Feeling slowly came back to Tristan. He was grateful for that, he had been worried something had happened to his spine. The feeling did not come back fast enough, as Shadow Fist had time to cuff Tristan’s hands and feet. He had been hoping that they would use wood or leather, but no, they used simple steel. Steel did not rot well.

The Golden Heart patriarch staggered off holding his face, his long blond hair falling out on that side. Most of the guards avoided him instead of helping him, flinching away at the sight of his ruined face. Those guards also stayed a good distance from Tristan, from the hand shaped patch of necrosis on the side of the patriarch's face, they could guess how it had happened.

Shadow Fist dragged Tristan off to the holding cells. They were right next to the guard barracks, and underground. Tristan inspected the walls as he was led down a flight of stairs. It appeared that the supports to the doorway could be knocked out, creating a cave in. Not a bad way to stop violent criminals from escaping and harming the citizens.

There was only one hallway and even that was not very long. The only light was glow stones set into the ceiling, lining the stone corridor. Their white glow somehow gave the grey stone a hollow and washed out appearance. Tristan stayed silent for the entire trip, he had been looking for a chance to escape. He was battered and bruised, but that did not mean he could not run. Well, hobbling slowly would be more accurate, running might be a bit too much right now.

Now that escape was not possible, he had a few questions, “I thought you wanted to take me to the mine, why the prison stay?”

Shadow Fist raised an eyebrow, “You just disabled the only person here who was able to escort you,” He raised his splinted arm and pointed to the bandage on his arm that was moist with ointment, “You hurt me bad enough to make moving you ill-advised. We need to keep you contained until Henry is back in fighting shape.”

“You have no tier threes here?” Tristan asked, making a mental note that the patriarch’s name was Henry. Without his weapons, fighting a tier three would be difficult, an elite tier three might be impossible.

“No, on the off chance you have forgotten, there is a war they are preparing for in the plains,” Shadow Fist shoved Tristan into a cell.

It was a simple ten by ten foot room. No bed, no chair, only a bucket in one corner and a drain in the floor beside it. A door made of metal bars was the only thing that made one wall different from any others. No one else was here, this was not meant to be a long term holding cell. Tristan assumed that most of the people here would either be executed or sent to the mine. He could imagine Olfred visiting a place like this.

“At least get me my bag,” Tristan complained.

He did not expect anything, but Shadow Fist responded as he closed the door, “That’s fine, so long as there are no weapons.”

“Really, don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty,” Tristan said, “It’s a little too late to redeem yourself.”

Smirking, Shadow Fist shook his head, “No, it's simple courtesy for services rendered, I knew you would ruffle Henry, but I didn’t expect you to disfigure the bastard. Good job.”

“You set this up!” Tristan yelled. He tried to grab Shadow Fist through the bars, but they were too narrow to get his hands through. So he settled for punching the door. The steel was not harmed in the slightest by his reinforced knuckles, “Why would you hurt your civil protector before a war?”

Shadow Fist shrugged, “Politics don’t stop just because a war is approaching, you were just unfortunate to be born as what you are,” He folded his arms, “My oldest son died years ago, I grieved his loss and have had time to recover. You look nothing like him, act nothing like him, and most importantly, you have a different name. I am just using a naive tool to further my goals.” Shadow Fist turned to leave, “I’ll have a guard bring the bag from where you left it at the temple.”

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Tristan wanted to yell at him more, but Shadow Fist slammed the door. He wondered if Shadow Fist actually believed the things he said, or if he was trying to convince himself by saying them. Either way, Tristan was sure he would have been more selective with his words if he knew why Tristan had been immobile.

Luke was right, it did hurt less every time. Maybe it was because the last time had been extra horrible, with Hadrid and his forsaken decay essence. The pain this time had been a cakewalk compared to the concentrated decay reservoir that had scoured him last time. He had even been able to walk, barely.

Henry had not held back with that last attack, a quarter ton of flesh and steel slamming the back of Tristan's skull onto the sidewalk curbing. He would be a cripple now if he had lacked the available essence to brace his skull and the blood in his brain. The tier four had still managed to give him a nasty concussion.

Sitting cross legged, Tristan put his studying to work. Learning about alchemy was really more about learning to categorize and utilize the natural laws of the world. Hadrid had mentioned that it was just a fancy word for research, but only now was he realizing how true that was. If he had been focused only on the craft of artifact construction he would have never discovered primordial forces. More importantly, he would have never discovered how important they were to his kern.

When he broke his kern in the past he had seen, or felt this primordial force, though he had called it the origin. It felt domineering, it wanted to fuse with everything. At first, he equated it with a hungry beast, but now he saw more of Hadrid’s personality in it. The desire to find, create, and build, by unmaking and assimilating, and growing into something new.

Maybe it was not that it was like Hadrid, but that Hadrid had become like it. Tristan narrowed his eyes, he would have to keep a solid grasp on his mind. Just because his soul could not be affected by a force, did not mean it couldn’t become a vessel for it, like some sort of living essence reservoir. In fact that was probably why the Alloy force was so dangerous, it could merge with the mind of the one who controlled it.

Carefully, he reached out and pulled essence to his shattered kern. He kept his mind closed off. Most of his other breakings had taken a week to fully heal unless he was otherwise assisted. This time he could not wait that long. Tristan suspected the faster healing would reduce the benefit he would receive from his kern healing. However, he was quite literally in enemy territory and he wanted to be back in fighting shape before Henry was.

Almost an hour later a guard came down with a backpack, he removed the three metal binders and slid them through the bars. Tristan had vaguely hoped he would open the door. Even if the man did not have the keys Tristan was sure he could find something to hammer the links apart with.

“Thanks,” Tristan said. He felt no reason to be rude to some random guy who was just doing his job. The man wasn’t Shadow Fist, just one of his pawns.

His kern patching itself together with primordial essence was faster with him pulling it in intentionally, but the process was still largely automated. Like breathing, yes you could do it faster, no you could not control the way your lungs processed the air. Tristan leaned forward scooping up the books, he wanted to start reading ‘Biological Tampering.’ He wanted to research the skull, or at the very least, what that meant for the life form it was attached to.

The guard cleared his throat, “Um, you have a visitor.”

Tristan glanced up, “Huh, why?” He realized that the guard would most likely be unaware, “Sorry, is it Helen?”

Tristan really did not want to see his mother. He could not imagine something much worse than being locked in a small box while an angry woman nagged him. There was not was not even a way to leave.

The guard looked very uncomfortable, “No, it's Harp.”

Tristan was not sure if that was better or worse. Better probably, they did not have a history in which she had authority over him. Curiosity started to build up, what would she want now? They had to be as different as people could possibly be. The last time he had seen her she had been babysitting Tris. Then he had gone off and murdered a bunch of crabs.

There was a squeaking noise. It took a moment for Tristan to realize it was the guard, the man was whimpering, “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Don’t eat my soul,” The man squeaked, his eyes flicked to the bag, “I don’t want to be an undead.”

Tristan almost started laughing. That was one of the questions Luke had asked him when they first met, though he was excited and curious instead of terrified. Tristan stifled the laugh at the last moment.

“I don’t eat souls, don’t be…” Tristan trailed off.

If essence reservoirs were containers composed of souls, then he had indeed eaten souls. Four to be exact. Maybe the bad reputation of metal kerns was not unfounded. He hadn’t even questioned the morality of doing it again, asking Shadow Fist to stock him with them for that exact purpose. He would have to figure out exactly what a soul was.

He refocused on the hyperventilating guard, “I promise not to eat your soul.”