FOUR YEARS AGO
Relia passed beneath an old stone archway and followed her master toward the temple. Curtains of green vines hung on either side of their path, and a few seemed to sway in the evening breeze.
Except there was no breeze down here in the valley, just humid jungle air. So why were they moving like that? They almost looked . . .
“Tread carefully,” Lyraina said in a smooth voice. “Those vines belong to carnivorous plants.”
No sooner had she spoken than a few vines drifted closer to Relia’s face. She staggered away, but another vine slithered out from the cracks in the floor, wrapping around her left ankle like a snake.
Relia yelped and hit the thing with a pure Missile, but the vine was as tough as steel, and her mana broke against its shiny green surface. It pinned her foot to the floor, while its friends swarmed in like a pack of raptors.
Lyraina spun on her heel and fixed the vines with a stern look. She didn’t even raise a hand, much less a proper technique. Nonetheless, the vines shriveled and retreated back to their lairs.
“Thanks,” Relia said as she jogged to catch up. Lyraina nodded, and they continued up the staircase together. Slick moss covered their path, but at least it didn’t look as hungry as the vines. The jungle canopy thinned above their heads, and she caught faint glimpses of the sky beyond. The clouds swirled with streaks of pale blue mana, and the air carried a sweet mineral scent—the first signs of the coming storm.
It took them several minutes to reach the top of the staircase. From there, they stepped into a vast courtyard of ancient stone structures, crammed tight between the jungle and the Inner Sea.
A massive temple crowned the edge of the cliff, overlooking an endless stretch of blue water. The building was shaped like a ziggurat . . . or was that a pyramid? A pyramid with no top? Relia had never been good with ancient Cadrian architecture, but the temple base was wider than a city block, and she counted several levels as it tapered upward.
“Can I come in this time?” Relia asked.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Lyraina said. “These cultists are as hungry as the vines.”
She chuckled. “Really? The cultists eat innocent young girls?”
A thin sliver of a smile crossed her master’s face.“They’re all scheming opportunists, and they would use you to get closer to me.”
A burst of salty wind blew through the courtyard, and Relia grabbed the front of her shirt and flapped it back and forth. Her Apprentice body let her trudge through the jungle without getting winded, but that did nothing for the layer of sweat on her skin. If anything, these enforced muscles seemed to generate even more heat than before. Everyone said her body would adapt to that change, but it still hadn’t happened yet.
“So you don’t trust them?” Relia asked after a short pause. “Aren’t you, like, their leader?”
“Hardly,” she replied. “They want things from me, just like anyone else in this world.”
“Like what? Besides your aspect, I mean.”
“In short? They think I can provide an alternative to the Angels.”
Relia blinked at that. She’d never been particularly religious, but the idea still sent shivers down her spine. “Can you?”
A pair of cultists jogged out from the temple entrance before she could answer. “Lady Trelian!” a young man called out. He was Cadrian, with short black hair, and a scar over his left eye.
Lyraina gave the man a patient nod as he approached. Despite her’s master’s simple blue blouse and jeans, she looked like a queen holding court. Even the jungle’s heat didn’t phase her.
The man and his companion stopped a few paces away, then they bowed low at the waist. “We clashed with Zantano and his Wings near the border. The Spymaster killed Torvak.”
“How long has it been?” Lyraina asked at once.
“Fifty-five minutes.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help him, then.”
The older man cleared his throat, and Relia recognized him as Javier, one of the few cultists her master trusted. She knew that because the man often served as her babysitter when Lyraina entered the temple. “Your pardon, Lady Trelian, but we put his body in a time-dilated pocket dimension. Time passes a hundred times slower in there.”
“Right.” The younger man nodded. “So it’s only been five and a half seconds.”
Javier gave his friend a pitying look. “Thirty-three seconds. But it’s also enforced with ice mana to keep his body cold.”
“Indeed?” Lyraina raised an eyebrow. Clearly, she hadn’t considered this possibility. “How bad was the damage?”
There was a short pause, and then Javier swallowed hard. “Valeria Zantano stuck a claw through his heart.”
“That’s all?” she asked. “No head wounds?”
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“No. Just the one injury.”
“Can you help him?” the younger man asked.
“Maybe,” Lyraina said. “But I’ll need mana.”
Javier nodded. “I’ve ordered our troops to gather—”
“Batteries won’t be enough,” she said.
The two cultists exchanged a look. “Then what can we do?”
Lyraina turned her gaze toward the temple. “There should be a storm coming soon. Do you know how close it is?”
Both men followed her gaze toward the sea, but neither spoke.
“Find out,” she said. “Then bring Torvak’s body to the summit.”
The cultists jogged back toward the temple, and Relia met her master’s eyes. “Can you really bring someone back from the dead?”
Lyraina continued toward the temple at a slower pace. “Technically, no. But a soul with sufficient mana can cling to life for several minutes after death. Even after the body has failed.”
“Oh. And this guy’s strong enough for that?”
“He’s an Aeon,” she replied.
“So he’s like you?”
She shook her head. “Torvak was born on this world, but he volunteered for an experiment several years ago. An attempt to combine the two sources of power to create something new. The ritual stunted his advancement, but he’s still invaluable to the cult.”
They drew closer to the temple proper, and Lyraina made no objection to Relia’s presence. The Cult of Trelian lived in this structure, but they hadn’t actually built it. It had probably belonged to the Yaxels, or some other ancient civilization that worshipped Storm’s Eye.
In fact, she spotted several intricate carvings on the surrounding structures, each one depicting a serpent with the head of a dragon. Other carvings showed humans with elaborate headdresses that were meant to protect them from the mana spirit.
They passed a doorway that led into the temple’s interior. Relia had half-expected to find a damp corridor, filled with cobwebs and snakes. Instead, the inside was surprisingly bright and orderly. Lightbulbs shone from recesses in the ceiling, and she felt the rush of air conditioning on her face.
Thank the Angels for that.
It even smelled different inside the temple—less earthy and more sterile, almost like a hospital. Relia had never liked hospitals, but she’d take that over a damp jungle any day.
“I’ve lived on this planet for decades,” Lyraina mused. “And the technology still amazes me.” Several of the cultists bowed as they passed, and her master nodded to them in return. “When I was a girl, the rulers of my world sought to suppress these sort of advancements. They wielded mana, and they treated technology as a threat to their reign.”
Relia nodded along as they walked. “Wonder why things are different here.”
“I suspect it’s the planet itself.” Her master led them into an open elevator. “The Hallows, the storms, and the mana beasts. We’re all shaped by our environments, and the danger forces humanity to adapt faster. Top floor, please.”
Relia pressed the top button on the control panel, and the elevator carried them up through the center shaft. “Makes sense I guess. My condition makes me advance quicker than most people my age.”
“Indeed,” her master replied. “People grow more complacent every year. The mana walls hold back the storms and the beasts, and even the poorest schools teach basic mana arts. It’s easier than ever for your peers to advance. At the same time, it’s easier for them to rest on their laurels. This world has more Apprentices and Artisans than any time in history, but fewer of them reach the Master realm every year.”
Relia frowned. “What’s that mean? Don’t we have more Masters than before?”
“Not in proportion,” she replied. “The numbers grow, but the percentage dwindles. Every tribe had at least one Master during the Primordial Age—that’s one for every hundred people. It was the only way for humans to survive in such a cruel environment.”
Relia hadn’t known that, but it made sense. For most people, reaching Artisan was enough to protect their bodies from most illnesses and injuries. It had become the standard throughout the modern world, while Masters were seen as overly ambitious people who devoted their whole lives to training. Sure, people envied them, but they rarely envied the road they traveled.
“Still,” Relia said. “Didn’t a lot more people die back then? Things are still better today, right?”
“For now.” Lyraina clasped her hands behind her back, watching the glowing numbers above the stainless steel doors. “We have more Masters today, and they make this world a safer place for everyone. But the depth of their power has diminished. Peace breeds mediocre mana artists, while true excellence requires hardship.”
Relia shook her left arm, feeling the phantom pains of growing crystals in her channels. “Mediocre is still better than dead.”
Lyraina glanced down at Relia’s arm and shot her a knowing look. “But what happens when hard times finally strike? Your condition has made you strong, yes. But what if true hardship threatened Espiria, where they lead lives of comfort? Then mediocrity is death.”
The door opened to a room with an open floor plan, and their path took them between clusters of desks and computers. Wires ran up the stone columns, and fluorescent lights hung between them. Had the cultists really built all this? Probably not. This temple was thousands of years old, and various factions could have made it their home over the years.
They climbed another staircase at the end of the room and emerged on the temple summit, a flat stone surface surrounded by metal railings. The elevator must have carried them at least a dozen stories up, because Relia had a clear view of their surroundings. The Yaxen Jungle went on for miles in the west, while the Inner Sea stretched even farther in the east.
The clouds churned on the horizon, ranging from pale blue to ominous black. Lightning flashed from their underbellies, and the tides looked tall enough to reach the cliff. Speaking of which, where was the mana wall? Relia wanted to ask, but Lyraina was busy talking with the cultists.
They waited for the better part of an hour while the others set a small bag on the stone alter. The bag didn’t look big enough to hold a person’s body, but they’d mentioned something about a pocket dimension before.
Raindrops fell from the sky as the storm reached the shore. The wind blew harder, and Relia clutched the nearest railing as her red braid whipped across the her face. The scent of salt and mana grew stronger in the air, thick enough to taste.
“Raise the shields,” one of the older cultists ordered. A woman echoed the commands through her radio, and a dome of pale blue protection mana sprang up from the base of the temple. But unlike most domes, this one had a hole at the top, and rain still poured through the opening.
Lyraina stood at the altar, calm and composed despite the surrounding chaos. She nodded at the nearest cultists, and they retrieved a coffin-shaped chamber from the bag.
They opened the lid a few seconds later, and Relia got a clear view of the body. The man’s eyes were closed, and he had a bloody hole on the left side of his chest. Relia had healed dozens of wounds over these past few months, and she knew this man was long gone.
For all that, her master remained calm as she loomed over him. Rain pelted the summit through the opening, and Lyraina stretched a pale hand toward the sky. The storm itself seemed to answer her call, and mana swirled around her like a whirlpool.
Several heartbeats passed, and the crowd seemed to hold its breath. The roar of the storm grew more distant in Relia’s ears, as if her master had warped the sound waves themselves. The air grew colder, the raindrops turned to ice, and the puddles crystalized on the ground.
Then Lyraina sank to her knees and slammed her free hand into the dead man’s chest.