Pirin laid his sword on his lap while trying to meditate. He needed to know the sword’s past.

It turned into an average Essence-harvesting session after a few minutes. As soon as he settled into a rhythmic breathing pattern, he began to cycle, and from there, he couldn’t stop himself from using his most efficient harvesting technique.

After all, why use a less efficient pattern when you could accumulate more Essence?

It was only after a few minutes that he remembered to use the Memory Chain, as best as he could.

From what he understood of Bloodline Talents, they were passed down from a wizard who had become so powerful that the Paths and techniques they made in their life became ingrained in their flesh. Their ancestors would have a way to trigger parts of the Talent without having to learn every aspect of it themselves.

Problem was, Pirin didn’t know how to trigger it.

Sure, there was something tucked away in the back of his mind, and when he pushed Essence to it, it flared up and activated the Memory Chain. Where it exactly was, and what channels led to it, was a complete mystery.

So he played around with how he moved the Essence, trying to feel where it was and discover it for himself.

When he pushed a tiny tendril of Essence to the very top of his neck, where his head met his skull, his mind clouded over.

He gritted his teeth, preparing for the barrage of memories. A few whimpered into his mind, but only a few, and they were unintelligible clippings of the distant past—centuries before his time.

“Alright,” he whispered. “Can I call that control?”

You can call it that, Gray said. Apparently, Pirin had been pushing his words over to her. But am I in control if I choose to only flap my wings a little bit, instead of a lot?

Pirin scratched his head, then blinked a few times. He was used to cryptic sayings from advisors trying to sound smarter than they were, but this one…well, it didn’t really make sense. “Yes, Gray. I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of control.”

Oh. My bad. She let out a soft tweet, which almost had the effect of her clearing her throat. But could you choose what it showed you? Could you do that again?

“Not yet. I’m going to keep working on—”

Footsteps. Pirin cut himself off. The sound echoed down the hallway, and it was getting closer. He leapt to his feet and picked up his sword, then stuffed it back into his sheath. “Come on,” he hissed to Gray. “We need to move.” As it stood right now, there was no one else in the tunnels friendly to them.

An orange glow began to seep around the corner. Definitely Saltsprays; they were carrying torches.

He ran over to Myraden and shook her shoulder. Gray hopped to Kythen and began to tap him unceremoniously with her wingtip, until the bloodhorn leapt up and bleated at her.

Myraden didn’t budge for a few seconds. Then, she bolted upright, her eyes wide. She ripped her spear off her shoulder and flooded the silk with Essence, and it straightened out. If Pirin hadn’t leaned back, the spearhead would have slashed through his throat.

“Should’ve expected that,” he muttered. As soon as she sat up, he whispered, “They’re coming. We’ve gotta move.”

“Saltsprays?” she asked.

“I don’t think it could be anyone else.”

They sprinted off down the hall until they reached the next intersection. There, they paused for a few seconds. Torchlight still followed behind them—from the tunnel they had just run down, and from another tunnel to the right.

The only way they could go was down a half-vertical chamber that was barely wide enough for Gray to fit through. He ducked his head and stepped into it

Pirin tried running down the slope, but the ground was too steep. He let himself slide, pulling his sleeves over his wrists to protect his skin. At the bottom, the ground levelled out. He jumped to the side, dodging Kythen, who skittered down on his hooves. Myraden was close behind, and Gray kept up the rear.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Pirin spun in a circle, taking in his new surroundings. He stood in a small chamber with barren walls. Two normal-sized, flat-floored hallways connected to it. Flickering light emanated only from one direction.

The Saltsprays would follow soon enough. He needed to make a decision.

He turned to the darker hallway. He and Myraden could sprint, but he wasn’t sure if that would matter. The Saltsprays were closing in. The groups higher up must have heard him and Myraden, and maybe they even saw one of the Familiars. Soon, they’d end up alerting everyone.

Still, the four ran. They reached another intersection with two more options. But it wasn’t really a choice. More torchlight flooded down the path to the left, forcing them down the right hand side.

“They might be trying to corral us!” Myraden called. “If they want us to walk into a trap, this would be a good way!”

“What can we do about it?” Pirin cycled his Essence to his shoulder, preparing a Winged Fist. “If we have to fight, then we have to fight. Right?”

“I…Kythen and I can lead them off,” she said. “Then, if you hit a trap and have to double back, you will have a clear path.”

“No! They’ll kill you!” Pirin exclaimed. “I’m the one they want, not you…”

“The Saltsprays…will probably find a use for me. They are not wasteful.”

“Yeah! Like joining labour teams and becoming wraith-food!”

They descended down another slight ramp, then arrived at the next intersection. A party of Saltsprays charged down the intersecting hallway. As soon as they saw Myraden and Pirin, they pounced. One leapt at her head, but she swatted him away with her spear. Another lunged at Pirin with his salt-knuckles. Pirin deflected the blow with the flat of his sword, then pushed the man into the corner across the way.

Flapping and pecking, Gray attacked a pair of warriors, and Kythen attacked another two. A cluster of ten or so flooded into the room. They attacked without hesitation, but they aimed their blows low—they weren’t aiming to kill, only maim.

Myraden swatted three away with a swipe of her spear, but a fourth slipped through and tackled Pirin to the ground. The warrior raised his fist, armed with salt-knuckles, and tried to punch Pirin in the mouth. Pirin twisted to the side, dodging the blow. When Pirin tried to throw the man off, another warrior from the side, pressing his boot down on Pirin’s wrist.

He blasted upwards with a Winged Fist, using his only free hand. It pushed both of the Saltsprays up and off him. Another pounced towards him, trying to pin him, but he delivered a quick puff of air out his feet to launch himself along the ground. The warrior landed on empty air.

Pirin leapt to his feet and struck the man with his knee, then lunged for his sword. A warrior kicked it away, but Myraden put him in a chokehold with her spear. When he passed out, she let go.

A pair of Saltsprays approached Pirin at the same time. He tried to launch two Winged Fists—one at each warrior—but both punches blended together, and the technique didn’t really end with the punctuation he wanted it to have.

Instead, it blasted an arc of air at them. It struck them both in the chest and launched them into the wall.

He whirled around, ready to face a threat from behind—he heard footsteps and rustling robes. But when he spun around, Kythen had already plowed through the man. “Thanks,” Pirin whispered.

The bloodhorn only gave a low, displeased bleat.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll watch myself.”

Pirin backed up until he was side-by-side with Gray. He flung out a few more Winged Fists, knocking a few of the remaining Saltsprays into the walls. Myraden picked one up with the loose end of her spear and slammed him into the ground.

After that, no more stirred—at least, not in the immediate vicinity. Down the hall they had come from, the torchlight was getting brighter, and alongside footsteps, voices echoed off the walls.

“If this was their trap,” Pirin said, snatching up his sword, “it wasn’t very good.”

“These were just early,” Myraden remarked.

“Then we’ll take the path they came down, and mess up their plans as best we can,” Pirin said, turning towards the hallway the Saltsprays had emerged from. But it wouldn’t work. More torchlight flowed from the same hallway; there were more Saltsprays coming from that direction.

“I will go that way,” Myraden said. “And I will make a big deal of it. It will lead the group behind us away, so you have room to escape.”

“Myra…”

“Your life is more important,” she insisted.

“No, no it’s not,” he hissed back earnestly. “I wouldn’t be a very good king if I believed that, would I?”

“Yet it is the truth.” Her Tundra Viens erupted along her arm. She pushed Pirin in the chest, flinging him down the only dark corridor.

It must have been a gentle push, because he only slid ten feet along the ground—instead caving in his chest and shattering his ribs. It still knocked the wind out of his lungs.

“You have a duty, Pirin, whether you like it or not.” She began to twirl her spear. “Right now, you cannot afford to be selfless. Especially not for one bitter, hopeless sprite.”

“You’re not—”

“Only you can save us, Pirin,” she said, grabbing Gray’s wing and pushing the gnatsnapper after him. “Go!” she yelled. “Run! I will not let them kill me!”

Pirin threw down his arms and stood back up, ready to run back to her side. But she glared at him over her shoulder, and her Tundra Veins flared. If she hit him again, it’d probably be much harder…

Pirin couldn’t deny it, though: he had come here on a quest for Sirdia, and she was giving him a chance to continue the quest.

He formed a Whisper Hitch with Gray for light, then ran off into the only dark tunnel.