Remus’ talents had never extended to running; stitches ravaged his side after barely a few paces; his lungs held a sort of fiery pain, as if the fumes choking him like misty hands had somehow set the organs alight in their rampage; and his legs were crying out for rest in a more demanding plea by the minute.
Nevertheless, it was only a short distance down to the blazing battlefield, and his adrenaline was just intoxicating enough to offset the pain for a time.
“Violet!” He called into the gloom, the sound of eruptions a foreboding distraction in the middle distance. “Where are you?”
Of course, no one spoke up amongst the far-off, indistinct mumble of voices. Remus cursed inwardly as he manoeuvred around the ashy environs, the razed ground of which was indented by several unnatural-looking depressions. He couldn’t see a soul via peeking through the lines of trees surviving the ranks of flame, which, whilst beneficial in the fact that no one keen to end the wick of his life came searching, it also meant no sight of Violet. Perhaps now he could finally get a taste of his own medicine, and he couldn’t help but find it vile — he was supposed to be the one getting into reckless danger, not his peers!
He sprinted a fair distance when he came to a screeching stop. Multiple glowing entities that he had previously ignored as isolated fires seemed to double, then triple-down in their brightness. His retinas got the beating of their lives, and Remus scrambled back-first into a muddy, leathery-feeling object. A facet of his mind not paralysed by shock registered it to be a tent, or a supply-bag, or something along those lines, whilst the rest did their best not to die.
Eyes adjusting as best they could, the blinding glare appeared to be originating in a wide, illogical pattern, before dissipating all together. He blinked, waiting for something to happen, but for once, nothing did. Slowly, as if certain this was the universe performing some elaborate trick to catch him off guard, Remus stood, hands outstretched to his sides.
Violet . . . he couldn’t help but think. Please be alive.
And yet he knew rather concretely that if he could avoid being pulverised abruptly by divine lashings, she would surface from the situation perfectly fine. He had no reason to worry, and yet did so regardless.
Realising that the danger, for now at least, was but a distant memory, a disorienting amount of fatigue stripped his body from any superficial facade of boundless vigour. It felt disproportionate to be so rundown after fleeing with such intensity but a moment ago, yet alas, Remus desired nothing more but a moment’s respite. So he lingered where he was . . . until an uproar of cheering nearby came crashing down, disrupting any temporary state of tranquillity.
For a moment he was vexed by the noise’s interruption, before recalling why he had dashed all the way down here in the first place.
Drawing on energy he didn’t have, Remus jogged through the wilting corpse of a dead, nondescript plant. He didn’t stop when he saw clustered light on the other side of the greenery, nor when he heard the excited whisperings of victory. Axe in hand, he crept closer, and launched forwards.
He rasped his companion’s name with as much aggression as you could pack into a single word, only to let his weapon-hand droop to the side.
Before him was Violet, chatting with an older man and woman atop a crate, and drinking from a cup. Judging on the smirks and ruddy cheeks of the other clansmen gathered, they weren't drinking water. Everyone stopped, cups inches away from their mouths, and observing his scruffy form as if not quite knowing what to think. Remus turned to Violet desperately.
The girl put her beverage down on the crate surface. “Hey . . . ?”
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After a quick explanation, all returned to drinking merrily from a wall of casks set to the side. Remus would have preferred to parch his dry throat with water, but beggars can’t be choosers, so he gave in, pouring himself a cup from a barrel’s tap.
“So you’re just passing through?” The redhead — though that description seemed improper to describe his impossible shade — who had introduced himself as Hadrian enquired, taking pensive sips of his own drink.
“Well, sort of.” Violet answered. “We have business here to attend to. Or more specifically, Remus has.”
Veida turned to the newcomer beneath her hood, which was dyed lightly in the shade of ivory. “What sort of business?”
Remus found himself sweating under the weight of the two’s expectant glances. Whilst still not completely over the embarrassment of his entry, he struggled not to imagine them both either looking completely blank, with faces of unrecognition at the trial’s mentioning, or to flat-out laugh. And then there was the chance that news of their escape had reached Hybrid’s outer territories already, though Remus hoped that neither him nor Violet were of enough importance to have spread that far out yet. “Have you heard of . . . the Trials of the Earnest? The god of Ambition, Tanish, requested that your deity, Ashbel, would have his sect carry them out. Are you aware of whether the procedure is still performed?”
Hadrian’s eyebrows, which were notably the same fiery pigment as his hair, furrowed in consideration. “Whilst not performed in recent memory, if Ashbel really did promise such a thing, I must admit that we would be obligated to carry out the trial.”
Remus let his smile widen, which must have been a burst of joy too much, for Veida’s next words sent it fading.
“However,” she began, in the tone reserved for only delivering heart-wrenching news, “our sect-leader is out on business. In First Rite, for the Descension, and only he can technically accept the trial’s happening. Is that where you two set out from, First Rite?”
“Yes.” Violet allowed, taking up the mantle. “We were visiting the city for the Descension — we actually herald from the Ravaged Lands, you see — and during the festivities, Remus discovered the existence of the Earnest Trials. That’s why we only came here asking about them now, on our way back home.”
Though he didn’t show it outwardly, Remus was impressed. The lie was well crafted, and just believable enough to not be scrutinised too closely.
“Excuse the abundance of my questions,” Veida said, honestly sounding remorseful. “But why do you wish to carry out the ceremony in the first place? It is a rather archaic thing, is it not? Some doubt the Ambition Sect even exists, that’s how elusive they are.”
Attention once again returned to Remus, and he wasn’t sure what to say without it sounding completely ridiculous. But pure madness or not, he was too far along this plan to back out now. “I’m Death-Marked. Violet and I are of the same sect,” he carried on the lies, as much as it made him internally cringe, “and they were gracious enough to give me a Droplet out of pity. But if I ever want to get to Enkindled . . . the avenues to do that are limited, I’ll tell you that. This legend is my last hope.”
Remus took a drink of his wine, as to not have to see the reactions of the two strangers, and gagged on the liquid, resulting in the opposite effect than what he had been vying for.
“Gods above,” he managed between chokes of his coughing fit. “This stuff is strong.”
Laughter broke out around the group, dispersing the tense air.
“You’re highly-aspiring for someone of your misfortune, I’ll give you that,” Hadrian said, beaming, and Remus wasn’t sure whether to take it as an insult or compliment. “What does the first trial entail, anyway?”
“I have to survive a Duration under the Infernal Bays, then surface with a shard of Infirnite as proof of my labour.”
The muscular man rubbed his chin. “That does seem pretty strenuous for an Engorged, especially with the reported Unbounded running amuck in those caverns.”
Suddenly the man’s eyes widened, as if something was brewing in that intoxicated mind of his. Veida shook her head and exhaled, as if this was a common occurrence. “Tell you what, how about you join me and my boys for training. And uh, you can too Violet, the more the merrier!”
“I’ll pass.” Violet said with a kind smile. “I have . . . other matters to keep me occupied.”
Hadrian shrugged, before downing the remainder of his drink. “So how about it?”
Remus didn’t even have to consider. “I’d love to! Thank you for your offer, that’s awfully generous of you.”
He couldn’t think of an adequate thank-you, but that seemed to do. No offence to Violet, but there was no harm in having multiple educators; perhaps broadening his horizons would be a key factor leading to Remus’ success. It was almost too good to be true.
“Are you really sure? I mean, we’ve only just met, I don’t mean to over-step-”
“Nonsense!” Hadrian boomed back, spilling some of his liquor on his leather, before Veida came to his assistance, a cleaning rag seeming to manifest in her hands.
“You’re such an oaf. . . “ She complained, before addressing Remus. “But no, he really would love to have you. Always looking out for more young ambitious men to indoctrinate into one of his squadrons.”
“I am not indoctrinating anyone!” Hadrian rebutted. “All of my soldiers, regardless of gender, are free to join or leave if they like . . . well not really, seeing as most of them are under clan obligation, but that's besides the point!”
Veida had evidently given up on getting the patch out before it stained, pushing her handkerchief back into a pocket. “Most of the fighters are Emblazed, remember? so make sure he isn’t harmed out there.”
“I’ll take perfectly good care of him,” Hadrian insisted, as if offended she could suggest such a thing, “and young people need to be pushed to their limits to blossom. In fact, Remus might get more out of this joining men and women who are his superior. It could be a valuable learning experience!”
“It won’t be if he ends up maimed, or worse, dead.” Veida soon realised after speaking that the man was more preoccupied with having a private giggling match with himself than listening to her. “You never were good with your drink were you? I think that’s enough for today.” She sighed, exasperated. “But keep an eye on Remus, even some of the strongest of the newer generation have been injured lately. This magmite swarm proved more trouble than we could have predicted.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Violet raised an eyebrow. “Magmite? You mean the magma flies?”
“Most call them that, but magmite are what they’re properly classed as in all mainstream Unbounded listings.” She explained. “Hadrian was going to get me a sample to examine, seeing how he was already set on going off to deal with the pesky things. That’s what I do for the sect, I research Unbounded.”
Violet stared at Veida like she was the most important woman in the world.
“Do you happen to have a lab?” She asked slowly, oddly shy.
“Well yes, but it's in one of our camps. Might take us a day to get there by foot. Interested in having a look?”
Violet almost joined Hadrian in letting her drink spill, jolting forward in excitement. “You’re both too kind. Please, there must be something we can do to repay you for all of this. And yes, I’d very much like to see the laboratory.”
The two initially said the obligatory comments of it being fine, but both Violet and Remus were persistent in their wishes to help out.
“Yeah, come on Hadian.” Remus found himself saying, regardless of any future consequences. “Anything? Any lurking Unbounded around that we could possibly clear out? Over the last Passing, I’ve become very accustomed to that.”
He considered. “Hmmm, I mean, we still have a lot of magma flies around the entire territory that you could clear out. They usually aren’t as abundant as this, Veida suspects an outbreak, or something along those lines. This was only the first flock of many, though undoubtedly the largest. There will be other smaller ones that I was going to send out my trainees to deal with, though I could likely utilise that time better in their training if I could hand the task over.”
This all sounded swell to Remus’ ears, perfect actually, but then the man scowled. He hated that expression. It was the same look people donned right after talking up a topic to be all fine and dandy, just to topple it all with one extra strip of information.
“But you’re not flame-resistant. If even one of those decides to self--destruct, and latch onto you . . . that blood will be on my hands. And . . .” All trances of inebriety suddenly faded, and the man became utterly sober. “ . . . there’s enough of that as there is. I do not intend to stain them further — not like that, anyhow. You two are my responsibility before Cyrus, our sect leader, comes back. Even from this brief time we’ve gotten to know each other, I can tell you’re good, decent people. And I will see that you’re protected.”
There was a silence. Remus found himself almost choking up at the heartfelt words. Good people? The term revolved around his mind, the focus of his psyche, and the target of all of his bashless scrutiny. After what Remus had done, was he still a good person? His plan was to redeem himself after he gained power, but when you truly got down to it, letting all of his cruelties hang upon the fragile thread of his success was beyond selfish. It was another cruelty in itself.
Based on Violet’s wayside expression, her thoughts were following a similar route.
“You’re a good man, Hadrian.” Remus heard himself say, the words soft and kind. “Thank you.”
More minutes passed, filled with only laughter and the clanging of foaming tankards before finally Violet, who had been strangely silent for the last minute or so, spoke up gingerly. “ . . . Fire-resistant?”
All heads to her, before breaking out in clamorous chuckling.
“What?” Violet raised her tone, her usual demeanour bleeding through. “It's an honest question!”
“What, did you think the Fire Sect didn’t have some sort of immunity to flame?” Remus finally emerged from his sea of chortling humour.
“Would be a pretty perfect example of a double-edged sword if it were so,” Veida added, barely hiding a smile behind her palm, out of courtesy. “Though, at the lesser Ranks, hair doesn’t apply under that ability for some reason. Hence why the trainees just get it over with and shave it down.”
Hadrian shivered, as if recalling the horrors of war. “I remember the days where my hair was prevented from emitting its beauty into this world. Those were dark days.”
The next few hours went by in much the same way, with the two of them even being offered a helping of the campsite barbeque. Remus hadn’t felt the taste of properly seasoned, succulent meat in coming onto a Passing at that point. Sure, the deer he hunted were edible, but Violet’s supplies were so sparse, they didn’t extend to the luxury of salt. Salt! And then neither of them were experienced with cooking on handmade fires with kindling, and so it always resulted in the food either being under or overcooked . . . but now? Now those petty concerns could vanish.
The food tasted like home, and as Remus found himself snuggling into his designated hammock, hung upon two trees safe from the day's flames, he found himself growing painfully nostalgic.
----------------------------------------
The next few days passed in the blink of an eye. Walk, train, sleep, repeat would not be an inaccurate description of the contents of those fresh and foreign days, where Remus found excitement in simply basking in the unfamiliar culture thriving around him.
Trees became a thing of rarity by the second day of travel, and in their place, plains of gravel and obsidian fissures made way for brown, twig-like plants that latched onto the measly one or two droplets of moisture they would catch per year. Lava streams were apparently not far off based on the murmurings of Remus’ fellow trainees, and Remus struggled to imagine how he would get across the perilous waters. The advantage of passing through the apricot streams, as if they were a mere hot bath, not a privilege his lineage could present to him, even if the now dispersed Mark on his shoulder hadn’t impeded such inheritances.
Hadrian and Veida had seen no real reason to rush the remainder of the route home. Cyrus still wouldn’t be back for a time, and even as the Descension finally wrapped up, there would be no immediate causes for concern. None that those looking after the camps in their absence couldn’t handle by themselves, anyway.
A day before they were said to pass over a flaming ford into the heart of Fire Territory, where their bases would be but a few hour’s swift march away, Remus was handed a leather tunic and trousers in the same style as Hadrian’s juniors. For a stupid second, he merely glanced at the garments, befuddled.
“Do these need washing, Hadrian?” He asked, only for the towering man to chuckle heartily, in a fashion that sent a wave of home-sickness flooding through Remus’ nerve receptors. It was so agonisingly like his grandfather’s.
“They’re yours! You fool!” He clapped him on the back forcefully, and Remus sucked up the pain, instead grinning in genuine thankfulness. “I couldn’t have you trodding along in those torn rags. Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were the attire of a carpenter.”
Remus gulped. “You think? Anyhow, thank you! You really shouldn’t have. Are people really this kind in Hybrid?”
Hadrian mused as he continued to walk, a little behind the marching party. “I like to think so, our sect is, at the very least. We don’t get many visitors these days, gotta make a nice first impression. Though, if you do find yourself in the company of another foreign clan, I would advise you to be careful with who or where you meet. If a less welcoming sect saw you trodding along, away from Divine Ground as you were, they may not hesitate in pulverising you on the spot. As hard as it is sometimes to believe, this far out away from the front lines, the world is at war. And everyone, when you really get down to it, is fighting for themselves.”
Remus considered these words, visualising the war-torn front lines Andreas would so often speak about. He knew that one day, if his aspirations held any real-world weight behind them, he himself would have to enroll in the army. Despite the fact the entirety of humanity was preoccupied in combating the Unbounded’s frightening boom in prominence over the last few centuries, the real enemy for any sect was their human opponents: other clans, whose gods one day may prevail as the victor of this perpetual battle royale . . .
“Nice threads.” Violet teased, as Remus, sporting his granted armour, stared out over an abyss of liquid flame. Already, several of the trainees were passing through unperturbed, their Marks holding an ethereal quality against the cold night.
“Appears to be the current trend around these parts.” He replied, the gurgling cries of the disturbed stream not doing much to quell his nerves.
Together they stood, unsure of how to advance. Finally, like angels descending to relieve them of any problems, Hadrian and Veida joined them, the last of the crossing party.
“Stand back,” Veida advised, “the rivers are prone to spit.”
Hadrian joined her side, his face too glowing momentously. Physically, the two didn’t budge an inch, and Remus and Violet were left scratching their heads, lost on what they could possibly do to make the stretch of lethal liquid any less deadly. One second, the ford did little other than bubble forebodingly, like the calm before the storm. The next, both parts of the duo extended their hands out up and to the side in a ferocious movement. Remus was too distracted by admiring the sheer might that seemed to radiate from the shared action, before Violet tapping his side redirected his attention to the lava river. His mouth widened, and Remus found himself stepping back, just in case Veida’s advice about flinging spittle proved true. Judging on the way the two ends of the stream had lifted up a few metres into the air, like incomplete waterworks, he thought it best to reverse several more.
“Gods . . . just what Rank are you two exactly?” Violet enquired, and though it was a less shameful distance, she retreated too.
“We’re both Splintered Ranks, retired from the army.” Hadrian grunted, as if holding up the litres of lava with his bare hands. “I’m a Mercenary Rank, hence why my Mark is so large . . .” He took a breath. “ . . . It's a Tapestry. The peak of a Mark’s potential. However, as the cost of having mastery over my area of power, my defence is abysmal. Veida is a Warden, so she has the exact opposite problem as me. All defence, with barely any fight in her.”
Veida looked as if she wanted to hit the man at the comment, but her face was the portrait of pure concentration. Indeed, it appeared Hadrian was doing the bulk of the lifting.
“You should be able to pass through now, I’ve tempered the riverbed to a heat not as likely to burn off the soles of your shoes.”
Remus was beyond impressed. The gap they had made was easily twenty feet in width, and the passage went on for metres upon metres. Taking a pensive step forward, he placed an anxious foot upon the surface of igneous rock, completely ebony in shade. With each advancing stride, he expected to be squashed and then subsequently sizzled. Violet appeared to be feeling the same way, and regardless of their outward amazement at the Splintered Ranks’ demonstration, they crossed as swiftly as they could, without appearing doubtful of the two’s abilities.
On the other side, not too far off into the distance, Remus could make out the vague, dark silhouettes of fortress-like buildings — these people’s homes, he suspected.
Joining the trainees, whose faces revealed incredulous astonishment that competed with even Remus’ reaction, the two of them watched with rapt attention as Hadrian and Veida relinquished the stream from its invisible chains. Smiling, Hadrian towered over the lava depths, unphased as he swam to the other side. Veida, much shorter than the hulking specimen of a man, had to crane her neck to avoid submersion. Remus had two questions upon witnessing this absurd sight. One, how come none of the trainees' clothes were setting ablaze by making contact with the ford, and two, had Veida lost the ability to prevent her hair from succumbing to the wrath of fire? Did you really have to sacrifice so much of your arsenal at the Splintered Ranks? Remus supposed that was what separated a Warlord from a Splintered Rank — they regained what had been lost during the previous advancement.
“Which Splintered Rank are you going for when we get there?” Remus asked, as Hadrian finally surfaced. “Mercenary, Warden or Vanguard?”
“Pah! You say that like it's guaranteed that we’ll get that far,” Violet scoffed. “You always do that . . . but seeing the power of Hadrian here, Mercenary seems appealing. Perhaps Warden would be best for non-combat-oriented sects, but all of my strength is from my manipulation of Chaos. I can’t lose that.”
Remus mostly agreed. “Yeah, imagine your Mark but supercharged. Maybe you’ll be able to kill a million wolves instead of just a few thousand.”
Her lips barely prevented a pleased beam. “What about you? I’m sure you already have plans.”
Remus stared into the steaming waters, recalling the plan he had set out for himself during those Durations spent locked-up in the Carpentry Sect’s library. “I don’t particularly like the idea of working so hard to get a Mark to Emblazed strength, just to sacrifice it, but nor does it appeal to me to have no defence whatsoever. So, in that case, I’ll stick to the middle-ground. Vanguard.”
Violet nodded, as if approving of this idea. “That sounds good. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have a long stretch of the way to go before we even get you a Mark.”
The discussion ended as Hadrian, with Veida at his side, set his sights on the looming structures Remus had been observing, not five minutes prior.
“Come, my disciples,” he regained his position as the head of the excited entourage. “It's about time we got home.”