The guard whirled around, just in time for Pirin to unleash a Winged Fist at his face. Stumbling back along the stairs, the guard swiped wildly with his short sword, but Pirin ducked out of the way every time. There was no room for Gray to join in the fight. She hung back a few feet, barely fitting through the stairwell with her wings tucked in.

That was fine. Pirin could win on his own.

The Broadcload body didn’t take as much getting used to as the Fracturenet. Its speed and agility was closer to the purpose of his Reyad already, and he was used to such enhancements from using his wind pseudo-fortification technique.

He drew his own sword out of his void pendant and took it into his hands, then lunged at the guard. He swatted the guard’s sword off to the side, then threw out another Winged Punch to press the man down against the stairs.

Pirin turned his sword over in his hand and pointed it at the guard’s neck. “Give up. This is mercy, and it’s the only offer you’ll get.”

The guard scowled and snarled. He didn’t have any obvious signs of bodily enhancement—and Pirin hadn’t seen any other Flares who did—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t strong. He kicked Pirin’s knee with a blow from his enhanced body. It was a normal body, but that meant it had greater physical strength than Pirin’s.

Pirin’s leg slipped, and he spun away to right himself. His feet planted down assuredly, and he deflected another swipe of the guard’s sword. The guard applied a fortification technique to his arms. At the same time, Pirin layered Reign and a shield of wind onto his sword.

He slashed to the side. His Reign broke the guard’s fortification technique, and his wind-shield enhanced his sword enough to hack right through the man’s enhanced forearms. The man screamed and stumbled back, but Pirin drove his sword through the man’s neck to end his suffering.

Pirin flicked the blade off, then sprinted up the rest of the stairs.

Oh…oh no, Gray said. Ugh, and I thought the advancement guck expulsion stuff was gross…now I’ve got his blood on me…

“You’ve stabbed people with your beak before,” Pirin said. “And now you’re concerned?”

It’s different when it gets in your feathers! You try getting blood in your feathers and see how you like it.

“I concede,” Pirin said placatingly.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they arrived in a hallway. Containment cells for wild-treasures lined the walls. At the very end of the hallway, Myraden and Kythen lay on the ground, a pool of dark brown impure expulsion surrounding them.

The enhancement process must have stopped—or slowed down—because neither of them were writhing anymore. Either they had gone unconscious, or they were just laying in place, unmoving.

Whichever it was, Pirin approached cautiously. He held his sword in a reverse grip and tucked it off to his side so he’d look less threatening.

He tried not to step in the puddles around Myraden or Kythen. The sticky liquid coated both of them, and Pirin wrinkled his nose. It smelled worse when it was someone else’s.

Meh, yours smelled just as bad, Gray said.

“You’re getting better at reading my mind.”

Yeah, or you’re getting better at accidentally sending thoughts over to me.

Pirin chuckled. He waved a hand over Myraden’s head. She didn’t flinch. He tapped the ground beside her head to send vibrations through it, then nudged her shoulder. “Can you hear me? Myra?”

Nothing.

They’re both out cold. Gray flicked Kythen with her wing gently. Big goat isn’t moving.

Pirin nodded, then took a seat close by. He was about to keep cycling Essence, trying to draw more in and fill his core up a little more, but his channels ached too much. He still had time, and he’d rip himself apart if he kept pushing.

But he couldn’t do nothing. He sat cross-legged and polished his sword until Myraden woke up, looking over his shoulder every once in a while to check if reinforcements would arrive. No one did, but they had to be running out of time.

When Myraden woke up, she bolted upright immediately, manifesting Essence along her fists and preparing to use a technique. Pirin scooted back along the ground to avoid getting hit, then said, “It’s alright. It’s just me.”

Kythen pushed himself up and trotted between Myraden and him, and only then did she calm down.

“You finished the main enhancement?” Pirin asked.

“I…did,” said Myraden. She flicked her hand off, then wiped her eyes. For a few seconds, her mouth hung open, and she stared at Pirin’s cloud gauntlets. “I did not think you would…actually…”

“Don’t worry.” He scratched his head. “I didn’t think it’d happen either.”

You didn’t know it could happen, Gray said. How could you have known you’d get fancy cloud gauntlets, after all?

“Nomad doesn’t have anything,” Pirin muttered.

And how do you know? Have you seen him without his heavy shirt and coat?

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Pirin actually conceded this time. Gray was right on that account.

Spitting, Myraden scraped her fingers down her hair, pulling enhancement expulsion out of it. “It is befitting of a king,” she said.

Pirin snorted. “Maybe. Do you…uh, want help?”

“Help?”

He tilted his head at Gray, and she flapped her wings, blasting a gale down the hallway. It dislodged most of the advancement expulsion from Myraden and Kythen in a matter of seconds.

“Gray,” Pirin whispered, “I thought we were going to wait until she gave up permission.”

Sorry…but look!

He turned back toward Myraden and Kythen. Both of them had veins of…was that red fabric flowing beneath their skin? It shifted and shimmered with the same texture as her silk spear shaft—only it was crimson, the same shade as Kythen’s horns—and ran up her arms like tattoos. They might not have been as distinct as Pirin’s cloud gauntlets, but they traced up to her shoulders and up her neck, then back down along her stomach.

What do you say? Gray asked. It’s about the same strength as yours? More? More strength, I mean? Uh…stronger?

Pirin gave the gnatsnapper a stern look. It wasn’t about being stronger than her in every aspect.

But I want to know…

It was probably about the same strength as Pirin’s, then. Dimmer, less visible, but covering more area.

“What enhancement is that?” he asked Myraden.

“It is a modification of Ískan’s Silkshapen body,” she said. She flicked out her hand and drew her spear out of her void pendant. With a powerful stomp, she threw the spear along the length of the hallway. It flew straight and boomed through the air, then struck the opposite wall. It pierced halfway through before the rock hugged it and caught it.

Pirin stepped to the side. He had expected her to run and retrieve it, but she stayed in place, holding her hand out. Red Essence glimmered in the palm of her hand. The spear wiggled, then ripped free from the wall and raced back toward her. She snatched it out of the air.

That was more range than her Bloodline Talent had ever had before.

Gray clapped her wingtips together as if applauding—

Not ‘as if’! the gnatsnapper exclaimed. It was applause!

Pirin ignored Gray for the moment and asked, “Gives you greater control over your Ískan silk, yeah?”

“I used southern silk as my wild-treasure,” she said. “It was normal silk, but it had been basking in the auras of the world for a long time.”

Pirin didn’t know what southern silk was, but if the Stormwall had been separating the North and the South for thousands of years, then that treasure was ancient. “The Aremirs are going to be pissed about that.”

“Not if we leave quickly,” Myraden said, marching past him.

“Now…” Pirin held up a finger, turning to keep facing her as she walked past. “We have one more resource to steal, yeah? Ichor-ink and engraving needles.”

“That would be the Aremir family’s most valuable resource,” Myraden said. “It will be their best-guarded. If we turn back now…there would be no shame in it.”

They didn’t have the map out, but Pirin didn’t need it. The Ichor-ink would be in the family’s main palace complex. “I’m with you. We’re stronger than ever, and we can do this.” He met her gaze directly. “We can do this.”

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Nomad followed Lord One to the Aremir guest camp, delaying and incapacitating messengers along the way and subtly dulling Lord One’s senses.

But Nomad had his perception trained on a single messenger for a few minutes now. The young Catch-stage rider approached from the north, but not from the keep or from the direction of Pirin and Myraden.

Thus, he was bearing a different message for Lord One. Nomad’s curiosity got the better of him, and he let the young messenger into the outskirts of the guest camp. It could be important for all to hear, and better yet, it might help keep Lord One distracted.

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Lord One ducked into Lady Neria’s when the sun touched the horizon and the sky was starting to turn orange.

It took him long enough. Neria resisted a scowl. She kept her forearms resting neatly on the table and her fingers locked together. If anything would’ve tipped off Lord One, it would’ve been her straightening up in the chair, but he made no comment.

He stayed standing at the opposite end of the table. He was a tall man with long brown hair and a green cloak. Heavy leather armour hung off his shoulders, but he barely flinched under its weight.

There were two reasons Lady Neria knew he wasn’t a regular member of the family: a blond horse’s mane ran down his back—his runemark—and a glassy sheen ran in tendrils along the surface of his hands and cheeks—the Flaremark, which only emerged on especially powerful wizards who had the resources and will to perform the best bodily enhancement they could get.

“You are building a union of wizards to oppose the Emperor?” Lord One demanded. “Speak plainly and clearly, and I may just let you live for endangering everyone on this estate.”

Neria laughed softly. “The only reason you’re afraid of the Emperor is because of the Unbound Lords—ironically, bound to his control. But I have Lord Three behind me, and if you joined us, we’d have two Unbound to oppose the Emperor’s two.” She shrugged. “Or I could order Three to kill you and be done with it.”

Lord One scowled, then slammed a fist down on the table. It smashed through the corner, breaking off a chunk. “Threaten me again, Lady Neria, and I will kill you on the spot.”

She needed him upset. She needed him afraid.

“Méoraed has told you everything I told him, I presume,” Lady Neria continued. “You have everything you need to consider my proposal. Join me, pledge allegiance to your new Empress, and you will live.”

“When you kill the other Unbound or make them join you, what then? You think you will just control the Dominion? There are still hundreds of lesser wizards loyal to the Emperor. If they pooled their strength, they might be able to oppose us. How will you wrest control of the mortal lands? There aren’t enough wizards to keep everyone in line, and you expect his armies to roll over and let you take the throne?”

“I do, yes,” Lady Neria said. “The carrot and the stick: promise of advancement resources and wealth, and fear of the Unbound Lords.”

Lord One scoffed. “And the mortals?”

“Even if they don’t bow to me when I take the Imperial Throne—which I find unlikely, not when my whispers reach the masses—I will have armies of my own to hold everything in line and ensure a smooth transition of—”

The flap of the tent burst open. An Aremir messenger ducked in, panting. He looked directly at Lord One. “Apologies, sir, but there is someone else who requires your attention.”

“I am busy. Leave me.”

“It is the Red Hand, sir. He is here.”