Sidrick woke up next to his sister outside the grand hall. He stood up and stared at the already advancing centurion. One of its arms was gone, two others in poor condition.

The Anchor’s charges had gone down to four.

Sidrick spun up his arrays, his reservoir restored with his body. This was doable. He tried not to look at his dead copy laying near the pedestal. He would retrieve his clothes after this was over. It was bad practice to leave copies of yourself lying around but he didn’t have anything to burn it with.

In training, some of his family members had been traumatized seeing a dead copy of themselves. They went back and forth on which was real, who they really were, and asked a whole host of questions any elementary soul mage would tell you were nonsense. The soul was all that mattered. The body was a container formed to connect ethereal to physical, not unlike a labyrinth. Its form followed the soul’s.

Sidrick didn’t pick up any more of his knives or water vials. He strode toward the centurion as his arrays activated. Working on spatial magic would be his top priority once he got out of the labyrinth. Fighting without being able to use his ice magic felt like… Well, actually, he was fighting naked.

Sidrick waited for the centurion to teleport again. It appeared at his back once more, halfway through its sword swing. He narrowly avoided it and wasted no time as he hugged the centurion and pulled space towards it. The two half broken arms fell quickly. The third was deflected by ice before it fell. The cracks were getting deep enough to scratch the centurion’s core.

The centurion resorted to knee strikes. Sidrick clenched his teeth and took the hits, relying on his natural defenses. Each blow smacked into him with a force that would blow out a grown man’s chest.

He smiled slightly. Layla hit much harder than this.

The golem froze for a moment before a massive surge of mana began to build in its core. Sidrick swore and broke away. The damage he sustained made it difficult to move, but he managed to get behind a stone pillar just in time.

A blinding light ripped across the room. The explosion’s heat singed Sidrick’s skin despite the cover. He clenched his teeth and endured, determined to at least see what those hidden doors were for. His reservoir was half empty, so he couldn’t just look with his sensory spell.

The light finally started to dim.

Sidrick looked out from behind the pillar. The centurion was gone, even its fallen limbs reduced to dust. The stone of the grand hall was completely undamaged, not even singed. Either the self destruct was designed not to harm the room or there were some monstrous enchantments at work. Looking at the doorway and at his sister, he sighed in relief. Everything behind the doorway was untouched, maybe a function of the labyrinth.

Some mechanisms clicked into place as the hidden doors opened. Sidrick’s gaze was fixed on the center of the room.

Spider-like creatures with tubular heads and a horrifying set of teeth flooded up from the opening. They were from the last floor.

Sidrick smiled. Bugs? Now that he could deal with.

The water floating nearby froze into a sharp, drill-like shape. Sidrick flicked it toward the swarm of arachnids, piercing through a dozen of them in moments. Their baseball-sized brothers and sisters were splattered in blood and gore. It was a small dent in their numbers, an insignificant victory save for one simple thing.

It gave him fuel.

Sidrick’s ice arrays spun into action.

The arachnid blood gathered into an orb that shot to his side. It combined with the canteen water, his new orb a muddy green. As he backed away from the spider pits, Sidrick molded a tendril from his water orb and froze its end into a scythe.

The blade tore through wave after wave of arachnids, their blood only adding to his orb’s size. They screeched as their kin were cut down. It sounded like a crying child, the sound grating on Sidrick’s consciousness. Mind magic, perhaps. Weak. But with the size of their nests on the layer below… He was very, very glad Layla had been awake to destroy it all.

He felt something appear behind him, its form indecipherable.

Sidrick dodged sideways as a glass knife whistled past where he just was. It was held by a porcelain arm that slipped into obscurity as quickly as it appeared. He barely felt the creature move through his senses as it lunged toward him. He dodged swing after swing. The blade shimmered with a silver aura, the air twisting where it passed.

Taking an opening, Sidrick’s ice scythe sliced through where the assailant’s body should have been. It hit empty air.

Where’s its body? Sidrick thought as he deflected a strike. His orb split into two, one going to the grand hall’s entrance. It expanded into a frozen wall, stopping the arachnids from reaching Layla.

Sidrick’s reservoir was at quarter capacity. His ice magic was heaps more efficient than anything else in his arsenal, but cutting his way through the unending arachnids wasn’t feasible. If another porcelain opponent appeared, he would definitely need a reset. He glanced toward the book on the pedestal. It ordered around the centurion earlier. Why not the porcelain bastard?

Sidrick dashed toward it, creating ice underfoot to lift him up and propel him. Whatever the book was, ripping it up would probably help him.

The arachnids followed his movement, watching him with hate as more of their brethren’s remains gathered into an orb. He tried to freeze the hidden doors closed but his control was wrenched away close to the doors. The arachnid remains dropped down the endless pit, drenching the new ones in blood as they entered the room. Their screeches were especially loud.

Three porcelain arms emerged from nowhere to slice at Sidrick. He dodged one and deflected the second, the third slash giving him a small cut on his shoulder. Branches of icy cold invaded his skin, turning the veins around his cut black. A curse.

Sidrick groaned with pain, gritting his teeth as he landed near the pedestal. Five porcelain arms appeared to strike. Burning a chunk of mana, Sidrick created a bubble of ice. His assailants’ shimmering blades struck his murky red construct. Four glanced off while one pierced through, the blade stopped an inch from Sidrick’s neck.

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The porcelain assailants didn’t disappear this time as they raised their weapons again.

Sidrick burned another chunk of mana, expanding the bubble with explosive force. His attackers were thrown back a few meters before they withdrew into their intangible haven.

Sidrick grabbed the book before they could come back.

“UNWORTHY!!” the book screamed, its voice slamming into Sidrick’s mind like a sledgehammer. Every arachnid burst into pools of blood and gore. Black veins climbed up Sidrick’s arm as the book, each word a hammer blow to his mind, howled, “I WILL TEAR THE FLESH FROM YOUR BONES, HUMAN. YOUR BLOOD WILL BE THE INK FOR MY PAGES. YOUR ENTRAILS WILL BE—”

Sidrick collapsed as the world went dark.

#

Ede Alonse looked like an almost kindly middle-aged man. He had streaks of white in his black hair and eyes the color of mud. He wore a dark three-piece suit and a blue shawl, its edges lined with large golden patterns. He exuded no power or particularly special presence.

Even his office seemed more or less mundane. Most Sovereigns constructed throne rooms or filled their space with vast arrays of treasures and incredible art. This was only somewhat bigger than a large classroom, its walls lined with half full bookshelves and the occasional painting. One of them was a crudely drawn portrait of Ede Alonse—something his son had made when he was a toddler. Nereck told her he had long given up on convincing his father to take it down.

Ede Alonse did not need to show off treasures to impress guests or stroke his ego. Rather, Centralis itself was his gesture of power. The prosperity of his citizens, the generations trained within his walls, the heroes and archmages loyal to his philosophy. He had built an empire of good will, his name sung with smiles in every town, city, and kingdom on Linea.

Ede Alonse looked up from his sketchbook as Jonah entered. She caught a glimpse of his drawing—a faceless woman in a beautiful red dress. Jonah wagered she’d be seeing the Sovereign’s wife in the very same dress soon.

“So happy to know that my message was received this time,” Ede Alonse said as he swiveled in his chair to face her. His voice was warm, confident, even calming. He could narrate paint drying and turn it into a stirring event.

“When did the traveler get here?” Jonah asked.

Ede Alonse put his sketchbook away and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not sure. They arrived some time ago. The labyrinth told me that much, at least.”

Jonah crossed her arms.

“Oh, there are at least a dozen reasons I’m not completely clear on the situation, probably more. That’s the best part about travellers,” Ede Alonse said. “I want you to go down there and find them. Hopefully alive. They seem to have an Anchor, by the way. A strong mage would’ve come out by now and a weak one wouldn’t survive this long without special measures.”

“I—“

“You can look after them if it pleases you. What matters to me is getting them out alive.”

Ede Alonse’s doorstep was far, far from the worst place to arrive, Jonah knew. Travellers often had spells and magical knowledge not yet realized on Linea. A magical edge was what won wars and protected territory—Sovereigns would go very far to bring travellers to their side, by friendly means or otherwise. At least here, Jonah could make sure they stayed alive and intact.

Jonah crossed her arms. “What layer?”

“The fifth, last I checked. They presumably climbed from the bottom. Ah, and there may be more than one.” Ede Alonse raised a hand, stopping Jonah before she could say something. “The second signal is very weak. Either the person is dying or the stronger traveller brought a pet.”

“Either way, I’ll have a team ready by noon,” Jonah said, turning to leave.

“I’ve already prepared accommodations,” Ede Alonse said excitedly. “I look forward to your speedy return, Jonah.”

She just snorted as she left.

#

Sidrick woke up with the worst headache of his life. A problem with his soul, then. The Anchor solved any physical ailments. He was back outside the grand hall, his flesh brand new and his reservoir full. It was actually a shred larger this time, owed to all the magic he threw around.

He slowly sat up and leaned his against the wall, panting as he started drawing a basic soul magic array in his mind’s eye. It was one of the few soul arrays legal on Yenoriha—a simple diagnostic spell. The array’s lines sluggishly connected, its runes sauntering into position.

After what felt like an eternity, Sidrick finally cast his spell.

“UNWORTHY—”

He cut off the spell. A curse remnant probably. Fantastic.

Taking a healing salve from his satchel, he uncapped the bottle and splashed it on Layla. She twitched as the salve soaked into her skin. Sidrick sighed and looked at his Anchor. The number three shone within. He found himself wishing that Layla had coded the device to herself instead of him. That was what their mother had intended in the first place.

“So stupid…” Sidrick murmured, running a hand over his face. He could still feel the centurion’s sword in his back. When he closed his eyes, he saw the labyrinth’s forest layer, felt the fungus spores growing through him and…

He forced himself to stand.

Focus on what’s in front of you, he thought, putting a hand on the murky red ice wall he’d made. He slid his hand across its surface, the ice melting where it passed. He cast his sensory spell and peered in. The arachnids had stopped coming, reduced to puddles on the floor. Maybe the book’s voice had even reached the nest below the room. Not that he’d go down to find out.

There were no porcelain guards. He couldn’t even detect the strange absences that housed them.

The book was still held by his dead copy’s hand, though the black veins were gone.

Sidrick melted the ice, returning it to an orb at his back as he walked toward the pedestal. An orb this large took a considerable amount of mana to maintain, but if there was a third round for the room, he would need it. He didn’t dare touch the book again, content to keep his three remaining lives.

No matter how much he examined the pedestal, he couldn’t find anything special about it. No runes, no arrays, no hidden buttons. He thought something was blocking his sensory spell from properly surveying it, but no.

After checking other parts of the grand hall, he still came up with nothing. All he could do was loot his first copy, taking back his clothes. They were splattered with a mix of his and arachnid blood. Multiple holes were torn through it but at least the pants were fine.

Worse was the stench. His clothes smelled like a corpse’s asshole. Well I planned to burn them anyway.

Sidrick finally looked at the book again. Its cover was more or less ordinary, with silver metal lining its edges. It had no title he could see, or at least not on the cover. He muttered a few curses before going back to splash another healing salve on his sister.

There was no path forward.

That whole test was for nothing.

Sidrick walked back to the book and stared at it. He paced back and forth, agonizing over the risk even as the diagnostic spell formed in his mind.

“Here we go, death number three,” he said as he activated the spell.

“YOU DARE TO SILENCE ME!! YOU MISERABLE—“

Sidrick cancelled the spell. He sighed and rubbed his neck. The voice didn’t hurt him any more at least. It was just… Why was it in his head?

He crossed his arms and stared at the book as he positioned his orb over it.

“If you can hear me, don’t scream or I’ll drench you in spider blood,” Sidrick said. It felt so incredibly stupid to be threatening a book.

The soul diagnostic flipped on.

“FOOLISH HUMAN, MY PAGES WILL NOT BE RUINED! MY INK IS ETERNAL!!”

Sidrick dropped his orb on the book.

“My pages! Aiya, no, ah, my ink is running, my ink is running!” the book whined. “How could you do this to me? Do you have no respect for knowledge?”

Sidrick just stared.

“Err, uh, mY PAGES WILL DRY, MY INK WILL RETURN, AND VENGEANCE WILL BE MINE!!”