Felor massaged his thighs as he watched a crowd of people flood into the entrance of the mountain passageway. He hadn't known what to expect when riding a horse, but he hadn't thought it would be that uncomfortable. Though mounted for only a few hours, his legs and lower back burned with an almost unbearable pain. Felor silently thanked the gods when Raena spotted the first signs of villagers and suggested they stop. For the past fifteen minutes, they had been crouched dozens of feet away in the dense cover of foliage, watching the endless mass of villagers file into the mountain.

The mouth of the tunnel was massive; carved into the mountainside, it stood about fifty feet tall. The ceiling was jagged, with tips jutting down like rows of teeth. Soldiers stood on each side of the entrance and throughout the crowd, clad in silver armor with a golden-starred wreath painted on their breastplates. Four-pointed star-shaped metal links–like those of the wreath–lined the neckline of their armor, attaching to white capes flowing over their shoulders. Many soldiers conversed with the villagers, disregarding social status. One was even holding a young girl’s hand, guiding her to where her parents were deeper in the horde.

The whole sight was unsettling to Felor; it wasn’t every day that he saw people with power acknowledge–let alone speak to–Lowbloods. He wondered what sort of opinions they held for a Kalthorin like him.

Turning to make his way towards Raena, an object on the left side of his belt snagged on the surrounding bushes, causing him to fall face-first into the dirt. He glanced up at a stifled laugh coming from in front of him.

“Not used to your Eshara, are you?” Raena whispered, struggling to hide the grin growing on her face.

"Gods-forsaken thing gets stuck everywhere," Felor muttered, pushing himself to his feet but remaining low in the bushes. "How does anyone live with this?"

“You’ll get used to it,” Raena answered. “Soon it’ll be just another part of your body.”

Felor rolled his eyes. “Can’t wait.”

The two crept deeper into the vegetation, the noise of the masses dampening as leaves obscured them from view. Every few steps, Felor glanced at his Eshara, both amazed and wary, checking to ensure it didn’t get snagged again. Without turning to face him, Raena made a silent gesture forward. Back to the horse. Felor groaned inwardly. The walk back was about half a mile away, and once they got there, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more riding.

Nonetheless, the silent, uneventful hike gave him time to think. Like Raena said, he would eventually get used to having an Eshara, but at that moment, it weighed on him heavily. As he traveled further from the Top, his new reality settled in uncomfortably. He had drawn up hundreds of scenarios in the past, all culminating in the ravine where he would fight with sword in hand. None of them, however, included Raena herself completing his Eshara. Her involvement complicated things; the situation he was in now was far more terrifying than any he had imagined before. In those scenarios, he might have faced a severe beating and the confiscation of his Eshara for stepping out of line, but he wasn't sure it would escalate further than that; the uncertainty of death comforted him a bit. Now, death seemed almost inevitable.

Felor watched Raena’s braid sway along her back, gliding across her blue tunic. She had left the silk cloak with her horse, leaving the designs on her tunic exposed. Dozens of black lines swirled in intricate patterns on the cloth, all leading to the symbol between her shoulder blades: the Crowned Mountain of the Name Vaeloria. Fear twisted in Felor’s stomach. The other Highblood Names would do everything they could to undermine the authority of Xylovar’s crowned Name. Felor’s association with Raena meant that his public humiliation and death would certainly be high on their lists.

Every bone in his body screamed for him to run and leave this all behind; he was a fool playing a game he had no business being a part of. But he already made his decision, and no matter how scared he was, there was no going back now.

“We’re here.”

Raena’s sudden statement shocked Felor out of his thoughts. Lost in contemplation, he barely registered the gentle rush of water up ahead. Felor shielded his eyes as he stepped out of the forest and into a clearing illuminated by the midday sun. Tied to a tree to their left was Raena’s dark-colored steed, Santeth–which she said meant “shadow.” Directly ahead stood a collection of branching rivulets that trickled into a crystal-clear pool thirty feet below.

Raena made eye contact with Felor, then nodded towards Santeth. A wave of despair washed over him. It must have been evident in his expression, because Raena burst into a hearty laugh unlike the one in the woods.

“How about some lunch?” she managed to say in between laughs.

Felor scowled. “You mean we’re not going to ride?”

“Bah,” Raena muttered, waving his question away. “It’ll be about two hours until the passage is empty enough to travel through.”

“Can’t we just…” Felor shrugged, “Go around?”

Raena stared at him incredulously. “No way. That would take us another day, at least. I don’t know about you, but I plan on making it before the tournament starts.”

Something about that statement seemed odd to Felor. Is she… he shook his head. Before he could dwell on it any further, Raena fished something out of her pack that was tied to Santeth’s saddle.

River eels.

Felor gaped. “How long have those been in there? Gods, Raena, they have to be rotten by now. How…”

She smiled. “An Aercanter.”

“A what?”

“A ‘Construct’… Nevermind that. Let’s start a fire; I have a feeling you’ll like this.”

***

Felor watched Raena feed Santeth a sixth apple while he gobbled down his last eel. He grinned at the sight. Raena was right; Felor was enjoying the meal, but his mind kept wandering back to her mention of a "Construct." He searched his memory for any prior mention of it by Raena, but as far as he knew, there was none. Felor put the matter aside for now; there were other things to worry about.

Taking one last bite, he turned his attention towards the pond in front of him. Piles of dark rock lined the curved edge of the pool, with some spots appearing darker where the waterfall flowed over them. Kiiritan roots emerged from cracks, racing down to feed on the water below. Numerous fish darted along the shallow banks in rainbow blurs as their scales reflected the sunlight. Felor spotted blades of Somminaria grass breaking the water's surface, their blue hues fading to green with each passing day since the blue moon, undulating gently in the breeze.

The cave.

Felor shifted uncomfortably. He had come to terms with his mother; the more he thought about her as he left, the more he realized that he had made up his mind ages ago. The burning hatred he had once held for her was now nothing more than a faint ache. Felor was at peace with his decision to leave her behind without so much as a goodbye, convinced that she too had mentally made that decision years before.

Felor blinked to find Raena staring at him, inches away from his face.

“Are you alright, Felor?” She asked. “You have a somber look on your face.”

He fell backwards, surprised by her sudden proximity.

“I’m fine. Just… thinking about things.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Raena gave him a sad smile and settled down beside him, her knees brushing against his leg.

“Gods know, that’s all you’ve been doing lately,” she said softly.

Despite her words, Raena gazed blankly at the pond before them, lost in her own thoughts. Silence descended upon them, the sudden hush making Felor uneasy. In an effort to break the quiet, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Those white wagons,” Felor said, before he could process what he was asking. “What are they? Something about them seems… off.”

He thought he saw a flash of irritation on Raena’s face, so quick it could have been his imagination.

“Work of the Undulaar,” she muttered almost inaudibly.

"The… Undulaar?" Felor asked, recalling the name mentioned by his mother during one of her euphoric episodes, though he had dismissed it as a byproduct of her mania.

“Sick, sick people, Felor,” Raena said venomously, almost spitting out the words. “Six–no, seven?” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. They were an order of individuals with powers they claimed came from the gods. They ruled for centuries, before the people of the Northern Territories united and slaughtered them.”

She turned and locked eyes with him. Felor paled at her expression; her features were calm, but her eyes betrayed her fury.

Felor shook his head. Something wasn’t adding up. “They ruled for centuries? If all it took was an uprising, I don’t see why it took that long for them to crumble. If they were as terrible as you say, why didn’t they meet their end a lot sooner?”

Raena’s eyes narrowed, her glare intensifying at his question. Felor pried his eyes away, unable to meet her gaze.

“They were great rulers, the best this world had ever seen! Stomachs were full, no wars waged–whatever greatness you can imagine, it likely existed during their reign. Their orders were absolute; voting didn’t exist as it does today, but people turned a blind eye as long as prosperity continued.

“Then something happened: a young man claimed that his betrothed had gone missing a day before their wedding. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have been a big deal; she left because she simply did not like the man anymore–such things were quite common. Instead, other villagers called him mad, insisting there was no wedding and that such a girl had never existed! The man spent the next ten years wandering from village to village, searching for his lost love and arguing that she was real.

“Many suspected he was truly insane when he suddenly spoke out against a member of the Undulaar. His travels brought him outside a prominent tavern in the former capital of the Northern Territories, where he encountered a beautiful, dark-haired lady–the one he believed–was certain–to be his betrothed. He fell to his knees in tears, screaming that he had finally found her, that she was real. Except, the lady shied away, explaining that her heart belonged to the man she was with that evening, as it had for the past ten years. The man cried out in sorrow and disbelief. ‘It’s me! It’s me, remember?’ She shook her head; she had no idea who this man before her was.

“Onlookers believed that was the end of it, until the lady’s supposed lover emerged from the tavern. Upon seeing him, the man on the floor trembled and let out a blood-curdling cry, ‘THE UNDULAAR! THE UNDULAAR! OH, I HAVE KNOWN! THE UNDULAAR!’ The next day, he disappeared, and there was never any record of a man who had cried ‘The Undulaar.’”

Felor puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. Raena’s story, as well as her visible disgust, disturbed him deeply. Without uttering another word, she turned her attention back to the water. Felor furrowed his eyebrows, once again convinced that there was more to the story.

“Wait,” he said, “That led to the fall of the Undulaar? A man plagued by madness?”

Raena shook her head. “He wasn’t mad, Felor.” She sighed at his confused expression. “The Undulaar change things. That was–that is–their power. Those wagons? They’re a product of one of the Undulaar’s ability.”

Felor’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “But how? I thought the Undulaar were dead. I mean, you said so yourself.”

“All but one. All but Telitath–the traitor,” Raena said, her voice barely a whisper as she uttered the last words.

“This was about twenty years after the man’s disappearance?” She muttered. “Anyway, he was sixteen when he joined their ranks, having awakened with one of their abilities. During his induction ceremony in the capital square, his eyes went wide with madness, face twisted in despair as he began to scream out. Telitath named each member of the Undulaar–names he shouldn’t have known at that point–and listed their crimes to the spectators. It wasn’t until he called out Veridan that he looked truly horrified. He vomited on the cobblestone stage as he spoke. Abuse of his ability led to kidnappings, rapes, trafficking, and the creation of Constructs in places where Constructs should never be made.”

Raena paused, shaking her head in disgust.

“Do you know what Veridan and the people did?” she continued. “They laughed. They laughed! Veridan bound Telitath in chains, but as he was being carried off the stage, he turned to the crowd, his eyes completely sane. The chains around his body rippled as they turned into silk ribbons, snaking away to the ground as he shrugged himself free. ‘You will see,’ Telitath said, before he fled. No one chased him.

“The next day, Veridan was dead, his head on a pike and his body torn to shreds. Immediately, people all over the Northern Territory began making claims. Sons, daughters, husbands, and wives–seemingly never existing before–had been kidnapped or trafficked years ago. Minds were in turmoil: they weren’t real, yet they were. Madness, confusion, and fear swept across the country like a wildfire. That, Felor, marked the beginning of the Undulaar’s end.”

Felor blinked, mind struggling to comprehend Raena’s story. Chains to ribbons? Claims of people not existing one day, then the same individuals swearing they had been there all along the next? Felor focused on the former. Chains to ribbons… his eyes widened.

“Telitath,” Felor muttured. “He’s alive?”

Raena nodded.

“Chains to ribbons, wood to… metal? Those weird wagons; he did that, right?”

Raena nodded again.

That explained it. The Undulaar change things. As for Veridan… How could something exist and not exist? Felor thought back to the story of the traveling man; he claimed his wife was real, yet everyone else claimed the opposite. What about the woman he saw outside the tavern? It had been ten years since he last saw her, and it might have been his hopeful delusions… but the man seemed so certain. He knew it was her; he remembered her. Remember…

Immediately, the man’s words entered Felor’s mind, “OH, I HAVE KNOWN! THE UNDULAAR!”

The Undulaar change things.

Felor understood. If his suspicions were correct, the Undulaar were incredibly dangerous; the people of the Northern Territories—the Unelans—must have thought so too. With an ability like that, there’s no telling what was real or fabricated. They would be living in unsuspecting ignorance, all at the whims of one person. Felor shuddered at the thought.

"And the others' abilities?" Felor asked.

"No one knows," Raena answered grimly. "Telitath won’t say."

Felor froze. The way Raena spoke about the stories—about the Undulaar—seemed... off. The emotion behind her words felt deeper than that of someone merely hearing about atrocities. Her words carried a hint of familiarity. A sinking feeling enveloped Felor’s stomach.

“Raena,” Felor whispered. “How do you know these things?”

Raena sat with her knees to her chest, her eyes glossed and empty. Though Felor was certain this was the girl he had known for years, she seemed to be someone else entirely. As quickly as he noticed, it was gone. Raena jumped to her feet and stared up into the sky.

“No more questions, Felor,” she said. “We don’t have much time.”

Raena stared at him, arm outstretched, with lips curled into her usual warm, toothy grin.

“Grab your Eshara. It’s about time I taught you the rules of the Tournament.”