It wasn’t long before Gideon went missing.
For three days, they laboured endlessly in the tunnels beneath the Ambition Sect, plotting and plotting on how they could possibly retake their rightful home. The group had been surprised with a mere few days of eluding capture, but like all things hinging on pure luck, that didn’t last long.
After finishing up his one and only meal of the day — sneaking into decrepit buildings wasn’t the most effective means of gathering food — Remus and the rest of the gang assembled around a makeshift ‘table’. In more appropriate terms, it was a dislodged plank of wood balancing on other assorted debris, discovered from the destruction the group had stumbled across so far.
Brison, as always, stood at the head of the arrangement, strangely glum-faced. Of course, he always suited a stoic line of the lips, but there was something subtly different about the man. Something that troubled Remus to the extent that one little detail could send him clenching and unclenching his fists.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, something terrible had transpired, and everyone could tell.
This moody atmosphere bore no advantages for the Warlord. “Ladies,” Brision acknowledged Sibyl, and the other women huddled by one side of the table. “And gentlemen,” he turned a hand towards Aziel, Remus, and the other men, all eyes immediately twitching to the absent space by them.
He exhaled. “There is no easy way to say this. Gideon went out to gather supplies from the furthest point of our western tunnels, and we have yet to see him since. That was five hours ago.”
Blood rushed to Remus’s still fidgeting hands, and he forced himself to untense them. Instead, terror seized his body by chattering his teeth.
Remus may have thought he was doing a foul job of keeping his emotions under check, but Aziel was another matter entirely. His fists slammed against the table, splitting the space unevenly into two. Shrieks of surprise resounded around, and as rage poured into Remus towards Aziel, he took his first proper look at the blond man in what felt like days.
The word dishevelled didn’t cut it. Aziel was downright filthy. Hair in tousles, clothes in tatters. His arm was, for the most part, healed — a showcase of the might of a Rank-enhanced healing factor — and yet it still hung to his side clumsily. Remus was shocked by the fact he had even bothered to attend the meeting. Aziel’s smeared, calloused hands, smashing against dirt for hours on end, was all that the man would set his mind to day after day, night after night.
But what had undoubtedly changed the most was Aziel’s eyes. The pure blue domes had been robbed of their previous, carefree sensibilities. Now a rage sifted through that diamond canvas; a rage that reminded Remus far too much of his own.
“Tanish’s Ambition, what do you think you’re doing young man?” Brison was the first voice of reason to rise above the buzz of noise.
Sibyl soon followed him up. “Aziel’s really lost it now, hasn't he? I knew something was off about him, when he dedicated his life to smashing that tunnel.” She twirled a finger to the side of her ahead.
Aziel held the air of a canine let off his leash. “Quiet sibyl. Your constant complaining has been such a help.”
“And you smashing everything in sight to smithereens has really been a massive assistance!”
Arguments flooded the room, and Remus found himself drowning in the brutal verbal seas. How these two were willing to argue so fiercely before their sect leader was beyond Remus. In the Carpentry Sect, not a soul would dare mutter a bad word before Andreas. The level of respect for both Brison and Andreas had seemed equal, so Remus knew something else was afoot to spark such outrage.
This claustrophobic environment was driving them all mad. If the Ambition Sect were to ever return to its rightful hands, this ragtag group of rebels would have to seriously pull-together. Staring once more at Aziel, face set into a menacing snarl, Remus couldn’t help but see something familiar through the superficial surface: a visage from the past.
“Aziel.” He put a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Do not let your Ambition consume you.”
The man blatantly ignored him, eyes scanning the room as if searching for the next object to destroy.
Remus continued. “I’ve learned first hand what a double-edged sword your desire can be. The flame of your Ambition may not be able to literally consume you, but if left untempered, will as sure as anything wither away at your being. You need to practise self-restraint.”
Aziel had a murderous look in his eyes, the sort that read as him calculating precisely where each of Remus’ vital spots were. He opened his mouth, spluttered nothing intelligible, then grasped at his chest.
“He’s really lost it now.” Sibyl muttered, as always, contributing exactly nothing to the conversation.
Taking a step forward, Remus reached out to lay a hand on Aziel’s shoulder once more. Aziel raised a hand, as if to sway him away, but let it drop. “But my mother-”
“I know.” He squeezed a little tighter. “I know.”
“I can’t let her die for nothing,” Aziel suddenly spat, “I can’t let them get away with crushing my home to dust. And now even Gideon is lost. Don’t you feel it Remus? That nagging itch you just can’t scratch? Trapped down here, shovelling soil with our bare hands, what can we possibly do? Her killers roam out above here, gods know where, without so much as a care in the world. No justice, no reconciliation. Just as they stole the life of my father. How is that even remotely fair?”
He stopped at Remus’ unreadable look. “I out of everyone have no right to be telling you this, but please, do not act rashly. It may seem like the right thing to do in the moment, but sudden reactions are hardly ever the best. Bide your time, gather your wits and power, and we’ll wreak our revenge the proper way. But right here, right now, the last thing you want to be doing is throwing it all away, simply to appease some impatient side of yourself.”
The two stared at each other. Remus had hardly participated in many, but never before had he endured a staring contest quite so intense.
Eventually, Aziel sat down, each of his steps towards the makeshift stump that was their seating pronounced through the lingering silence.
As always seemed to be the case, Brison spoke first. “Well said Remus. I wasn’t aware you had wisdom so far beyond your years within you.”
Remus managed to crack a smile, still stiff after the tense encounter. “I’ve come to learn that experience is the greatest teacher.” The grin disappeared as quickly as it formed. “But the mistakes I made to learn that lesson . . . it’ll take years to reverse some of the damage I’ve done.”
Brison patted his back, the action oddly fatherly. “Then start now.”
Remus nodded. Despite his regrets, he couldn’t see how he could have possibly done anything differently. True, becoming one of the most wanted men in all of First Rite, and building up brewing hatreds with sects far more powerful than himself sounded ludicrous on paper. But without those bad decisions, he would have never surpassed Death-Marked. He would have never met Violet; never built strong bonds with either Aziel or Hadrian.
Without his idiotic instincts, he would still be a no-name Death-Marked, cursed to watch as his clan slowly, but surely, met its fate at Damosh’s hands.
Yet Tal and Iris would still be alive.
This time, Remus found himself grabbing his tunic. Anywhere he tread, death seemed to follow. His trail was one of devastation, and though the fate of the Ambition Clan would have still occurred, even if he had never made that fatal mistake of duelling Edmar, it was beyond Remus’ ability to not feel guilty.
It was as the weight of responsibility struck his shoulders, when Remus recalled a crucial piece of information.
“Aziel!” He called, failing to disguise the growing excitement from his voice.
The man lifted his head, embarrassment displaced by honest confusion. “Yes?”
“Tell me again about West Ember.”
Sibyl scoffed. “Oh please, not that children’s tale again.”
Ignoring her, Aziel explained. Remus listened intently as he informed them all of the most mysterious location in the Ambition Sect’s history — an isle off the coast of the Ravaged Lands. The tale of the founder’s techniques, of their past’s superior strength, cast them all into a rapt trance; even an initially sceptical Sibyl.
Voices rose after Aziel finished his story, cheeks ruddy with so much attention on him. He appeared especially disoriented, with no limitless anger to numb the true terror of public speaking. Most vocally, was the enquiry of whether West Ember was anything more than an embellished legend.
“Like all parts of the Ambition Clan, our past is draped in mystery.” Brison began to explain, having been mostly silent during the entire exchange. “Just as most outsiders believe our sect to be fiction, so is our past equally as misunderstood. Though, I can confirm, to the best of my knowledge, that all Aziel has explained this morning is true.”
Supplied with the slightest piece of validation, that was the ammo Remus needed to vouch everything on one more crazed idea. Except this time, the only person he would be putting at risk would be himself.
He dropped a palm on the remnants of the table, drawing attention. “How long do you think you can go unsuspected?”
“Hopefully, forever,” the Warlord earned a few uneasy laughs, “but if we continue as we are now, time is of the essence. If Gideon has already been found, we have to assume the rest of The Wild Sect is closing in.”
Remus slumped. That put a hole right through his plans. “What if we laid low? Only did what was required to survive and nothing more?”
Brison frowned. “I don’t see much point in a rebellion that doesn’t rebel, but I would wager substantially longer.”
“How long?”
The elderly man cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you asking?”
Here came the kicker. “Could you, theoretically speaking, survive an entire passing; potentially longer? Long enough for me to go on a little . . . expedition?“
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Like clicks going off around every person inside that chamber, a universal understanding slid into place.
Sibyl was quick to speak her opinion. “Do you realise how slim of a chance that scheme has of working? To head to West Ember alone may take a Passing. We’d be lucky to last until then, much less near double that length.”
“And that’s without taking into consideration the time it’ll take to both learn our founder’s techniques, and impart them to us.” Brison did not hold back his concerns with the scheme. “Who's to say these ancient arts will even be all that powerful? I know my history, and it was a barbaric time when our founder was around. What was considered powerful has changed exponentially since then.”
“A gamble.” A previously quiet woman spoke. “That’s what this is: a gamble.”
“But a gamble that could work.”
More disgruntled discussion. If Remus wanted to follow through with this idea, it had become painfully apparent that he would have to fight for it.
“I admire the way you’re thinking, Remus.” Aziel lifted his head. “But answer me this: how are you going to leave these grounds unsuspected?”
Now that left him stumped.
“Two many people would attract attention, so this will be a one man job.” Remus said, after a second’s deliberation. “I’ll travel to the furthest point of our tunnelling, surface around the outskirts of the base, and make an escape from there. I shouldn’t be noticed, but if worse comes to worst, it isn’t unlikely that I’ll be able to make a run for it.”
This appeared to appease the man to a degree, but Aziel still pressed him hard. “How would we know you escaped? The outermost section of our network is where Gideon was found, so I would refrain from charging towards the complete ends. But even if by some miracle, this all played out perfectly, if you did make it out, we wouldn’t have the slightest clue.”
Remus wasn’t the best at devising solutions under pressure — as history had shown — and additionally with a time-restraint, but strangely, the answers came easily this time around. “I should be able to work-out a means of doing so outside. There’s bound to be a possible means of communication. But I just need a connection to this place.”
Brison’s frown had evolved into a full-fledged glower. “Assumption is never a stable basis, but here-”
Aziel raised a hand. “If you would allow me, Sir?”
A wordless debate seemed to transpire between the two, before the Warlord finally nodded. “Go ahead. This should keep your Ambition underwraps, for the time being.”
For the life of him, Remus couldn’t understand what the two were referring to. Out of his pocket, Aziel revealed the tiniest piece of Infirnite Remus could have imagined. A pebble in size, the man held it between two fingers, closed his eyes, and concentrated. Instantly, a flame appeared in the crystal’s centre. Except this flicker of blue felt different; somehow more real in a way Remus couldn’t pinpoint.
A look of relief appeared on Aziel, and after the cycle of emotions the blond man had phased through today, Remus could barely believe the sight of it.
“The Infirnite will keep that flame going for entire Rebirths if you let it,” Aziel explained. “I’ve extracted the purest part of my Ambition into it. Meaning, until my Mark’s effects flood me with desire once more, I'll be graced with a few days of clarity. I’ll be sure to use it to think on what you’ve told me.”
Fumbling around with his pockets, Remus rivalled Aziel’s grin. “Be sure to.”
Gods above, Remus thought to himself, searching his attire for any place of safe-keeping, how I’m not going to lose this tiny thing is beyond me.
“When will you be leaving?” Sibyl asked, to which Remus was caught momentarily off-guard.
He swiftly composed himself before replying. “I suspect the sooner, the better. I’ll see if I can get my hands on any more rations from unsuspecting Wild Sect clansmen. After that, my departure will follow shortly.”
As each member of the rebellion took turns to offer Remus his farewells, a gloomy realisation stripped him of any pervading excitement. He was brimming with a sinister apprehension, threatening to drown him from the inside out, as he pondered cluelessly on the fatal flaw of his schemes.
The unlikelihood of travelling so far, on so many trips simply for this mission had already been pointed out, but what about the promise Remus had made to Violet? He was obligated to assist his friend in her Unbounded troubles, and, even without the moral tug of a promise, he would have whole-heartedly wanted to regardless.
There was something crucial he would have to find if he wanted to make this all work, but no matter how much Remus tried to wrap his brain around it, no sudden epiphanies would come to him.
Heavensent assistance always sounded nice, but never was practical.
“Goodbye Remus,” Brison shook his hand, “may fortune follow you.”
“I’ll need it.”
Already, Remus’ body was making a thousand tiny complaints, all collectively screaming at Remus to go back on his choice. The dryness of his throat, the stiffness of his limbs, and the clamminess of his hands, just to name a few, all revolted against him.
But his choice had been made. Even Sibyl was offering her sincerest farewells.
Right as he was on the verge of making his grand exit, the Warlord directed him towards an isolated corner for a quick word.
“I cannot promise that if you do succeed, we’ll even still be around here.” Remus had come to expect such cynical words, but they made his heart ache. “The Wild Sect reportedly kills any revolters in cold blood, so our very lives are on the line. But if you really think this could work-”
“I do.”
A wistful smile arose on the man. “Then give it your best shot.”
Remus nodded, took a deep breath, and tried to keep his mind void of thought as he entered the tunnels.
----------------------------------------
You never notice wanted signs until you recognise the faces they capture.
Such were the thoughts of Violet, left staring at a notice board in the middle of the city proper. Alongside the rows of unassuming faces, the blank, innocuous visage of Remus stuck out to her. She was taken aback by the sheer realism of Remus’ flickering poster.
Typically, these were illustrated by those in the rural Art Sect — a peaceful subset of people, unaffiliated with any of the greater alliances. For the most part, they were left to their own devices, the promised protection from sects benefitting from their pieces more than enough to keep them on the map. But this right here was a recent innovation in technology known as a photograph.
The brainchild of the Matter and Sight sects respectively, the two clans united their strengths to print reality perfectly on paper. Apparently, the Sight Sect supplied the image, whereupon the Matter Sect recreated the mental ‘blueprint’ perfectly, at an atomic level.
For Remus to have upgraded from illustration to groundbreaking technology . . . well, it was a testament to just how badly the world wanted him behind bars.
Violet sighed, tearing her eyes off the stuffed board. With Veida gone, she had been mulling around mindlessly without cause, for the last hour or so. She had to get back to action.
The Undercrossing, she pinpointed her focus. Somehow, her subconscious had seemed to direct her body vaguely towards the correct direction. Ignoring the miscellaneous ruins dotted about every corner, Violet saw a thick grey haze at the very tip of her vision. There, fuzzy from distance alone, appeared to be the place in question.
Quickly, she got to moving, tightening her brown cloak around her. In unison to the average maroon of her appeal, Violet suited the appearance of a street urchin — someone your eyes would never even dawdle upon. True, she wasn't technically a wanted criminal in Hybrid anymore, but the last few Passings had drilled into her the constant survivalist need to lay-low. To skirt around anyone, or anything, armed the barest chance of recognising her. Only time and continued persistence would change her habits.
Reality seemed distorted following her rendezvous with Juniper; the event seemingly too bizarre to fit within her perception of reality. But nevertheless, it was an irrefutable fact that the exchange had been real.
Real. The word held no true meaning to Violet now. Obviously, she understood the literal definition, but what was considered real when the most twisted quirks of her brain had somehow imprinted upon reality? Every single one of her worst, most terrifying fears had turned true. Perhaps Violet had her own personal, miniature god resting on her shoulder, constantly listening in to her stream of thought. Ever eager to find new means to manipulate the severest of Violet’s insecurities.
This train of thought was about to send Violet off the rails, before a looming grey building directly ahead of her forced its proverbial steam engine to a huffing stop.
The Undercrossing was quite possibly the most impressive structure Violet had ever seen. She didn’t possess the metrics to describe its height — well, okay, it was likely the size of a large hill; approximately four hundred feet or so. Sheer concrete, the tunnel opened up like the jaws of a humongous monster.
Hundreds of people drifted in and out, like the bustling streets of a city centre, and there was more than enough space to contain everyone. Lambent torches supplied an ample amount of light to the inner chamber, and taking an unsteady breath, Violet braced herself.
So many eyes. Aside from the traversing crowds, the Sight Sect had a few of their own eyes lingering in the corners. Surely someone was bound to recognise her. Until this morning, Violet’s face had been hung up everyday on that stupid signpost, empty eyes awaiting to catch the attention of all passing travellers. How would they know she was innocent in all this? Well, less innocent, and more pardoned, but that didn’t stop the worry from distressing Violet to no end. She found herself biting on her nails, a foul habit she had quit years ago, but for some odd reason was now once again surfacing with a newfound vengeance.
Steadying herself, Violet took the plunge.
The methodic drum of feet on pebbled ground was all that filled the place, everyone too busy trying to worm their way through to engage in any sort of conversation. It wasn’t long until the space lowered into a wider, central expanse. A chandelier up above lit the place with spectacular efficiency, shards of charged Infirnite far more effective than any old regular candles. It was here that the linear pathway began to divert, a four-way junction — including the avenue Violet had just trod across — splitting through Hybrid in near exact quarters. Behind her, past the deep staircase the crowd had crossed a moment ago, a tunnel leading underneath paved the way towards the southern route of the network.
Miles upon miles of tarmac.
The place elicited many an awed gasp from Violet any direction she turned, her mind too astonished to focus on the task at hand. And yet, simultaneously, too preoccupied to be concerned by any of her lingering issues.
Violet found herself carried by the moving current of the crowd, and through her own volition, she rode the stream of human motion that took her closest to the passage she had just examined. It felt like backtracking, but she knew exiting Hybrid at the southern end would lead most conveniently towards the Ravaged Lands.
It was at this moment that the weight of her journey truly set in for Violet. In only a Passing, or perhaps less, she would finally be making strides to uncovering the secrets of Akuji.
Who knows, Violet thought, walking down a splintering pathway, discovering what happened to a missing member of the Life Sect might just land me in the clan’s good books. It’d be nice to make some allies for once.
But Violet was well aware that was simply wishful thinking.
Straight ahead, the corridor she had picked without thought, yet again, split into several alternate passages. Except, this time, clear inscriptions had been carved above each. Violet strolled by them one by one, reading their titles aloud. “Walking, flight, carriage, sonic.”
Ignoring the odd name for the last opening, Violet noted the substantially wider gap that sat beneath carriage. Two sooty trails zipped into the darkness, the stone weathered by decades of abuse by wheels. The rest of the exits weren't in much better condition either — dust lining every visible surface, and the occasional crack quite apparent. A few torches glowed dimly through the encompassing gloom, but for the most part, the brackets held nothing but ash.
And yet, alas, this was nothing in comparison to sonic.
Entire pieces of tarmac appeared to have been forcibly torn off, and not one single torch had survived all these years. Cracked pieces of Infirnite lay sprawled across the ground, glimmering sadly.
Great, she scoffed, I pick the one tunnel the maintenance team has given up on.
Judging on the abuse the passage took, and its apt name, Violet figured this was the place individuals possessing great speed zipped through.
With a sigh, she walked as far away from that airy tunnel as possible.
. . . right under the walking sign. She found herself exhaling yet again.
It was going to be a long Passing after all.