Pirin had been careful with the Ichor all evening. He kept it in the palm of his hand, trying to preserve as much of it as he could.
When all the other prisoners had fallen asleep, he waited just a few more minutes, then poured the golden quicksilver into his mouth.
Last time, in the shrine on the Elven Continent, he had only reached Hir Venias when he had activated his Reyad. Of course, that would have required Pirin to have his mask, and Gray, with her unbound core that he could latch onto.
Neither of those were possible at the moment, but since he had felt a mild tingle on his tongue, he was hoping that this time would be different. His channels were stronger, and he had advanced a stage. His channels were brimming with ichor, and though he didn’t know what exactly he needed to muster the Memory Chain’s creator, he had to be close enough.
A bolt of lightning seared through his tongue, then down his neck. It was almost like he was linking himself to Gray for the first time. He fell to a crouch, but he kept breathing. It didn’t suck the air out of his lungs.
He had hoped that clouds would whirl in front of his vision, just like it had when he had encountered Hir Venias on the Elven Continent. But only the edges of his vision blurred. When he closed his eyes, everything went dark—exactly as he had expected. For good measure, he waited for a few seconds. Nothing changed.
But, just as he was about to open his eyes, a voice rattled in the back of his mind—slightly more real, and slightly closer, than Gray’s voice usually sounded. Pirin had only heard a voice so smooth from Hir Venias.
“Welcome back, young Pirin,” Hir Venias said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
“I…uh, I got that feeling, sir,” Pirin whispered, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake any of the other prisoners in the cell.
“Why are you here? You are running out of time, and you have not even tried to climb.”
“I have questions.”
“I’d expect no less,” said the old elven king. “All who learn to use the Memory Chain have endless questions, but if I tried to answer them all, you would be here for weeks.” He took a few seconds, then added, “Choose the most important.”
“These places, you’re bound to them, right?” Pirin asked.
“Indeed. I helped create these so-called ‘labyrinths’, and as one of my greatest achievements, the remnants of my will were bound to it when I ascended beyond your realm. A bit of an elven trick, though it seems that a few of my brethren from that age copied my work and left behind remnants of their will before ascending, too.”
Pirin was starting to see why it’d take so long to wring the answers from the old elven king. “Then you have to know about a tunnel that can get me directly into the depths of the structure, right?”
“It has been a long, long time since we built these structures. I could explain their purpose, but as it stands, your understanding of it all is quite limited, and I couldn’t explain it in sufficient—”
“I didn’t ask about what they were for, sir,” Pirin said gently—he didn’t think Hir Venias (or what remained of him) could hurt him, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Maybe it’d make the wraiths more aggressive. “I need to know how to get down to the core of this place, find the Reign gems, and get out of here.”
“The top level of the labyrinth is much like the elven shrines,” Venias said. “There is a square grid, and there should be a tunnel along one of the outer edges. I cannot recall which edge it is, but it should be in the center of the wall. We hid them so no one could disrupt the inner workings of the labyrinths in the years after our ascensions.”
“How do I open it?”
“A flood of Essence should do the trick now. The rune-lines are old and dusty, and though we tried to protect them from erosion, I cannot make any guarantees. You will need to find the right spot, and you will know it when the flood of Essence works. The door will open—in one way or another.”
“I’m not sure if I…uh, should I be worried by that?”
“Does stone concern you?”
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Pirin cleared his throat. “Well…a little. This place is filled with stone wraiths. But the door isn’t a wraith, right?”
“It isn’t.” This time, Hir Venias’ voice oozed a touch of disappointment. Pirin was glad he couldn’t see an apparition of the elf, or he figured he might have to watch the disappointment manifest firsthand.
But Pirin couldn’t waste any more time. He had his first answer. Next question: “Where are the Reign gems?”
“They condense as a product of the vast rune-line formations around the labyrinth and how they manipulate the Eane,” Venias droned, speaking slowly. “We buried them so close to a vein of Ichor that the rune-lines activated from the aura field alone. To counteract this process, we built a chamber at the center of the facility where the Reign gems and crystal debris would condense—given many centuries. That way, they wouldn’t interfere with any of the runes. It should be…a large round room. The labyrinths were all vastly different, yes, but they have some cohesive features.”
“How deep?”
“When you reach the end of the direct tunnels, you will need to descend…two levels, then head towards the center of the island as best as you can navigate—the condensation chamber will not be hard to find, however, reaching it will be the harder part: the wraiths that deep in the chamber are strong, and you will undergo a few trials.”
“How do I use the gems?” Pirin couldn’t waste any more time with politeness, and so far, Venias hadn’t punished him for it.
“Crush them up as best as you can and wrap them into the wrapping of your sword’s hilt,” Venias said quickly, as if he had been anticipating the question. “At least, that is the easiest way of doing it. But they will only improve your ability to feel the Reign of a weapon if there is something already there to feel. It is not a miracle pill, and even if you feel a slight tug, it will not achieve miracles—you’d best keep working at your foundation and using the Memory Chain if you want true progress. The Reign gems are proof of your prospects as a student; nothing more.”
Pirin nodded, though he doubted Venias could see. “You…showed me a vision of Myraden before. Can you show me more about the man who gave me this sword? Well…my sword; I don’t have it here right now.”
“I can show you more, but it is no substitute for your use of the Memory Chain,” said Venias. “Shut your eyes and clear out the center of your mind, and I may be able to slide in a vision for you.”
“Thank—”
Before Pirin could finish, something tugged near the back of his mind, around where the Memory Chain resided. Pirin gave himself over to the tug, pushing all the thoughts and stray feelings off to the side.
A vision brimmed in the back of his mind, dim and blurry.
He was in a cave, which wasn’t anything special—he seemed to find himself in lots of those. But this time was different. He was panting, breathing heavily, and something invisible gripped his chest. A crack ran across his glasses, blood covered his hands, and his eyes stung.
“I can’t…” Pirin had breathed in the memory. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough…I’m not a king, I’m just a boy from a little island in the middle of nowhere…”
Kalénier knelt in front of him, gently holding his hand. He wore his same armour as before, but now, it had dents and scuffs. Dirt and blood smeared his face. Pirin tried to slide the vision into his mental timeline of the past: it was some time between when he had been rescued from Kerstel and the Dominion, and before he had made it to the capital of Sirdia.
In the memory, Pirin stopped hyperventilating. He slumped down and came to a crouch.
“I am truly sorry this fell upon you,” Kalénier said.
Pirin brought his hand to his face and brushed his eyeglasses with his finger. His last memory of Mr. Regos was cracked and damaged—somehow—and something had almost killed him.
“I shouldn’t be this. I’m not meant for this,” Pirin said.
“The idea that you’re meant for anything is ridiculous,” Kalénier whispered. “You make your own choices, no matter what your bloodline is. But the Dominion, the Aerdians, everyone encroaching on Sirdia? They don’t want that for you. They want you to be mediocre and weak. Is that what you want?”
“I want…to help people.” That was what Mr. Regos had commanded him to do.
“Save Sirdia, put an end to this war, and you’ll have what you want.”
The vision ended, stranding Pirin in the dark once again.
“Does that help?” Hir Venias asked. “He was a guardian and an instructor, but he had a core to him—even if he couldn’t wield magic or cultivate Essence.”
Pirin thought he understood. The feeling of the sword was confidence and violence; the feeling of Kalénier was reassurance. If Pirin could lock onto those, he could latch onto it with the Memory Chain much better.
“For a mortal man, he was wise,” Hir Venias continued. “I was worried I might have to inspire you with something myself, but—”
“Not necessary,” Pirin said. “I have a pit to climb out of. Thank you.”
Venias let out a sound that sounded almost like the clicking of a tongue. “Before you leave, you must know: If you travel any further west, the temples will no longer be under my purview. They will be under the oversight of another one of the Eight Kings of my age, and they may not be as kind as I have been.”
“I understand,” Pirin said.
“You are dismissed, then. Climb well.”
Pirin opened his eyes. The last tingles of Ichor in his mouth faded, and he felt pretty confident that Hir Venias could no longer reach him. Just in case, he waited a few minutes—in case the old king had anything else to say.
When he didn’t hear the voice anymore, he stood up and pulled the cell door open. It was the middle of the night, and there’d never be a better time for this.