Three days. That’s how long it took Tristan to put his kern back together. He knew that was really fast, especially without any special medicine or huge essence infusions. It just did not feel that way. Most of the times previously, he had access to rare resources. Luke had given him his gross drink and Hadrid had given him an essence reservoir. The one time he lacked them, Tristan had been bedridden for a little over a week.

When the kern finished repairing itself, he felt the extra essence empower him. He could not be sure how much, but it did not really matter, he could test if he had made it to tier three. Holding up his palm, Tristan focused. His hand turned silver, and he pressed harder, trying to push the essence out into the world.

It only compacted against the side of his kern. His hand was now more robust than it had ever been, but he could not even push a drop of essence out. He knew that at tier three simple tools and weapons could be created by condensing essence outside the body. At least that was the case for him. Other kerns had other uses.

This experiment proved one of two things. Either he was still in tier two, just at or near the peak of it or he was at tier three and had no idea how to use his abilities. Tristan could not determine which it was. He thought about looking for a new force that would have been acquired during the tier breakthrough, but thinking back on it he had not really been exposed to one. Quickly he checked if blunt force trauma resistance was a force. It was not.

After a brief moment of excitement, the cell went back to its cold almost empty state. The new guard had opted to wait at the top of the stairs where he could immediately collapse the tunnel if Tristan somehow escaped. Groaning at the monotony, he picked up his book again.

At first, he thought the biology book would be interesting and enlightening. Unfortunately, he had no idea what many terms meant. What did it mean to link essence to a mitochondria? What was a mitochondria? What was primordial genetic scripting? Even trying to use etymology to guess the definitions did not help.

Still, he read the book. It took less time than the others as he could not really think about what he did not understand. Once he finished, Tristan started over, hoping that the view of the whole would assist in the comprehension of the specific meanings. And it did help a little. He now understood that there were tiny little words in his body that determined how it all worked. At least that’s what he thought genes were. How else could you script them? He had a lot of questions for Hadrid.

He was startled by the door slamming open. The poor guard was almost thrown down the steps as it swung inward. He placed a hand on his short sword before realizing who it was. Once he did, the man stepped to the side and saluted the Golden Heart patriarch.

Tristan inspected the man. He was looking very good for being stabbed in the heart, gutted, and having half his face rotted off. For a moment, Tristan thought that it was unfair for Henry to heal that fast from injuries. Then he realized that most people probably thought him not getting injured in the first place was unfair.

Henry was wearing combat robes but lacked the heavy armor he wore in their confrontation. The robes were still a white and golden color. A mask covered half his face. It was blank and had no eye slit, so Tristan supposed he was not completely better.

Tristan smirked up at the man, “You look like one of those background actors in the musicals Forest likes.”

Henry put some fingers on the mask right where the eye used to be. He did not say anything for long enough that Tristan was beginning to feel awkward. Tristan was just being antagonistic because he was irritable and they currently needed him. Truthfully, if their paths had crossed at different times, he and the patriarch would not have been enemies. Henry would have just been a friend’s dad.

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Finally, Henry spoke, “Why did you let me live?”

Tristan knew the moment Henry was referring to. Right as they had hit the ground, Tristan had the opportunity to cut off the patriarch’s head. But he hadn’t and both of them knew the hesitation was a choice. Tristan sighed, he wanted Henry to be an evil entity that he could hate. At least then he would be all right with having destroyed half his face.

“It is a stupid reason,” Tristan said, deciding to be honest, “When people treat you like a dangerous animal, it's easy to become that animal as a way to cope. I don’t want to be that way, even if it only matters to me,” Tristan paused then continued in a lighter tone, “Also I consider Bruce a friend.”

Henry nodded, “Thank you. Onto more important tasks, it is my job to escort you to the mine. Along with Shadow Fist and a handful of guards.”

“Do I get any say?” Tristan asked.

Henry pointed to the mask, “You had your say. Now let's get going.”

He removed a ring of keys from a pocket and unlocked the door. Tristan hoped he would pull the shackles off his hands and feet but Henry simply used them like a leash to keep him under control. He barely had time to stuff the books into his bag before being pulled away. The chains on his feet did not slow him down, but they would stop him from kicking and running over rough terrain. The shackles on his wrists would have allowed him to fight if they had not also been attached to his feet.

Outside there were half a dozen guards, all of them on the younger side. After a quick inspection, Tristan was surprised to realize that they weren’t much older than he was. He wondered why they would send new recruits to a location that was guaranteed to be volatile. After all the mine was filled with a bunch of muscular grumpy people.

Shadow Fist stood at their head. This time he was wearing black half plate that left his hands and head free over his standard black tunic and trousers. He had no weapons, always opting to use his hands. Tristan was surprised to see his wrist healed and most of the decay marks were smooth flesh. He knew that there were methods to heal faster, but he was not aware of the Forest Caldera having access to any that worked this quickly.

The skin where decay had been used was smooth like a burn. It was clear of hair and lacked the texture that ordinary skin had. Tristan looked back at the patriarch’s mask, maybe he could heal it, just not heal and still look presentable.

“Ready to go?” Shadow Fist asked.

The patriarch nodded and they started on their way back to the mine. Shadow Fist took the head of the column and Henry the back. The six guards were lined up in two rows on either side of Tristan. This seemed overkill, though. Henry alone could handle him. Tristan had only done as well as he did because of the traps he used and the shock factor of his alloy force. Without those two advantages and lacking any weapons, Henry would easily win.

It was only as they marched through the Caldera’s streets that Tristan realized what was going on. This was a show, Shadow Fist, or if not him, then someone in leadership was trying to show off a strong image to the people. They had captured the big bad silver devil that destroyed a building and maimed two of the city’s head families.

Most people simply ignored the progression after making sure they did not know the imprisoned man. However, a few stopped and watched as Tristan was hauled past. He was surprised at the mixture of anger and fear in their eyes. It was the same look that many of the foremen had on the day of the sifting. It really did not make a difference to Tristan, so long as no one started throwing things at him.

They made it out of the Forest Caldera and started down the road to the mine. Their pace was slow, mostly due to the six guards, as they had by far the lowest kerns. If Tristan were to guess, they were all around tier one, and not very far into tier one. Tier one allowed them to move in armor without any of its drawbacks, that fifty percent higher strength compensated for most of its weight.

At higher tiers armor became less about stopping swords and more about stopping beasts. It was the entire reason so much metal was needed. Elder Forest had an army equipped to kill manticores, dire wolves, and night mares. He needed an army equipped to kill people. Tristan understood the logic, but he also did not see that armor doing any good when the guard crabs started rampaging. At that time, they would need the thicker torso and head protection needed for beasts, while the chain mail would be almost useless. In the end, it was not Tristan’s duty to save the Caldera from its own stupid decisions.

An hour later, the mine came into sight. It had changed quite a bit. The piles of stone and metal that Tristan had practiced with were gone. In their place was a stone shed with two cows inside happily chewing away at buckets of grain. Grace was currently showing a black haired girl how to milk them.

Tristan smiled slightly, Eve had beaten him here. The procession came to a halt so abruptly that he almost walked into Shadow Fist’s back.

“Move,” Shadow Fist said sternly, “We are on Caldera business.”

Looking around Shadow Fist, he could not help but smile. Luke sat right in the middle of the path cross-legged like he was meditating, “Sorry, no can do. So, some tree hugger said we need to release a nightmarishly powerful elemental, so this is a danger zone. Only expendable personnel allowed.”

“Push him out of the way,” Shadow Fist said. He would not take any of this bumpkin’s sass.