Again, Saketa stood before the unassuming wooden box. Finally, after three years, the moment had come. She had earned her reward.

She didn’t turn around to check for Ayna. She had made it clear to the girl how important this moment was, and Ayna had taken her seriously. Besides, she was being watched.

Saketa opened the plain latch, and the hinges creaked as she flipped the lid back. There it was: Her Warden suit. Neatly pressed and folded, exactly as she’d left it.

She put her hands on it, rubbing the material between her fingertips. It was made from plant extracts unique to Kalero, and had a slightly rubbery feel. She took it out and let it unfold.

There it was. The black base, the decorative red lines, and the four-pointed star in the centre of the chest. And the entire thing was tailor-made to her exact measurements.

Merely touching it had a soothing effect, and not just out of pure emotion. The craftspeople learned unique ways to use power.

She let her fingertips run gently down the front. The touch and heat opened the night-invisible seam down to the crotch area. She then turned the suit around, and slid her left leg in. Her right one followed, and already she was feeling the effect. She pulled the suit up around her hips and ass, and then slowly, reverently, inserted her arms. Very little tugging was required: The suit settled against the shape of her body, almost like an embrace.

Finally, she closed the seam with another soft touch.

“Mm.”

She touched her own arms, then stomach, feeling the material some more. A Warden’s power came from the universe. Ordinary clothes served as a barrier between oneself and the cosmos, making things more difficult. The suit instead settled tight against the skin, essentially becoming a second layer to it. It was nowhere near as vital as the sword, but it still helped a bit with managing power.

The boots had rested under the suit. They were made with about as much skill and care as the suit, and were tailored just as precisely. They were boots for walking the path with; across ships and planets and cities, wherever a Warden’s work needed to be done. She slipped them on too, and it was amazing how much the dress-up alone made her feel like herself.

She gave in to a vain impulse and examined herself in a nearby mirror. Earning the suit in the first place had been the second-proudest moment of her life, surpassed only by what had come shortly after.

With that satisfied, she walked back outside.

This wasn’t quite the occasion it normally would have been; not the second time around. But she still had a bit of an audience, in the form of several elders, a few trainers and trainees who had a bit of free time, and of course Saketa’s own personal guest.

Ayna let out an admiring whistle, and grinned.

“You are ready, I take it?” Elder Dahak said.

“I am,” Saketa replied. “Let us do this.”

She walked, and her audience walked with her, higher up to the edges of the plateau, where the smiths practised their craft. It was an isolated area, well separated from the main training grounds. Trainees were always firmly told not to trespass, and for all that youthful defiance and foolishness were powerful forces, this rule was obeyed. Crafting a Warden blade was a serious and sacred task, and disturbing it bordered on blasphemy.

A raised flag indicated that no crafting was currently being carried out, and that they would receive visitors. This had all been discussed already, but firm rules existed for a reason.

A small group of people greeted Saketa’s own small group. Standing before the rest was a leathery, white-haired man in a formal robe. Saketa saw hints of the sword beneath it.

“Saketa Kan Tiro,” the man said. “Your sword is nearly finished. Our skill has done all it can.”

He held the sheathed sword out horizontally.

“The rest is up to you. Take it.”

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“I accept this with grace and gratitude,” Saketa replied. “Crafter of the Peaks.”

Moving slowly, savouring the moment, she reached out and wrapped both hands around the scabbard. The smith released it, and Saketa felt the familiar weight settle in her grip. She turned it vertically, and moved the edges of her fingertips over the crossguard, the grip, and the pommel. It really was exactly like her old blade. Or rather, as it had been when she first received it. The rest, as he’d said, was up to her.

She drew it slowly, admiring the gleam of the red metal, smooth and worked to absolute perfection. She was tempted to give it a few twirls, just to feel the weight and balance again, but it felt too much like questioning the smith’s skill.

Instead, she kept on walking. The others walked behind her, up into the slopes. Up, up they went, until they arrived at the Waiting Field. It was the last stop before the incline got truly taxing, and there was no reason to subject everyone to that. Of course, everyone but Ayna could Shift, but there was the matter of tradition.

Everyone gave her encouraging looks, eager to see her return with an empowered blade, and Saketa continued on alone.

The Red Peaks got their colour from a combination of rusty rock, and a certain type of mountain flower that grew in abundance there. The whole area looked less uniformly red up close than it did at a distance, but it was still a striking thing to walk among.

Still, she only paid it limited heed. Her attention was on the waves. The glorious waves all about her, unseen, and only consciously felt by those trained for it. The Red Peaks were a place of power. A natural one. And the higher one got, the stronger their energies were.

They were uncorrupted. There was death and decay, yes, but renewal as well, hope and love and harmony. It was where creation and destruction met that a Warden’s power came from. One couldn’t be a warrior without one, but not sane and kind without the other.

The old path got steeper, and there were brief segments where she had to climb. It was usually no more than once or twice her own height, and she could have easily Shifted her way across the distance. But the power wasn’t for bypassing every little difficulty, and there was an importance to the journey itself.

Besides, going a bit slower allowed her to bask more.

She stopped at one point, at something of a tiny plateau, and looked down. A modest cloud bank hid a fair amount of the view from sight, and the landscape itself hid many of the remaining details, but it was still a hell of a display. She could see, in part, distant mountains, forests, lakes, rivers and valleys. It was all a good, healthy reminder of her own smallness.

Saketa felt a resolution form within herself: If she did survive walking the Warden’s path, if she one day simply had enough as Bucca and the other elders had, and returned home, then she would make this climb more often. Simply for the enjoyment of it.

She smiled at the thought. Then she half-walked, half-climbed up to the next section.

The highest peak itself, Old Chief, tapered off to a fairly narrow strut. As Saketa walked the final few dozen metres, treading in the steps of dozens and dozens of generations before her, she called upon the waves. She touched them with her spirit, connected to them, bathed in their energies as they flowed through her. She felt, like almost never before in her life, the light. The glow. And it was impossible to touch it, to know it, without loving it with all of one’s heart. To want to serve and protect it. To nurture the light by defending against the darkness. That was what a Warden did. That was her purpose.

The energies manifested, crackling and booming in the air like lightning. She continued to call them, slowly and patiently, as she took the final steps, and it all gathered up above and around her. It was a storm of charged power, waiting to be directed.

And finally she stood on the top. It was flat and big enough that one could have walked in a bit of a circle. Saketa settled for walking to the middle. Then she drew the sword, and now she did give it an elaborate twirl.

“This blade shall be an extension of me, Warden Saketa. It shall be as strong as my will, and serve as my balance. It shall strike to defend, and only then. That is my oath. By those who came before me, and those who shall come after.”

She held the blade up, and called the swirling energies down.

They struck the blade, with a noise and a flash of white. A truly glorious feeling washed through her, as she once again had a balancing pole on top of the competing energies.

She was herself again. She was a Warden of Kalero.

Saketa lingered there for a while, on the peak, just basking in a sense of peace with herself and the universe itself. All her trials and pains had been worth it, to achieve this moment.

She ended it with a long, happy breath. The swirling energies were dying down, as much as they ever did around Old Chief, and she had people waiting for her. She walked to the edge, gazed downwards, and thought about the spot. Then she Shifted. Some made the journey back down on their feet, but honestly, why?

She emerged in a flat, empty spot, and a couple of people had a bit of a start, Ayna among them.

“Welcome back,” Dahak said. “Warden Saketa.”

“Thank you, Elder,” Saketa said. “Thank you all, for being with me here.”

“So, you’re at full strength now?” Ayna asked excitedly.

“I am.”

Saketa looked at the blade in her hand. Ajata looked at it too, with a hungry gleam in her eyes. In a couple of years, it would be her turn.

Ayna crossed her arms.

“So. Back out into the universe?”

“Yes.”

Saketa waved the sword slowly through the air.

“The path beckons.”