As soon as Pirin said the revelation, his channels opened up. He hadn’t noticed or felt it before, but now, it was obvious. Essence flowed freely with every breath, and it snaked out into his muscles and body, strengthening every fibre of his being.
He could keep that up.
Moreover, he didn’t want to retreat from Myraden’s embrace. He knew it was hardly the most profound gesture, but at the same time, it was simple, and that was alright. She was here, and she wasn’t leaving, and he’d return the favour.
He latched onto that feeling. It was a refined form of the previous sensation he’d locked onto and used in the Memory Chain, and just thinking about that was enough to push Essence into the chain and fuel the bloodline ability.
A condensed flow of memories poured into his mind, restoring some of his past recollections of her.
Every time she rushed headlong into a fight and got herself hurt, he was there to fix her back up. No one tied bandages as tight or cauterized cuts as cleanly as he could.
She had watched when Kalénier trained him to use swords. She had given her own suggestions.
When he told her about the death of Mr. Regos, she was there. When they lowered Kalénier’s dead body into a hole in the ice and set it free, she was standing by his side.
There were so many experiences he had lost. A tear welled up in the corner of his eye.
When that somber feeling bled into his Essence, one final memory flooded into the back of his mind.
He and Myraden stood in a plain wooden room. They were both a year younger, maybe two, but judging by the growth of her antlers, it was about the same season.
He didn’t know any of the context, but Myraden had caught Pirin in a tight hug. They both met each other’s gaze, and moved closer, and Pirin realized exactly what was happening. But something about the memory was slightly awkward. Not quite right, like a boot that hadn’t been worn in yet.
He pulled his Essence out of the Memory Chain and cut the memory off. Not the time.
Still, he understood. They had been more than friends, even if something had been just slightly off in the past.
“Myra,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to forget…but I remember what we were now.”
She shifted, then exhaled. A tear dripped out of her eye and landed on his trousers.
“You’ve been a good friend,” he whispered. “If…you wanted something more, I’d be there for you. I’m still here.”
She breathed out sharply. “You have always been here. Some things change, but not that.”
“It feels right, now.”
“Agreed.”
She inched closer until their legs brushed together. Pirin figured it was as close to an answer as he’d get.
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The next morning, Pirin and Myraden stood atop the top platform of the Featherflight. They had spent the morning filling their cores with Essence—bloodhorn Essence for Myraden and gnatsnapper Essence for Pirin.
Nomad was going to teach them a manifestation technique.
He held both his hands in front of him. His racoon-cat perched on his shoulder, and he held his flute-staff. He brushed his hand down the length of the staff, filling the crags and cracks in the wood with pale green Essence. It manifested immediately and intentionally, imbuing the staff with extreme durability.
“If I struck something with the bare staff,” Nomad said, “the staff would shatter. But with a manifestation technique lending its strength, I can smash through anything without fear of damaging my staff.”
“How’s that different from Reign?” Pirin asked.
“Reign is the purpose and the intent of the weapon. Your will gathers an aura around it, and you touch the Eane directly. A sword becomes sharper because you want to cut. That is the nature of profundity—seeking something deeper and harnessing your intent to achieve it. A sword can cut anything with Reign, a spear can stab anything with Reign. A staff can bend and flex and block anything with Reign, but that doesn’t help me smash through rocks.”
He pulled a void pendant of his own out his robe’s pocket, then opened it up and retrieved three boulders.
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“You…just keep rocks in your void pendant?” Myraden asked.
“You never know when you might need a good boulder, truly,” Nomad answered. He activated his fortification technique and set the three boulders down on the upper platform. The Featherflight creaked and groaned with the extra weight. “I reckon we should be quick about it so we don’t hurt the poor ship.”
One boulder waited right in front of him. He twirled his staff, streaking pale green light behind it. Then he smashed it down upon the boulder with all the strength of his enhanced body and fortification technique. The boulder split in half down the center. It hadn’t burnt through, and there wasn’t even a glimmer of magma. Only hundreds of thousands of tiny claw-marks where his Essence had touched.
Pirin raised his eyebrows. “How?”
“How indeed,” Nomad said. “Your Essence manifests physically when you apply enough willpower to it. Myraden’s Crimson Arc manifests bloodhorn Essence as a by-product, but only because she’s willing it to strike for her. If you fling your Winged Fist too fast and hard, you manifest feathers of Essence for the same reason.” He took a step closer to Pirin. “Creating a shield of air around your sword was quite ingenious, but we can do better than that.”
Just as if to prove his point, he dragged his hand down through the empty air, manifesting a dagger-sized claw of Prairie Gap Essence. “I never studied Essence-smithing, and there are few who know that art anymore. I can’t permanently manifest Essence, and most wizards who can? Their abilities are constrained to simply manifesting pebbles of unformed Essence, or fuel for Smokes.”
“But we’re not talking about permanent manifestation, right?” Pirin asked.
“Not permanent, no.” Nomad kicked the two halves of his boulder off either side of the airship with ease, then placed his staff down and leaned on it. “Give it a try, if you will. Compress the Essence into a contained shape, like you’re pouring steel into a mould. Pirin, fill the fuller of your sword. Myraden, fill the gaps in your spear’s haft.”
For the next half hour, Pirin sat at the edge of the platform, trying to urge his Essence out and fill his sword. He had his mask on, firming up his connection with Gray, but she was still asleep in the cargo hold and wouldn’t be much help.
A few times, he made feathers manifest overtop of the blade, but nothing to fill the fuller.
“Focus on the feeling of the Essence,” Nomad said. “You are using a bird Essence. It should feel light and airy, like a sponge made of feathers.”
A half hour later, Pirin made the technique work. He pressed down with his mind, like he was packing a mud brick, and his Essence responded. Grey feathers filled the fuller, streaked with pale green.
But the fuller was only a ridge up the center of a sword. He willed the Essence outward, filling the notches in the blade and strengthening the steel.
He stood up with excitement. He turned to the boulder and raised his blade. He had all three things he needed to cut anything. Reign sharpened the blade and let it pierce even the fabric of the world. When he created a sheath of air around the blade, it did more than protect it—it let him slice faster.
Now, it had the raw strength to not break when he cut. He turned toward his boulder, then spun his sword behind his back to build speed. He pushed air around his arms and granted them speed, then built a wedge of air around the sword so there was no resistance when he swung.
Feathers trailed in the air behind the blade, glowing and shimmering. His manifestation technique was holding.
Lastly, he knew he could cut the boulder. He had the strength, the will, and the authority to split it in half with the sword. The blade glimmered, and it pressed up against the fabric of the world itself.
He slashed down. The boulder resisted him, but he had a stronger will. The stone bent like wood, then like butter. In an instant, the boulder split in half. On both halves, a pattern scratched along the stone—talon marks.
He deactivated all his techniques and examined the blade of his sword. There were no new scratches or notches.
“Was that…it?” he asked.
“Indeed, that was it,” said Nomad.
A few minutes later, Myraden mustered her own technique. Red light ran down the haft of her spear and enveloped the spearhead. It wasn’t like when she fuelled the silk using her bloodline abilities. Instead of just filling the silk, it formed a solid shaft through the center of the spear.
She activated her fortification technique and stabbed straight into the boulder. The spear pierced through to the other side, and the entire rock shattered into pebbles.
“That…felt good,” she said, her mouth gaping. She pulled her spear back, then twirled it up and leaned on it. Even without Reign, she had the strength to bash boulders.
“You two are progressing well,” Nomad said. He clapped slowly. “You may be ready to face the Red Hand soon.”
Pirin sheathed his sword, but at that comment, a chill ran down his spine. “Nomad…back on Lady Neria’s airship, she said something…”
Myraden looked at Pirin skeptically.
“ ‘I wouldn’t put such treachery past the Hand’s old teacher,’ ” Pirin quoted. “You taught the Red Hand?”
Nomad exhaled slowly. “Yes. Yes I did, and it is one of my greatest regrets.” He looked pointedly at Myraden.
Myraden tilted her head. “Why? Why did you do it?”
“He wasn’t always this way,” Nomad said. “He was once a young, rebellious Seissen warrior and Lord—Kovar Tasmyne. He was a mortal, but he had something about him. He understood how to cut, and not just how to swing a blade, but…the profound underlying principle. He had intent, and I cultivated that into Reign. He sought to use his strength against the Dominion, and I, feeling betrayed and cast out by my family and the Dominion as a whole, agreed.
“But when it came time to rebel, his forces didn’t stand a chance. Even with the help of a contingent of sprites from Ískan, the Dominion was too powerful. He moved too soon and too early, and the Dominion crushed him. They burned a great many Seissen cities, but the real punishment fell on Ískan, for even deigning to offer a hand. The entire nation of Ískan burned for their transgression.”
“That has always been a tenet of the Dominion,” Myraden said bitterly. “Those who help rebels receive a punishment greater than the rebels themselves. If the punishment for aiding a rebel is too steep, rebels will always be isolated.”
Pirin rubbed his forehead. “I don’t understand. Why would the Hand join the Dominion afterward?”
“A great blow was dealt to his soul that day,” said Nomad. “When he witnessed what his rebellion had done? He turned and pledged service to the Dominion, if only they would spare the civilians of Seisse. He thinks he can bring peace, now, through service to the Emperor, but…” Nomad shook his head. “He is still finding his way. I don’t want to give up on him, but I don’t want to let him run rampant, either. If he must die, then he must die.”