Myraden twirled between crumbling columns and leapt over blocks of eroded stone, relying on Kythen’s senses to guide her. Her eyes were closed—she concentrated on her advancement.
Without words, Kythen told her when to jump and when to spin, when to duck and when to raise her spear and block. He sent impulses through their link, mental commands, which she allowed herself to obey without question.
There was ground beneath her feet and she wasn’t dead—that was about all she could tell.
The Catch stage was an intermediate stage between building the foundation Timbers and the process of body enhancement. The leap between stages wasn’t supposed to be a process of remaking or reforging, but of a simple change to the core.
It wasn’t so simple when she got to it. She knew exactly what to do—find the point in her Essence loop that the Essence left her body and travelled over to Kythen, and draw it directly to her core.
Instead of just a linked loop and channels, their cores would be bound as one.
As she leapt up atop a pillar, she found the point that the Essence left her body. It was the tip of an invisible rope, clinging to the surface of her chest, ready to be drawn into her body and attached directly to her core.
Her Familiar revelation was enough to loosen the link, and it gave her the strength to pull on the arcane rope. As she contorted the channels, bringing the rope closer to her core, she redirected one of Khara’s heavy sword swipes with a pulse of Essence. The blade sliced a lock of hair loose.
Kythen bleated loud enough that, even in her advancement trance, she heard it. Khara’s boar snarled and yipped.
Was he alright?
I am holding my own, and so are you, Kythen told her with certainty. Worry about your advancement.
Myraden backed away from the fight, jumping from pillar to pillar at Kythen’s will. A second later, she jumped down to the clearing floor. The backs of her eyelids darkened; she had stepped back into the forest.
She almost opened her eyes. Terror and curiosity blasted through her veins at the same time, and the tether between her and Kythen started to slip out of her grasp.
Concentrate! Kythen shouted. His voice stuck in her head like a knife, more forceful than she had ever heard him speak before.
She grasped back onto the ethereal thread of their link and drew it back towards her core. You are my Familiar, she thought. You are my Familiar. You are my Familiar…
With every repetition, the thread drew closer and closer. It passed through her gut, bending the channels around it. She kept pulling until it touched her core.
When it did, a pulse shot out through all her Essence channels, a sudden wave of purification. Pine scents and visions of snowy tundras raced over from Kythen, filling her chest with a cold but peaceful sensation.
She was seeing memories of her homeland through his eyes.
Or, at least, memories of it.
Without her control, she sent back charred scents, falling ash, and burning homes. She sent back visions of rampaging Dominion soldiers and walls of fire. Her face lit up with sticky warmth—a splatter of blood. It was all in her head; Kythen hadn’t let her get hurt outside of the visions.
Control it, Myra, Kythen commanded. You’re almost there…
She guided her Essence, drawing bits out of her core and wrapping them around the tail of the link between her and Kythen.
As she worked, she still sensed herself, her real body, stepping back. Kythen turned her to the side. Every step, she dodged or blocked one of Khara’s attacks. But he couldn’t last forever without her…
You are my Familiar, she repeated in her head one last time, then tied the strands of bloodhorn Essence in an arcane knot with her mind. A shockwave blasted away from the epicenter, cutting through her channels and sending the rest of the Essence pathways back to where they were supposed to be—all except the connection between her and Kythen.
It was done.
She opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings as best as she could. On one side, the island’s tropical forest shielded her. On the other side, there was nothing—except for a steep drop into sheer emptiness.
Khara had pushed her to the edge of a cliff.
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The seafolk woman was still in front of her. She lunged with her sword, and Myraden blocked, pushing the blade off into the forest. It sliced clean through a tree trunk, and the log fell between them before tumbling off the edge of the cliff.
Myraden scrambled back along the edge of the cliff, seizing the reprieve and stabilizing herself. There was only room at the edge of the cliff for one person to stand in a row. Kythen stood right behind her, and the boar stood behind Khara.
“You can advance,” Khara said, “but you’re still no match.” She lunged forwards, unleashing three powerful, downward blows. Myraden dodged the first and blocked the second, but the third came from the side. She tried to whirl away and dodge, but Khara was too fast. The blade grazed her side.
That was more than a graze! Kythen exclaimed.
Gasping, Myraden fell onto her back. She pressed her hand against her side, and it came up soaked with blood. But that was a problem for later. She could still fight.
“You’re a failure, Leursyn,” Khara snarled. “I regret ever training by your side.”
“It took you long enough to regret it,” Myraden spat, gritting her teeth.
Myraden was a Flare, now. But Khara had been for months, enhancing her body and improving. There was still a gap between them.
But Myraden had a stronger foundation. She sprang back to her feet.
Khara lunged, and Myraden pushed the blade away with her spear, guiding it straight into a tree.
But this time, the Essence-infused haft blocked the sword right away, pushing it off. Sparks of red light flickered around Myraden’s hands, brighter than she’d ever seen her Essence manifest before. It was higher quality.
Khara’s sword plunged straight into a tree. Before she could pull it out, Myraden swatted the womam in the side of the head with the blunt end of her spear. Khara didn’t budge. Myraden twirled the spear around again, building momentum, then bashed Khara in the shoulder.
The seafolk woman stumbled. Her grip on her sword broke.
Kythen slipped off to the side, moving expertly through the woods. Myraden felt his intent radiating towards her without even needing words.
Myraden planted her spear down on Khara’s foot, then lashed out with her palm. She struck in the center of Khara’s forehead, blasting a blunt wave of Essence out. It cracked against the woman’s skull.
As Khara stumbled, Myraden swept her spear up, slashing through the woman’s chest. It wasn’t a deep gash, but Myraden didn’t need it to be. It was enough to completely break Khara’s stance.
The follow-through, the blunt end of the spear on the other side of the blow, collided with the woman’s neck. She tumbled off the side of the cliff. The boar squealed and kicked its legs, about to charge, when Kythen burst out of the trees. He plowed into it horns-first, flinging it off the edge of the cliff.
Before he fell himself, he skittered to a halt, digging his hooves into the soil. He began to slide, but Myraden grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back.
Once he stopped sliding, he hooked her shoulder gently with his horns and pulled her back from the edge of the cliff. She fell to her knees, panting. She should go down and make sure Khara was dead—a Flare surviving a fall like that was likely enough, especially one as advanced as Khara. But Myraden had more pressing matters.
Clamping her hand down atop her deepest wound, she hopped up onto Kythen’s back. They needed to get back to the airship and find Pirin.
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No! Gray exclaimed. We should run! We need to get out of here! The Saltspray wizards will destroy us!
“Do you think they’ll let us leave?” Pirin asked, kneeling down on the roof of the hanging control room. “We need to finish our quest if we’re going to stand any chance, and that means I need to form a sword Reign.”
They’re coming…they’re sliding down the edge of the dome now…
Pirin could have looked up, but that would have wasted time. “I’m going as fast as I can…”
He placed the Reign gem down on the flat roof. Somehow, he had to get it to combine with his sword, whatever that entailed.
The only way he could think of was to crush the gem up. He set it down on the stone roof, then hammered it with the pommel of his sword. It wasn’t as brittle as the rest of the crystals, but it still cracked after a few direct hits. He expected a release of energy, but there was nothing. Each chunk of the crystal glowed as bright as the whole.
He kept mashing until he had a fine powder.
They’re climbing up the central spire, now… Gray warned.
If there was something special about this sword’s tang, something to do with Reign, Pirin needed to strip it down. He pulled the old leather wrapping off the hilt. It had two blocks of wood pinned to either side of the tang to give it volume. Pirin pulled the pins out, then shifted the blocks of wood off to the side.
Indeed, the tang was somewhat shinier than the rest of the sword, which was to be expected, but there appeared to be flakes of golden dust inside it. Dried, evaporated Ichor? He didn’t know, and he’d figure out the specifics later. He packed as much of the gem dust against the tang as he could, then pressed the blocks against the hilt and slid the pins in.
They’re halfway up the spire… Gray said.
“Almost there…” Pirin pressed more of the crystal dust against the wooden blocks, then snatched up the old leather binding and wrapped it tight. “There! Got it!”
He jumped to his feet and gave the sword a flourish. “Nomad, you better be watching,” he whispered. Now…to just show a little Reign.
He flourished the sword, ready to employ what little he knew about the concept. He tried to draw on his connection with the sword, and the weapon’s purpose. He tried to remember its previous wielder, through the Memory Chain or otherwise. He drew up an image of Kal’s face in his mind, and—
They’re jumping! Gray said. She spread one of her wings out and pushed Pirin away from the edge of the platform.
A second later, Lady Clase landed, driving a blade of Essence into the stone where Pirin had just been standing. A young man landed on the other side of the platform, carrying a cane shrouded in green Essence. A beaver each clung to their shoulders.
Lady Clase took a fighting stance. “Nowhere to run, elf.”