Cyril listened as the woman talked about Anadei the Lovely, Oracle of Beljeza. If he had not already unveiled the spirit’s true nature, he would have caught on sooner rather than later. She spoke without regard to any sort of linear chronology, rambling about ancient knowledge she assumed he already knew as well. Often she switched topics between one sentence and the next without any logical transition.

Cyril didn’t complain.

It was an absolutely fascinating history lesson about the region. Not a word of it sounded familiar to him. That was not too surprising, since the desert was vast and full of mysteries. Most of it was nondescript, but buried beneath its layers were the remnants of vicious battlefields and peaceful villages alike, lost to the sands of time.

He was tempted to consolidate his gains through meditation, but he wasn’t rude enough to do so while the spirit spoke. As the first sympathetic ear she had discovered after ages alone in the darkness, he endeavored to listen like an eager pupil. Which, in a way, he was. The woman’s revelations would provide more growth for his Dominion of Knowledge than any number of alchemical pills or monster corpses. Ascending to the Third Sphere with death energy would be like eating dirt to fill up an empty stomach. It would work eventually, but it wasn’t worth the effort.

Magical research also suggested the source used to nourish one’s Dominion affected its future aspects. Oftentimes, the link was not obvious, but if he reached the Third Sphere by slaughtering a wyrmhorde, he wouldn’t have been surprised to receive a new Knowledge boon related to combat. While that wouldn’t have been the worst possible result, funneling those resources into the Dominion of the Sun would be a far more efficient way to improve his destructive power.

From what he pieced together from the woman’s scattered storytelling, the city of Beljeza had once occupied one of the Great Oases. Anadei served as its Oracle. The spirit was vague when describing her powers and responsibilities. Not too surprising, given that she was the source of them.

Anadei had grown up as an orphan. She was chosen to become a Priestess at an early age due to possessing an unnaturally potent core. Over the years, she worked her way up through the ranks. Her agreeable demeanor, unwavering work ethic, and absolute piety culminated in the growth of a legend.

The spirit was painfully sparse on the details about why she had chosen to bond with the young Priestess. She spoke of it like it was a mythical trial, requiring epic feats of strength and rhetoric, but behind the fanciful words, it sounded like she had all but thrown herself into the Priestess’ embrace.

Cyril wasn’t one to judge. He doubted it was anything like romantic love or infatuation. Perhaps it was a feeling more base, or more ethereal. Either way, the ifrit-woman had ended up possessing Anadei as her bonded spirit.

Since she was light on the more esoteric details, Cyril prompted her to discuss the local politics and people of her time. None of the details sounded familiar besides the fact that humans acted much the same across the ages.

He had a pretty decent idea of what he was dealing with. Anadei had died, and the ifrit-woman had experienced that death as her bonded spirit. The trauma of losing her vessel had broken her mind--either she did not remember the final moments, or she refused to acknowledge them. She lingered in the material world, unable to fulfill the impossible task of reuniting with her partner; Anadei’s soul had long since been reborn in the river of reincarnation, her karma cleansed.

The ifrit-woman’s kind were not all that uncommon. He wasn’t too surprised to find a spirit haunting an ancient religious site, but he was surprised it was one of the lower celestials.

The woman grew weary of her storytelling before Cyril did. After explaining the basic details of the tyrant and his attempt to unite the entire desert, she grew silent and introspective. She retreated deeper into the recesses of her robes, curling herself into a tighter ball.

He took the opportunity to examine his soul.

Dominions:

Sun, Second Sphere 245/1000

Knowledge, Second Sphere 569/1000

Earth, First Sphere 70/100

Gravity, First Sphere 20/100

Mass, First Sphere 0/100

The increase in Knowledge was more than he had acquired in the past three years. Admittedly, much of that time had been spent with his nose buried in less-than-intellectual stories, half-curious what boon he’d receive from raising himself to the Third Sphere with tales of romance and intrigue. While a love triangle or close betrayal would have spiced up Anadei and the ifrit’s tale nicely, he chose to keep that to himself as he feasted on her historical insights.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Though he was pleased with the rapid progress, he wanted more. He knew an even better way to elevate the Dominion than some oral history lesson: Discovery. Exploration.

“May I enter the temple?” he asked.

After an uncomfortably long silence, the woman nodded.

Cyril stood and turned to look behind him for the first time. Seven steps led up to the temple courtyard. Each one was wide enough for a small child to sleep on. They were smooth and perfect, carved from the high-quality stone by a master’s touch. The stonemason had etched a rune into the center of each one. Most likely numbers in ascending order, based on their shared appearance. The first one was a simple marking, the next was a mark with a halo, and so on, each adding new flairs to a symbol otherwise identical to the previous.

After Cyril ascended the first step, the pressure from the world around him increased. He hadn’t noticed before while sitting on it, but actively moving brought it to his attention. His limbs were slow and heavy, like he was walking through water. The next two steps confirmed his initial guess: gravity doubled with each ascension. His leg burned as he lifted it and settled it on the fourth level. Heaving himself fully onto the step almost crushed him down to his knees.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be this difficult.” Cyril failed to keep the annoyance out of his tone.

The woman glanced up at him. Glossy strands of hair floated about her head in an invisible wind. “Your core is as unrefined as they come. Early Condensation, yet your soul houses one of the Heavenly Pillars. Your attempts to wield Behemoth are like someone trying to empty the ocean with a cup. In the city of Beljeza, even the little children are in Early Formation.”

Cyril struggled to keep his chin raised. “I admit, I’m a bit envious. My people mostly just roam the desert and play the game of lives.”

The woman looked away quickly. Was that shame? Hard to tell with the higher spirits. Their minds perceived reality on a deeper level. This one’s obsession with her former partner made her behave more like a human, but in the end, she experienced a fundamentally different existence than him.

“Anadei had humble beginnings herself,” said the woman. “I apologize for belittling you. You must admit, it is a matter of concern for there to be such a disparity between you and the spirit. Of course, you could accumulate a thousand lifetimes and still not match one of the Pillars, but I imagine there are other humans more suitable to serve as a vessel.”

“Many,” said Cyril. “And thank you for the apology. You know, you still haven’t actually told me your name.”

“I forgot,” said the woman. “Is the fourth step really your limit?”

Cyril shrugged. “For now. All I see at the top is a ruined temple. It’s not going anywhere. First, I have an opponent out there that has to die. The sooner, the better.”

The woman lifted her head from between her knees. “The monster you forced onto temple grounds so you could defile a holy site with violence?”

Cyril turned and took a step down. He exhaled in relief as the pressure bearing down on him lessened. “Sorry about that. I’m going to go hunt it down and finish it off. By the time I come back, I’ll have a new name for you.”

The world around them darkened. A reflexive use of the ifrit’s power, he guessed. Trying to hide herself from sight? Ashamed? Embarrassed?

"Make sure it is a good one,” she muttered.

He had to admit the woman had a weird charm about her, a sort of pleasant melancholy. Maybe he was just happy to find something better at impersonating people than the Half-Ascended Wyrm.

Once he reached the bottom of the steps, Cyril cracked his neck. “First, I need to follow the trail. If only I had the assistance of some sort of benevolent entity whose mystical influence encompasses travel, the future, fated encounters, and the like.”

“You already have a bonded spirit,” said the woman. “And I will never possess another vessel.”

Cyril laughed. “We don’t exactly specialize in stealth or tracking. And it’s not like you have to bond with me to use your powers. You did it for more worshippers than just Anadei, right?”

The woman rubbed her forehead. “Of course. I do not mind helping you. I have just...been down here for a long, long time. Longer than I thought, it seems. Much of my nature has changed to Darkness, when it used to be one of my most minor influences. Still, basic Star magic should be simple enough.”

Cyril strolled over to the area where the Wyrm’s ichor had splashed onto the ground. Blemishes and furrows had eaten a chaotic pattern into the sacred stone--a reminder not to let its blood touch him. Its corrosive effect would melt through his earth armor and flesh with ease.

“Hard to imagine a better tracking material,” he said.

The woman crouched next to him and slipped the tip of her finger into one of the indentations. She pulled it up to her face, examining the drop of ichor staining the point of her pearlescent claw. A wisp of smoke drifted away from it, but her spiritual flesh seemed otherwise unharmed.

She twisted her hand into a complex series of gestures. Some of them looked impossible for a human to mimic, new fingers sprouting and vanishing in order to form the appropriate shapes. The wisp of smoke broke apart around her dancing fingers. Reformed into a swirling nebula that revolved around her hand. Little specks floated away, settled into orbiting constellations.

Cyril hoped, for their sake, that the humans pursuing the Dominion of Stars had managed to simplify their rituals over the years.

The woman extended her hand toward him. All of the smoke coalesced into a small bead that floated above her palm. “This will lead you towards the creature. Once you accept it, it will hover in front of you and move according to your own pace.”

Cyril smiled. “And you’re just giving it to me?”

“Yes,” she said. “Consider it repayment in exchange for my new name.”

Cyril held out his hand, and the bead floated over to him. It hovered a few feet in front of his chest. “Ah, but that lets you escape from a debt of gratitude. I’ll have to skew it back in my favor after I return.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll do my best to help you reunite with Anadei. So wait up.” He winked.

The woman stared at the ground, the faintest smile on her face. “Come back quick and safe, then.”