Vayra ran through the mountains, searching for an entrance to the Night Vale Chambers. As soon as she got inside, the door would prevent anyone else from following her. But she needed to find it, first.
She navigated through the valleys, doing her best to remember the way she had come when she’d travelled with Nathariel. It had been a winding route at the river’s edge…until it hadn’t been, and she remembered she had to curve away from it, towards a sometimes-flowing lava channel.
Well, just her luck—today it was flowing. She crept along the edge, on the shore or black gravel, dodging bubbles of molten stone and sparks as best she could—she figured even molten stone would be too much for her phoenix’s skin to handle, and surely more than Phasoné could take.
Every step, more of the shore crumbled, and she almost slipped a boot into the flow once or twice. If she lingered in one spot too long, the soles of her boots began to char, but if she ran too fast, her footfalls were too heavy, and the shore threatened to crumble.
‘Careful, Vayra,’ said Phasoné. ‘The key word is careful.’
By the time she reached the doorway, she was praying that there had been no one else who entered the Chambers today. She didn’t know if it applied only to a single doorway or to them all, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was getting inside.
The doorway was on the other side of the river, so she scaled the edge of the valley as high as she could, then, clinging on to the stone, she plotted a trajectory over the lava flow.
As best as she could, she Braced her legs with starlight Arcara, and used the extra burst of strength to fling herself across the river. She pushed a little too hard, and slammed into the rock wall on the other side. She fell down to the ground. Before she tumbled into the lava river, she clutched the stone and held herself in place—as best she could. She still flopped down onto the gravel shore, then immediately hopped up as soon as her robe began to smoulder.
Constantly stepping side to side, she examined the runes surrounding the doorframe. It looked the same as the door on the other side of the mountains, and she figured that flooding it with mana and Arcara would work.
She held out her hand, touched the doorframe, and pushed. White and blue light bled out the palm of her hand and into the door. The runes lit up, then began to shine with power. They glowed brighter and brighter, then—
She left out a breath that had caught in her throat, then resumed a consistent, stable cycling pattern—a more combat-focussed pattern. She had to take the most direct route north, which meant she might have to venture a little deeper into the caverns.
But now, she was a Master. That had to count for something.
She turned her shoulder and pushed through the doorway. As soon as she passed through, the brick wall snapped back into existence behind her.
“Alright, Phas,” Vayra said. “Just a trip back through some…dark tunnels…”
At least it wasn’t so dark this time. She looked down at the scarf, then drew enough starlight from it to form a seer-core above her hand.
‘I’d suggest moving sooner than later, so the magmaspawn don’t have a chance to catch up,” Phasoné said.
“Yep, yep,” Vayra said. She held her hand out in front of her as far as she could, illuminating the tunnel. “Let’s do this.”
[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]
Nathariel woke up and found what he’d expected.
Scratch that. He’d expected it to happen a few days ago, and was surprised it took her this long. He’d expected it, in a way.
Glade wasn’t taking it well. “We need to go after her!” he exclaimed. “Bring her back, or Myrrir will kill her!”
“And when we bring her back, what will we do?”
“I just—”
“I don’t think you understand,” Nathariel said. “She’s made her choice. She’ll do this whether we try to stop her or not. It’s happened with every one of my disciples. They’re all the same. And I’m sure when you get strong enough, you’ll flee too.”
“I do not think I will ever get strong enough for that,” Glade said.
“Don’t be so certain, boy.” Nathariel walked to the door, then looked outside. All of his horses were still here. Good. “I’ve seen disciples with less potential than you advance higher. Though, they also had much, much more money…but I digress.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“What are we going to do, then?” Glade asked.
“Accept it. She’s gone.”
“Excuse me?” Glade sprinted around, then barged in front of Nathariel. “We cannot! We would be dooming the Galaxy!”
Nathariel had to admit, the boy was loyal and determined. But at what point would he realize that he was embarking on a pointless journey? He could chase after Vayra all he wanted. Disciples like that never changed.
With a frustrated grunt, Nathariel pushed the door all the way open. He pushed past Glade and took a reluctant step outside. After a few seconds, he was about to take another step, but he glanced back for a moment to find Glade standing behind him with a book in hand. The Godscourge book.
“Of course she forgot it.” Nathariel snapped it out of the boy’s hands and clutched it tightly.
“Did she forget it?” Glade asked. “Or did she plan to come back?” Again, he ran outside. “Forgive me, sir—Elder, or however you may title yourself—but I know Vayra. She might run off without thinking, but she is not evil, and she is not doing this out of spite. But she will need help, and you are an Admiral. You could help.”
“I am an instructor who has failed at every turn,” Nathariel said. “Every time, they fail. I thought a pair of blank slates might be the key, but it seems not. There’s such thing as evil, boy, and it can corrupt anyone. I could be training the next Karmion, and I might never know it.”
“She will not turn to Karmion’s side,” Glade asserted.
“And why not?” Nathariel gripped the Godscourge book and marched south, walking as fast as he could. There was no need to run. The boy could follow if he wanted.
“Because she wants to help!”
Glade’s footsteps crunched in the gravel behind Nathariel, trailing him towards the split in the river.
“Yet she won’t listen,” Nathariel said, increasing his pace. Subconsciously, his body began to walk faster than it would normally have been capable of, fuelled by his Arcara. “She chose to walk into this trap, and she chose to doom the Galaxy. That was all on her. Even if she doesn’t crack in front of Karmion, her absence is enough.”
“The absence of people like you did not help, either.” Now, Glade had to sprint to keep up with Nathariel.
“Were you willing to throw yourself at every bluecoat you saw until they slaughtered you? No? Then don’t lecture me about not helping. I was one man against a Galaxy’s worth of Gods and their children.” He placed a hand on his ribs, where the patch of fabric and starsteel netting substituted for his skin. “I’d fight them again, if it wasn’t entirely futile.”
The branch in the rivers approached. He marched onto the crumbling bridge and sprang across it. Glade, however, couldn’t yet enhance his body. He stared down at the edge, then inched as far forward as he could.
The boy’s eyebrows angled outwards and his eyes pleaded. “You could come with us, sir. You could come back to Velaydia and help—by training us.”
“Last time I offered my assistance, the Order of Balance tried to kill me.” Nathariel shook his head, then marched towards the former Arcara storage room. “I think not, boy.” Bracing his vocal cords so his voice travelled further, he said, “You can stay here and continue your training with me, or you can go after her. The choice is yours.”
If Glade replied, Nathariel couldn’t hear it.
He looked forwards, towards the yawning black hole. He had only stepped into the Arcara storage room once, when he had first found this place. When he’d explained what it was to Vayra, he hadn’t been entirely honest with her.
The Arcara was strong enough to reach inside one’s core and examine a soul. It didn’t just have a slight degree of prescience because it was magic, but because it could see a soul, and know the most likely decisions its bearer would make. It was the deepest form of spiritual scanning possible.
Most times, that manifested in visions inspired by the soul and spirit. But sometimes, they were more than just visions.
Clutching the Godscourge book tight, Nathariel marched into the storage room. He imagined giant spools lining the walls, where the Dragon Gods would have spun Arcara-soaked fire into strands for storage. He imagined a hundred powerful, half-scaled humanoids organizing the room, doing their best to build this facility, for whatever its grand purpose was.
Nathariel shut his eyes and opened them again, but he saw nothing different.
“Since when did I ever teach you to give up, hrmm?”
That…voice. Soft, calm, and melodious. Immediately, Nathariel fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the floor. “Instructor, sir, I am not worthy.”
The ends of a soft, sky blue robe passed in front of Nathariel’s eyes. He spared a glance upwards. The vision looked real. As real as anything could. He traced the sky-blue robe up to a man’s face. He wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of virility, not with his smooth features and locks of long blonde hair that formed an upside-down V around his eyes. Two fox ears, matching the tone of his hair, sprouted from the top of his head, and a fluffy tail swished behind him. But he radiated a different, stronger kind of power with each step: wisdom.
“And I never once told you to bow so hard and fast that you cracked the floor.” He swatted Nathariel on the back of the head with a small wooden rod. “You went from Commodore to Admiral without my instruction.”
Nathariel felt his eyes beginning to glisten. This wasn’t real. His old teacher was gone, sitting in the heavens and shaking his head with disappointment.
“Our students make mistakes, Nathariel.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been—”
“No. The phoenix.” The man knelt before Nathariel. “Let her make her mistakes. A rabbit only learns to fear traps when it gets caught in one. But the rabbit must make it out alive. Only then will she learn.”
“But—”
“Is that not what I taught you?” He shook his head, a low growl escaping his lips. “You came to me, a young man on a Fire Path, at the Master stage. You were only…two decades old? Three? What would that young man think of you now, hrmm? I reckon that he’d not be pleased.”
“No…he wouldn’t be,” Nathariel breathed. “He wanted disciples, students to pass on the techniques he learned to. He wanted everyone around him to succeed.”
“Then you know what to do. The rabbit must make it out of the snare.”
“What will happen to her?”
“Let me show you my best guess…”