Before the two of them could depart to the Ambition Sect, Violet had insisted upon bandaging Remus’ hand. Neither of them said a word about the injury, and in exchange, Remus kept his lips sealed about Violet’s true form. Clearly, it would elicit an explanation with no clear answers, and he was not particularly in the mood to broach any convoluted topics that enquiring upon would likely do more harm than good.
“Elmore and the others will return once they realise the fight’s over.” Violet said, not wholly present. “We move now, and quickly.”
Remus nodded, staring out in wonder as they advanced deeper into a valley. Jutting out all around them in protective formations were mountains. They weren't quite as high as those of Territory Eight, but were more than enough to supply a tactical advantage. If the Ambition Sect ever were to be attacked, if their location ever did become widely known, the land would act as their shields.
Both of them were exhausted, and Remus knew he had lost too much blood today. He would need to rest soon, but not yet. Not until he received the divine fruits of his labour.
“My finger,” Remus finally found the courage to address the severed end, looking straight ahead, “it won’t heal back, will it? Not at Engorged, of course. But what about when I reach higher Ranks? I’ve heard entire arms or legs can be restored, at certain realms of power.”
Violet could have stopped at her hesitance, and that would have been answer enough. “It's true that an Emblazed can restore lost fingers, and other small parts of the body, but they cannot heal injuries acquired before that Divine Rank is achieved. I am sorry.”
Remus turned his attention to the ground at his feet. “Suspected as much.”
The Ambition Sect was fairly spacious, as they arrived at its borders, with minimalist buildings protruding out of a levelled area. Standing one step away from trespassing its outer-gate, Remus steadied his breathing, avoiding the few loitering citizens staring his way. Too delirious to pick up on many details, Remus left a full-inspection until he was sound of mind.
“Go on,” Violet urged, “accept what you have earned.”
Remus composed himself, and stepped forwards.
Instantaneously, he found himself standing on thin-air, clouds dotted about the skies as he found himself transported in a seamless transition. He became acutely aware of the sack upon his back growing noticeably lighter. The Infirnite and Styrmir’s boon, it occurred to him, gone with the wind. A fitting end for the last of the giant, he couldn’t help but think.
He was just about getting his bearings with the area, adjusting to wandering upon nothing at all, when a voice like no other demanded his attention.
“Remus.” The depth of a god’s words left him stunned. “Finally, you’ve found your way to me.”
Swivelling round, Remus took his first glimpse of Tanish, the god of Ambition.
It went without saying that the deity was muscular; his scarred, tanned skin bulging as it contained him. What came as a surprise, however, was that Tanish suited the appearance of a young, blonde man — going against the image of a bearded being of vast age, that always surfaced in Remus’ mind when he heard the term god. A rakish smile played on his lips, and he was adorned simply, in robes that did nothing to veil his physique: a picturesque musculature, that would inspire adulation in the most powerful of men.
Looking down at his wrapped hand, Remus murmured, “it wasn’t easy.”
“Oh, I made certain it wouldn’t be. You ought to be proud of yourself, young man. You’re the first new recruit to have fulfilled the Trials of the Earnest in a long time indeed. The clansmen you saw, pardon their intrusion, are all descendants of people like you.”
He slapped his knee in a sudden movement, resting on a throne crafted out of the finest ivory. “I won’t keep you waiting any longer Remus. Here you have it — my Mark.”
Stolen story; please report.
Remus felt his very skin stir. Whether it was out of what was to come next, or merely goosebumps, he couldn’t tell. Surfacing under the torn shreds of his tunic, a colourless Mark spread, worming down his right shoulder, to across his tricep. He barely let it materialise fully, before channelling his Ichor towards it.
Tanish laughed. “An impatient one, aren’t we?”
Colour blossomed across Remus’ flesh in the most surreal sensation of his life. Remus could barely differentiate the Mark’s image from its striking blues and reds, through the waterfall of moisture arising in his eyes.
Wiping them clean, the stark illustration stuck out to him. It depicted the being before Remus, withstanding a gire of flame from the Fire deity, Ashbel, who Remus was just now noticing to be a common appearance throughout all the Marks he had seen. His arms were crossed while doing so, an erupting turquoise encompassing him as Tanish grinned smugly.
“I’m Enkindled.” It dawned on Remus, unable to tear his gaze away from the most beautiful sight of his life. “I’m Enkindled.”
There was a comfortable silence, where Remus had never felt more at peace. He was not content — far from it, this was merely the first step in a long and winding journey — but for a few fleeting seconds, everything seemed okay. And that was enough for now.
“Not to be the bringer of bad news,” Tanish began forebodingly, after a time. “But not all is sunshine and rainbows, I’m afraid. The same forces that tried to capture you in the first place won’t settle now; in fact, they’ll be keen to strike back, stronger than you could possibly imagine. You will have to be ready.” The deity warned. “You will have to train like never before.”
As the abyss of cloud and sky disappeared around Remus, like a curtain stripped back to unveil the reality creeping behind, the Enkindled steeled his will.
A tiny flicker of blue flame settled on the tip of Remus’ index finger. “Let them come,” he intoned, “let me see just how much more this world has left to throw at me.”
Tanish shot him one last boisterous smile, and then there was nothing.
----------------------------------------
Damion stood sharply outside the perimeters of the Carpentry Sect's base, breathing in deeply as a morning sun shone down upon his body. A larger presence, that of his great grandfather, towered behind, omitting a shadow where the light dared not stray.
The two of them walked wordlessly to either end of a sketched out rectangle, the chalk vague in places often trodden.
“Okay Damion,” Andreas said, strangely serious, “show me what you’ve learned.”
Taking a steady breath, Damion tried to eradicate any surfacing thoughts of Remus out of his mind. The mere thought of his brother, of what he had done before dashing away half-way across the world . . . it elicited a greater ire than Damion was aware he had within him. The Carpentry Clan had been on its last legs, and Remus had decided to topple it onto its knees.
Then, with each Passing’s taxes more ridiculous than ever, and the death of Andreas a dreadful certainty, a gaping hole had been left in the clan. A leader. As much as Remus might desire to fit that role, the Carpentry Sect needed a figurehead who was present, and not to mention free of any criminal charges. All in all, things were looking grim indeed.
Damion mentally smacked himself, marshalling the occupying thoughts away and wielding his will. By his hands, carpentry tools hovered.
“This is a truly unorthodox way of using the Carpentry Sect’s Mark, but if you ever want to grow beyond Emblazed . . .”
Hovering slabs of wood materialised before Andreas, the material probably stripped off some structure in the immediate vicinity. With a yell, the Warlord sent them flying towards Damion with startling speed. The Emblazed hopped back, sawing the projectiles away with his own summoned arsenal. Beaming in delight, the sound of sliced wood smacking against the ground was a glorious harmony to his ears, only to be cut short as a slab collided with Damion’s forehead.
“ . . . you’re going to have to manipulate a labour-purposed power into something utterly foreign. If you ever hope to take my place son, you’ll need to twist your Mark into a weapon. Stretch beyond your set boundaries and expectations, and become greater!”
Steeling his temper, Damion got up off the ground, and held his tongue. These words had been the very same the Warlord had been drilling into him for the last few Passings. Ever since Arcus had appeared to him in a dream, offering him a Boundless Bank, Damion hadn’t hesitated to accept the divine tool, using it to all its worth. With Remus leaving their sect in jeopardy, Damion had been at a loss for Durations on end. But this was it — this was his purpose.
Without words, the two of them began again. Instead of being the target of a flying piece of timber, this time, Damion was the subject of a hurtled awl. He tripped in his attempt to escape, reuniting with his most familiar friend of all: hard ground.
For the hundredth time, Damion leapt to his feet.
END OF ARC 1: PAVED IN GOLD