The Heavens that make up existence defined the Truths. A fledgling Draiodh learns to listen to the Truths so that they may grow in power, but an advanced Draoidh knows there are limits before they must defy the Heavens. A cultivator’s path walks the line between life and death.
~Dagda, the All-Father, Chief of the Gods
One year after leaving Rosdoe…
4th Floor – Outskirts of Eisreachtu
Chains rattled in the dimly lit chamber. The cavernous-like room had curved walls that shaped it into an almost perfect circle. The arched entry ruined the perfect symmetry, and despite its artistic design, it stuck out like a scar. A blight against perfection.
A wooden pillar in the center of the room rose up and supported the domed ceiling. Leaves were carved into the wooden dome, creating an illusion of a tree’s canopy.
The chamber might have been mistaken for a temple if it wasn’t for the chains anchored into the wall at regular intervals. Or as a room designed to aid in cultivation and sensing the Truths.
Once more, the chains rattled as the nineteen-year-old boy opened his eyes. His long black hair hung limply in his face, hiding the emerald green eyes with a glowing gold ring surrounding his pupils. The Shield on his chest glowed weakly, but the manacles on his wrists, ankles, and neck sapped away the mana.
Even his natural healing appeared to be inhibited by whatever they made those things out of. He’d heard of items and treasures that could be used to capture cultivators. Still, those were usually things that were attached to the Shield itself. This was something entirely different. Some manacles were tough enough to keep a cultivator chained, but they needed to be powered by something and didn’t block the Source energy.
Getting beaten, his body felt weak and tortured. It hurt to breathe, but he could sense that nothing was broken. Then again, he’d only arrived here yesterday, so they hadn’t had time to work him over. The only bright spot was that he sent his wives into his Soulscape and transferred all the important stuff from his Shield and Vortex Pin.
Aine and Ahote had left them a few months back, so they hadn’t come to this forsaken place with them. Acco hadn’t returned yet from a mission he took from the Adventurer’s Guild, and Nin encouraged him to go. Crow didn’t know what the two were up to but knew whatever it was not normal or Nin wouldn’t have been involved.
Nadia was something else. She didn’t disappear but wasn’t with them currently. Crow knew she was still obsessed with Kafe but didn’t know what to do for her. The other women had lowered their caution toward the woman, and they were all friends now. Her talents were unusual, but Crow didn’t like exploiting her sexuality to gain advantages. It was something he’d never ask her to do, no matter how much she was willing. It felt wrong. That didn’t mean Mara and Nin had issues with it, and those three often colluded on things that Crow wished never to know about. Crow’s unwillingness to exploit her was probably why Nadia had hung around as long as she did.
Evaluating his situation, body, and environment, he realized these people had underestimated him. Night Fire was still active and wasn’t restricted by the chains, and his chakras were glowing with energy. Testing the body cultivation method the Song women taught him, he realized it was fine as long as it didn’t feed into his Source.
The breathing technique didn’t take long before empowering his natural healing. The natural healing wasn’t something he’d given much thought to in the past because it always just worked as a natural body function. Without the Source supplying it energy, he realized the problem instantly.
Concentrating on how his body used his Source, he could follow the healing pattern within himself. His consciousness followed the sparse Origin energy coming from his Shield as it cycled through his body. Its design was like Saille, the Ogham rune for the willow tree, and noted for its healing properties. It had variations and multiple layers and complexities that Crow couldn’t understand. Still, he knew enough to figure out how to supply energy from his chakras.
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Almost immediately, he felt relief. The energy of his chakras couldn’t match up to his Source, but it soothed the significant sources of pain. His breathing became less labored, and the wheezing sound disappeared.
Even though he felt he could stand up straight now, he continued to hang limply. Until he knew who his enemies were, he would act like the wounded dog they expected him to be.
Smack.
Distracted as he was, he didn’t realize someone was near him until he was slapped. Looking up, he saw cloudy gray eyes staring back into his. Crow recognized that look—it was the same one he’d seen in Gideon all those years ago. He’d learned from a book recently that there was a type of Death Mana that wasn’t generated naturally. It was produced by sinister acts which maimed victims or took lives.
The accumulation of Death Mana wasn’t something that an average person could achieve, but those that did had one distinctive trait. The coloring of their eyes turned cloudy, like a faded version of their previous glory. Some joked that they were the dead eyes of a killer, but they didn’t realize how right they were.
*We have found your target. The favor you must repay.* The Sluagh had been strangely silent for the last year, and Crow almost forgot about them. However, their cawing in his mind sounded more like cackling. It knew what he was thinking, but it didn’t mind. *This man has a master. The master has many students, and they are all equally sinister. Our task is for you to kill this master. If you kill all the master’s students, we will reward you. However, just the master is enough to complete one favor.*
*Is there a deadline for eliminating the students?*
*There is not. Once you kill the master, it is only a matter of time before they come for you regardless.* The Sluagh was amused at Crow’s inner dialogue. They could sense the boy cursing them and found it highly entertaining. *We must go. Let the hunt begin.*
“Where is it?” The man with the dead eyes asked. Crow was caught up in the conversation with the Sluagh, so he didn’t know what the man was talking about.
“Listen, torturer guy, let’s introduce ourselves and talk like civilized people.”
“Or I cut off your finger, and you tell me what I want to know.”
“I don’t know what you want to know, Kitten.”
“My name isn’t Kitten.”
“I have no idea who you are, but you obviously know who I am. The orange fuzz on your scalp and face remind me of a tabby cat, so Kitten is appropriate.”
A fist struck Crow’s gut, and it was a miracle he didn’t spit up blood. He’d expected it but didn’t expect three more strikes to his trunk, undoing the healing he’d already done.
“Can’t… talk if you… hurt lungs,” Crow wheezed out and made sure he blocked his mind so his women couldn’t share his consciousness. He didn’t want them to see him get tortured. Without access to his Source, he was pretty sure he couldn’t extract them from his Soulscape anyway.
“Then what’s my name?”
“Kitten?” Crow laughed, even if it hurt.
More fists landed on his body, but this time he worked Crow’s kidneys and legs. The legs were unexpected, and Crow thought the man was messing with him. Dangling from his chains caused his shoulders and wrists to feel like they were being torn from his body. Putting his weight on his legs while standing was another type of torturous pain, and Crow couldn’t decide which was worse. After that, he didn’t doubt Kitten’s ability to cause him pain. What a vile man!
“Where are the auction goods?” Kitten asked after composing himself. He tilted Crow’s head back, and a drop of blue liquid fell into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he activated his Night Fire, ready to burn out whatever poison the man gave him. Only he was surprised to find it was a healing potion or at least a drop of it. It was enough to heal some of the worst damage in his body and relieve the pressure on his lungs.
“You captured me for Nightstar’s treasures?” Crow wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. If not for the blue liquid, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to talk. “We auctioned them off! There are no excess goods unless no one bids on something.”
Kitten glared but didn’t sense deception in the prisoner’s words.
“Then where do you normally stash the products before the auction?”
“My Shield?” Crow felt like the question was extraordinarily stupid. Everyone at the auction saw him pulling the treasures out.
“Empty your Shield.”
“No,” Crow shook his head.
“Then we use this,” Kitten said, putting out a device that looked like a Shield but had eight long appendages. The spider-looking thing looked sinister, and Crow wondered if he should just empty his Shield.
“Look, Kitten, let’s talk thi—” Crow screamed as the eight appendages stabbed into his chest. They sank in, surrounding his Shield until an almost inaudible clink was heard. The central part of the device was resting against his Shield with only a shirt between them.
Crow barely recollected his thoughts before seeing his Shield activating multiple times in quick succession. Each time it lit up, something fell to the ground. Kitten and Crow both stared at each other before Crow looked away, embarrassed.
There were so many sets of clothing that Kitten couldn’t fathom it. Never would he have suspected that the reason, and if he had, even his lifeless eyes might have lit up in mirth. After all, Crow was only a few more incidents short of gaining a new legend.
“I have a problem keeping my clothes on…” Crow muttered.
If Niall was present, he’d have died of laughter by now.