Elmore was used to bowing.

He had been programmed to do it all his life, the proper etiquette with which one should treat their superiors drilled into him like the words of a holy scripture. In the Wild Clan, honour was a virtue more highly regarded than one’s own ability to breath. This, amongst a myriad of other factors, was what many of the sect’s superiors claimed to be the cause of their rise to power.

And yet, knee-deep in a morass the Shifting had decided to throw their way, Elmore felt no greater shame in an action that was supposed to encapsulate that concept at its core. Beside him, Koa and Ash prostrated their bodies completely. Not because this was required, but simply to stare at sweltering mud instead of the look of fierce disappointment on Juniper’s face.

Elmore forced himself to stare at it, remembering every disgruntled scrunch of her face so that one day, when on the cusp of failure, he will recall the cost.

“I take full responsibility for our unit’s failure.” Elmore spoke, carefully fine-tuning his voice to carry no particular tone. “Whatever punishment you see best to bestow upon us, I will gladly take, but please excuse my cousins. It is my negligence that ultimately led to this. They were merely following orders.”

Through the shifting gate of fluorescent emerald Juniper’s Perpetual Sight granted her, the God-Graced observed the three of them with stoic distaste. But alas, fully concealing your emotions was impossible at the best of times, and the woman hardly did a good job of it.

“An Engorged and Foot-Soldier eluded you.” The proverbial poison of Juniper’s blade needn’t be harsh insults or reprimands, but the greatest toxin of all: facts. “You allowed two Unbounded to discourage you, at the very verge of victory. You have allowed these fugitives to continue unpunished for such a time that they have now become a city-wide issue. Ash has yet to partake in one single training session — don’t raise your head at me young man, I know. And after all that, you kiss the floor at my feet and beg for mercy.”

When put like that, so painfully raw and direct, disguising his anguish became impossible for Elmore. “I will see to his advancement immediately during our return journey, and-”

“Oh no, you’re not heading home yet.”

Elmore blinked. “Your meaning, your Majesty?”

Juniper sighed. “I took a risk when I handed this task over to you Elmore, and whilst not ideal, you haven’t failed on all fronts. Both Koa and Ash — despite the latter's seeming idleness — have made some progress in their individual paths.”

A venomous ire blazed through Elmore as he recalled Ash’s Vision, meaning, on a technical front, his cousin was at the same grade of power as him. If he concentrated, the tangle of white tubes that made up Elmore’s incomplete Bank would appear before him, hovering over the outline of his body as if engravings on a doll. Within the year, he was certain, Foot-Soldier Rank would be his.

Skill and experience still separated Elmore to his cousin by a grand distance, but for Ash to be creeping so close behind, at such a tender age . . .

Elmore internally slapped himself. Circles . . . he huffed to himself, you’re thinking in circles. Ash’s purpose on this earth isn’t to swoop in and stun your success. Nor is anyone’s.

The sound of Juniper’s voice snapped Elmore out of his reverie. “And saving the two from that Unbounded attack was in the pursuit of virtue; a remarkably noble act I must respect.”

“What other choice was there?”

Juniper looked blankly at him. “ . . . Yes, indeed. What other choice was there?”

He frowned. What is she getting at?

“Perhaps you too, Elmore, are benefiting from this journey. It is for these two reasons that I'm willing to give you three a second chance.”

Koa and Ash lifted their heads at this news, and, if you were to ask Elmore to depict pure joy, he would hand you a painting of those momentary expressions.

“Your new destination is not The Wild sect’s bases in either Hybrid or First Rite, but the Ravaged Lands. How do you gentlemen feel about a bit of espionage?”

Unsure how to take that, Elmore deliberated on a thousand possible explanations as to what she meant in the span of a second. With how adept most clans had grown at detecting intruders, spy work, for the most part, had become a thing of the past.

Met with no response, which, in retrospect, Elmore realised to have been awfully rude on his part, Juniper continued. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Don’t worry, it's nothing you shouldn’t be able to handle. For now, follow our fugitives to the Ambition Sect. You’ll have back-up to the clan’s south. Rendezvous with them, and the details of your next mission shall be explained.”

The initial mortifying effects of this meeting wearing off, Elmore had no qualms with making a few enquiries. “Not to be rude, but why not just enlighten us here? Any extra time to prepare could be invaluable.”

“Though my Perpetual Sight is discreet, it would not bode well if any enemy sects were to overhear us. Or anyone, for that matter.”

Elmore wasn’t a fan of how she phrased that. Whatever Juniper was hiding from them, anything that required such confidentiality couldn’t be good. “Thank you for the explanation your Majesty — it is most appreciated.”

The brevity of that title weighed upon Elmore, and he couldn’t fathom how the Queen could bear it so nonchalantly. Soon, in the most reasonable ruling structure of any of the great cities, Juniper would lose her placement on the Silver Throne. The yearly allocation of monarchs would revolve to the Water Sect, or namely, the God-Graced Maris. On the last day of Summer, it would be nearly a decade until Juniper would ever take that seat again.

Alas, despite her regal front, the God-Graced’s true emotions at the news were plain to all. And they certainly, beyond any shadow of a doubt, weren't pretty.

As the image of his Queen fizzled out, Elmore set his eyes onto the horizon.

The Ravaged Lands — the home of the Chaos Sect.

----------------------------------------

Remus side-stepped Aziel’s first flaming fist, and, in a backwards dive, avoided the other. Heat danced through the air, contrasting the chill of night in a surreal sensation that only fueled his adrenaline, as punch after punch were hurled his way. Cornered, he was forced to absorb a few of the blows, summoning a patch of worming flame at each point of contact, as a sort of protective shield.

The entrance to the barn was pressed against his back, and in a wild jolt, Remus reached its apex. He staggered for a moment, but managed to regain balance as Aziel joined him on the tilted rooftop; flying up in a burst of azure flame.

“Show-off.” Remus smiled.

“Hey, it's a chilly night. Some much needed warmth won’t harm anyone.”

Stars shone, fists blurred, and Remus slipped back and forth along the roof's surface. It had been raining not long ago, the remnants of an earlier storm still persisting in the sky via lingering clusters of grey. As thunder rattled around the two, Remus smirked, imagining himself as some sort of vigilante hero of the night.

When he recalled he was more of a public menace than the people’s champion, his mood dampened severely.

Jolting forwards, Remus made for Aziel’s chest. Looking up at his opponent’s face, Remus expected to see staggered shock, and yet was rather confused when met with the complete opposite: smug confidence.

Coiling snakes of pure flame encircled his palm, a terrifying heat working its way up the rest of the limb. The arm of his tunic was sent flying in ashy shreds, and Remus fought back the only way he knew how.

Concentrating every wick of fire in his body in one churning wave, Aziel’s slithering companions were vaporised in a fiery vortex. New strength reinforced Remus’ punch, and Aziel stumbled back, clutching at his chest.

Remus wouldn’t give him the chance to recover.

Sliding forward — manipulating the moisture of the barn’s roof to his advantage — he kicked furiously at their leg. Aziel fell, and continuing his descent to drag the boy down, the two came crashing in a heap beside Hansley’s wheat farm.

Remus held Aziel down, pointing a sparring knife at his throat. They tried to toss him off, but Remus kept stable. The both of them were a similar weight, and so it was a manageable task.

“Well, well, would you look at that?”

Saying nothing, the blond teen struck Remus’ arm in a disorientingly fast movement. The knife fell out of his right hand’s fickle grip, and in his bewilderment, Remus’ guard dropped at one critical moment.

In a blurr, Remus found their positions reversed.

“Remember, what my mother told you,” Aziel smiled, sharp end alarmingly close to Remus’ throat. “People won’t hesitate to twist your weaknesses against you. If you’re going to use a weapon, use your left side.”

The two disengaged each other, catching their breaths, and observing the collateral damage all around. It wasn’t much, simply a few burn stains here and there, but nothing the sect wasn’t used to.

Almost immediately, the two returned to fighting poses.

If Remus had learned anything in the last few days of constant combat, it was that the Ambition Mark was perfect for honing one’s skill. Not only did the endurance boost it provided mean Remus could fight for hours on end, and recover after a reasonable sleep, the insane motivation it supplied gave Remus the will to push on to his heart’s content. Nevertheless, they had been punching each other silly since the crack of dawn, and the sun had long since set.

As if the universe was serving as the voice of reason, Hansley popped her head over their cottage’s doorway. “Come in you two. Dinner’s ready.”

Patting their hands down, the two entered, with Aziel staring down at Remus’ Mark. Already, the illustration of Tanish’s valiant stand had grown noticeably.

Aziel must have noted the lingering, neon glow it was emitting. “Your Mark . . . how come it's still producing Tanish’s power?”

Whenever a Mark was in use, it had a visible sign. It was a minute effect, true, nothing more than a faint emittance that intensified depending on how large the strain on it was, but even the slightest activation was difficult to conceal fully.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“I’m trying to keep my Mark active for as long as humanly possible,” Remus explained. “Right now, I’m increasing my durability by a tiny amount. The only problem now is to master the art of maintaining it during my sleep . . .”

Aziel looked at him disapprovingly, an almost horrified wince possessing his features. “Don’t burn yourself out Remus. There is such a thing as overtraining, even for folks as endurable as us.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” He muttered defensively. “If there are any adverse effects, I will feel them sooner or later.”

“Alright,” Aziel gave in eventually, “just be careful. Slow and steady progression is the best progression. Even for us Ambition clansmen. You have to reign in that hunger for constant improvement sometimes, you know?”

“I don’t have the privilege of taking my time,” Remus spoke bitterly, “even if I do nothing but train non-stop for the rest of the Rebirth, I still might not be strong enough in time.”

“In time for what?”

Remus waved a hand to the side, sighing. “Apologies. That was rude of me. Come, we’re leaving your mother waiting.”

Aziel scowled, but didn’t outwardly object. “You’re hiding stuff Remus.” He said quietly. “I know it might be private, but what if I could help you? Training yourself to death isn’t going to do you any favours in the long-run. Your Mark has already developed so much in a little over a Duration — how long has it even been since you were without a Divine Rank?”

“ . . . The start of Spring.”

If there was a table under Aziel, he would have banged on it frantically. “Spring? Is your plan to blitz your way to Godling by the day’s end?”

On the verge of uttering that would be ideal, Remus had to stop himself. Stop it with the rude act. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.

“I’m . . . sorry Aziel. I’m not thinking straight. I’ll take your guidance to heart, but I’m afraid I don’t have much choice in the matter. If I don’t gather power soon-”

“Boys!” Hansley called.

The two dropped the topic, but tension remained high even as they settled by the dinner table. Hansley had prepared a thick broth for the late meal; the servings were generous indeed.

After expressing their thanks, the pair of them spent the first few minutes simply scoffing down their food. With an entire pot overflowing with food at the centre of the table, none of them were short of refills. Sighing, as if he had made vicious battle with the meaty stew, Remus laid back in his chair.

Small talk filled the contents of the next few minutes, before they landed on the topic of their pasts.

“I was from the Carpentry Sect originally.” Reading their expressions of indifference, Remus chuckled lightly. “I know, not the most grand of clans is it?”

“Each sect is important, Remus,” Hansley spoke reassuringly, “the labour clans all have their purposes. Without them, whether some of the more prominent, combat-oriented sects like to admit it, we’d all be at a loss.”

“But why did you leave?” Aziel asked, to which Hansley looked more taken aback than Remus himself.

She pouted at her son. “Don’t you think that’s a little intrusive?”

“It's fine,” all eyes turned to Remus. “To put it simply, my clan’s in trouble. Our sect-leader won’t be around much longer, First Rite’s economy makes Hell’s Floor look like a well-rounded community with no flaws, and I don’t know how much longer we can last until enough is enough. Even our deity, Arcus, is at a loss. If someone powerful doesn’t arise from the sect soon, I can’t imagine what will become of us.”

All eating stopped, and Remus struggled to maintain a stoic face as they both offered him their sympathies. “Gods above.” Aziel had more to chew on than just his bowl’s contents. “Sorry for pressing you Remus-”

“It's fine.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Remus stared at the rippling liquid of his leftover broth, the redness of his cheeks somehow reflecting in the murkiness of the liquid. “There’s more to it, but I don’t want to bring a sombre end to this day. Let’s just say, I won’t be able to return to First Rite anytime soon.”

They didn’t press him, which Remus was thankful for, as they would be perfectly in the right to do so. Plus, dropping his criminal history at the dinner table didn’t sound appealing at all.

“I suppose I should tell you a little more about myself in return.” Aziel broke the encompassing silence. “Equal exchange, eh?”

Of course, the two went through the charade of saying it's perfectly fine, before Remus gave up.

“No, I insist. You already know about my reasons for joining the front lines, but I don’t think I’m far off from being eligible. You see, Tanish gives out his Visions the second a clansman reaches Emblazed-”

Remus’s face shot up, as he looked directly at Aziel. “He does?” It was more of a surprised exclamation than an actual inquiry.

Laughter filled the kitchen. “He does indeed.” Hansley answered. “You see, us all being the embodiment of Ambition means that practically all of us agree to the military service. It's expected, almost.”

Frowning, Remus asked, “if all of you head to the front lines, how come most people believe the Ambition Clan to be a boyish rumour — wouldn’t partaking in the War grow your notoriety?”

“A rumour? Really?” Aziel sounded honestly shocked, words muffled as he swallowed another mouthful. “Are we really that detached from the rest of Descent?”

Both heads turned to Hansley to answer, like clueless children consulting the nearest adult to solve a basic sum for them. “Those stationed at the front lines know about us, but nevertheless, there are hundreds of thousands fighting there; likely millions. Our few Foot-Soldiers sent off every few decades are lost in the numbers.”

The explanation made sense, and Aziel, as if only then realising how truly miniscule his clan was, shook his head furiously. “Anyhow, I’ve been developing my Bank for quite some time now. A few years in fact. I’ve been taking my time to ensure it's perfect. I’m confident that in the coming Passings, I’ll be a fully-fledged Foot-Soldier.”

Remus’ lips tightened, his stomach dropping at the time frame. A few years to go from Emblazed to Foot-Soldier.

That was quite frankly too long.

“I’ve been cultivating the Diamond Marrow Mould. Not to go into excess detail, but when I complete the Vault, I wouldn't recommend throwing any punches towards me, in the near future.”

Only having to imagine throwing a jab at a body with impossibly tough bones to squeal, Remus wrinkled his nose. Such defences sounded precisely what someone aiming for Warden at the Splintered Ranks would go for. If Aziel ever fulfilled that ultra-defence, he would become a true menace on the battlefield.

“Within the year, I’ll be heading off to join the War.” Aziel revealed. His mother didn't look particularly pleased, but didn’t object. Obviously, the woman had come to expect this, with years to come to terms with the decision.

“Though, I suppose we technically are all involved with the god’s fight the moment we’re born. We just don’t truly realise it until a few years later.”

With that profound comment, Remus’ mind went whirling. “Not to intrude, but how old exactly are you, Aziel?”

“Hm? Oh, twenty.”

The spoon slid out of Remus’ hand, sinking into his fifth refill. “Twenty!”

Aziel scowled, squinting his eyes with an antagonising air about him. “What . . . do I look that much older?”

Remus spluttered, scanning the man’s face up and down, as though scrambling to find the missing piece of a puzzle.

He must have been looking pretty forcefully, for Aziel leaned back in his chair “Is it really that bad?”

“You’ve got this backwards. I didn’t think you were that much older than me.”

Leaving them to their own devices, Hansley provided background noise that was definitely not distracting at all, through her endless hysteria.

Aziel peered closer, blonde hair falling messily along his forehead. “Wait . . . how old are you?”

“Sixteen . . . seventeen mid-Autumn.”

Now it was Aziel’s turn to jump out of his seat, features exaggerating fiercely, as both his mouth and eyes widened. “I was under the impression you were just a few years younger than me! For a Death-Marked to reach Enkindled, and at sixteen . . .”

Old memories surfaced in Remus’ mind — the words of an old friend, whose life was cut terribly short.

“Hold on a moment,” all humour was wiped out of the moment, as the two listened in intently. “Before I came here, I met another Death-Marked. He told me none with the affliction had ever reached Enkindled, and here I find entire bloodlines descending from the very same individuals. What’s the deal?”

Once more, the answer came down to the least exciting. “As odd as it may sound, claiming you were once Death-Marked isn’t exactly a glorious achievement. Centuries ago, when this sect of ours found new recruits much more abundantly — the remnants of the first wave of crushed sects — people harboured a greater hatred towards those kind than even today. As you can imagine, those that were burdened by the curse didn’t go out of their way to speak about it vocally.”

Given Remus’ life up to this point, he didn’t find that a tough pill to swallow. Prejudices ran deep, and even though the current world wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, the past had hardly been better. By the sounds of it, much worse, in fact.

“Back then, if a child was born with the Mark of a dead god, general perception was that they were of no use. Dull tools, or so to speak. We are very fortunate to have our cushy zones of Divine Ground as developed as they are. Back when the entirety of Descent was as absorbed in combat as Hell’s Floor, you either fought for your sect, or were cast astray. In other words, Death-Marked were burnt at the stake.”

Ohh, Remus gulped, his throat suddenly dry, maybe I should be more grateful. If I was born a little earlier . . . he shivered.

With conversation bled dry, and their stomachs full to bursting, Remus looked out at the luminous moon, the ghostly white of which seemed to leak through the windows. The ethereal light flooded the kitchen, and the extent of Remus’ fatigue suddenly struck him.

Minutes later, Remus found himself lying against the now-familiar bed of hay he had become so acquainted to, the last Duration having flown by impossibly fast. Right as he was going to catch some much needed shut eye, Remus heard the barn door open, the familiar silhouette of Aziel dispersing his initial panic. Even after all this time, the fear of sudden attackers refused to leave him

Sighing, Remus found himself filled with giddy laughter, a lightness pervading his body. “For Infinity's sake Aziel, you sure know how to terrify someone.”

“Apologies.” The young man murmured, sounding honestly apologetic. “I was just wondering if we could talk about something. I know it's late, but I thought it more likely to get an answer out of you without my mother’s company.”

“Ask away, I’m all ears.”

Straw was crushed as Aziel took a seat, any strands of the stuff conveniently lost in the mimicking shade of his hair. It was here that it occurred to Remus that for straw to be here in such high abundance, animals must be kept at the farm, and yet he hadn’t seen any of the like since his staying here. He didn’t have to use his imagination to work-out the fate of the last inhabitants, his eyes attracted to a set of unnatural claws grazing across a row of the stalls.

“Violet. Why do the Unbounded want her?”

. . . and that was precisely the one question Remus couldn’t answer.”

“Look, I get it if you don’t want to tell-”

“No, no, it's not that.” He quickly cut him off. “Just . . .”

How on earth was he going to word this without sending alarm bells off in Aziel’s head?

“Violet has caused a lot of trouble for the Unbounded in recent times. Primarily, the night we arrived here, she killed a high-authority figure in their ‘social system’, or whatever you call Unbounded communities. Having her killed is probably one of their top priorities right now; at least for the creatures roaming around these parts.”

Aziel actually sighed with relief. “Thank the gods, for a minute there, I actually thought . . .” He trailed off and, judging on what Remus had been fearing Aziel to say, he was thankful that he did. “Anyhoo, not to be too nosey, but that letter she received — I won’t ask about its contents, but is everything okay? An enemy of those vermin is a fast friend to us.”

“Fine.” Remus said stiffly. “She’s fine.”

The troubling part about that statement was that Remus was still unsure on whether it was a lie or not. A suffocating warmth was crawling through Remus’ insides. It wasn’t the reaffirming, comforting kind he experienced when laying sore eyes on an old friend, or being full after a delicious meal. The dreadful feeling was the soul-sapping variety, drowning him out with a growing tension that simply refused to subside.

“Good.” Aziel put his hands on his waist, evidently of a much better state of mind then Remus. He turned around, making his way towards the barn’s entry. “Good indeed. Hey, maybe with the Unbounded so focused on your friend, we’ll be able to recuperate. Yeah . . . that would be nice.”

The barn shut with a dull reverberation.

Remus fell into an uneasy sleep. If only I could share that optimism.