When the Copperpeak summit was only a glistening amber arrowhead on the southern horizon, firmly behind Glade, he finally arrived at the Frostblade Shrine.
He marched along a path of rusty brown pebbles. With each step, they clinked and rattled like coins. Shards of silver, polished steel and iron lined the road, all angled to the west—away from the wind—and caked with a thin layer of snow. In the low patches, glens of leafless aspen trees bent away from the wind, permanently shaped.
Most importantly, a creek burbled to his left, letting out a hollow jangle whenever it dipped down deeper into the earth—until it ran along the base of a ravine, and he could no longer hear it over the rushing wind.
He knew he’d arrived at the shrine when he passed through a lonely, wall-less wooden gate arching over the path. Two aspen trunks supported its sides, stripped clean of bark, and a sideways trunk spanned the top, much wider than the gate was tall. A worn, oiled rope tied each junction together.
He bowed his head as he passed through the gate, as he remembered Elder Eman-Fa doing, then approached the shrine beyond.
It was a simple set of longhouses surrounded by a palisade. None of the windows shone, but a streak of smoke rose from the complex’s far corner, ripped away by the wind and dragged across the landscape.
Glade passed through a gap in the palisade and approached the central longhouse. If anyone was home, he hoped he’d find them there.
Inside the palisade, the winds were just as strong, but the ground was more even, and shrivelled weeds sprouted up along the central thoroughfare. He drew his sword, heeding the innkeeper’s warning.
And just in time. A deep, metallic growl chimed out behind him, seeping from the shadows behind a wooden longhouse. A pair of glowing white eyes appeared, then a wolf’s snout made of silver crystal. It shook in the wind like fur.
Then the rest of the wolf’s head emerged.
It was twice as large as a regular wolf, though at this point, Glade could barely say he knew what a regular wolf looked like. He’d only seen a few in the depths of Thronehome.
But a quick scan of its spirit revealed that it was only Master’s Mate grade, maybe a little higher and nearing Third Lieutenant. It’d be a problem for a regular mortal, but not for Glade anymore.
He flourished his sword, then withdrew the swordwyrm from his corespace. “Free ride is up, buddy,” Glade said. “I think there will be more of these guys.”
The swordwyrm spun around, then angled into the wind, keeping itself steady. “Many swords. Very tasty.”
“If you want to eat them, you will have to kill them first,” Glade said.
“Help sword-friend!” the wyrm chittered. “Yes, will help sword-friend!”
“Then let us get started.”
The silverwolf leapt out of cover completely, and sure enough another trio prowled out of the shadows behind. It couldn’t have been all of the pack even still, but they could deal with these ones and move on.
Each of the silverwolves had a perfect coat of sword-like crystal, and when they growled, they revealed true steel daggers for teeth. Glade fuelled his enhanced body, then launched toward the nearest wolf. He dodged its teeth with a commodore’s ease, then thrust his blade up through its chin. The point emerged from the other side of its head with a slick of black blood glistening on its tip.
He ripped his sword and spun around. The swordwyrm batted away another wolf, keeping it at bay, and Glade engaged the other two. He chopped and sliced, enhancing his blade and concentrating its force to cleave off teeth.
And when shards of metal broke off, he used his Reach technique to turn them into a free-floating hammer. He struck both wolves at the same time. When they presented openings, he used his speed to capitalize, driving a wisp of metal shards down one’s throat, and hacking the other’s head clean off its shoulders.
At the same time, the swordwyrm wedged its enormous blade into the fourth wolf’s mouth, then split its jaw and dragged itself a few feet down the beast’s body, killing it in a flash and spewing black blood across the aspenwood wall of a nearby longhouse.
Glade flourished his sword, then turned forward again. A fifth wolf had been prowling along the path toward them, but when it saw the carnage, it halted and backed away. It still growled, and still showed its fangs.
It was regrouping.
“I guess they will make us clear the whole place out, then.” Glade flicked his sword to the side. “Ready to eat a few more meals?”
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“Hungry!” the swordwyrm exclaimed.
“Then let us hunt.”
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For the next few days, Vayra stayed in the exact same position, keeping herself awake through concentrated willpower and holding herself in place with the strength of her mechanical arm wound into the rigging.
She didn’t have to focus on drawing anything in. Using her techniques and shielding the ship, holding it exactly where it was, did all that for her. With every hour that passed, she drew closer to Admiral. Eating, drinking? She still needed to, but with her enhanced and reforged body, she could a little while longer. But she’d need a feast when she was done.
But she still needed the revelation if any of this was going to work out.
On the fourth day, as she funnelled her power, continually Warding the hull, she asked Phasoné, “What was your Admiral revelation, then? How’d you advance?”
‘ “I will fight the Gods,” ’ Phasoné said.
“Explanation?”
‘It’s as it seems. There were always those seeds of discontent deep within me, and I knew I would ascend, but…I never realized I’d end up fighting them until I reached Admiral.’
Obviously, that wouldn’t work for Vayra. She’d known for a while that she’d have to fight the Pantheon.
Now, it seemed so immediate, that nothing about it could be a future revelation at all.
She swallowed nervously, but didn’t say anything, knowing that Phasoné could detect those thoughts as well.
But there was no reason to not try. She’d still feel something if she knew the revelation, and she could use it to advance when she was ready.
“I will…see the galaxy?” Vayra said questioningly.
But that wasn’t a revelation. Of course she would. For all the times she’d dreamed of leaving Tavelle, that was her one goal.
‘No one knows their future, really,’ Phasoné said. ‘And nothing is set in stone. It makes the revelation even more difficult to reach when things are changing so fast. But there are moments in your life when you…realize that you know how you want things to change, and you know which direction you want to push things in. Why do you still strive, even now, to destroy Karmion?’
“You know.”
‘I want you to say it and think about it.’
“I want to destroy Karmion so I can be done with this all…so that the galaxy won’t need me, and so that everyone can go back and live their lives.”
‘And yet, you’re a somewhat selfish person…’
“You’re leading me on,” Vayra muttered.
‘Of course I am. I think I know what it is, but it won’t do you any good if I just say it straight to your face.’
Vayra growled softly, then said, “Yes, I know I can be a bit selfish, but…”
‘But it also makes you empathetic.’
“If I can understand why I dislike or like something, then I can understand why others want it, too, and I can do the right thing based on…myself?”
‘Approximately. Now put it in reverse. Why do you want everyone else to go back to their lives?’
“Because I…I also want to have something beyond this.”
‘Exactly. Turn it into a revelation, now, and keep purifying your Arcara.’
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Over the course of the week, Glade and the swordwyrm hunted and chased the rest of the silverwolves out of the shrine. Working together, they killed at least ten more, and scared away a pack of fifteen, before finally entering the center longhouse.
A pair of glaive-monks had been sheltering around the embers of a fire, warming their hands, cleaning their vibrant lime-green robes, and polishing their glaives. The two of them were both mortals, and they were both humans as best as Glade could tell, with bald heads and ochre skin.
Both had been staring at him as he entered, gazes unwavering. They’d probably been watching for a lot longer, and had deemed him to be an unsuitable target, with the ease he’d destroyed the silverwolves with. If such monks were even prone to attacking strangers, which they didn’t seem terribly disposed to.
“Pardon the intrusion,” Glade had said. “I have come to this sword shrine to pay respects to my old master and to bask in an area high in sword authority. Could you direct me to the best area for taking in the natural energies of this planet’s blades?”
Both of the monks had stared at each other for a few seconds, then communicated in hushed tones using a foreign language. After a few more seconds, the taller of the pair had turned to Glade and said, “Up.” He pointed at the ceiling of the longhouse.
It only had a single, central gloomy corridor, but higher above was a spire that poked out the center of it.
“Thank you, sirs,” Glade said. Then, he ducked down to a crouch and sprang up to the top of the spire, before clutching the walls and navigating up to the top. There was a simple platform, and it was there where he basked in the winds and drew on the nearby shards of steel. Flecks of metal floated in the wind, which he pulled into a pouch, or drew into his channels and let mix with his Arcara.
Before advancing to Commodore, with his channels in a less physical state, it wouldn’t have been possible, but now the boundary between arcane and physical was almost nonexistent.
For the next few days, he remained at the peak, observing the way the wedges of the mountains around split the wind, concentrating wedges of force just like a sword. He traced the split paths by watching the snowflakes tumble in the air, then drew on the energy of the splits, the residual authority of the mountains, to drag the essence of swords into himself.
On the last day, he had purified his Arcara to a high enough degree. He just needed to use it.
It was time to advance.