacks continued, dodging with his Enforcer technique active, blasting projectiles from the air with short bursts of dark fire, and taking cuts to the body that should have stopped him in his tracks. He was a bloody mess, and his core should have gone dry in seconds—he only felt like a Lowgold, and not a strong one. But he kept going. In Renfei's Copper sight, the canyon looked like a seething mass of red-tinged darkness.

Finally, long after she thought he should have collapsed, he ignited that pile of aura. The entire top of the mountain rose in a column of black-spotted fire. Renfei had never considered taking shelter. Her Cloud Hammer madra spread into a haze around her, shielding her from the heat and the impact. The shock hit her harder: this was a real Lowgold on the Path of Black Flame. One of the living weapons that had carved out an empire using sheer power. Even though he wasn't much yet, the Schools and sects and clans would fight to control his future. The firestorm had died almost as quickly as it was born, but for a moment, it had looked as though Mount Shiryu were transformed into a volcano. Even this wasn't enough to pass the Ruler Trial. A true Void Dragon's Dance should have devoured the dummies and nothing else; the tower of flame rising into the air was just wasted energy. But he was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, and his spirit was veiled again. She sensed madra flowing to his flesh, his wounds drinking it up…and closing. Visibly healing before her eyes, no life madra required. "Someone," Bai Rou said, "is making a monster." Renfei released her aura and flew down into the canyon, her partner flying with her. A raincloud hovered over her head: the Goldsign of the Cloud Hammers. Her actual hammer rested at her side, and if the Blackflame boy showed the slightest intention to resist, she'd draw it. The old woman scurried up to the young man, and they both looked up in shock. The boy's eyes weren't dark anymore, Renfei noticed. They were ordinary, human eyes. A clever deception. The two in the canyon were bowing and sweating by the time the Skysworn landed. That showed wisdom, but Renfei still considered striking the Lowgold Blackflame dead. It would certainly simplify matters in the future. But in the end, her honor won out: Truegolds did not strike down Lowgolds to make their lives easier. "Name, sect, and rank," she demanded. "I am Gesha of the Fishers," the old woman said. "A guest of the honored Arelius family. As for my rank, I—"

"Not you," Bai Rou said, his burning yellow eyes on the boy. Sweat dripped from the young man's forehead, and he didn't dare to glance up at the two Skysworn. "This one is Wei Shi Lindon, an adopted disciple of the Arelius family. This one apologizes, but he can't be sure of his rank. Among the outer disciples, this one believes he is ranked second, but he is only aware of two in total." "The Arelius family has thousands of outer family disciples," Renfei said, her voice dry. If he was trying to deceive her by saying he didn't know his rank, he wasn't working hard enough. "Who is your master?" "This one is honored to be the disciple of Eithan Arelius, though regrettably, this one's master is not in the city at the moment. He has gone to the capital. This one would be honored to lead you to—" She interrupted him. "Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, in the name of the Emperor, the Skysworn are taking you into custody. You will not be tried or punished until a representative of your clan can be found to speak for you." That was the end of what she was required to say, but she added, "Eithan Arelius has no authority in this matter—we speak with the voice of the Emperor himself. A Blackflame cannot be allowed to run wild." Lindon looked distinctly uncomfortable, like a child caught in a lie, and only then did Renfei remember how young he was. Not even eighteen, she was sure. Which made him all the more dangerous. "Excuse me if this one misled you, but this one has only recently begun learning the Path of Black Flame, with the guidance of the Patriarch. This one is not a member of the Blackflame family." "You might as well be," Bai Rou muttered. They shackled his spirit, reducing his power. He was more cooperative than most of Renfei's prisoners, though he did repeatedly insist that they tell his family what happened to him. He might as well not have bothered; the Arelius family never needed to be informed about anything. Renfei's only report would go straight to the Emperor. The Blackflames had returned. *** Emperor Naru Huan spread his wings as he walked through an ornate doorway. He had a fifteen-foot wingspan, but all the doors in the palace

were made to accommodate the Goldsign of the Path of Grasping Sky. Etiquette dictated that he brush both sides of the frame with his outer feathers, demonstrating that anyone else would have to give way. When two members of the Naru clan met in a doorway, the lower-ranked had to defer. No one had walked past Naru Huan in almost twenty years. Servants closed the door behind him as he entered his home, a luxurious complex of black wood, red paint, and golden dragon statues. He had three joined towers within the imperial palace, all for himself, his wives, and his servants. Palaces within palaces. He still remembered a time when it had been his job to scrub these floors. Naru Huan paused on the inside of the doorway. Ordinarily, three servants were stationed here to take his robes of office, his slippers, and the heavy circlet woven into his hair in lieu of the imperial crown. He opened his Copper sight, which was tuned to wind after his long years on his Path. The entire complex was a placid lake of pale green. The air was still. No one moved inside. Madra spun within him, faster and faster. He had no need to call his guards; anyone who could sneak into his home was a greater opponent than they could handle. Green swirled as the wind stirred. He raised a hand. A man walked around the corner, where he'd been seated and still a moment before. Long, yellow hair streamed behind him, and his outer robe was threaded in intricate patterns of blue silk. He was fifteen years younger than the Emperor, though they both looked about thirty: Overlords aged even more slowly than Underlords. Eithan Arelius grinned and plucked a grape from a bunch that he must have stolen from Naru Huan's table. He popped it into his mouth. "Welcome home," Eithan mumbled through a mouthful of grape. Naru Huan glared at him. "Where are Our loyal servants?" He usually had people to ask questions for him—Emperors were never supposed to demonstrate a lack of knowledge. "Someone altered the schedule last night," Eithan said, shaking his head. "It seems everyone believes it is someone else's shift." The Emperor had never expected his security to hold up to Eithan Arelius; it had been a joke for generations that if the Arelius family wanted

the throne, they would have it. Their bloodline gifts were so dangerous that, if they hadn't shown such a complete lack of ambition, one of the Blackflame Emperors would have exterminated them centuries ago. Total awareness combined with access to the Empire's maintenance facilities gave them the keys to all secrets on the continent. But the Emperor should never be left unattended because of a shift change. He'd have to order some adjustments to security. "We are not pleased at the disrespect you have shown," Naru Huan announced, his tone a dire pronouncement. "Our office is nothing—" "No one's listening," Eithan assured him, eating another grape. Naru Huan's eyes flicked to the nearest bedroom, where he still saw no movement in the air. Which meant anyone inside was either unconscious or dead. His calculated anger started to turn real, and the air of the hallway began to thicken. Eithan held up his hands, the bunch of grapes dangling from one thumb. "Wait, wait, wait! She's shopping, you hear me? Shopping! She's with your sister, who owed me a favor." Naru Huan let out a breath, finally relaxing. He tugged the replacement crown out of his hair, tossing it onto a nearby table that existed solely for that purpose. "You could have warned me, Eithan. You can't just pop up anywhere you want to." "It's better when I don't explain how I do it," Eithan said, sighing around another grape. "Explanations ruin my all-knowing mystique." "If anyone knew you had entered the palace without my permission, I would have to take action against your family. When a Patriarch acts recklessly, he is not the only one to pay the price." "If I thought an official message would get me an invitation in a timely fashion, I would have sent you a message," Eithan pointed out. Every message the Emperor received became common knowledge in Blackflame City within a day. Every message he responded to became a political talking-point. "Inviting the Arelius Underlord to the palace would be a rebuke against the Jai clan," Naru Huan said, struggling out of his heavy robes of office—never easy, thanks to the wings. "For now, we still need them to hold the west."

"As long as you don't need them to have an Underlord," Eithan said, pulling a grape off with his teeth. "He initiated an open attack against me in Serpent's Grave, and I was forced to take out the broom." "I've never heard that expression. I assume you mean an actual broom." "Of course I do. What better weapon is there for an Arelius Patriarch?" He squinted into the distance, thinking. "Maybe I could have the Soulsmiths make me a better one…" "Well, if you had to fight him, you should have killed him," Naru Huan said, sliding out of his slippers and walking around Eithan to get to the dining room. "I could have assigned you as the temporary guardian of the western territories while the Jai dissolved to infighting." He stopped as he realized Eithan hadn't followed him, turning on his heel to see what had happened. "What is it?" The bunch of grapes hung forgotten from Eithan's fingers. His smile was gone, and he stared at the Emperor as though ready to do battle on the spot. Which would result in nothing more than a dead Underlord, so Naru Huan folded his arms and waited. "I did kill him," Eithan said. The Emperor raised both eyebrows. "I have a dream tablet from him that arrived yesterday, demanding I punish you for your insolent actions in Serpent's Grave, and requesting imperial assistance in establishing his authority over the city." Eithan looked like he'd accidentally killed his own mother. He paled, braced himself against the wall, his eyes distant and unfocused. "Am I to understand that I just received accurate information before the Arelius Underlord? Let me just…" Naru Huan took a deep breath. "… breathe it in. This is a good day." He continued walking to the dining room, where a table was laden with fruit and delicacies. Eithan staggered after him like an animated corpse. "I killed him, Huan. I killed him myself." "You left an enemy alive," the Emperor said in disbelief, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Do you know how to tell whether someone is dead? Would you like me to teach you?" Eithan dropped the grapes, snatched the pitcher of wine away from Naru Huan, and started pouring it into his mouth. He only stopped to come up for

air. "I haven't made a mistake like that in…no, it's never happened. Well, I'm going to need a new plan now." That reminded Naru Huan of another matter—one he had planned to visit the Arelius family to address personally. His mood instantly soured. "What part of that plan involves reviving the Path of Black Flame?" the Emperor asked, his tone dark. Eithan waved a hand. "Oh, that." "That? I need an explanation, if only to know what you could possibly have thought you were doing. You had to realize I would take him from you immediately." "Teaching someone the Path is not illegal." "Neither is hanging yourself, but that doesn't make it wise. He's going to be isolated both for his own safety and to stop him from causing a panic, Eithan." Naru Huan slammed his glass down, remembering at the last second to cushion it in wind madra so it didn't shatter. Eithan sighed and replaced the pitcher on the table. "That does bring us around to the reason I'm here. I have a request." That was about as surprising as the sun rising in the east: no one ever came to see the Emperor without a request. "The Skysworn already have him in custody. I can't let a Blackflame go, Eithan. He'll cause a riot." "Let him go? No, no, not at all." His smile returned. "I want you to make sure he still has to fight." THE END Cradle: Volume Three Blackflame

Lindon's story continues in… SKYSWORN Cradle: Volume Four Available soon! Subscribe to my mailing list at www.WillWight.com to for new releases, free stories, and grave apocalyptic warnings!