Vayra spent the travel time advancing to Lieutenant.

Under Nathariel’s guidance, she practiced a new cycling pattern that pushed Arcara directly through her core in sharp, bright lances. As she got closer to advancing, it would prompt her core to change immediately. Nathariel, apparently, had developed it for this purpose—he called it the Breath of Three-Corner Fangs. There was probably a reason for the name, but she couldn’t pinpoint it and there was no time to ask for an explanation.

While she practiced the new technique, she had foundational work to complete. The core had two parts: the dark inner core and the light outer core, which were, at the moment, discrete and separate.

Master to Lieutenant was about merging them into one and setting the groundwork for the inner world she would be building through the Lieutenant stages.

“You must be incredibly careful while merging the inner core with the outer core,” said Nathariel. “It is like a planet: if you blend the solid, inner core with the outer, liquid core in an instant, it will have disastrous consequences. Too slow, and you’ll destroy the magnetic field—think of your Arcara channels. The stars will blast the unprotected surface of the planet away, rendering it unlivable and unusable.”

“The same could happen to my core?” Vayra asked.

“You could scour away your channels and deal irreparable damage to your spirit. And, being the Mediator, you might even kill Phasoné.”

Vayra bit her lip and nodded. “So…slow and careful, but not too slow. Got it.” Her heart began to pound faster and faster.

“It should take you four days. No more, no less. I will check in on your progress, but you will not be able to sleep—the both of you.”

‘I assume that means me…’ Phasoné said inside Vayra’s head.

“He definitely means you,” Vayra whispered back.

“You will need to keep each other in check,” Nathariel said. “Keep each other awake and conscious through the whole process. On the final day, the Breath of Three-Corner Fangs will trigger your advancement.”

There were only five days left of their voyage when Nathariel gave them the instructions, so they started immediately.

On the first day, Vayra practiced controlling her core. All she could see was a ball of swirling light, slightly bluer than her starlight Arcara and much brighter. But the dark inner void was within her somewhere. Whenever she ran her mana too low and fell unconscious, her mind ended up there.

‘The core is the center of your Spirit,’ Phasoné said. ‘But your soul is the controller and driving force of all Arcara. Remember your Sacred Metaphors: the mana is wind, the fuel of all. Your channels are the Stream, and your core is a planet. Arcara is the Streamrunner, and anything else is the passenger. Your soul steers the Streamrunner, and you are the coxswain.’

Vayra inhaled slowly, and began to whisper a mantra Phasoné had taught her: “A thousand Emmisaries before me, a thousand Emmisaries after me. I am the Mediator…and I must advance.”

“Empty your mind,” Nathariel told her. “You need to enter your dark void, but without putting yourself entirely unconscious.”

Easier said than done, as usual.

She sat cross-legged for a few minutes, and was about to give up and throw her arms down in frustration when thoughts kept bubbling up in her mind, but she pulled it together and stayed sitting. Meditation was a skill she had to learn.

She held herself in a trance-like state, purging all thoughts from her mind as best she could.

This time, she was certain that hours had passed. Concentrating on the breathing technique helped.

When she tried lifting her arm to scratch an itch on the side of her head, she knew it had worked. She floated in a slurry of dark water, drifting aimlessly. No longer did she have control of her outer body, but instead the inner manifestation of herself. She tried to envision her core and her Arcara system. It didn’t work.

“You’re inside the core now,” came Phasoné’s voice. It reached Vayra’s ears like the Goddess had actually spoken it—albeit through a thick layer of water. “If you want to envision and control your Arcara system, you’ll need to push your mind outwards.

Vayra let her mind fall blank, then drove her consciousness out to the edge of her head. It passed out of the inner manifestation of herself, and for a moment, she saw her own body drifting aimlessly in the dark void.

Then her mind drifted out into the white layer, and she held it there, right on the border. The black liquid churned beneath the white light.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“The core is always a manifestation of the Path,” Phasoné said. “At first, your core was a reflection of my own, being the Mediator. This is the Path of the Corestar. A black, pure-void inner core, and a white sheen of starlight on the outside.”

I need a new Path, Vayra thought. The Godscourge book—she still had it—had made that clear enough. Nothing had God-killing techniques, nothing truly tested.

“You will make one,” Phasoné said. “You will tune your core and forge your Path…in time.”

Not right now? Vayra thought.

“Right now? You’re putting your core to a blank slate—nothing but the power of starlight and void intertwined. It will be ready to imbue with the meaning and purpose of a Path throughout the Lieutenant stages, but no sooner.”

Vayra concentrated again on the boundary between the darkness and light. She let the darkness bleed out, guiding it like water.

“Slow movements,” Phasoné instructed. “Guide the waves with your arms and let yourself become water.”

Vayra thrust her arms outwards. She watched her own body move. The darkness blasted out into the white, threatening to chew through the layer. She pulled her arms in and held them up to her chest.

“Too fast,” Phasoné said.

Whoops.

“No mistakes,” the Goddess demanded. “No more ‘whoops’.”

Vayra sighed, and the core shuddered. No more.

“When I was at Master,” Phasoné said, “I had a core of wind-intentioned energy, and an inner core of pure, un-bent energy. I don’t precisely remember the pathways or movements, but my process was one of forming tight boundaries and overcoming the bending, free-flowing nature of my previously wind-based Path. You are undoing that work now.”

Vayra spread her arms out slowly, pushing the darkness out. It seeped into the outer white shell like water through mud. She maintained the new cycling pattern as well. Concentrating on the breaths held her in her trance.

She let the dark void seep out for the rest of the day—until Phasoné said, “We need to eat and drink, and Nathariel is trying to say something. Then we’ll get right back at it.”

He’s trying to talk to us? Vayra thought.

“You can’t hear him in here.”

I…guess not. How long can we stay out if we’ve started the process?

“Only a few minutes. Be fast.”

Vayra drew herself out of the void with a push of will. The willpower came directly from the soul, a push of strength from the base of her neck. She tried to control it like a resource to be managed—like Arcara or mana, or even thirst or dehydration—but it didn’t work that way. Nothing was depleted.

She opened her eyes. Same as before, she was sitting cross-legged on the Harmony’s forecastle. Only this time, one of her hands was resting in a bucket of Stream water. A plate waited in front of her. Boiled hardtack, salted meat of some kind, and a cup of watered-down rum.

“Eat quickly,” Nathariel commanded. “You don’t have much time before you need to return to the process.”

“Understood.” She shovelled food into her mouth as quickly as she could, not worrying about chewing.

As she ate, Nathariel said, “You are moving a little slow. Pick up the pace on the merging. Do you remember your Ni Mela basics?”

She just nodded. There was no time to take a break.

“Use it. The slow, flowing movements of the form are not just a martial art, but a guidance technique as well. Let the willpower flow with your arms and stance.”

She meditated herself back into the void in a matter of minutes. It was already faster this time, but those minutes were still precious time wasted.

Can I get an internal timer, Phas? Vayra thought. Are you able to help me keep pace?

“I should be able to…manage something,” she said, her voice ringing out slightly clearer now.

Watching from a distance again, Vayra began to walk through the basic stances of the Ni Mela. It was a martial art from some planet to the Galactic South, and it was slow. She pushed her arms out and back, moving like waves pushing gently to a shore. Her black void responded, surging with the movement. Willpower flowed along her limbs.

To say that it used nothing was wrong, she realized. Willpower took a mental toll, building up in the back of her mind as an ache. The tiredness wasn’t physical. She didn’t notice it so much when cycling Arcara—at least, not with her current cycling techniques—but this process required a stronger willpower.

And a stronger soul, she figured.

Phasoné began counting beats just with simple numbers. “One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four…”

Vayra timed her movements with the beats, and on each main, emphasized beat, she swapped stances.

But every so often, the Goddess trailed away, shuddering and breaking time. Apparently, no matter how high one’s advancement was, the internal timer didn’t improve.

For the next two days, Vayra continued the process, bleeding the black, inky core outwards into the white outline. The outer core had become a light gray shield.

But not only was Vayra forcing herself to stay awake, she was spending willpower to maintain the blending. Her eyes were already closed, making it even more dangerous.

One doze, and she was done for…

Her mind began to drift off. The back of her mind shut off, and she sent a spur of erratic thoughts through it just to keep it active. Phasoné’s timer drifted away.

Vayra’s heart started pounding. The core shuddered and a crack of darkness speared through it. She wrenched the darkness back with an abrupt pull of her arms—one disallowed by Ni Mela—and the shell of light gray energy at the edge of her core blasted through the dark void like lightning. It speared straight through her disembodied form, sending a blast of spiritual pain coursing around her body.

The entire core wobbled. A gust of invisible wind blasted around it, threatening to erode the channels and sever it from the rest of her Arcara system. The channels thinned.

Any moment, she would cripple her magic. She had to stop it.