Vayra ran out into the open fields of the greenhouse, Bracing her legs to run faster. She picked up speed, and soon, her footsteps were carving a wake of dust behind her.

She crossed through fields of glowing blue spirit grains and splashed through rivers of purified, vibrant Stream water. She leapt down terraformed slices of earth and slid down overgrown slopes until she was deep in a valley. Sparks of mana floated in the air, and when they hit her arms and legs, they absorbed into her body.

It wasn’t enough to replenish her Bracing techniques, though. Gradually, her mana stores depleted as she ran across the bottom of the greenhouse. Phasoné gave constant reminders.

She needed to lose Larra. She needed to get out of sight and hide her scent from that wolf, too.

She ran along the side of the valley, on a broad ledge covered in waist-high wheat and juniper saplings with glowing needles. Ahead, a forest of three-storey-tall flowers covered the blocky ledges of the valley. They reminded her of roses, but they had no stem, and their petals were magenta.

As she ran, she made sure to cycle Arcara through her limbs as quickly as she could, clearing out the char and debris in her channels as soon as the Bracing technique created it. She also pushed Arcara up to her damaged nose, fuelling the enhanced healing of her body. After a few minutes, it stopped bleeding. When she was a few paces from the flower forest, it snapped back into place, like it had never been hurt at all.

A few minutes into the forest, she knew she needed something to hide her scent. She stopped beside a flower and prodded it to make sure it wouldn’t move to attack or eat her. It didn’t even flinch—it wasn’t alive in the same way the guardian vines were.

She peeled the petals down until she reached the pollen-filled core of the flower. It smelled of a perfume so intense that her nostrils stung, so she breathed through her mouth as she coated herself in the yellow powder. It’d have to mask her scent, though.

For a few more minutes, she ran through the forest. She leapt over another stream of spirit water, then plowed through a patch of brambles.

As she ventured deeper into the forest, the flowers grew so tall and broad that she couldn’t see the greenhouse dome above.

It had to be safe. She flopped down on her back amidst a patch of normal-sized grass, moss, and soft mud.

In a matter of minutes, exhaustion took over, and she half-fell-asleep and half-passed-out.

image [https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_2bcdeab6626a49c1bc2fa21d230a67c6~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_560,h_281,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/ship%20better.png]

Glade couldn’t do anything but watch. He clenched his fists and slammed then against the glass wall, having depleted all of his mana trying desperately to break through.

Specks whirled in front of his eyes. His lips had cracked, and his skin felt like it would flake off at any moment. He’d never been so dehydrated in his life.

A few seconds after Vayra bolted, Larra chased after. She managed a decent jog, but for an Admiral, her speed left a lot to be desired. With each step she took, though, the ground trembled and shook.

Soon, she passed out of sight, and a feeling of helplessness washed over Glade. Whatever stage that God-heir was actually at didn’t matter. Vayra was trapped on the eastern side of the greenhouse with someone who could exert the power of an Admiral at will. Or by petting a wolf—however that had happened.

“We could try climbing over,” Pels said.

They all looked up. The wedge of glass had fallen from somewhere on the western side of the greenhouse and sheared straight through the foyer, dividing it in half. But the foyer’s walls were still strong enough that, despite the wedge of outer dome smashing through it, the majority of the structure was still intact.

“I cannot see a gap that any of us could fit through,” Glade said. “Nor anything on the western side.”

The last remaining Order Adept nodded, and Nathariel said, “Aye, neither do I.”

Pels knelt down and began to reload one of his pistols. He had fired it at the wall, but nothing had come of it. “This place is falling apart. If a wedge of the outer dome could have fallen here, it could fall anywhere.”

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“Perhaps if we wait long enough, another shard will fall, and it will either crush the outer wall of the foyer or give us a route over to the east side,” suggested the last Adept, an elven woman named Galiris, who had an enormous scar through her left eye. She flourished her sword and tucked it into her sheath.

She was only a quartermaster, and Glade was technically more powerful than her now, but he hadn’t been made an Adept yet—she still outranked him in that regard.

“Shards of glass don’t just fall in the precise, most inconvenient place possible,” Nathariel said. He pointed up at the main dome of the greenhouse. “Nothing has fallen off the eastern side at all. But if we couldn’t touch the Moulded Arcara, then neither could Larra—there’s no way that power-scaling technique of hers goes up to Grand Admiral, let alone the Emissary Realm.”

Glade was inclined to agree. “Especially not when the dome was put in place by a God. Or…Emissary, I suppose, however they name themselves.”

“The east side might be intact,” said Pels, “but the west side is looking a little worse for wear.”

Scaffolding clung to the outer wall of the western side, supporting large banks of the outer glass. They might not have been able to break the sheets apart, but the scaffolding was just trellises up trellises of wood. If that fell, sections of the western half of the dome could come down.

“A little tampering by your God-heir, and she probably could have dropped something on use exactly where she needed,” Pels continued.

“There is still the matter of where we go now, and what we do,” Galiris said. “We cannot wait around and let the Mediator stay in danger.”

“There’s only one way over to the other side of the dome,” said Nathariel. He waved his finger through the air, drawing a ring of fire that circled the upper chamber. “And we will have a long climb to get there.”

Glade tried to pick out a way up the side of the dome, or up the center wall, just tracing it with his eyes. But he identified nothing at the moment. Maybe if they jumped from the scaffolding over to a large conk, then up a set of vines, but that was a long shot.

“And we have more than one job here,” Nathariel continued. He looked directly at Glade, his burning orange eyes searing into Glade’s forehead. “We have another potential contestant for the Skyclash tournament, who needs to make it to Captain, whatever the cost.”

“Advancing so quickly will cripple him beyond that,” Galiris said. “It is impossible for a God-heir, let alone a young man with low spirit potential. And even if it was, it would ruin his channels and tear apart his core. You would throw away one of our strongest, most promising disciples?”

“If he holds a Godhood, a shattered spirit would be no more than a cracked toenail—a mild inconvenience, and repairable in a matter of weeks.” Nathariel stepped closer and set his hands on Glade’s shoulders. “You have inserted yourself into fate, boy, and now you must ride that course to its conclusion.”

Glade sighed. “Vayra cannot take Talock’s Godhood, correct?”

“You are our best candidate. She has other powers to contend with Karmion. She’ll clear the way for you, but it’s up to you to bring it home.”

Glade nodded. “Then I will do it. But we had better keep climbing. My duty, my pledge, is still to serve the Mediator. I will advance as we climb towards the central dome.”

“Now, hold up a second,” Pels said. “We make it up there, cross over, what then? We all take on the crazy water lady together? We don’t know if Vayra will even try to meet us up there.” He wrung his hands together nervously.

“Aye, we don’t,” said Nathariel. “But that room likely has some sort of control ability in it. Rune-lines, starsteel wires, the like.”

“You think there’s a way to drop the central wall?” Pels asked.

“Not necessarily drop it, but to cross over. Why would you divide a greenhouse in half—”

“To control different temperatures and separate plants that don’t play nice?” Galiris provided.

“—if there was no way of easily transporting materials from one side to the other.” Nathariel motioned from one side of the greenhouse to the other. “The east side is packed with raw refineries. The west side, with more specialized resources. There would haveto be some exchange of resources.”

Glade scrunched his eyebrows. Despite being abandoned, the west side of the facility seemed to be operating perfectly fine. The trees were growing and producing fruit, at least. He chewed his lip, then said, “There has to be a way for the water to get back and forth between them.”

“Root pumps,” said Nathariel. “Just like on the way in, they’ll be pressed up against the glass, and we won’t get through that way, either.”

“Well, doesn’t seem like we have much of a choice.” Pels marched over to the door to the western side of the greenhouse.

“We still have a way out on our side,” Nathariel said, unmoving. “You can head back, Captain.”

“I’ll pass.” Pels pushed on the door. It was a sliding wooden gate, only about two storeys tall, with a single panel. “I’m not leaving our Mediator out there alone, and by the Streamfather, I’m not letting white-hair over here get minced. And you all still need a way back.” His feet began to scramble against the ground. The door wasn’t budging.

Because Pels would be the best suited for that… Glade thought. He kept his mouth sealed; it wouldn’t be proper for a disciple like him to speak sarcastically to a navy captain.

“Very well,” said Nathariel. “Step aside, Pels.” He walked up to the door and pressed his hand against it, and a surge of Arcara poured out. It filled a few runes before flowing up to an Arcara lock. With a click, the lock snapped open. Nathariel heaved the gate to the side with a single push.

“Guess water-lady over there already had the door open before we arrived, eh?” Pels put his hands on his hips, panting, but Nathariel marched through the doorway. “Alright, alright, straight to business.”

“We need a place to sleep,” the Admiral said. “In the morning, we’ll make our plan. I’ll keep the first watch.”

Glade ran to catch up. “Watch from what?”

“If one God-heir made it here, then there’s a chance others will too.”