A net of green strands caught Lady Neria halfway to the ground. The feeling of the blood-Essence mixture of Lord Three’s techniques made her skin crawl, but it was infinitely better than falling to her death on the fields below.

The net hauled her back up to the gondola, and a sailor inside opened a hatch for her. She stepped in and slammed the gondola hatch behind her. “Captain, report. Three?” The Unbound Lord stood at the back of the gondola with his cloak on and his arms crossed. “What happened? What was that?”

“Thieves snuck aboard, ma’am,” said the airship’s captain. He was an aging ostal in a white coat, with a circlet around his head to denote his rank. “They stole a map from the navigation room, and we believe they tried to steal elixir from the stern chambers.”

Neria scowled, then spun toward Three. “You didn’t stop them? Why do I have an Unbound Lord who cannot defeat…what? A Flare?”

His face was unreadable with his hood drawn, but his green eyes shone angrily. “They ripped a hole in gasbags three, four, and five. I patched them with blood-Essence scabs, and they will hold for a few weeks, but permanent repairs will be required. That took my attention.”

Neria shuddered at the thought of scabs on her ship’s gasbags, but the airship going down would be worse, so she tolerated it.

“I believe they were looking for a map to the Weaveling facility,” said the captain. “If we do not stop them, they may uncover your army. Should we change course and ensure the company’s assets are secure?”

“Even if they get past the facility’s defenses,” said Lady Neria, “they don’t have the Control Dagger. The army is useless to them.” She shook her head. “Proceed to the Scar of Reyldaren.”

They would find their next Unbound. Lord Two would either join them or die.

image [https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_5e221995337243e6a7d4250b55d3aeea~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_280,h_232,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/embercore%20sigil.png]

Pirin spent most of his days on the Featherflight’s upper platform, watching over the landscape while integrating the wild treasures into his Essence. Gray perched beside him, staring off into the distance with a curious gaze.

The hills of central Plainspar flattened out into plains, then merged with gravel beaches or a rocky coast.

Then there was nothing but water.

Pirin should’ve been used to flying over oceans by now, but he couldn’t help but shudder a little. If anything went wrong, the Featherflight would be completely stranded—and its crew as well.

He pushed his fears aside by training and pushing toward advancement. Each day, he consumed about a sixteenth of the clouds he had in his void pendant. With every push, his channels became a little more real, a little closer to him, and a little more aligned to his purpose.

But, on the fourth day of flight over the ocean, he hit a wall.

What was his purpose, really?

Of course, he knew he was a king, and he was supposed to bring peace and freedom to the Elven Continent. For the past few months, he had assumed that the Memory Chain’s abilities would only be helpful in a support capacity, but he’d proven well enough that he could do much more than that.

He had assumed that, as everyone had always expected of him, he’d be behind the lines, granting his strength to others.

But now? He could be more than that.

His body just didn’t understand what more meant.

When the sun set on the fourth day, he took the first watch. He kept his eyes on the ship’s surroundings, watching the starry skies shift and the waves ripple.

Nothing profound came to him.

When Nomad emerged from the hatch and poked his head up, Pirin explained his troubles.

“The latter half of the flare stage does take some insight into yourself, indeed,” Nomad said. “It’s not as deep or rigorous of an insight as the Wildflame revelation, but you will find that it can hold you back. Aside from a lack of Ichor-ink, it can hold back some Flares from their advancements.”

“What should I do?” Pirin asked.

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

“It doesn’t need to sound profound,” Nomad said. “It just needs to be profound. Think about who you are and condense it into a single mantra that you can quote with ease, and it will make the integration process much easier.”

With that, Pirin descended into the hold and took the bottom bunk in the crew quarters. He pulled a blanket over himself, even though it was warm enough that he didn’t need one, and slept.

It was supposed to be a peaceful sleep, and he didn’t use the Memory Chain or cycle. He just needed to let his channels rest.

But his mind didn’t agree.

He dreamt of a battlefield. Faceless elven warriors clashed in an endless swamp, swinging blades and hacking at each other with spears and swords and glaives. Some wore silver Sirdian armour, and others wore orange ambersteel—Aerdians.

Pirin stood in a knee-high pool of blood, looking on with his mouth gaping. A soldier charged at him, and he cut the man down with brutal efficiency. He was barely in control of his own limbs. Whenever an elf fell, his body disintegrated into ash and floated up into the black sky.

“Pirin,” came a voice from behind, “listen to me.”

“Pirin,” another voice said, with the exact same tone as the first, but with a slightly different timbre, “listen to me.”

Pirin whirled around him. Two men stood behind him, but neither was an elf. One, a half-dwarf who was nearly as short as a full-blooded dwarf, and the other, a man with purple eyes and long brown hair.

Mr. Regos, his old master from Kerstel, and Kalénier, his sword instructor.

“You are a healer,” Mr. Regos asserted. “I trained you to repair bodies, not rip them apart.”

Kalénier laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. “The Dominion will not give in. If you surrender, they’ll all die.”

Pirin narrowed his eyes. “Where am I?”

Neither of them answered.

Just a dream, then.

He trembled, then tried to force his eyes open, trying to will himself awake.

“This is what your existence has wrought,” Mr. Regos said, motioning across the battlefield with his hand. “They fight and die over you. I knew this would happen, so I hid you from the world. But you just had to leave and go adventuring! You abandoned your healer’s duty!”

“If you give up now, you’ll be dooming an entire continent to merciless slaughter,” Kalénier said. “You know what happened to Ískan. The Dominion will unleash that upon Sirdia ten times over. There is no choice for you.”

Pirin shut his eyes. “Quiet. Both of you.”

“If you keep wandering down this path, I’ll keep telling you to turn the other way,” said the apparition of Mr. Regos.

“A hero does not turn back,” said Kalénier. “He marches until he reaches the end of his road.”

A conflict of purpose.

Pirin clenched his fists. He needed to settle this now. He couldn’t let it bottleneck him and stop him from advancing, not when he was so close to claiming his power and his true future.

“Kalénier is right. I can’t turn back, and I can’t abandon my people.” Pirin opened his eyes again. “But Mr. Regos is right. I am a healer at heart, and I will heal these lands. I will put an end to these wars and slaughters, and usher in a new age of compassion and freedom.”

Both men stared at him. In unison, they asked, “But is that why you seek strength?”

Pirin shook his head. He ducked away from a falling soldier, then spun away from a slashing blade. “You know why I sought it, same as I do. I didn’t want to be useless anymore. But I’m returning with the strength I always dreamt of. If I do nothing with it, there’s no point in earning it in the first place.”

He took a step closer to his two teachers. “Now…I’m not just a weak little boy anymore. I don’t have to sit far behind the lines of battle and watch as people die for me.” He looked directly at Kalénier. “I earned this power to protect my home.” He looked at Mr. Regos. “To protect everyone.”

Both men scoffed, and Pirin accepted it. He’d never satisfy either of their teachings perfectly.

“I’m leaving, now,” Pirin said. “I make my own path. I will show them the way.”

He opened his eyes and bolted upright in the lower bunk, and nearly smashed his head on the upper bunk. Sweat poured down his forehead, and his arms ached like he’d been shivering nonstop for the past few hours.

Myraden knelt beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He blinked a few times. “Did I wake you up?”

“You were shaking and muttering, and you are drenched in sweat.”

So…yes, he did wake her up. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked again, staring right at him.

“Bad dreams. Kinda.” He sighed. It hadn’t been a horrible dream, all things considered, and he figured he could probably have much worse dreams eventually. “Necessary dreams, I’ll call them.”

“You are torn?”

“Yeah.” Pirin snorted. “Though…I figure you know me better than I know you.”

“I think you underestimate yourself.”

“I know I do.” He inched over on the cot, giving a little space beside himself. “But better that than overconfident.”

“I wish you would be confident when it comes to matters of yourself,” Myraden said. “A wizard must be assertive and know their purpose in the world.” She took the gap Pirin left on the cot and sat down beside him.

“Is that not…restrictive?”

“Not if you choose your own purpose.” She tilted her head to the side, resting it on his shoulder. The velvety tip of one of her antlers brushed his cheek.

He hadn’t been expecting that, least of all from her. For a few seconds, he thought about backing away and retreating from the embrace, but he stayed. “I…I understand what you mean.”

“I chose long ago,” she said. “No one would have to live as I did, without a home or a father. For that, I must destroy the Dominion.”

Pirin stayed still for a few more seconds. When Myraden didn’t move, he tilted his head down, and, dodging the stubs of her early summer antlers, rested his head atop hers. “I’m going to protect my—our—home. We’re going to heal it and put it back together, and anyone who threatens it…they’ll understand our power.”