Chp4

umb over her shoulder. "You think he'll let me walk away now? That's my one chance gone." Yerin stood over Mercy, rage and the frustration of failure boiling inside her. Mercy held up her hands, showing them empty. "I thought we should be more worried about them." She pointed both hands up at the sky. Since the portal vanished, Yerin had kept her spirit locked on Bai Rou. Now, she finally noticed the rest of the world. A golden cloud hovered only a hundred feet over them: a ThousandMile Cloud big enough to hold several houses. How had they not seen that when they arrived? How had they not felt the ones riding it? In her spirit, they shone like burning lamp-oil. One of those questions was answered as another veil dropped on another side of the island. Its presence felt wild, savage, eager for battle. A thousand

beasts roared along with the rising power, shaking the forest. Winged creatures took to the sky in a cloud. But she could understand veils. She didn't understand how the air could part only a few yards from her, revealing a towering black castle that stretched from the beach into the forest. It cast its shadow over her and Mercy both. It looked like it had been dropped from the sky, with halfcrushed trees emerging from its foundation, but she didn't hear the crunch. Had they been like that all this time, and her eyes had been tricked? The whole palace was surrounded by a smooth rectangular outer wall, its only visible opening a pair of tall, spiked gates. From behind those gates, Yerin sensed darkness, fear, and endless despair. Veils continued to drop all around the forest, so powerful that she was sure some of these forces had to contain Underlords at least. From the far shore, she felt a familiar feeling of nauseating slaughter: a Blood Shadow. Maybe more than one. Powerless, Yerin dropped to the sand next to Mercy. They had never been alone on this island. They were surrounded. ~~~ The instant the portal was destroyed, Yan Shoumei was overcome with anger. Her Blood Shadow picked up on her agitation and started to flow toward the Lowgold. It wasn't just her agitation. Something about his thin, white replacement arm stoked her Shadow's appetite, which was a complication she didn't need. She remembered herself just in time and pulled it back. Ziel, the horned boy from the Wasteland, was nearby, and she knew him by reputation. He was known to wait on the sidelines for an advantage. The second she struck at the Lowgold, he would take advantage of her distraction and hit her while she was distracted. There was no love lost between Redmoon Hall and the sacred artists of the Wasteland. Especially not now, after the Dreadgod's rampage. Instead, keeping an eye on Ziel, she drew her Shadow back into a cloak around herself and began backing away. Contrary to her expectations, he wasn't looking at her at all. He was staring at the broken portal frame with a dead look on his face.

Maybe he didn't have a gatestone. Shoumei had no doubt that the gold dragon and the Akura did, so if Ziel did not, he might end up as the only one trapped here in this pocket world. If so, she might owe that Lowgold thanks. ...though her anger returned when she thought of having to crack her gatestone. Each of those represented days of work from a Sage or better; they were not handed out frivolously. It was meant to save her life from a situation of certain death. Breaking it to replace what should have been a free trip home was frustrating at best. She backed up until she felt the cool air coming off the wall of water behind her. Ziel was staring at the portal, either lost in despair or in contact with his master. Harmony was cycling still, and thank the heavens for that. He even made her Blood Shadow shiver. Ekerinatoth and the turtle were engaged in battle, while the Lowgold scrambled around to recover something in the sand. According to the truce, none of them were allowed to leave this habitat until all six faction representatives arrived. They were still waiting on the young prince of the Tidewalker sect and the delegate from the Ninecloud Court. However, without the portal, there was no point in waiting. The treaty had been decided by the higher-ups in each faction, so Shoumei should never violate it on purely her own judgment, but... She slipped into the dark water. The Sage of Red Faith would applaud her decision. Even if some supervising Heralds could sense what was happening here, they wouldn't blame her when she wasn't the one to break the pact. No one followed her, or even noticed her leave. She was free to hunt. ~~~ Ekerinatoth snapped another whip at the retreating dragon-turtle. It cut a satisfying chunk out of his shell, but her opponent didn't turn. Instead, he used that Enforcer technique of his to dash away and follow his human through the bubble of water aura containing the vast ocean of Ghostwater. She lashed her golden tail in irritation. A black dragon's Remnant could fetch a pile of high-quality scales if you knew the right buyer, and she did. Its shell would have made a decent decoration, or the foundation for a

seventh-grade refinery. That was at least a hundred medium-grade scales. And who knew what was left in that box the human was carrying? He at least had that sapphire construct, which she suspected was connected to Ghostwater. If that were true, the Heralds would pay her in top-quality scales. Her tongue flickered out involuntarily. She would have had them already, if not for Harmony. Ekeri glanced back at the young Akura on the boulder. It singed her pride that she had to restrict her techniques to avoid disturbing a human, but pride was nothing before the reality of strength. She had to admit, she'd never personally seen a Truegold sacred artist with as much skill as this Akura elite. She'd known Underlord-level dragons who didn't put as much pressure on her spirit. She almost drooled at the thought of what riches he must be carrying on him. He'd have a void key on him somewhere, which might even contain treasures from Akura Malice herself. Her master would be pleased with her if she could turn over something that embarrassed the Akura clan. He may even bestow his smile upon her in person. Ekeri brought herself back to reality. She'd gotten lost in daydreams again, which was a long-time habit of hers. Drawing one claw down the wall of dark water, she snapped her tail. Immediately, her two attendants—in their plain white robes—appeared behind her. They were only Lowgold, but their Path was designed specifically to serve leaders like her. "Contact the Herald," she ordered. "Describe to her the situation, and tell her that the others won't be arriving. The portal has been destroyed. I request permission to begin immediately." The two attendants bowed, but before they could do anything, Ekeri's world softened to white. "Ekerinatoth of the gold bloodline," a smooth, overwhelming voice echoed in her very soul. This was not the voice of a Herald. She fell to her knees in awe, tears hot on her face to hear her name spoken in this voice. "I see you," he said. "I am with you. You may begin." Ekeri took the time for one last bow, wriggling in the sand to show her deference, and then shot off into the water. She did not dare to delay the orders of the Monarch of Dragons even a second longer.

~~~ Akura Harmony breathed darkness. This habitat was bright, but endless night pressed in from all directions outside. With concentration, he could filter shadow aura from the water outside and draw it into himself, purifying and refining the shadow in his core. He was at the peak of Truegold, only a small step from Underlord. His soulspace was filled, and a spark of soulfire waited at the heart of his soul. This sort of ordinary cycling would do very little for him until he broke through to the Lord realm. But Harmony was not a man who skipped steps. If he had to wait, he would cycle. When he had a moment free, he would train. When he finished training, he would train some more. There were others of his relatives that were closer to becoming Akura Malice's heir than he was, but they were generations older than Harmony. And they might decide to ascend, to wherever it was that Sages and Heralds went instead of staying and becoming Monarchs. Harmony intended to face that choice himself one day. And to get there, he couldn't waste a single breath. These others had disrupted him with their noise, so he had struck out at them. That was as far as he allowed them to occupy his attention. He hadn't even bothered to reach out his spiritual perception and scan them; it would be too much of a distraction from his cycling. His grand-aunt's voice echoed inside him, though it sounded younger than his own. "Begin," the Sage of the Silver Heart ordered him. Without a second's hesitation, Harmony opened his eyes and stood, marching into the darkness. Even Ziel of the Wasteland had departed already, so he was the last to leave. That did not bother him. Only the Akura family knew about the true prize at the heart of Ghostwater. While he feasted, the others would fight over scraps. He had no rivals here. ~~~

Eithan kept his smile on for the Imperial clerk, trying not to show the woman his irritation. "I don't want to inconvenience His Imperial Majesty, of course," he said. "That's why I'm doing it this way. He requested that I not show up in his chambers anymore without an audience, so I'm requesting an audience." The clerk sniffed. A Truegold woman of seventy, she reminded him of a taller Fisher Gesha; her gray hair was pulled up into a bun, and she looked like she was strict on her grandchildren. She sat behind a desk in the Imperial palace in Blackflame City, inside an unassuming office that would have looked more at home in one of the Arelius family's administrative centers. As an Underlord, he was allowed into the palace uninvited, but he was still supposed to request an audience with the Emperor. He had expected this part of the process to be simple. "During this time of emergency, all Underlords are expected to contribute to the defense of the Empire. The Emperor will not see any Underlords unless they have information contributing to the emergency effort, or unless they represent the interests of a major family or clan." She looked him up and down. "You are no longer the Patriarch of the Arelius family, so you do not have the standing to make such a request." Eithan had known this would cause him no end of trouble. Cassias and his father had taken the title of Patriarch away from him in order to bring him to heel. When the threat of Redmoon Hall was behind them, he would have to make his irritation abundantly clear. He calmed himself, focusing on the cycle of his madra. "Ah, I see the confusion. I have information that is vital to the fight against Redmoon Hall. But it is very sensitive. I'm afraid I can only speak to the Emperor himself." She narrowed her eyes. "She said you'd say that." He could have asked who she meant, but he had a good guess. Eithan turned, calling out to the hallway. "By she, I'm guessing she means you." There was a moment of hesitation as Naru Saeya struggled with herself in the hall. After a few seconds, she straightened her spine and walked straight up to the door. The Emperor's younger sister was a famous beauty, and she bristled with barely contained energy. Her wings were folded behind her back, and she wore a fan of peacock feathers over one ear.

Saeya marched up to Eithan without another moment of hesitation. "If you really have information, you can give it to me. I'll take it to His Imperial Majesty." He gave her a deep bow, complete with a flourish of his outer robe. "Your generosity moves my spirit, but I'm afraid I can speak only to your brother." She pushed the heel of her hand against her forehead as though struggling with a headache. "I've been in the city for no more than a day, and I'm back out to the battlefield tomorrow. While I've been here, I've dealt with emergency requests from every sect, school, and family in the Empire. My patience is long dead. If you don't want me to kick you from here to the Trackless Sea, then tell me what you want." "I want a spot in the Skysworn," he said immediately. "I have two promising students that I believe can become Underlords for our Empire, and I'm hoping to scoop up a third. They're gaining some experience as part of the Skysworn, but I have to be there to guide them personally." She lowered her hand, giving him a puzzled look. "You'll never take my uncle's place." "Surely the Skysworn could use a second Underlord who isn't in command. Especially now." Saeya chewed on that for a moment. She started to turn, then she shook her head, then she threw up her hands, then she folded them again. It was like watching two women have a debate in one body. In the end, she gave a frustrated sigh. "Fine, listen. Here's what I'll do. After you help me hunt down the last Underlord emissaries, I'll get you in to see my brother." "Or I could slip in there myself," Eithan countered. "You're fighting one way or the other. You know he's just going to tell you to get back out there. Do it, make yourself look good, and he'll listen to you." That made some sense. It was a large part of the reason why he'd tried to get an audience instead of popping up in the Emperor's home; he needed to stay on Naru Huan's good side. Eithan turned and saluted the Imperial clerk with both fists pressed together. "Excuse me, madam. It seems that I will no longer need your assistance." She sniffed at him and turned back to her work.

He gestured for Naru Saeya to lead the way out; not only was it polite, but he couldn't push past her without shoving her wings out of the way. "We'll be taking the fight to them," Saeya said eagerly, wings trembling. "We might be able to rid ourselves of them for good." That reminded Eithan of an idea he'd been toying with for the last few weeks. His smile widened. "I would like to make a quick stop first."

Chapter 4 Lindon burst through the next bubble, shivering and gasping for air. Spots of color blinded him as his lungs heaved. Another second, and he would have been breathing water. Little Blue trembled on his shoulder. There were things in the water. Long, serpentine creatures with patches of glowing blue running down their sides. He had thought they were schools of fish from far away. At least no one had followed them. He'd kept his perception behind him the whole way, and he hadn't sensed anyone behind him. No one except those massive spotted serpents. He shuddered again. Now his Blackflame core was all but useless, and his madra channels felt like sunburned skin that he had rubbed with sandpaper. He desperately wanted Little Blue to soothe him, but when she raised a hand to try, he stopped her. She was weak, and her powers were needed elsewhere. Orthos had stumbled out of the water after him, the light spilling from his cracked shell dim and weak. The instant he emerged onto dry land, his eyes rolled up into his skull and he collapsed. Lindon dropped his box, carrying the Sylvan Riverseed over to him. She touched him, sending her soothing power into his channels; Lindon felt it through his connection to Orthos. He couldn't tell if it made a difference. Limbs and spirit trembling with exhaustion, Lindon took his first look around at their new bubble. It didn't take him long. All he could see was a forest of tall, drifting grass. He called it "grass" because he imagined this was what grass would look like if he were the size of an ant. Each blade was dark green and rose to the height of a tree. They swayed in an invisible ocean current, as though they were still submerged in water. There was plenty of room between each stalk, so Lindon could see some distance away, but all he saw were more plants.

Compared to the entrance, this place was dim and shadowed. Most of the light came from yellow discs rising in bunches from the sand. He thought they were scripted rune-lights at first, but upon closer inspection they looked more like naturally glowing plants. Surrounded by tree-sized stalks, the illumination cast a maze of drifting, dancing shadows. A blue glow passed over the sand like a brief flash of starlight, and Lindon looked up. In the dark water overhead, a train of blue lights slid lazily past. It looked like a serpent constellation come to life, and Lindon shuddered, scooting farther from the wall of water. If the bubble hadn't stopped him from entering, he had no reason to think it would stop one of these massive snakes. Little Blue chimed in his ear from her spot on his shoulder, and he turned to Orthos. His spirit was still weak, his breathing unsteady. Before anything else, he needed to get Orthos some help. He had to cycle pure madra to his limbs just for the strength to stand up, and his Bloodforged Iron body was hard at work repairing scrapes and bruises he never knew he had. He had the Eye of the Deep, so he just needed to find a door. Behind that door would be something that could help him. He didn't know what exactly that would be, but he had to believe it. The forest of sand and waving sea-grass didn't suggest any direction, but it stood to reason that any exit would be against a wall. If it turns out there was no wall, and he was trapped in a bubble at the bottom of an endless ocean world…well, then he would have to wait for the others to find a way to save him. Yerin, at least, wouldn't leave him here. As long as there was a way for them to find him, with the portal destroyed and the key on this side. That was the sticking point. Lindon set off walking away from the wall of water, carrying his boxed possessions in his arm of flesh. He didn't have the madra to spare to run it through his Remnant arm and prevent it from passing through the box, so he just carried it one-handed. Lindon was counting on his footprints in the sand to lead him back to Orthos. He would prefer to take the sacred turtle with him, but Orthos' bulk made that easier said than done. He had to scout the way first, and just hope that Orthos could hang on until he made it back. Dread and panic pushed in like darkness outside the bubble, but he pushed it aside and reached into his box for the Eye of the Deep.

The round, cut gem was slightly larger than his fist. It felt warm in his hand, although that could have just been in contrast to the icy chill of the water outside. He glanced from side to side as he walked, trying not to miss any movement in the drifting shadows of the sea-stalks, but a thread of his madra plunged into the sapphire. The crack in the sapphire leaked another breath of dissipating madra. The internal construct was damaged. He needed to seal the breach in the sapphire or transfer the construct before it lost structure entirely; every puff of escaping madra was another piece of the construct lost. It would dissolve eventually, but it would be useless to him long before that. This time, the construct activated. A spiritual tug pulled his attention in one direction, where a spark of blue light only he could see hovered over the stalks. He wasn't sure exactly what the construct was showing him—he wasn't trained in the use of this construct, so he could be headed for an exit, a broom closet, or anything in between. But it was something. He returned the Eye to the box and trudged on. Lindon marched with eyes open and senses stretched. He kept his spiritual perception light and close, to avoid accidentally brushing across any enemies, but he couldn't march forward blind. The air smelled like fish and salt water with a few hints of flowers, as though he trucked through a seaside garden. There were no prints on the sand besides his. He hoped he was alone down here; Ghostwater was supposed to have been abandoned until recently, after all. A sudden, harsh noise echoed in the distance, like a whispered scream. He froze, weighing the risk of extending his spiritual perception. Whatever it was, it wasn't close, so he cautiously took another step forward. Blue light flowed around the shadow of a nearby stalk. He expected another of those luminous serpents in the dark water overhead, but his spiritual senses screamed a warning and his eyes snapped up. From behind the nearest blade of grass emerged a fish the size of a bear. It swam through the air as though through water, and its fanged mouth couldn't close fully over its needle-sharp teeth. A quick flash of his Copper sight showed him blue-green aura gathered into a cushion beneath its fins. It was swimming through water aura.

The fish's silver scales rippled as it swam by only two feet from Lindon's head. His scalp tensed at the discomfort of having those teeth so close, but the creature gave no sign that it had seen or sensed him. It drifted along, vanishing into the towering grass. Back in the direction Lindon had come from. Carefully, with no idea whether these things even had ears, Lindon turned and crept after it. He hated to be the kind of idiot who would follow a tiger back into the jungle, and he was haunted by images of the fish flashing out from behind a stalk in front of him with jaws open, but it might be headed for Orthos. After a moment, that harsh shriek came again, but it was much closer this time. It stabbed his ears, followed by a shuffling sound like something digging through sand. Lindon ran. He hadn't traveled far; it only took him a few seconds to retrace his footsteps to the gap in the stalks where he'd left Orthos. The fish was eating him. It had the turtle's shell in its massive fangs, and was working itself back and forth, trying to chew through the hard plate. Orthos' body shook like a rag seized by a dog, spraying sand everywhere. The fish wasn't getting anywhere with the shell, but it quickly bit another spot, and Orthos' body turned a little more. Getting that much closer to exposing his underbelly. The last of his Blackflame madra raged through Lindon's channels. His power gathered in his palm of flesh, a ball of dark, liquid fire. It would take a breath or two to condense enough that he could use it as a Striker technique, but as soon as Lindon began gathering power, the fish released Orthos. It spun around, baring its fangs and hissing at him. Then, with an abrupt silver flash, it struck. Lindon couldn't split his concentration to ignite the Burning Cloak, but his right hand came up without his order. The skeletal, bone-white arm flew up eagerly, seizing the creature. Slightly pointed nails met the creature's scales and clawed for a grip. Madra flowed through the sacred beast, so his Remnant arm could seize it easily, but it wasn't satisfied with only a handful. His arm held the fish in place for an instant, dragging it to a halt, though the force of its resistance dragged Lindon through the sand. He almost lost

his hold on the dragon's breath technique, but he didn't have the mental energy to wrestle his arm for control. At last, black fire lanced out from his left hand. The bar of dark flame speared the fish through the middle, burning it from the inside out, and emerged from the fish's tail in a spray of smoke and burning chunks. The madra continued at an upward slant, eventually hitting the water overhead and vanishing. His right hand drew on the handful of madra like a mosquito drawing blood, and it seemed to grow a little brighter. A brief impression of sated hunger passed through his spirit as the madra dissolved to essence. A chorus of shrieks, identical to the one the fish had let out, rose in the distance. Drawing from his pure core, which still shone bright as the moon in his spirit, he funneled power through his body and tucked the box under his left arm. Madra flowed through his replacement arm as well, and he seized the underside of Orthos' shell in his white grip. Box under his arm, Little Blue on his shoulder, Lindon dragged Orthos forward step by step. Silver-blue light rose behind him, casting more waving shadows as he passed through the stalks, but he concentrated on pushing ahead. He didn't have a hand to spare to pull out the Eye of the Deep, but the general direction was straight away from the wall where he'd entered. Which was perfect, because a sacred fish's Remnant was rising back there. He pushed himself faster, though it felt like his knees would buckle with every step. This was where he needed the Burning Cloak, but not only had he totally exhausted his Path of Black Flame, his madra channels were at risk of serious injury if he kept straining them. Pure madra was far easier on the channels than Blackflame was. He needed Little Blue's help to recover. Better yet, he needed a spiritual healing elixir, a few good meals, and three days of rest. More fish, identical to the first, darted out of the forest of stalks. The Remnant was nowhere to be seen, but the others circled him curiously one time. Then, with the single-minded unity of a school, they all turned to Lindon. He extended his spiritual perception over them. The fish felt like furious whirlpools, and the Remnant like a raging river. But there was something

else moving toward him, something that emerged from the darkness like dawn breaking. Before the fish struck at him, a golden whip emerged and struck it on the scales, leaving a scorch-mark on silver. Deafening shrieks rose once more, and the three fish turned in a fury on the source of that heat. Lindon didn't stay to watch the sacred beasts fight the dragon-girl; as soon as they moved to attack, he hauled Orthos away. He'd never developed a full-body Enforcer technique for his Path of Twin Stars, so he had no way to efficiently cycle it to his limbs for strength. He was wasting madra like this, but without the power of his spirit, he would never have been able to haul Orthos' weight. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his elbow trembled where it met the white of his Remnant arm, and every breath was a labor. Still, he pushed himself faster. She had chased him. He was certain she hadn't followed him immediately after he left, because she hadn't bothered to veil her spirit. He would have felt her approach. Which meant she had waited before chasing him. Why? He wasn't sure why she cared to chase him at all, but if she did, why give him a head start? Fair play? Her voice rose to match the shrieking fish, shouting insults at them and promising punishment for their insolence. She had started mocking a group of fish. Well, considering that they gave off the same pressure as a Highgold and they were undoubtedly sacred beasts, maybe they were intelligent enough to understand her. Regardless, he could only hope they stalled her long enough for him to reach his destination. And that this destination would actually save him. Every step in the sand cost him another fraction of his pure madra, and Orthos' presence in his mind was a constant, dark well of weakness and suffering. Every time Lindon pulled on his shell, he worried that he would soon be pulling a corpse. But his exhaustion didn't leave him much room to worry about others. Soon, his vision had narrowed to nothing but that point on the horizon, and his mind was filled with nothing but the next step. He almost didn't realize when he arrived. A huge shadow washed over him, and he jerked his sight up, certain for a moment that a fish was descending on him from overhead.

A rocky tower rose from the sand, slightly taller than the waving weeds all around. Wearily, Lindon dropped the box in his left hand and the giant turtle in his right. He fumbled for the latch, but his white hand passed right through it again. This time, he focused, cycling pure madra through his hand and flipping the box open. After another moment of exhausted flailing, he came up with the fistsized sapphire. When he poured another trickle of madra into it, he realized exactly how low he was; the construct drew out fully half of the power he had remaining. It pointed him to the base of the stone tower. Though he called it a tower, it looked natural, like a rough pillar that had been left standing after a river eroded the rest of a cliff over centuries. Only one aspect of its construction seemed artificial: a bowl-sized scoop out of the rock surrounded by delicate lines and barely perceptible script. The Eye of the Deep showed him a blue light hovering over that indentation. It took a moment for his exhausted thoughts to click together, but once they did, he recognized the bowl for what it was: a keyhole. Lindon stumbled forward, dropped to his knees, and pushed the sapphire inside. With a sound like milk slurped through a straw, the rock melted. Even the keyhole disappeared, leaving him holding the Eye and staring into a dark tunnel. Dry wind whispered out, carrying the scent of dust...and a hint of coppery blood and something sickly sweet, like a whiff of garbage. The tunnel extended down, beneath the level of the sand outside, and the walls were covered in long scratches. Another keyhole rested in the tunnel wall to the right. The wind from the tunnel whistled, and Lindon realized that he could no longer hear the fish shrieking. A bland, unremarkable-looking man in pressed white appeared out of nowhere to Lindon's right, hands folded behind his back. He looked down on Lindon and spoke in a quiet voice. "Shall I detain him?" With the last of his madra, Lindon pushed Orthos down into the tunnel. He could barely fit, and he slid a few feet down the smooth, sloped floor before coming to a halt. His consciousness didn't flicker.

"I think we have a moment to bargain," the golden dragon-girl said airily, stepping from among the stalks. A disc of shining gold liquid floated behind her head like a halo, she held a whip of the same madra in one hand, and her footsteps hissed on the sand. Some sort of Enforcer technique, he was certain. There were long, pale scratches across her golden scales. The fish must have tried to bite her, but failed to penetrate her hide. She pointed with one claw to the jewel. "Give that to me, and you may live. Give me your box without complaint, and you may follow me as my attendant until I withdraw." Lindon tucked the box under his left arm and gripped the Eye of the Deep in his right. He had to hope his Remnant arm didn't decide to disobey him now. "I apologize, honored lady. Perhaps once I have had a night's sleep." Then he jumped backward, slamming the Eye into the keyhole on the wall. As he'd hoped, the wall reformed immediately. But not before gold madra sprayed into the tunnel, filling it with burning heat. He flinched back, but then the wall finished forming, blocking the rest of her attack. All sound cut off. He turned back to the tunnel, with the only light coming from the dim red glow of Orthos' shell. He fell to the ground, catching his breath, letting the box slide down the slanting floor until it came to a rest against Orthos' side. He crawled over to it, leaning against Orthos' leg. If he touched the wrong part of the sacred beast's shell, his hair might catch on fire. Orthos could control that while he was awake, but not sleeping. Propped against the turtle's leathery skin, he looked into Little Blue's face. She seemed concerned, reaching for his forehead. "Just need a minute," he said. "Just a minute." He leaned back, breathing heavily, trying to soothe his spirit. He didn't notice when he slipped into sleep.

Chapter 5 Lindon woke some time later to a bright light glaring into his eyes. He shot up, sending shocks of pain shooting through his joints. His breath came in uneven, painful gasps, but he pushed it into rhythm so his madra would move. They're coming for me, he thought. I can't be here. I have to run. He felt another spike of panic. Where's Yerin? He spun, an Empty Palm gathering in his left hand. Over Orthos' bulk, he could see nothing but a sloping hallway lit in blue, long scratches leading down the wall. He turned back the other way: an empty stone wall. His ragged breathing echoed in the tight hallway. When his mind woke up, he remembered where he was. Alone, trapped in a Monarch's pocket world. Slowly, he let the aches in his body drag him back down. His throat was dry and painful, his ribs bruised, his back aching. He covered his eyes with trembling fingers and looked between them at the ceiling. The circle of runes glowed blue, bathing them in a watery light. He should stand up and check out his surroundings. He could sense that Orthos was still alive, but still unconscious and weak. They could all still be in danger. Breathe. He had to keep his madra under control. As a matter of habit, he focused on the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel cycling technique. It dug at his spirit like he was trying to drill a hole in his own heart, and it felt like metal bands were tightening around his lungs, but it gave him something steady to focus on. He inhaled and exhaled in revolution after revolution until he could make himself believe that the fight was over. The enemies were gone. Now that he had a moment to think, the memories closed over him like the icy cold ocean of Ghostwater. Yerin's scarred face as she tried to reach the portal to save him.

Renfei, poised to speak, as a red line grew down from the top of her head. His Thousand-Mile Cloud dissipating to mist. The two halves of Little Blue's habitat lying in the sand. Renfei's death hit him harder than he'd expected. He hadn't known her well, trusted her, or particularly liked her. But seeing her killed in front of him, so casually...so easily... She was a Truegold in full armor, and she went from alive to dead in a moment. She didn't deserve that. And that could have been him, just as easily. More so. Then there was Yerin. What was happening to her on the outside? It couldn't be worse than what was happening in here, so at least she'd been spared that, but he couldn't help but run through the possibilities. Without Renfei, Bai Rou could have decided he'd be better off without his apprentices. Mercy and Yerin wouldn't be a match for him, even together; Mercy was only a Lowgold. He could kill them both and say they'd all died with Renfei, and Eithan was the only one who would ask any questions. Ever since losing his arm, he would sometimes wake up and forget. He'd try to reach for something and see the skeletal stretch of white madra and the sight would strike him as wrong. That wasn't his arm. It would take his brain a moment to piece together the truth. Separating from Yerin felt the same. Looking down the hallway without seeing her was like glancing down and seeing his arm missing. A worried chirp shook him out of his cycling trance, and he pulled his hand away from his face. He was surprised to discover his fingers were damp, and hurriedly swiped at his eyes. His father would have given him a lecture for crying in public. There was no one here to see, but it was hard to shake the old fear that he'd be caught in a shameful position. Little Blue was barely visible against the ground, looking up at him in the azure light. She was pale and thinly spread; he could see right through her. Only then did he realize that his soul felt much better. He still had almost nothing in either core, but his channels had been scrubbed and cleansed. While he wouldn't want to fight, at least he wouldn't risk permanent spiritual injury with a single Empty Palm.

Carefully, Lindon lowered himself back down to the floor and held out his palm to Little Blue. "Gratitude," he said, as she clambered up to his wrist. She'd done what she could for him. And Orthos would not recover on his own. Yerin might not be with him, but he wasn't alone. These two needed his help. "Are you hungry?" he asked softly. The Sylvan Riverseed let out a long, slow tone that sounded like a flute. "I'll find us something," Lindon said, glancing over at Orthos. "This place was built by a Monarch. There are treasures in here we can't imagine." His voice echoed back to him in the corridor. He picked up the Eye, but pouring madra into it didn't do anything useful. It only pointed him to distant locations; too far away to be any help. Still, he carried it with him just in case. The rest of his belongings stayed with Orthos. He felt naked without the pack on his back, but the almost imperceptible weight of Little Blue on his shoulder gave him comfort. Together, they walked down the sloping hallway. Very quickly, he discovered that the corridor was not empty. There were keyholes like the one at the entrance every few yards. His first few discoveries were causes for excitement; if these were all exits, then he would be able to leave without risking an encounter with the dragon-girl or the fanged fish. Excitement gave way to disappointment every time. The first time the wall melted away around his gemstone, it revealed a closet packed with buckets. Many of the metal buckets were rusted through, the wooden ones rotted away. There was a puddle of something that smelled metallic in one corner. The next door was empty except for a pile of shredded and half-burned paper. The next was a broad storage room with hooks dangling from the ceiling. That was all; just empty hooks. The fourth contained bedframes. No beds, only frames. He found a food closet with all the packages torn open, their contents devoured. There was a massive, empty warehouse that looked like it was

sized to hold whole ships. But no matter how he explored it, he found no other exit. He'd been exploring for what he guessed to be an hour by the time he spotted the end of the hall. It had stopped sloping downward long before, so now it was just a straight hallway with a flat wall at the end. It was distant enough that he guessed there were sixteen more doors between him and the end. He had been trying to visit every door in order, so that he could easily keep track of which ones he'd checked and hadn't, but so far he'd found only garbage and rot. By this point, his thirst weighed on every thought, his stomach growled, and even this short walk had left his legs soft and trembling. If he couldn't find anything in these rooms, he'd have to return to Orthos and go out the front door. If the gold dragon-girl was still waiting for them...well, he'd have to risk that. With time pressing on him, he skipped the last rows of doors and moved right to the one at the end of the hall. If there was any one door that might have something in it, this would be the one. He opened the door, and purple light radiated out, clashing with the endless blue. The light in the room came from a knee-high well of worked stone, which overflowed with some glowing purple liquid. It spilled over the edges, pooling on the floor, trickling away into grates. As Lindon watched, a single drop of the purple liquid fell from overhead and landed in the pool with an audible plop. The room wasn't large, perhaps ten paces to a side, with floor-to-ceiling shelves against each of the three walls. All of the shelves were packed with piles of...junk. There was a chaos in the air that he felt in his spirit, a mix of brief impressions with conflicting purposes. Random light flashed from one junk-pile or another, giving off colored sparks. As he moved closer, he saw that some of the piles were metal, others wood. Still others were smooth and thin, as though made out of eggshell. Most of the surfaces had script-circles inscribed in them: mostly to contain madra, but others for a dozen other functions. Only when he turned one over and exposed a last trickle of madra fading to essence did he realize what he was looking at. Constructs. This was the storage room for constructs.

Their spirits had all faded away over the years since Ghostwater had been closed, except for a few bits of madra preserved by scripts. The fully spiritual constructs would have vanished entirely, leaving only the physical vessels of those bound to some material. Excitement warred with disappointment. He felt like he should be looking at shelves of treasure, the key to his escape from Ghostwater...but realistically, it had been too long. Some functions of these constructs might be intact, but they wouldn't last long and probably would accomplish nothing like their intended function. As though to prove it to himself, he flipped over one of the most complete constructs, in which he could sense flickers of madra that reminded him of the Path of the White Fox. With a tendril of pure madra, he activated its script. "...first success of its kind," a cold, flat voice emerged from the construct. "There were thirty-one other elixirs refined in the Life Well habitat. Which one would you like to see?" A beam of light emerged as though to project an illusion in light, but it showed only a meaningless jumble of images. Lindon grabbed the somewhat functioning construct—if nothing else, he could perhaps learn from its construction—and turned instead to the well. The liquid inside, which he was careful to avoid with his shoes, was not opaque, as he had first imagined. It was clear water, tinted purple, and it radiated a spiritual sense of focus and determination. Every minute or so, another droplet fell from the ceiling into the pool, which had overflowed over the years and ran down the sides, draining into grates in the floor. A few dark blobs at the bottom of the pool told him that some pieces of a construct must have fallen from the high shelf overhead. Bracing himself, he opened his Copper sight. The well was a dense concentration of shifting violet images that he associated with dream aura, though it had an equal concentration of blue-green water aura. The two powers flowed harmoniously, and from what he could tell, the water aura might even be stronger. He closed his sight, thinking. Was this involved in the Soulsmithing process for these constructs, somehow? The one he had examined definitely had a dream aspect to it. "Oh, don't worry about the water," a bright male voice echoed through the room. "It's just water." Lindon wasn't startled by the sudden noise—one

of the constructs must have activated because of his presence. "At least, chemically," the voice went on. "I know it's glowing and purple, and it would be very reasonable to think 'I will not drink this, because it will melt my insides,' but I promise you, it will not melt your insides. Not quickly, at any rate. Technically, everything erodes your insides slowly, doesn't it? Worth thinking about." None of the constructs on the shelves were giving off any lights, so Lindon examined the one in his hand. Still dark. The voice piped up again. "You should give it a drink. The master used to reward workers with a sip from the Dream Well when they had pleased him. Or when they, uh, needed to complete a project and didn't have time for sleep. Or when they had angered him, and he wanted them to be fully aware of the punishment. Total focus, that's what it gives you." Lindon turned his attention to the well. A cracked and rusted metal ball sat at the bottom of the liquid, in the middle of the other garbage he had dismissed earlier. With every word, light flashed from the cracks in the iron. Lindon rummaged on a nearby shelf until he came up with a couple of arm-length rods that had once been part of a mechanical construct. "You're ignoring me, that's what you're doing. A bit rude, isn't it? I mean, don't you think? First person I've spoken to in...however long I've been down here, and I was hoping for a better conversationalist. How long have I been down here, do you think?" Using the two rods, Lindon seized the metal ball and carefully raised it out of the pool. "Oh! Wait, what are you doing! Careful, there! Careful! If you drop me, I will take...revenge...on you. Such sweet revenge, like...hitting all your...toenails." Lindon lowered the flashing ball to the ground. Now that it was out of the well, he could see that the light coming from the construct was the same purple shade. Now, had the liquid taken on that color because of the construct, or vice-versa? "Oh wow, I can see so much more from out here. Thank you, giant stranger. Giant...glaring stranger. Are you angry at me, or do you scowl at everyone you meet?" Lindon almost dropped the ball. "...are you talking to me?"

Everything else had sounded like a conversation, sure. But constructs only said what you told them to say. All of those responses had been recorded illusions, scripted to be played under the proper conditions. The ball shifted in his hands, as though looking around for other people. "Nobody else in here has much to say, really. Although I suppose I was like that before, too, wasn't I? That's embarrassing." Lindon had to ask something that couldn't possibly be a predetermined response. "What is your favorite flavor of pie?" "...I'm not a pie-construct, am I? What I know about pie could fill a...a little...the tiny scoop you use to eat soup." "A spoon?" "No, that can't be right. That's ridiculous. Spoon. Get out of here with your nonsense words." Lindon knelt down next to the construct on the ground, staring intently through the cracks in the metal, aching to pick it up but still afraid of touching the purple liquid. "Are you a Remnant that they bound like a construct?" "I am the Keeper of the Dream Well!" the construct intoned from within its rusty shell. "I was built right here. Well, not right here in this room, obviously, but down the hall a little. A guide-construct, that was me, made to give people the rules of the Dream Well. 'Congratulations, favored servant! You have been chosen to drink from the Dream Well, so that your labor might serve the great work!' That sort of thing. That's why I have such a pleasant voice." "But you're...thinking," Lindon said, still peering into the construct. In the purple sparks making up the construct's true body, he saw what looked like the spokes of a slowly turning wheel. "That's a relatively new development. Some time after I fell in the well, I realized I could put words together in new combinations. Then I realized I'd realized it, and that was the beginning for me, wasn't it? The 'realization cascade,' that's what I call it! I don't call it that." Incredible. Was it only long exposure to this Dream Well that brought the construct to life, or did this reflect the advanced craft of a Soulsmith skilled beyond his imagination? "Do you have a name?" Lindon braced himself and seized the rusted construct, cycling madra to resist the effects of whatever the dream-water did.

Nothing. It felt like ordinary wet metal against his fingertips. "Before landing in the well, I was basically a big ball of memories with the ability to produce sound, so I didn't have much in the way of casual conversation. But they did call me things, let me see if I can remember...garbage, that was a common one. Defect. Junk. Chaff. Waste. By-product of a failed experiment. Failure, that was another favorite. Dregs. Slag. Scum. Refuse. Dross. These aren't very flattering, are they?" "Pleased to meet you, Dross," Lindon said, dipping his head slightly to the construct. "I am Wei Shi Lindon." "Oh, you have a name too! That's exciting. This is the first real conversation I've ever had. And I am loving it, by the way. Less...intellectually stimulating than I had imagined. I was picturing myself debating with great minds, you know, but this is still exciting! I'm still excited to be talking with...you." "Forgiveness, but a minute ago you didn't know what a spoon was." "Yes, but I know how to say 'intellectually stimulating' and 'refuse.' Let's call it a tie." Lindon nodded to the glowing purple water. "You changed after falling in the well?" "It's designed to boost focus and eliminate mental fatigue in humans," Dross said. "One sip, and you'll be able to work all night at peak efficiency! That was part of my pitch for the water, back in my prime." Lindon moved a little closer to the pool. "Well then, I think I might try a taste." There were elixirs that refined the mind, and they were expensive. "If anything, it will make you more alert and focused. Might even make you smarter, which ah...no offense, but...I mean, you should just take a drink. Let's leave it at that. Vials are over there on the shelf to your right." Lindon found a rack of thumb-sized metal vials, capped in a substance that felt like wax. He pulled off the cap and dipped it into the well; a small amount splashed on his thumb, but it still felt like normal water. He still had his misgivings about drinking a strange purple liquid, but he felt nothing sinister from the well. And it was obviously here for a reason; to water the workers made sense. If others had drunk from this, he could as well. Also, the thirst was starting to get painful. He tipped his head back and swallowed the mouthful of water from the flask. He expected a stronger flavor, somehow, or some rush of power, but

it was just water. It had the mineral taste of spring-water. An instant later, the effects kicked in. His thoughts sharpened. The mental haze of exhaustion was swept away. The world around him was clear, like his eyes had been cleaned out, and he took a breath of air like it was his first. Little Blue scurried up his back and onto his head, leaning over to give him a pat on the forehead. "I told you," the construct said. "Invigorating power to keep those motivated movers moving and those tired thinkers thinking. That was one of the mottos I was working on for the Dream Well, what do you think?" "It's like a full night's sleep in a bottle," Lindon said, staring into the empty vial. "Oh, that's a good motto for the well. I'll use that. The water also helps you focus when you're distracted, approach complex problems with new inspiration, or you can freeze it into little bits of ice and use it to make an ordinary drink glow purple." Lindon filled the vial. "Now, it is incredibly valuable. I'll have to check and see if you have authorization to take a second...oh, you're drinking it. You're already drinking it." The second draught didn't seem to have much effect. It was mostly like taking a refreshing drink of ordinary water. "I didn't get much from that. How long before it will have the same effect again?" "However long it takes a human to get tired, I guess. When you're already focused and alert, I'm not sure what else it could possibly do for you. That's a thousand high-grade scales per dose, by the way. In case you were wondering." There was a whole shelf of similar vials, and Lindon was already filling them. When he looked at the purple rivulets on the floor, it physically pained him to imagine how much of this precious elixir had been wasted down drainage grates over the years. "Has no one else been down here?" He couldn't imagine that other sacred artists would leave a treasure like this alone. "I'm not sure, to be honest. No one's been in here since I've woken up, but it's not as though I could see much from inside the well."

Lindon stoppered a vial and grabbed the rusty ball. "You're a memory construct, aren't you?" "You're carrying me. What's happening? This is a rush! But maybe slow it down." Lindon took him to a shelf where a half-crushed wooden box waited. "Do you know what sort of construct this was?" "It stored visual records from the rest of the facility. Most of these did, actually." Lindon extended his spiritual perception through the box. It felt like Dross, so this should work. "Do you think you could read these fragments?" When he'd inspected the room before, none of the constructs had been intact enough for him to use. Maybe Dross could get something out of them. "I'm not, ah…well, you're putting me on the spot, aren't you? I could give it a try, but I don't perform well under pressure." There was one intact circle on the remaining half of the wood, and Lindon scratched it with his thumb. Instantly, a ribbon of half-formed images drifted up through the box in a cloud, dissipating into the air. "Wait, we're starting? Put me over it, quick! Quick!" When Lindon held Dross over the smoke-like memories, the construct made a gasping sound. Instead of blowing apart, the images drifted into the cracks in the construct shell. Lindon pressed his eye against one of the cracks, fascinated. As the images soaked into the purple light that made up Dross, they merged into him. New lines formed in the purple cloud, and new lights sparkled inside the construct. "Mmmmmm ah, that goes down smooth." "Does it feel like you're eating it?" Many constructs of similar function could merge with one another, but it had never occurred to him to wonder what it might feel like for the construct. "Didn't have too many memories left in that one, actually, so there was nothing too special about it. It's like when humans share blood." "Humans don't share blood." "They should. Anyway, I now have access to some facility history records. After Ghostwater was sealed away, some Heralds came and looted the place. They had a few sips from the well, but it didn't matter to them.

They're Heralds, aren't they? Probably don't ever sleep anyway. Oh, I see it now! One of them is picking me up! Hello, me!" He was silent for a moment, then added, "Well, that's a bit disappointing, isn't it? He tossed me into the well. Ouch. Rejection. Never feels good. I wasn't me back then, but even so: painful." "When did you wake up?" "Take me over to the one that looks like a...shelled pinching beast." Lindon carried Dross over to the crab-shaped construct he'd set aside before, and once again Dross inhaled the remainder of the construct. Again, Lindon watched Dross' internal mechanisms grow more complex as he breathed in the dream madra. His mother would have given five years of her life to see this. "...fifty-six years," Dross said quietly. "That's how long I've been stuck in that well alone. Wow. Best I can tell, I've only been myself for the last five or so. That's the oldest memory I have." Lindon looked over the shelves upon shelves of other memory constructs. "These all have information about Ghostwater?" "Sure they did, once. This habitat was the headquarters of a project meant to design and improve memory constructs to accomplish the grand work. Never succeeded. Turns out, when they put a memory construct into your head, you just end up with a better memory." "I'm going to want to hear more about the 'grand work,' Lindon said, staring up at the shelves. "But first, do you have room for more?" "I think I could grow to like you," Dross said. "You know, eventually." Half an hour later, as they hiked back up the hallway toward Orthos, Dross sighed. "Well, that was disappointing." Lindon carried a full rack of twenty-four filled vials in one hand, and a bucket half-full of glowing purple water in the other. He'd found the bucket in one of the abandoned maintenance closets, and the handle was even scripted so that he could carry it in his Remnant hand without having to focus madra to the fingers. "I mean, I knew I could hold more information, but I have staggered even myself. I feel like I could swallow another whole room full of information. Did you know that a thunder eagle was a bird? Birds fly through the air, not through the water, I don't know if you were aware. This is a fascinating area of study. Why don't you fly?"

Dross' rusted metal ball was tucked into the waist of his robes, while Little Blue sat on his shell. She kept peering down through the cracks, staring at Dross' construct form, though he didn't seem to enjoy it. "Oh, she's...she's looking in here again. That's embarrassing. Could you...I mean, if you don't mind, could you please stick to yourself? Yes, thank you. No privacy here, I tell you." "You were telling me about the grand work," Lindon prompted, as the ground started to slope upwards. "The grand work is the whole purpose of Ghostwater, isn't it? Northstrider built this whole pocket world to find a way to enhance his mind. You know, sharpen it up. He had all the power he could handle, so he figured the way forward was to improve his use of that power. Fight smarter, not harder, as they say. There were three branches of research down here. This was where the Soulsmiths tried to develop an advanced memory construct that could take over some of his mental processes. Total failure. Their memory constructs never grew to be anything more." "That room was still full of constructs," Lindon said. He could only imagine what treasures had filled this place before; if only this facility hadn't been looted, it might have been packed to the brim with Soulsmith research materials. "Yes, well, after the first few Heralds left, they took everything valuable with them. All the advanced memory constructs, as well as the tools and techniques for making them. After that, they decided that this pocket world was still a good place to train their disciples, so every ten years they send some Truegolds in here for training. I learned all this from those security constructs, by the way. They saw more than I would have believed. And while I was stuck in a well! The world is unfair." When he reached Orthos, Lindon knelt and placed everything on the ground next to the wooden chest. Reaching behind him, he pulled out the Eye of the Deep, which was still slowly leaking essence from the crack in the gem. "Aaaaahhh," Dross said, "now that's a vessel. Pretty to look at, and only one crack! Luxury. Hey you! You in there! Do you even know what a life you have?" The Eye, of course, didn't respond. "This is the key to Ghostwater, but it's losing cohesion. If you will agree, I could link you to this construct. It should help repair damage to the

Eye, give you a better vessel, and expand your capabilities." Lindon hefted the gem in his hand. "Personally, I'd love to see what a self-aware construct could do with greater powers." Dross made a thoughtful humming sound. "That's a taller hurdle than just drinking in more information, you know. I'd need to be bound to the gem just like the original construct. Once I am, though, I don't see why I couldn't show you around. Give you the tour. I'd love to see the whole place myself, to be honest. But you'd need to find a Soulsmith to perform the operation." Lindon reached into his wooden chest and pulled out the tightly packed bundle of leather. He untied it, unrolling it on the ground. Soulsmith tools hung in pouches and from loops. "I am a Soulsmith," he said. Apprentice, he added, but only in his head. "Oh, are you? Brilliant, then! Let's do this!"

Chapter 6 The gates at the front of the black fortress swished open, trailing through sand. Yerin pushed herself to her feet, her empty core making her dizzy. Bai Rou stomped up to them in his heavy armor. He stayed far enough away that Yerin couldn't reach him. Not that he needed to. She had less fight left in her than a caged rabbit. Didn't stop her surge of hate and anger at the sight of him. If he hadn't held her back, she wouldn't be out here right now. Mercy brushed sand from her hair and robes, moving toward the gates. She tripped in the sand, stumbling a few steps forward to the entrance. An old, balding man in a pressed purple uniform scurried out. When he saw Mercy, he slowed, bowing to her with every step. "My apologies, Mistress, my apologies." Mercy brightened, hurrying up to him. "Old Man Lo! Do you remember me?" Old Man Lo cringed, dropping to his knees and pressing his forehead to the beach. "I cannot apologize humbly enough, but I am forbidden from answering any of your questions. I can't be sure what answers might be considered...aiding you." The cheer on Mercy's face faded. She looked down. "Oh, that's...that's all right. Don't worry." Lo looked like he was about to cry as he stood up. With trembling hands, he brushed himself off, eyes locked on Mercy. But after a few deep breaths, he'd composed himself and turned to the rest of them. He dismissed Yerin with an up-and-down glance, looking to Bai Rou. "You and your attendant will answer to my mistress. Come." Yerin jerked her head to Mercy. "Her?" Lo acted as though she had not spoken, turning back to the still-open gates. "Not me," Mercy said sadly. "We should go in."

She started walking, but Lo froze. "Ah...please, Mistress, forgive me. Exercise the quality for which your divine mother named you, and have mercy upon me." He was still facing away from her, which Yerin thought might be considered rude, but he was also trembling. Maybe he was too scared to see her reaction. "I cannot allow you inside," he continued. "Giving you shelter, you see." Mercy's face contorted for a moment. "I can't even visit?" "The divine command was...difficult to interpret. We cannot give you assistance, but how could my mere judgment be enough to decide what she would consider assistance? Please spare me and wait out here." Mercy slumped, bracing herself with her staff. Yerin was starting to see a bigger piece of the picture. Mercy's mother, the Monarch who had fought with the Dreadgod, had kicked her out. Without the help of her family. Seemed cruel. She'd have expected a Monarch to kill a rebellious daughter straight and true, which would be the end of it. Bai Rou still had not moved, but finally he spoke. "Do you speak for the Akura family?" Old Man Lo turned to give him a withering stare that plainly said he thought the Skysworn didn't have the brains to rub two sticks together. "The mistress of this castle is Akura Charity, Sage of the Silver Heart. She speaks for the Akura family, your empire of children, and humanity itself. Your hesitation in following her commands will be noted." Bai Rou fell to one knee. "I apologize and hurry to obey," he rumbled. Lo continued through the gate without a response, but as he did, a gold light grew like a second sunrise. Yerin had already drawn her sword at the feeling of a flame passing overhead, though exhausted as she was, there was little she could do. The giant golden Thousand-Mile Cloud blocked out the sun, but glowed brightly enough that they didn't see much of a difference. A woman's voice billowed out from its surface. "We all have questions for the intruders," the voice said. "Show some respect for our master and let us ask questions together." Old Man Lo was so short she could see the top of his balding head, but he looked up at the cloud as though at a noisy bird bothering his meal. He spoke in a normal voice, so he was putting a lot of trust in the other person's

ears. "My mistress will disclose all answers after the questioning, as she sees fit." He continued walking and Bai Rou followed him. "You give no consideration for the King of the Sands?" The woman sounded angry now. "Be content with your scraps, dragon," Old Man Lo snapped, spitting the last word. "You can thank your grandfather that my mistress hasn't torn you from the sky already." There was a series of roars from the cloud that were even louder than the woman's voice, and she spoke through a mouthful of anger. "I will remember this." Lo snorted and released the veil around his spirit. For an instant, an overwhelming pressure pushed down on the spirits of all around him before he veiled himself again. Yerin caught her breath when the pressure vanished. He was an Overlord. The dragons clearly felt the same as she did, because the Thousand-Mile Cloud vanished more quickly than it had arrived. Old Man Lo brushed his sleeves out and led the way into the fortress at last. It was like the whole place was designed to give strangers a case of the shivers. The only light came from dancing blue flames caged on the walls, and the hallway leading in from the gate was drowning in shadows. Spikes hung from the ceiling, and in the darkness, it was hard to tell how far overhead they were. She tried to extend her perception, but she might as well not have bothered. Darkness covered the halls, blinding more than just her eyes. They wound around the fortress until Yerin lost track of the way they'd come, which she imagined was the point. After a winding journey, Lo pressed his hand to a heavy metal door that barred their way. It dispersed to fog, and he strode through. Bai Rou and Yerin followed, staying as far away from each other as the width of the room let them. The fog carried a chill with it, and Yerin shivered. When they were through, the door reappeared, solid as ever. The room inside was lit by globes of frosted glass all over the walls, floor, and the ceiling many yards overhead. They cast everything in shades

of gray, but it was clear that they weren't meant to be helpful to visitors. The lights were there to show off the statues. Stone statues the size of buildings towered over them, lined up in rows on the sides of the room. The one closest to Yerin was an ape with feet braced on the ground and arms held wide, mouth open in a vicious roar. She could have used its toe as a table. The statue across from it showed a figure in full armor, sword in one hand and shield in the other. The sword was pitted, the shield cracked, the armor dented, and the figure's knees were bent in the process of rising. But still it raised its weapons to meet the ape. It was a theme among all the statues in the room. Along one wall, giant sacred beasts leaping to battle. Along the other, battered human figures met them. There were nine figures in the room. Eight complete statues and one block of stone in the sacred beast row. It stood opposite an empty pedestal. A woman sat in front of the stone, her hair tied up and gathered in a rag, her sacred artist's robes covered in a smock. She held a chisel in one hand, sitting in a cycling position, eyes closed. Yerin couldn't feel the force of her power, but she could see the aura around her. All the vital aura stilled like a held breath. The Sage's spiritual perception overwhelmed the block of stone, submerging it and buffeting it like the ocean's waves. Lo held up a hand. "You will wait," he said quietly. "You will die on your feet, patiently waiting, if she requires it." "I don't require it," said the Sage of Silver Heart, slowly coming out of her trance. Her eyes were a deeper purple than Mercy's, and they carried a depth and an insight that reminded Yerin of her master. But her master had looked like a man in his thirties. This woman looked like she might not be twenty yet. She rose, gesturing to the block of stone. "What do you think this should be?" "We would not dare to guess," Old Man Lo said. Bai Rou dipped his head down, silent. "A dragon," Yerin responded. "It's the one you'd expect." Akura Charity nodded, as though she had expected as much. "Would that not be too obvious?"

Yerin looked from one statue to another. "If you don't want them obvious, don't make them so big." "On the scale of what they represent, they are no more than figurines." Yerin didn't follow that, so she grunted. Purple eyes moved to Bai Rou. They waited a moment, then the Sage said, "Take him from me and question him separately. I will question her." Lo moved in a blur, and in less than a blink, he had soundlessly moved Bai Rou out of the room and shut the door behind him. It was over so fast that it felt like a dream. "We may release him when we learn what we need," she said. "It depends on him." "Keep him," Yerin said. The Sage looked at her, expressionless. "I'm stone-serious." Charity flipped the chisel like a coin. It flew up to the ceiling, spinning end-over-end. "We need to know what happened to the portal," she said. At the very tip of its flight, the chisel brushed softly across the stone of the ceiling. Then it fell. "Don't have a hint myself," Yerin said. She caught the chisel, still watching Yerin. "We're working with the Skysworn," Yerin said. "Blackflame Empire. Something was going wrong out here, something with Ghostwater, so we came to lay eyes on it. Three of us went in." Her voice caught briefly as she added, "Three of us stayed out." "There was a transmission from one Skysworn to the other," Charity said, flipping the chisel again. "Multiple enemies. Told us not to run in." "And you tried to run in anyway," the Sage said. "...yeah." Charity caught the chisel on one extended finger this time, perfectly balanced. Now she was just showing off. "I have monitored the situation on the inside," said the Sage. "I know exactly what happened in there. What I'm trying to decide is whether you are here, now, by coincidence or by design." "Not my design," Yerin said, but what the other woman had said caught her ears. "My...fellow disciple ended up in there. I'd give two fingers and a

pile of gold to hear what happened to him." Charity flipped the chisel up and grabbed it again. "After the great Northstrider withdrew his presence and protection from Ghostwater, six of the great Heralds in the world gathered to inspect the pocket world. They represented a significant portion of the world's military power, and were they to do battle inside Ghostwater, they might have torn the world apart. So they bound their spirits to a truce. "Once they had taken the greatest treasures, they departed, but they added one more restriction to their agreement. Every ten years, each could send a promising student to hunt for treasure themselves." The Heralds must have cleaned the place out, but a Herald's trash might drive a dragon wild with greed. "What about my Lowgold?" "All the students we send are Truegold," she said, ignoring the question. "They enter at different times, but to preserve a spirit of fair play, we have them wait in the entrance until all participants have arrived." She tapped the edge of the chisel against her arm, and for the first time, Yerin felt the sword aura around the tool. It was so condensed that it felt solid. "The Blackflame Empire is not one of the contestants. When we realized who you were, we experts held a conference among ourselves to decide whether you should be permitted to enter." Yerin clenched a fist to keep from putting a hand on her sword. It wouldn't help, but it would make her feel better. They had been a hair away from getting killed by a Sage, and they hadn't even known it. "As you were too weak to be a real threat," she went on casually, "we decided to allow your entrance. At best, you may have served as training for our students. At worst, you would affect nothing, and perhaps have a few fortunate encounters of our own." She pointed the chisel at Yerin. "So, tell me why the Lowgold destroyed the portal." Yerin lost her breath. "I understand how. The Path of Black Flame has one of the most famous variations of dragon's breath. But he clearly targeted the portal with intention. I wish to know why." Akura Charity folded her arms and waited.

"...couldn't tell you why Lindon does half the things he does," Yerin muttered. "But I could throw out a guess or two." She wanted to ask if Charity was sure Lindon hadn't done it on accident, but the woman was a Sage. She knew. "Sounded like he was fighting?" Yerin said, with a questioning tone. Charity inclined her head. "Then he could have been trying to lock the enemy inside. 'I'll take you down with me,' that sort of feeling." The Sage waited for her second guess, but this one was harder to say. "I couldn't swear to it, but he might have...if I had to guess...been stopping someone from...getting in." "Stopping you," Charity said quietly. Yerin gave her one nod. "My grand-nephew is inside. If I thought the Blackflame Empire or the Sage of the Endless Sword were making a move to upset the balance, I would move to maintain order." Yerin squared her shoulders, meeting the Sage's eyes. Usually no one recognized her Path, even if they recognized her master's title. Only those who had known her master. "However, I suspect it is no more than coincidence," Charity allowed. "We were not scheduled to return to Ghostwater for another year, but the Phoenix's rampage assures that the pocket world will not last so long. We were not supposed to be here. Anyone who intercepted our plans and then sent you to disrupt them would be...beyond inept." Yerin couldn't contain her question any longer. "The Lowgold. Is he still alive?" "The last time I checked, he was." The Sage watched her reaction, so Yerin kept it dull. "If he continues to survive, he could reap great rewards. But he will need to find a way out." "So there is another way?" "There is another entrance to Ghostwater on this island. Map." She extended one hand, and Old Man Lo appeared briefly, pressing a weathered sheet of paper into her palm before bowing and disappearing again. Yerin couldn't track his movements. Pinching the paper between two fingers, the Sage extended it to Yerin. "This is a rough map of this island, including the second portal."

Yerin pressed both fists together and bowed to the Sage of the Silver Heart. "My thanks. You've been…so helpful." Too helpful. It was suspicious. The Sage pointed to Yerin. "Helpful to you. Not to my niece." "Ah." That eased Yerin somewhat. Whatever was going on inside the Akura family, she could take advantage of it. "One last question?" The Sage inclined her head. "Why are you here?" Yerin asked. "I'm sure your grand-nephew is a generation's star genius, but putting a Sage on guard duty is like sending a tiger to hunt rats." A smile ghosted across Charity's face. "There is a larger competition coming. One with far more at stake than this one. I suspect we are all here for the same reason: to catch a glimpse of our opponents and stop them from stealing a march on us." "A larger competition?" The Sage of the Silver Heart reached out. She didn't seem to move quickly, but she had a finger on Yerin's forehead before Yerin could react. Suddenly, Yerin knew the way out as though she'd walked the path a thousand times. "A tournament," Charity answered, and turned back to her statues. When Yerin returned to the beach, she found Mercy sitting on a picnic blanket eating noodles from a bowl. The noodles were hot. Where had that come from? Mercy scrambled up, setting her bowl aside and almost spilling it. "Yerin! I thought you might not...well, I was going to give you another hour, and then I was coming in." Yerin didn't see a Lowgold forcing her way in anywhere that an Overlord and a Sage didn't want her, even if they didn't use direct force. "Lindon's still alive," Yerin reported. Mercy let out a long breath. "And the others too?" "I...didn't think about them," she admitted. "Well, the others are stronger than he is. If he's all right, I'm sure they are too." "She said her grand-nephew was in there. Someone you know?" Mercy scratched her head, looking away. "Probably, yes. She has more than one grand-nephew, but uh...it's a good bet that she's talking about Harmony."

"Your cousin?" "No, no, we were from entirely different branches." She twirled hair around one finger, still looking away. "He was my fiancé." Yerin's eyebrows raised. She had hoped that Mercy might recall some little bits and pieces about her distant cousin. She hadn't thought she'd hook a shark on the first cast. "It ended before I left the family, though," she added. "You called it off?" "He did. He's very competitive, and he doesn't take losing well." That could be bad, if he saw Lindon as a competitor. But he was supposed to be a Truegold. And if the Akura chose him to represent them here, he'd be one of their best. "Losing...to you?" Mercy winced. "When I was younger, I didn't hold back very well." "Well, he wouldn't have to worry about that now. You're still a Lowgold." She shrugged, leaning her staff against her shoulder. "Depends on the competition." While Yerin was still thinking that through, Mercy continued. "I don't think he would even notice Lindon was there. Orthos and Renfei maybe, but only if they bothered him." That only increased Yerin's worries. If Lindon stumbled on whatever prizes the Truegolds were searching for, he might not fight for them, but he'd try to snatch them somehow. Sure as the sun rose. Yerin set off for the woods, marching through the sand. "Where's Bai Rou?" Mercy asked. Turning, Yerin glanced from side to side. "I don't see him, and I don't see anybody who cares. The Sage said there's another way into Ghostwater somewhere on this island, so I'm finding it. The Akura aren't the only ones out here." She continued into the forest. After another few breaths, Mercy followed. ~~~ Lightning flashed and thunder rolled, and Eithan leaned over the deck of the cloudship to watch. There was something endlessly fascinating about watching a storm beneath him.

Naru Saeya, the Blackflame Emperor's little sister, gripped the railing next to him. Her wings—the Goldsign of the Path of Grasping Sky— glittered like emeralds in the lightning flashes. They were smaller and sleeker than most on her Path, and she was correspondingly faster. She shouted to be heard over the thunder. "I'm going in myself," she bellowed. "He'll die!" "No, he won't," Eithan said, watching the lightning roll behind him. Of course, he was also watching everything else. He and Saeya were not the only Underlords present. Chon Ma, the topranked Underlord in the Blackflame Empire, did battle in the sky all around them. He was a bear of a man, and he raged like the storm, carrying a black one-handed hammer in each hand. Black clouds appeared beneath his feet with each step, so he ran through the air, another black cloud hanging over his head like a picture of dread. He bounded in three long steps over to his opponent, pulling one weapon back. It drew dark gray Cloud Hammer madra with it, until it was shrouded in a dense fog. The Blood Shadow raised one arm to meet the blow. The hit cracked as loud as thunder, blasting the Shadow to liquid madra. It splattered away, losing its wings and falling through the air. Chon Ma had overextended himself for that strike, and the Blood Shadow's host wasn't about to let that opportunity pass him by. He was a serpentine man, tall as though he'd been stretched, wearing the black-and-red robes of Redmoon Hall. He raised a sword, so thin it was almost a needle, and gathered razor-sharp aura at its point. His strike was as swift and precise as one would expect from an Underlord, driving at Chon Ma at the exact moment he was distracted by the Blood Shadow. But the head of the Cloud Hammer school was not the first-ranked Underlord for his beard. He continued his blow, letting the momentum spin him around, his second hammer meeting the sword-strike instantly. Eithan was always impressed with such predictions. Those born without the ability to see behind them certainly learned to adapt. Both hits crashed against each other, sending the two men flying backwards. Clouds formed under Chon Ma's feet, and he stayed hovering in the air, while his opponent landed on the flat side of a flying sword. Eithan couldn't remember the Redmoon Hall man's name. Gergen? he wondered. Gergich. Gargol. It doesn't matter; I won't need to remember it

for long. The peacock feathers that Naru Saeya wore behind her ear were sodden with the rain they'd flown through to get here, but she looked as though the heat of her fury would dry them in an instant. "Get out of my way." Her wings swept back, pushing him aside, and she gathered up wind aura. As she was about to launch herself into the air, she froze. Then she spun around. "See?" Eithan said, staring into the storm. Saeya's senses were almost as honed as someone from the Arelius family. Her attunement to wind aura was truly impressive, and she could sense movements in the air from miles away. This storm would strengthen her Ruler techniques and aid her cycling, but it would also interfere with her senses. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have noticed so much later than he did. "What are you saying?" she spat. "Now we're all going to die!" A red Thousand-Mile Cloud rose up the side of their ship like a shark breaking the waves. He looked like he was in the middle of his twenties, his pale face framed by black hair that fell to his waist. He wore a dark, shapeless coat that covered him from shoulders to feet, and a blood-red hook dropped from one loose sleeve. Longhook, Underlord emissary of Redmoon Hall. Eithan's shoulder throbbed as he looked at that hook. It had been restored by the greatest healer in the Blackflame Empire, so he wondered if it was still wounded, or if it was just the shame of losing blood. He tried not to be embarrassed about taking a blow from a man named Longhook, but it was hard to restrain his shame. When the Bleeding Phoenix vanished, the emissaries of Redmoon Hall had been caught even more off-guard than everyone else. They were deep in enemy territory, surrounded, and their master's departure left them purposeless. Unfortunately for the citizens of the Blackflame Empire, that largely meant they killed their way through the population in whatever direction they thought led to safety. The Emperor had whipped his Underlords into hunting them down. Except for one minor detour to pull his disciples out of a basement, Eithan had spent the past several weeks hunting emissaries. This was a huge opportunity for the Empire; they would never have another chance to deal

such a blow to Redmoon Hall. The Akura clan would reward them handsomely for each Underlord head. But their strategy was all dependent on their advantage of numbers. Each Redmoon emissary counted as two opponents, since their Blood Shadow could fight independently. So they operated in teams of three Underlords apiece. They only had three such teams, along with one Overlord, but it had been effective so far. They had collected two Underlord heads out of a presumed six remaining in the Empire. However, now the weakness in their plan was revealed. Instead of threeon-two in their favor, it was now four-on-three against. Naru Saeya drew a sword of transparent, shimmering light from her soulspace. It looked like it was made of crystalline stained glass or fractured rainbows; whatever Soulsmith had made it, Eithan appreciated their aesthetic sense. "And you had to drag a Highgold into this," Saeya said. "I just hope you can fight." "What if I couldn't?" Eithan proposed. "Boy, that would be embarrassing in this situation, wouldn't it?" Longhook noticed him, and his lips tightened. Eithan couldn't read what that expression meant—was he excited to see Eithan, as an opponent he'd beaten before? Disappointed? Angry that he couldn't finish Eithan off last time? Before Eithan could decide, there was a red hook rushing at his face. Longhook's long hook was his Blood Shadow wrapped around an actual sacred weapon: a long, heavy chain with a thick meat hook at the end. It carried enough force to punch straight through their ship, and Longhook could manipulate it with shocking grace and speed. As Eithan had learned last time. Eithan met this attack with the same strategy he'd used last time. He poured madra into his iron fabric scissors and slammed them into the hook. He wasn't using a proper Enforcer technique, but he was using a lot of madra. The hook stopped, the chain rippling like a sea in storm. Eithan was pushed a few steps backward, but he took them gracefully. And this time, Eithan wasn't alone. Saeya swept in as a green blur, her rainbow sword flashing. Longhook's weapon coiled back of its own accord, blocking her sword, but her free

hand came up and made a fist. Loops of green madra wrapped around him, locking him in place. Eithan followed up with the simplest Striker technique anyone could use: a pulse of madra focused in a line. In his case, the pure madra passed through the chain of Longhook's weapon, weakening the Blood Shadow and causing it to falter for a second. Saeya was coming around for another pass. So far so good. They were keeping Longhook under pressure. Which meant... The red on the emissary's hook oozed back, revealing dark gray metal. It boiled away as Longhook drove Saeya off with one fist, pulses of force madra pushing her back. In an instant, he'd gathered up his Blood Shadow. His hook started to slide back up his sleeve, one link at a time, and he looked from Eithan to Naru Saeya. "Go home," he said, the words scraping out. They were barely audible over the rolling thunder. "We are leaving your lands. You will not see us again." "You dare ask us for mercy?" Naru Saeya's voice was hot. Her bright green madra took Longhook in the gut like a fist, carrying him off his Thousand-Mile Cloud and into the wind. His Blood Shadow caught him. It formed into his copy, standing on the railing, its hand grabbing him by the leg and pulling him back onto the ship. Longhook didn't even look surprised, his coat fluttering in the wind as he landed. "This will be worse than last time," the emissary promised, locking eyes with Eithan. Eithan drew himself up, cycling madra through his channels. He let his power as an Underlord blaze forth, matching Longhook face-to-face. "It will," he declared. "Last time, I did not reveal to you my ultimate technique." A flare of chaotic madra from below his feet was all the warning Longhook had. Eithan had scripted the veils into the cloudship's cabin himself. Then a beam of deadly madra, thick as a barrel and bright as the sun, blasted through the cabin of the ship and washed over Longhook. The light streamed out in a bolt like condensed lightning, too bright to watch directly,

streaking from the ship up into the sky. It faded out as quickly as it had emerged, the light fading to a thin line. Longhook fell from the ship, smoking and unconscious. He would probably survive the impact with the ground, but he wouldn't be happy. "I call it the 'ambush,'" Eithan said. Fisher Gesha poked her head through the ragged hole in the ship's deck. She held in her hands a smoking, twisted launcher construct. It looked much like one of the simple, physical weapons some lower sects used for defense: a cannon. "I didn't miss! Hm. I told you I wouldn't miss." Fisher Gesha, a shrunken old woman with gray hair tied up into a bun, looked like she shouldn't even be able to hold the cannon. Spider legs stuck out from beneath her, as she stood on her drudge construct for transportation. And to reach things on high shelves. Most Gold-level techniques couldn't do much more than scratch an Underlord's skin. But she had come up with a plan for a compound launcher construct that used six Striker bindings at once. If they were properly contained and focused, she had theorized, they could produce an effect that was greater than the sum of its parts. Under normal circumstances, the weapon would be too unwieldy to set up and use. The enemy would sense it coming a mile away, and activating six Striker bindings at once put too much of a strain on the construct's vessel. It was the sort of method that sounded better than it was. But Eithan had found her plans, and had wanted to see them in action. "A lovely strike!" Eithan called. "How did the script hold up?" "Strained." Gesha tapped a ring on the metal of the cannon's outer layer. "Warping already. And the Song of Falling Ash binding is an inch from falling apart, if you ask me. Not that you did." "We'll need more goldsteel plating," Eithan mused aloud. He couldn't afford that himself—not without the resources of the Arelius family. That irritation still threatened to prod him to anger. He would have to deal with that, when he was done mopping up Redmoon Hall. Of course, he could save up top-grade scales and eventually afford most of anything in the Empire. But it would have been so much easier with the family behind him. He pushed that annoyance aside and returned his attention to the battle in the sky around them.

"What was that?" Naru Saeya asked, holding her rainbow sword to one side, staring blankly into the rain. She ended up repeating herself: "What was that?" Chon Ma was bleeding from a cut on his face now, delivering a speech about honor to the remaining Redmoon Hall emissary, whose arm hung broken and bruised from his shoulder. "You skulk in the shadows," the Cloud Hammer Underlord proclaimed. "You rely on power that will never truly be your own. This is why you are weak." Eithan turned to Fisher Gesha. "Do you think you could squeeze out one more shot?" The construct flared to life.