Kiran exchanged his glaive for a spear, perhaps it was because of its familiarity or him trying to offset the rising feeling of disorientation by grounding himself with its familiar feeling.

But it barely helped the dread he felt as if he was walking into a slaughter — one of the likes that he carried out just prior.

Wandering lost upon the uneven ground, it seemed endless. The mist flowed everywhere, never ceasing or relenting. He waved his spearhead, wafting and cleaving apart the mist before him only for it to immediately cover his vision once more.

Above the clouds… as of now, it should be the break of dawn. A velvet orange sky with the faint lingerings of two moons and a rising sun was missing, replaced by the all-encompassing mist that absorbed it all for its own.

Though he was careful of leaving a deep trail below his feet to make his way back to the summit, he began to fear once more that he’d truly become lost amidst this mist.

So much so that he distrusted even himself, he repeatedly backtracked the trail he left behind in case something came along it, but nothing ever did. And then he’d continue again.

Constantly he expected something — anything to appear. Yet he couldn’t find a soul.

It was too distressing.

For him not able to perceive the makings of the mist and how it can affect him… it reminded him once more that he was insignificant.

And then that feeling would dampen him even further. He’d close his eyes and try to sense any comings of essence, yet he found nothing amiss. Despite that, the mist continued to press down on him, ever oppressive.

Desolate silence hung as thick as the mist itself, only broken by his steps and the rustle of his tattered garments.

“When was it… the last time something bewildered me,” he whispered, almost to himself. It was as though he tried to prove that he still existed as he spoke.

But then he froze, his head perked up like a mountain hawk expectantly. His spear raised and he braced himself accordingly.

The ground shook, and what few parts of the surrounding trees he could see tremored softly in response. Behind him, rocks lightly stumbled and rolled distantly.

And then it returned to the usual eerie silence once more.

But he kept still. He waved his head around, searching for any signs of something approaching, perhaps a hound, or the brood mother herself, or something else entirely.

Yet nothing came before him.

He kept marching down. It is hard to say whether he wishes to come upon something or not…

Earlier, he made sure to descend on the northern side of the summit, so that eventually, he may discover what occurred with the brood mother, along with the rest of her kin.

It was a little foolish. To so fervently head into the fray of what he believed to be the source reason of the risen mist.

‘But even so, what could’ve made the brood mother wail so direly?’ he thought morbidly.

It felt too sudden. He was just returning from a long scout on the horde, back to camp where Osias was. Yet as he approached the other side of the mountain, the piercing cry echoed about and everything turned chaotic.

Perhaps his curiosity will best him here, Kiran smiled crookedly. It was his perverse decision that led him down here after all…

But his travels carried on for minutes, then stretching onto hours. Endless marching as he descended the northern face of the mountain. He could feel it — nothing was amiss nor astray, as far as his memory served. He ventured this face many times before, although less wearily, as he scouted the brood mother and her kin.

So as he came upon familiar sights and scenes, he became increasingly convinced that his directions were proper. To be sure of his way back he continued to backtrack on his trail, even going as far back to the summit itself to check upon Osias.

And after his backtracking, he marched again. Until he came upon the true dwellings of the brood mother, at least where she should've been.

A vast open clearing, though enveloped by the dense mist.

A wide and deep impression where her titanic abundant body lay and sat idly. He remembered his first sight of her — a massive head right above this spot, peaking through the thick crowns of the surrounding trees.

Even the evidence of her hounds was left behind as his spear pointed down and traced the many fresh steps, but none of their makers were left.

Nothing approached.

And he approached nothing.

So he returned once more to Osias.

‘What could it be…’ He thought as his arm carried him over a steep step. At last, he returned to the jagged summit. Shriveled grey corpses of the many hounds lay strewn all over, and his eyes traced them until he found his brother.

Osias wasn’t lying carelessly but was standing guard wearily and alert with his sword drawn. He was seated atop a steep rising of the ground, keen on being able to oversee the entire summit.

He called out to him lowly, “Tired, Osias?”

“Mm.” That was all Osias said in reply.

He joined Osias at his post and sat alongside him. Setting down his spear, he pulled out the water skin fastened against his waist.

Earlier, he made sure to fill it once more during his descent into the mist, even testing to see if the mist affected it but it was normal… at least as far as he could tell.

Taking a large drink he broke the silence that hung between them:

“I found nothing. I haven’t found whatever makes the mist feel so dangerous.”

They just sat there, both unable to find the words to say — letting the piercing wind cut into them as they watched Laria and Dirus fade away as their father slowly grew to full mast above the horizon.

“Did you sleep earlier?” Kiran grumbled out.

“I tried, but I wasn’t able to,” Osias said in response, before quietly adding:

“I didn’t know if something was going to climb up above the mist.”

Osias reached for the water skin and Kiran obliged.

“I’ll go down and bring some fuel for a fire. Somewhere in these jaggs of stone should be deep enough — away from the wind and cold. You must be cold.”

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Osias raised his head slowly before nodding. He didn’t even realize how numb his fingertips were as they clutched the cold hilt of his blade until his brother mentioned it.

…It was hard to describe how he felt. His thoughts were slowed and jarred after the fight. Something the few minutes of sleep obviously couldn’t resolve.

The pain of his wounds too was blurred into this… dejection. He didn’t feel joyful, far from it.

He was relieved though — he survived. But it also disheartened him as it didn’t change the fact that it seemed that everywhere he could see was covered in mist.

Just one death to the next it felt like.

Perhaps one day—one day the very earth wouldn’t feel so suffocating to live in.

He let out a deep sigh, only to cough horridly. His chest and insides as well probably haven’t recovered in the slightest.

Between his ragged coughs, Kiran jumped off the small ledge and headed down once more, descending into the mist.

As Kiran disembarked from the summit, all he could think about was how Kiran could continue to labor himself. He continued to work towards something… As if the dreary red and corpse-lined summit was but a trifling drudgery as he marched on to the next.

Osias can’t remain disheartened. It would disrespect his brother, himself, and even those of the inheritance. He can’t.

So as he sat there, he began to hone into his control over the flow of essence. As he focused and honed in on the areas Kiran once battered into both his body and mind to take heed of, he imagined himself taking a swing of his sword.

Going through slowly each and every point of the movement, just as he clumsily did in the fight atop the summit.

It was hard. He thought he remembered and deeply ingrained Kiran's lessons and his teachings of the Red Sky’s War Art… yet the moment he took the brunt of a fierce blow, he regressed into wildly flooding his body in essence, violently filling himself in vigor as he became too engrossed in the heat of battle. He was still inexperienced.

It empowered him of course, how wouldn’t igniting his entire body not? But it then resulted in him moving not as well as he could have, leaving him open to getting pounced on or losing his footing.

Inefficient—he mistook the Red Sky’s ferocity for crudeness.

He needed more time. Focus. Patience. Discipline.

So the next time, even in the fervor of battle, he could fight as best as he could. Just as Kiran did.

…But even so, he felt like he got closer to what he thought was the ideal method of battle. It was still far away, so far from where he currently was. But today was a grand step closer, without a doubt.

He survived as well, he thought with a grim smile, that must account for something.

Returning his attention to his flow of essence, he found it difficult to read and direct as he normally did.

As if there were rocks scattered within a once free-flowing stream.

‘Injuries?’ He immediately deduced.

Perhaps the other Paths didn’t experience this, but he had a slight inkling that since his, as well as other Blood Path Finders like Kiran said, heightened awareness of the flow of essence stems from the nature of blood and blood essence.

So it wouldn’t be far-fetched that injuries affecting this flow took an actual toll on his usual keenness to control. But that only meant he needed to improve, to not allow something like this to disrupt him.

To truly control himself with a precise mastery. Surpass his natural awareness with skill built on expeirance.

So that his expeirance shaped the knowledge instilled by Kiran.

…He observed his flow by these injured areas. Faster and slower, it turned unwieldy at times and in different places of his body. Not so much so that he would be well aware of it in the heat of battle, but if he focused intently, he could tell it affected him.

Though… in a way, these ‘stones’ allowed him to be keenly aware of where he is hurt, at least in the sense of his blood rather than simply feeling pain there.

‘Is this how I would use Blood Mend? I still don’t know how an Ordeal Ability would work…’

He wondered if First Bloods with Blood Mend needed to focus on an area, or if simply exhausting essence to use it would heal him. It was puzzling to figure out as an Ordinary…. perhaps they inherently knew how to use Blood Mend upon their completion of their Ordeal.

He did recall the Path Finders saying that once they return from an Ordeal, it felt as though a fog has been lifted, as if something once obscured is revealed, bringing forth a name of their newfound Ordeal Ability and some basic knowledge of it.

But it seems that it isn’t complete — Kiran mentioned that he needed to experiment with True Extraction to explore its capabilities.

No… the best example of this lack of knowledge would be Garm. It’s said that he honed his skills with his elusive rituals through countless successes and failures.

He shuddered slightly as he recalled just how many died upon the tattoo in his generation alone — the latest generation subject to Garm’s rituals, which also meant the most perfected.

Even Garm himself would wantonly mention such things as he etched the ink onto him. A stray comment on how he once almost succeeded in somehow inscribing a certain marking onto a mother’s womb, only for all births to be stillborn…

As Osias began to work through the ‘stones’ in his flow of essence, thoroughly directing, changing, and observing the flow to improve his own control, Kiran had already returned.

Unbeknownst to Osias, a great deal of time passed as sweat rolled down his head despite the cold air.

“Done?” Kiran asked from below.

“For now.” He replied curtly.

As he lurched over to see Kiran, it seemed he had to dig out a deep crevice into the stone — once again reminding him to get used to such peculiar sights…

Small embers of a fire were made, sheltered from the cold drafts that threatened to kill them off.

Within moments of Kiran’s nurturing, the flames grew enough to radiate a soft heat as he climbed down.

Osias brought himself right against the flame, eventually deciding to strip himself from the grimy cloak he donned.

Maybe because of the heat, or through time his nose became less accustomed to his own scent, but he realized that they needed to be washed.

Blood, sweat, and mud caked all over, blending it all into black and brown tatters. And as his hair fell against his skin, it seemed that it too suffered the same fate.

“Put up with it. You can’t descend the summit to wash yourself. Still too much of a risk.” Kiran commented.

“Mm.” He relented.

But then he threw a curious glance at Kiran, who was sitting cross-legged, an odd sight due to his size.

But most peculiar was what surrounded Kiran as he sat quietly. Encircling him was a large, intricate crimson ring. It looked to be made of the same metal-like material as his assortment of weapons

Even more surprisingly, were the etched lines that covered the outside. As if a trellis of flowering vines threw intricate patterns all around it, so small they Osias had to take another, but closer look.

‘Training?’ He wondered with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Suddenly, the ring dispersed into liquid, then collected into something he had seen countless times now — a great menacing spear.

A thick crimson shaft befitting Kiran’s hands and stature. Accented with prongs, and a spiraled head.

Then it broke apart into three almost equally sized fragments. Each headed away from Kiran making a triangle with him as the center— the three fragments faced upwards like the poles of a banner.

All three fragments then pooled into a smooth flat circle and stretched into a long rectangle — earning a slight grimace on Kiran’s scowled face that didn’t unnoticed.

In the next moment, the face of this rectangle slowly formed a familiar marking, the sigils of the Red Sky along with other markings that he recognized, all three constructs formed into identical tower shields of immense size and thickness.

Then the shield to his left slowed dispersed and was made into a different construct, a great glaive.

Carved swirls traced the shaft as it headed up to its broad, but sharp blade head that gleamed a crimson hue against the lit fire.

The shield to his right then turned into something new that Osias had yet to see — an immense curved sword of sorts. Thick and broad, just like the head of the glaive, but much longer as it ran down into a hilt and pommel.

‘Another of his collection?’ He silently wondered.

However, just as he thought the spectacle was over, the three constructs dispersed one by one. Only for the next construct to be reformed anew as Kiran cycled between them. He watched as this cycling continued for minutes, each time getting faintly faster and more graceful. The constructs weren’t as intricate as they were before, but they vaguely became so as time passed.

It was something that seemed impossible by what he could recall… Kiran mentioned his ineptness when Osias inquired about the extent of Kiran’s control over True Extraction all that time ago.

Matter fact, Osias began to recall the miserable battle this morning… Kiran never provided him with a set of armor made by True Extraction before then.

…It seemed that despite the armor’s crudeness, the fact that Kiran retained the shape of the construct for so long despite being engulfed in battle meant that Kiran had trained immensely all this time.

Leaps and bounds so it seemed… despite both of them having the same amount of time in a day.

Perhaps he had less than Kiran due to his brother’s disposition as a Second Ordeal, but even so.

Kiran only continues to grow stronger.

‘Can’t waste time myself…’ He thought begrudgingly, his curious face twisted into a small frown.

His elder brother's repetition of cycles changed and continued many times, but Osias didn’t bother to count — too busy as he returned to his own stationary training.

Slowly time passed and the sun moved and crossed the sky. Their own warm light within the crevices of jagged stones never once threatened to die in this time, restless as the dancing flames were.

Suddenly Kiran opened his eyes, and all three of his constructs dispersed and collected once more. It flowed towards Kiran’s bare torso and crept up, slithering into a coil like a snake around the thickest of his right arm.

…Coiled into a dark crimson ring tight against his inked arm.

Osias returned his attention too as the bleak sun began to dwindle and die. Dusk began to seep into their rugged mishappened dwelling, the gathering darkness fended off by their small flame.

He tried to ignore his empty belly.

“Today… felt long.” He said quietly, before adding:

“Hey brother, how long ago did you begin training?”

KKiran paused as he thought and tried to recall as if it was difficult to say:

“Long ago, must’ve been as young as my Sixth Moon. I was bigger—stronger than the other kids. The caretakers must’ve seen fit for a large stick and handle to belong in my hand rather than having me pummel the other kids barehanded. At least then I’ll learn better at the same cost of the others wailing.”

Osias stifled a small laugh and asked once more:

“How about the tattoos then? I never asked about them.”

“Should be the same as yourself, by the Eighth Moon. The initial selection wasn’t as strict to pass as yours, so many more youths were included. But you know of Garm’s methods — it meant just that many more had to die before a handful were left.” Kiran said and continued:

“He was faster though, back then… took nearly half the time as your own took. He relied heavily on the child’s natural disposition more than refining his own technique. But that doesn’t mean it was easier for you though.”

“I see.”

…Nightfall was in full swing, and the moons arose in the distance. But all he could think was how long his day was.

Long enough that the battle with the hounds seemed so distant.

“I think that’ll be it. Wake me if something happens.” He said quietly as he slumped down on his back. Once again, another night he couldn’t sleep on his worn side.

“Mm,” Kiran replied lowly with a grunt.

Perhaps tonight he would be privy to a full night of rest — no sudden awakenings to a battle against tides of hounds.