Pirin blocked up, then down, then up again. His sword flashed in front of him, empowered by all the abilities he’d learn so far. A wedge of air made it move with less resistance, his manifestation technique made the blade stronger, and the Reign helped the sword cut.

Gray jumped up with a flutter and swooped down at Ethelvaed’s horse. It kicked at her with its hooves, and she scratched at it with her talons. Pirin felt every hoof impact like the horse had kicked him itself, but he ignored it. He did his best to draw the pain out of Gray and absorb it himself so she could fight better.

But Pirin had to live, too. He twirled his sword and spun, blocking Ethelvaed’s flurry of blows as he scrambled back across the facility floor. The swords rang out, and with Ethelvaed mustering Reign, their slashes both pushed against the fabric of the world. The air warped. Reality bent, if only slightly, allowing them to cut better.

Neither understood cutting to a more profound degree than the other, nor understood their weapons. Their Reign clashed, breaking on each other’s blades, and neither managed to cut each others’ swords.

But even with everything combined, Pirin was a stage below Ethelvaed. His Winged Fists didn’t detonate with as much power, and when he switched to his Shattered Palms, they never struck hard enough to hurt Ethelvaed.

The man’s spirit was bent and stretched; pushed to its limit. If Pirin could just attack it, he could cripple Ethelvaed.

We don’t have any attacks that work directly on an opponent’s spirit, Gray exclaimed, reading his mind.

But they didn’t need one. With the Runebond, Ethelvaed’s soul was integrated into his spiritual system. The Whisper Hitch attacked the soul.

But that would only work if Pirin could land a Whisper Hitch.

As their swords clashed, and as Ethelvaed pushed Pirin back across the room, Pirin slipped his mask on and activated a Whisper Hitch. It shouldn’t matter what stage Ethelvaed was; it was a contest of willpower.

Pirin won that contest easily, but as soon as the pale grey orb formed above the palm of his free hand, Ethelvaed unleashed a pulse of wind that blasted Pirin back across the floor of the atrium. It severed his line of sight on Ethelvaed’s eyes, and the Whispered Hitch sputtered out into nothing.

Pirin crashed through a table, then through a neatly-organized stack of fabric sheets. His back pressed against a wagon-sized ream of sail-fabric, and he finally came to a rest. He pushed himself up, groaning. Ethelvaed sprinted at him, holding his sword high above his head, and slashed down. His sword cleaved right through the ream of fabric, but Pirin had already slipped to the side.

You’re not going to beat him without creating a combat model of him, Gray said. It’ll help you create the opening you need!

“I’m a little busy!” Pirin grunted, deflecting Ethelvaed’s sword to the side.

Pirin needed to advance. He needed the boost in power, or Ethelvaed wouldn’t even let him start a technique.

Ethelvaed launched another pulse of air at Pirin. It struck with the weight of a charging horse, and with the pale green particles of manifested Essence in it, it almost took on a horse-like apparition.

Pirin ducked to the side, but it still struck him in the shoulder, flinging him back across the room. He slid to a halt amongst a stack of barrels and crates.

“This?” Ethelvaed scoffed. “This was the best Sirdia has to offer? They’ll deserve everything that comes to them! All will rejoice when the Dominion razes their cities, for the weakness has been scoured from Reyldaren—purified and cleansed!” He flourished his sword and marched toward Pirin. “It starts with you and your bird.”

Pirin’s hands trembled, and for the first time since he’d enhanced his body, he felt true fear. He wouldn’t be able to win. He’d die off the coast of the Mainland, his body lost in the Stormwall, and Sirdia would burn without him. Myraden would be all alone, if she made it through this too.

Urged on by the stress, his core pulsed and surged. A wave of wind and raw force blasted away from his body, and it scoured through the Eane itself, knocking Ethelvaed back along the floor.

Uh…Pirin? Gray asked. Is now the best time for an advancement?

“We don’t have much choice,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Can you keep both of them busy?”

“You haven’t even advanced to Blaze yet?” Ethelvaed exclaimed, then laughed.

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It didn’t last long. Gray broke out from her tussle with the horse and swooped down on Ethelvaed. She slashed at him with her talons, forcing him on the defensive and pushing him away from Pirin.

Pirin focussed on his core. He drew all his Essence inward. This advancement wasn’t about layering more Essence onto the core; it was about bringing the core out into a semi-physical state and binding it to his channels.

His channels, already in a state of semi-physical existence beneath his flesh, needed the core to latch onto. They’d strengthen it and pull on it, and he’d need the coremark to keep it from bursting apart.

Now was the moment of truth. If there was a problem with the etchings, he’d find out in disastrous fashion.

He pushed with his Essence, and, using his channels as a tether, pulled his core out from a completely ethereal state and slotted it right where it should be in physical existence. It had one foot in each world—one half in the spiritual world, and one half in the physical world.

It burned. It felt like someone had just stabbed him in the gut, but with a burning blade.

But that was just power. He concentrated, losing focus on what Gray was doing and instead turning his attention solely to the channels. The runebond tattoos absorbed the heat and sudden burst of power. His coremark held the core together, and the rest of the etchings dispersed it, sending a pulse of golden light through them all.

Nothing fell apart. His runebond etchings were perfect.

Then his soulmark burned, and his link between himself and Gray surged. It didn’t strengthen, not like from Catch to Flare, but attributes and willpower from Gray flowed over across the bond.

When they reached him, his head heated up, and wind blasted around his body. He fell to his knees, gasping as it reshaped him and added his bondmark.

A new extension hung off the sides of his head. A grey-feathered plume stuck out from behind each of his ears, like a winged helmet—except it was a living part of him, now.

He opened his eyes and flourished his sword. New power roared through his channels, and it needed somewhere to go.

He had the perfect target.

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As soon as Lady Neria’s airship skidded down on a landing platform, she jumped out the gondola door and looked around. There was no obvious exterior damage to Weavehome, not yet, but another foreign airship had settled down on the landing pad on the other side of this platform.

Her enemies were here.

“Two!” she hollered. “Three! Get down—”

A surge of wind and pale green Essence smashed into the flank of the airship, ripping a new gash in the envelope and sending the vessel listing across the platform. A figure hovered in the sky, above the nearest platform, suspending himself on a bed of wind.

Nomad.

Lady Neria looked up through the pouring sheets of rain and flashes of lightning. Both Two and Three still stood on the airship’s upper platform. “Unbound Lords! Protect the airship and kill Nomad! I’ll manage everything inside!”

Lady Neria tucked her head and sprinted into the facility.

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Khara struck Myraden in the gut and flung her upward through the roof of the hallway. She crashed through the ceiling and up into a storey above—into another hallway. Panicking workers scattered. Some carried crates and kegs, and others held stacks of parchment and reports.

Myraden landed hard on her back, gasping and panting. Khara leapt up into the hole behind her, and she swiped her spear at the seafolk woman. It kept Khara back just long enough for Myraden to scramble to her feet, but not long enough to muster a defense to the battering ram of boar Essence that rushed at Myraden’s chest.

Again, her armour absorbed the Essence, but not the impact.

She flew down the hallway and crashed through a doorway, then skidded to a halt on an empty wooden balcony. Rain and sea spray washed over her, and lightning flashed behind. She staggered to her feet, panting.

Myraden wasn’t going to make it. Khara would win. She’d lop of Myraden’s head and throw it at Pirin’s feet just to make him suffer, then she’d kill him too.

Pirin was going to die.

A surge of fear blasted through her core, and it was enough.

Her core knew it needed to advance, and so it did.

“Kythen! Keep her distracted!” Myraden called out, speaking in Íshkaben. “I’m advancing, and I’ll need all the time I can get!”

I will do what I can, Kythen responded. Good luck.

“I won’t need luck.”

She dragged her core halfway into existence, and everything burned, but she dispersed the sudden burst of power and effectiveness with a push of willpower, sending it spiralling around her body.

In a half minute, she knew she had succeeded. Power whirled up to her head, and her soulmark burned.

She clenched her teeth. Her antlers grew out to their full size, three-quarters of a foot, and…they solidified. Instead of bone, they were rock.

No…crystal.

She opened her eyes. A final pulse of wind and force radiated off her, signalling the advancement’s completion. She held her hand up to her antlers. When lightning flashed behind her, red light shone through the transparent crystals.

They were the same shade of red as Kythen’s crystal horns.

Myraden smiled. Kythen, she thought. Hold on. I’m coming to help!

But really, she was coming to win.