We had one day to prepare for the unknown. We were going to crash a gathering of the traditionalists’ top brass. Whoever that was, they wouldn’t be pushovers. We could expect resistance, battle, blood, and death. We knew what we were getting into, and we still decided to do it.

We didn’t have any false hope. The reality was that our chances for success were low, if any at all. But Makka needed us, and would not fail him; fear wasn’t an excuse.

Fear could paralyze you, take control over your body, and make it ignore your commands. A moment of panic can lead to death. But a warrior must learn to embrace this feeling to use it in their favor; they must learn how fear works to make them move forward.

I was not a warrior—far from it if I compared myself to the great teachers I had. Both Yaasir and Dravia were at a level I couldn’t even dream about. Their use of Ink was far superior to the simple invocations I could do.

Yet, even in a state that was nothing more than their pupil, I knew that I couldn’t let fear get a hold of me. It would always be present. Losing a battle. Losing a friend. Losing my life. All of them were faces of the same coin.

I was kneeling on the mat that Dravia had set up for me in the training center. I hadn’t forgotten about Makka; quite the contrary. I was using every second I had to become stronger. Maybe it wouldn’t be noticeable, but I wouldn’t be able to say that I didn’t give it my all.

And Makka was all over my thoughts. Yaira had tried to convince me that it wasn’t my fault, but one way or another, it came back to me. If I weren’t with the Drak’ga, then Makka would have never been hijacked. If I were under the Empire’s control, I could have undergone the same rituals as everyone else.

But now I know where you are and what I have to do.

Like my first attempt at communion without weapons or drawing, my thoughts were all over the place. But the worry and uncertainty that had blocked me were now pure and primal fears. And I knew how to focus.

My fear of losing Makka wouldn’t go away; I had to use it. I closed my eyes and breathed in until my body told me to stop. I let all the air exit as my body relaxed.

Ink, I called out to the entity I knew lived somewhere—to the woman that the old ways described. I am afraid. Fear has taken hold of my heart. I’m in panic.

It felt good to admit that I wasn’t perfect and that I had flaws and worries, as did every other human. But I couldn’t stop there. Yaira had been there for me, and now it was my team to lead us. My time to save Makka.

Let me use them to challenge death. Let me convert my feelings into a vessel for your power.

I opened my eyes only to find myself back in the ethereal white room. A space bound by nothingness where threads of Ink came and went. Somewhere Her voice could reach me.

“Tarar…”

I’ll come to the east, because that’s where you are, right?

The threads around me pulsed, emitting a light yellow that sent shivers all along my body. I didn’t know how to interpret it, and most likely my comprehension of the old levels was not at a level that would have allowed it either.

But first, I have to ask that you aid me, that you help my friend, and that we save Makka.

The strings of light pulsated once more, without changing color this time, but I understood their meaning and the message She was sending me. [Price, Pay, Debt].

Please accept the Ink within this Inkpot as a tribute to my request.

I was thinking about my Drak’ga Inkpot, a stone gray Ink of better quality than the one I had used in Lamar, but nothing near the level of colorful Ink or the one on my ankle.

There was no complex answer or rhetoric, just a simple act of acceptance, a nudge that told me, [Use, Invoke].

The moment came to an end. A second that felt like an eternity passed. I made a fist with my right hand, fingers tightly pressed against the palm of my hand, and opening my eyes, I thrust it forward with the intention of piercing the air itself.

I heard the roar and witnessed the space between me and Dravia become blurred. It traveled forward at a speed a hundred times faster than one of La’er’s flames.

And it left a void that only filled a second after it had passed.

Wherever the blur flied through, sand was sent flying to either side. Like water parting to a greater force, it stand frozen while forming a canal for the Ink I had just invoked.

In a blink of an eye, it had reached Dravia, who grunted slightly as she absolutely obliterated it with one of her weapons. I wasn't anywhere close to her, but it drew a smile on my face that she had to actually defend against it.

“How are you, Tarar?”

Dravia’s question caught me unprepared. I should be the one asking, and not the other way around. But just then, after her question, I became increasingly aware of my own body and its condition. I was panting and having a hard time getting any air inside of me. The price had been paid, both in Ink and physically.

“What I'm teaching you is, essentially, canalizing Ink through your body. You might have experienced it before, but Ink can be tough on our physical selves.”

I nodded in understanding as I recalled my first experience with an Ink formation.

“That was an interesting sight,” Dravia continued, failing to notice, or ignoring, my exhausted face. “Quite the unique form you have there. What I showed last time used the whole body to let Ink materialize, but you have managed to concentrate it in your fist and shoot it.”

“Isn’t it the same for everyone?” I asked.

“Far from it. Ink manifests in a way that suits that person’s understanding. It depends on how you experience Ink and what you want to achieve with it. It’s not so much that you can do it—everyone can do it—but how fast you grasped that knowledge. What exactly happened while you were in communion?”

I wasn’t about to reveal the truth. When I reached enlightenment and Ink came to me, right when I opened my eyes, I could feel a single threat of Ink between me and Her. Similar to when I had been drawing the key’s formation, I could do more than just see it. It was almost as if I could grab it.

I pulled on that sensation, tensed the thread until I felt it was about to snap, and then I let go of my fears. I just allowed the influx of energy through my body and focused on casting it forward.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“When I’m in communion,” I started, “I can hear Her voice. I know there is something, or someone, waiting for us. An entity that calls my name when I’m using Ink. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you; I’m not actually sure, but I’ve read about it.”

Her expression remained exactly the same. Impassive, unperturbed by any of what I was saying. My half-truth, which purposely left unsaid everything about my true sight, couldn’t have been a revelation to Dravia. She must have known about all of that and, probably, more.

However, I wasn’t sure if I should have known. If Kasd hadn’t left a book in a place I would find it, and if Layan hadn’t outright offered three books with knowledge considered forbidden, I wouldn’t know even half of what I had revealed.

“I see,” she eventually said after a silence that could have perfectly been her pondering about my life. “Today’s training ends here. You need rest, and I need thinking.”

She had this habit of disappearing right after she was done, without waiting for me to even acknowledge her.

“Wait, Dravia!” I barely managed to stop her. “Can I practice more on my own?”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough. You will rest until tomorrow, and if you fail to do so and you rip your muscles apart in the process, don’t bother ever coming back.”

That was certainly a way of telling me to stay put. A shocking one, and also a pretty ineffective one. I wasn’t asking just for the thrill of getting scolded, but because I needed all I had for the night.

The council was meeting, and I couldn’t go there without being in my peak physical and mental form. She left me with no other option than to ignore what she had just said. I would fight, and if push came to shove, I would use every single means available.

I was left in the training room alone, with still plenty of time to go until our meeting with Layan’s assistant. The best way to kill the time that I could think of was more training. I checked my posture, making sure I didn’t have to make any changes to keep a good balance.

Then I practiced some swings of the sword, trying my best at making La’er summon larger and stronger flames that could travel further than they had ever done. My success was limited; none of my attempts had made any difference in my actual attacks, but they were useful to increase my confidence in myself and what I was about to do.

The sun was at its peak when I finally finished and decided to check on Yaira. She had also been preparing for the afternoon, but in a much different way than mine. She had spent the whole night combing through the books in the Compendium in hopes of finding one that talked about the medieval practices of hijacking people for revenge.

Everything pointed out that such things didn’t exist, which seemed too convenient for them. A clan of people fully focused on keeping the traditions alive, and those same traditions they defended didn’t seem to limit them in any way or shape.

They were built for other people, foreigners, and other unwelcome guests. Talent had to be kept in the family, knowledge couldn’t exit the boundaries of the Drak’ga, and Ink wasn’t allowed to be diluted. Their interpretation was wild; kill if you have to make sure the values are preserved.

She had also gathered documents detailing who was part of their council and most likely present during the upcoming gathering. It came to no one’s surprise that both Drak’oora Weirar and Drak’oora Poiza had made the list, as neither did Yaraq.

Yaira and I went through every name on that list until we had to eventually admit that most of them were complete strangers to us. Yaira knew more than me, but not enough to cover for me.

One thing was clear, though: it was a business-only meeting. All the names we could recognize belonged to the upper echelons of the Drak’ga and lived a very good life without needing to risk themselves in any way.

The only exception was Yaraq, a hunter and protector of the tribe. It seemed, even, that Yaraq was attending as more than a fanatic of the religion. He was the only one of his kind that consistently appeared every time, and the only explanation we managed to find was that he watched the event. Entrances, meetings, people—everything would be monitored and controlled to the very second.

“I have a plan, but for it to work, we have to be inside and have confirmed that Makka is there,” I told Yaira after some thinking. “I’ve learned something new today, something they will have to acknowledge even if it makes their insides burn. But only if I’m inside, if Yaraq can’t stop me, can I show them.”

“Maybe he won’t be there?”

I couldn’t resist a laugh as I saw her apologetic eyes. Not even she believed what she was saying. It was as clear as day that he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to hurt me and my friends.

“He will be there, and he will do everything in his power to stop us from saving Makka. And you know it.”

The conversation died, but I was holding back a thought. Are you sure you want to come, Yaira? It was an unfair question, and it was rooted in my fear of losing her. I don’t think I managed to be okay with it, but I knew that she would be useful and kept my mouth shut.

We spent the next few hours discussing strategies, formations, and exit plans. We imagined how we would rescue Makka and then come home with the three of us. Reunited and happy. Dusk was nearing, and we had successfully lied to ourselves.

With no more preparations to do, we made our way to the Drak’oora’s residence. Not in a straight line, mind you; our paranoia mandated that we took several turns and detours to confuse any spy sent our way.

We couldn’t confirm if we were being tailed or not, which meant the traditionalists were either very confident in their ability to torture Makka without our intervention, or that their spies were absurdly good.

Absurdly good because the moment they were following us in any open space, I would be able to see the trace of Ink leaving their body. I didn’t need to tell exactly where it came from; it was enough if I saw one that constantly followed all our moves, nonsensical turns included.

None of it happened. We were still a few streets from the building when a familiar voice grabbed our attention.

“This way,” Drak’oora Layan whispered from a dark little street that inspired zero confidence.

We followed her in complete silence through a maze of darkness. Houses had been piled up so closely to each other that not even the artificial sunlight reached them. Their atmosphere felt wrong, even if they weren’t dirty or dangerous per se.

Layan had also taken precautions, and her steps often retraced streets that we had already seen and even made us go through formations that teleported us to different places.

I had a feeling of doom, of going into an adventure too great and heroic for us. Reality was looming from the shadows, and I was realizing that we might have bitten too much. Layan, a Drak’oora, was afraid of the consequences if it was known that she had helped us.

That was the only good reason that could explain the convoluted paths she made us take.

I didn’t complain, as neither did Yaira. When she grabbed my hand, I was simultaneously relieved and shaken. She pressed harder and tighter the longer we spent walking. Without words, she was telling me that she felt the exact same way as I did.

We still didn’t back out, and eventually we exited into a small plaza among a few houses. It looked like a miniature garden, with some green patches extending from the floor up to the facades. The pond in its center helped imprint a peaceful atmosphere.

And the masked person sitting by the only chair on the right completely broke the immersion. She was dressed in similar robes as Dravia, just with a darker tone and overall more covered skin.

And she was fully equipped with all sorts of small and lethal blades. Her tattoos were screaming at me words of confusion, poison, and death. I couldn’t grasp all of it, and I was thankful I didn’t.

She was going to be a guide, far from any of what those glyphs and formations meant. She took us from there to the meeting, and the rest was for us to figure out. And I really hoped it stayed like that.

Because, if Layan has sent her to clean up if everything goes wrong, then we will have nothing to do against her.

“Remember,” Drak’oora Layan looked me straight in the eyes. “I have nothing to do with you getting there. And you will come back alive.”

She then faced our guide, nodded, and waved her hand. There was no need to say anything else, and certainly no one did. The guide started walking without announcing her name or intentions, and we followed her without caring about any of those.

We weren’t running or peacefully walking. Our brisk walk brought us to the infinite circular staircase around the village and finally outside of it. I didn’t have the right space of mind to properly marvel at the lights reflected from the central tower like I had done the first time.

We walked through a tiny man-made forest, barely a hundred meters wide, for ten straight minutes. We weren’t randomly crossing it; we were drawing a pattern with every line that we traced. And only when we had written a whole glyph, one that I knew meant [Origin, Tradition] did we exit the forest.

We were left facing a narrow valley on the south side of the mountain. A strong wind whipped us from left to right. She pointed straight forward, right where a fire’s flame, amplified by the glass of a window, danced at the rhythm of the wind.

There was a cottage far down the path, where the mountain ended and a bottomless ravine started.

Makka was waiting for us there.