The Servants finishing their morning prayers, saw that I was prostrated behind them. They lifted me, and said, “So the Gods, have approached you. Do you seek absolution, child?”

“Yes, what must I do.”

They had me circle the fire a hundred eight times and at its end I cast oblations into the fire, and recited a series of hymns they asked of me.

“Do not lax in your recitations for they are not yet done,” they said. “You must continue this for another hundred eight days, reciting the hymns with due concentration for at least one thousand cycles each day.”

My first test in austerities had come. Before I would’ve shuddered at the mere thought of a thorough repetition of a single hymn for a hundred and eight thousand times. Yet now I was prepared. After all, many great sages of old, and ones to come, had and would perform austerities much much greater than this.

I gave my gratitude to the Servants before leaving and scurried onward to the northwestern area of the city.

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The region was cramped beyond belief. It looked to me like a slum. Those stricken with poverty and those having fled their homelands dwelt here en masse. With their living quarters in shambles and many emaciated from hunger, I could see the state of negligence that this part of the city was given. Why had the aristocrats not dealt with this sooner? Did so much wealth need to be redirected toward the north?

My questions wouldn’t be answered for a while, but now I could see the state of those who couldn’t afford to stay in the shelters or orphanages littered across the city. Their foul odor didn’t bother me now, and without distraction or hesitation, I continued onward through the streets.

Passing many miles of winding turns and thin alleyways, I came to an area where children were running and playing. At the end of my view, I could see two stout persons dressed in shoddily put together sets of armor.

I approached them, and said, “I was given direction to this area, by Zhunil. Might I speak with her?”

“Oh!” said one of them, pointing to me, and laughing. “So this is the kid who beat Zhunil! She said she’d rip your heart, drink your blood, and rip your shaft!”

They were indeed just boys. While this seemed a laughing matter to them, I shuddered at those words. I suppose my mind wasn’t as well fortified as I expected.

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Her vulgar mouth seemed to have grown worse and more vicious in the short time that passed since our first encounter.

“Well, do you think I could see her?” I asked. “I want to apologize for yesterday.”

They smelled me. I didn’t like the look on their faces.

“So she didn’t lie,” said one of them. “You smell like an aristocrat.” He looked to the other, grinning behind the helmet. “How about instead of her, we rip off his shaft, and rob him!”

I stepped back. “You don’t think we can talk this over. She must’ve mentioned how powerful I am.”

“We don’t trust her words!” they said. “What we do trust is our sense of smell. And seeing under your cloak emblems of aristocracy, well, it shouldn’t be too much of guess what we’re going to do.”

They grabbed me, their muscles tensing similarly to Zhunil. Yet they didn’t have the same power of strengthening themselves.

I took the chance. I clutched each of their arms as they came to lunged. I issued the air with great blasts send them flying either way. They crashed to the walls and ejected debris and dust. They fell to floor unconscious.

The children stopped their playing and looked to me.

“What for are you looking to me?” I said. “You don’t need my permission, go play.”

As if nothing happened, their holler and screams returned. Under that noise, I entered the building the two boys guarded.

Dust was everywhere, and the darkness made me wonder how it was anyone walked about this space. Candles were dimly lit in certain corners, and holding the fire in my hand, I could barely light the interior. I walked from room to room to see if I could find any trace of Zhunil or her brothers.

I carefully scoured each any every area only to fall short on any clue to their whereabouts. As I sat on the floor wondering what to do next, I saw in the corner of my eye a sliver of light passing through a crevice in the wall. I went to it. On examination, I felt a slight draft. There was an opening! But how to open it?

I placed my hands across the wall. There must surely have been a lever, device, or contraption to open the door. Closing my eyes, I focused my attention into the interior of the walls. I sensed the stone and let my powers guide me to any sort of metal. I traveled down the left side, letting my fingertips press against the wall. Then, I felt a cold touch. One that was marred as if peeling.

I opened my eyes and alighted the flames on my palm. I saw bits of rust falling from a tiny lever inset between two cracks. I nudged it down. Suddenly, the door shot open and a whole heap of dust flew from the opening, covering the space.

I sighed and dusted myself. There was light from the new opening. A series of torches that stretched into darkness. I entered and looked at the torches. They were lit by a power not their own. I gulped and walked into the foreboding hall.

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It seemed as if days passed in this space. I wondered to myself if there was some turn or branch in the path that I had missed.

It seemed there would be no end, and I grew weary. I walked. There was darkness. I walked some more. Still darkness. My walk became a jog. Then turned to running. Then I sprinted as if my life depended on it!

“Let me out!” I cried.