by Will Wight
Kiro knew his father was more intelligent than his appearance would suggest. He only looked like a bear, he didn’t think like one. But he was still somewhat surprised that his father knew so much about a Sage.
If he questioned the king too much, he risked punishment, but he dared to push a little harder. “There’s still our political relationship with the Empire to think of.”
King Dakata drove a spike of Forged madra through the corner of the map, pinning it to the table. “We have roughly two months remaining before the first day of summer. If we hold the Valley ourselves during that time, we can raise enough Underlords that our ‘political relationships’ will lose all meaning. You can forget about punishment. The Akura clan might even give the Empire to us.”
He surveyed the map proudly, as though looking down on his own newborn child.
Kiro pushed one more time. “This is still a gamble,” he said.
Dakata raised his head, and Kiro knew he’d pushed his father too far. “Even you won’t listen to my commands?” he asked quietly. “Even you? If my First Prince does not trust me to lead, how can anyone else?”
Kiro backed away, but his father had risen, his armor adding to his bulk. Kiro considered summoning his from the Divine Treasure in his soulspace, but that would only set his father off even further.
“Forgive me, father, of course I will follow your orders.”
He bumped against the back of a chair, his father looming uncomfortably close. Kiro may have been an Underlord, but his hands shook and his chest tightened.
In the Seishen Kingdom, they entered a period of intense personal meditation when attempting to advance to Underlord. It wasn’t clear what specific change triggered advancement, but the process could last weeks.
On Kiro’s successful attempt, he had spent most of the time terrified of his father’s reaction to failure. Kiro privately believed that it was fear of his father that had pushed his soul forward.
Dakata gripped Kiro’s shoulder painfully tight. “You are the only one I can trust,” he said, his voice low. “You are the face of the Kingdom. My words must come from your mouth.”
“Yes, father,” Kiro said, struggling to maintain eye contact.
Dakata cut off, his eyes sliding to the side. “Tell your gardener that everything is all right,” he said.
Meira stood behind the King. She held a long shaft of wood in her hands, and a scythe-blade of green flame extended from the end.
The blade curled into the King’s throat, stopping an inch away.
The Underlady’s eyes were icy. As always, she wore drab clothes that made her look like she had walked in from the garden only moments before, and the pink-flower Goldsigns shone brightly in her gray hair.
Meira may have been one stage of advancement lower than King Dakata, but from this position, she could at least damage his lifeline, slicing away at his life itself. He would kill her, but she’d take a piece of his lifespan with her. She might even manage to trade her life for his.
And she was ready to try.
Kiro pushed forward, separating them, terrified for both of them. He couldn’t allow Meira to die, but King Dakata was still his father. Not to mention the ruler of the Seishen Kingdom; losing him to an apparent coup might cause the Kingdom to collapse.
He bowed deeply at the waist. “I apologize, father, and take full responsibility. Please punish me in her stead.”
Meira hadn’t withdrawn her spirit. Now that she had been separated, his father could kill her with little effort, but she was still prepared to throw herself at him given the slightest opportunity.
The King stood with his spirit still veiled, but he could erupt into violence at any second. For a long moment, the room was frozen with tension.
“You live,” King Dakata said at last, “only because of your loyalty to my son.”
Meira nodded, lowering the scythe. Her madra retracted.
Kiro breathed again. His father knew Meira well enough to know that she had restrained herself. She would not have held back against anyone else that had threatened Kiro.
But he also knew that if anything happened to him, his father would have her executed within the day.
“The attack moves forward,” Dakata said, returning to the map. “Come here, gardener, this concerns you too.” He tapped a section of the map. “While the rest of us push forward, the two of you will be headed here.
“It’s where our scouts have seen the Blackflame boy.”
~~~
Lindon sat cross-legged in the center of the Night Wheel Valley forest, extending his spiritual sense to the vital aura around him. He couldn't open his Copper sight, but he could feel the power of the world pressing against him, and with his senses he could trace each aspect of aura back to its source.
[Follow the unity of aura,] Dross recited. This was a mantra that he had repeated constantly for weeks now. [Each aspect links to the next. Vital aura has no beginning and no end. It is all one. Follow the unity of aura.]
It had been a month since Orthos left.
In the Night Wheel Valley, they had settled into a routine. They patrolled for the Skysworn for most of the day, defending the border of the Blackflame Empire's territory within the Valley. Even at the border, they had only caught glimpses of the Seishen Kingdom's sacred artists. They hadn't clashed with any enemies except the occasional wild Remnant.
When they finished their shift, they followed Eithan or Mercy to unclaimed natural treasure deposits. Then, at night and in the morning, they practiced sensing the unity of aura and burning treasures for soulfire, progressing through the second stage of Underlord advancement.
They had repeated this every day for a month.
Under Dross' chant, Lindon finally felt connected to the whole world around him, from the cold wind to the decaying leaves on which he sat. It was a strange sensation, like he had stretched himself out for five feet in any direction.
It sometimes took him half an hour or more to sense the unity of aura, even when he was fresh—when he was tired, it could take him much longer. Now that he had, he quickly felt the power of the natural treasures lying on the ground around him.
A burning acorn carried the power of fire on his left side, balanced by a bead of spinning water on the right.
A death skull waited in front of him, and a blooming flower teeming with life behind.
In one quick inhalation, he pulled on the vital aura link between him and the treasures, reducing them all to ash.
And leaving behind a wisp of colorless flame that drifted into his soulspace.
Dross' mantra changed accordingly. [Soulfire is vital aura distilled. It is the power of the world condensed.] Lindon had never asked where Dross found this chant, but the spirit obviously hadn't made it up. It flowed too naturally and made too much sense.
[Feel how it resonates with everything around you, drawing you closer to nature. Now, follow that sensation back into yourself, deep into your soul. Into your mind. Now, tell me why....why do you practice the sacred arts?]
“To protect people,” Lindon and Yerin said at the same time.
Lindon braced himself, straining to detect any change in the soulfire inside him or the aura outside.
What was supposed to happen was a transformative resonance. Lindon's personal revelation would connect him to his own spirit, and the soulfire would carry that resonance to the outside world. For reasons he still didn't understand, that would draw on the aura to fuel his soulfire and burn away his old body and spirit, leaving him reborn as an Underlord.
The more soulfire he had inside him, the easier it was to trigger the resonance. Many potential Underlords, Eithan had told them, found their true revelation but failed to realize it because they hadn't gathered enough soulfire.
And the strength of the aura around them played a factor too. It was easier to connect to the unity of aura the thicker the vital aura was, and it made the actual advancement process faster and safer. Since the aura around here was a hundr
ed times stronger than in the Blackflame Empire, it was a hundred times easier to cycle and to feel the unity of aura.
In fact, there had been many breakthroughs in the Blackflame Empire camp. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of Highgolds had broken through to Truegold, and Lindon had heard half a dozen stories of advancements to Underlord. None of them young enough for the competition.
But more importantly to Lindon, none of them were him.
He shot to his feet, stomping through the ashes left from his natural treasures. “This is ridiculous. I know why I started practicing the sacred arts. This is why.” He and Yerin had even tried different phrases for the same thing:
To protect those closest to me.
To protect those who can’t protect themselves.
To protect friends and family.
None of it worked. For either of them. Yerin had run down a few very different paths:
So I can do what I want.
To get revenge.
Because I enjoy it.
To get stronger.
…and she had sensed nothing. Still, for a change, she seemed perfectly content to take her time. It was Lindon who paced and shouted in frustration at the end of every day’s attempt.
[Maybe it’s because my voice isn’t soothing enough,] Dross suggested. [Do you think I should try for a motherly voice?]
Mercy hopped down from a nearby tree, where she had been watching over them. “I found it very soothing!”
With all the shadow aura around, Mercy had broken through to Highgold two weeks before. They had celebrated with her, but Lindon didn’t understand why she wasn’t Truegold yet. For that matter, he still didn’t understand why she had rejected the Heaven’s Drop. She gave up most of the natural treasures she gathered to Lindon and Yerin to fuel their soulfire, guarded them while they practiced sensing the unity of aura, and asked for nothing for herself.
It was starting to get on Lindon’s nerves.
Something tapped Lindon on the shoulder, and he turned to see nothing there. Wind aura.
Yerin sat ten feet away, still with her legs crossed. She wouldn’t be able to infuse her techniques with soulfire until she advanced, but she could still manipulate aura. A little. She was much better at it than Lindon was, perhaps because of her years of practicing a Ruler technique.
“I had a thought to try again,” Yerin said. “You aiming to give it another go?”
“Not right now.” At the moment, he thought he was just as likely to set fire to everything around him as to sense anything. “Do you need Dross?”
“I don’t suspect I do.”
Lindon nodded and strode off. He needed a break. At least when you were cycling aura, there was no chance of failure. Trying to trigger his advancement felt like rolling the dice day after day and getting nothing but losses.
He walked into the forest to catch his breath.
He knew it was Orthos leaving that had gotten him so worked up. He was short with Mercy and Yerin, he quit his cycling early, and he wanted nothing more than a good fight to clear his head.
Even Eithan was gone—either working for the Arelius family or for the Emperor. As an Underlord, he got called away every once in a while to serve the Empire in the fight against the Seishen Kingdom. The fight that Lindon still hadn’t seen.
He walked further into the shadows before Dross said, [Hang on. Do you hear that?]
Lindon stopped moving and strained his ears, but the Night Wheel Valley was always full of rustling.
[It’s your armor!] Dross said. [The communications construct. I’ll boost it, no problem.]
There was a moment of silence.
[Never mind, that makes it quieter. I’ll translate. Um, this is an emergency message for any Skysworn, ah, they’re under attack, there are some muffled screams, a few pleas for help, and then a lot of sobbing. Not much to go on, really.]
Which direction? Lindon asked silently.
[Must be nearby. Not much makes it through shadow aura this thick. Off that way, I’d guess,] Dross said, mentally indicating a direction. Away from their camp.
We’re going to check it out. Can you let the others know?
[I can, but they don’t have any way of contacting us back if the range on the Skysworn communications is that low.]
Lindon started sneaking through the underbrush, so Dross continued, […and I guess I will do that then.]
Creeping through the shadowed forest was like crawling through a nightmare, all shifting darkness and phantom sounds, but Lindon kept his senses focused on the battle ahead. Bursts of light lit up the forest, and the aura was in disarray.
After only a few minutes, he came to the top of a hill, peeking out of the trees down on a camp below. A wagon was overturned, flames licking up its wooden sides. There were no horses to be seen. The wagon displayed a red blossom: the symbol of the Redflower family.
Half a dozen people with matching Goldsigns stood huddled nearby, the crimson flower on their chests bright. They crouched at the foot of some trees as armored Skysworn fought for them.
And died for them.
A six-man squad had been dispatched here; two Truegolds and four students, one Highgold and three Lowgold. Four of them were still alive.
A Truegold in green armor faced their enemies with a sword in each of her hands and bright yellow spikes sweeping forward from her shoulders.
Lindon remembered her: he had hurled her onto a pile of other Truegolds only a few months before.
He didn’t recognize the rest of her squad, though he may have met them before. A young Highgold man stood next to her, holding a Forged sword of pale light in both hands. His eyes glowed as well, and Lindon couldn't tell if that was a Goldsign or an Enforcer technique.
Before them, a corpse in Skysworn armor lay covered in blood. And another body, split almost in half, wearing the pin of a Skysworn apprentice. One of the Lowgolds.
The four Skysworn, including the two surviving Lowgolds, stood facing their opponent: one lone Underlord.
He was at least as tall and broad as Lindon himself, but he wore plates of Forged gray madra over his entire body that made him look even bulkier. His helmet was a rounded fortress that shaded his eyes, and the plates of madra on his body interlocked so tightly that Lindon couldn't see a gap. He held a silver blade in one hand, which crackled with blue lightning. In his other, he held a rock-steady shield carved in the likeness of a lion's snarling face.
Both his weapons were covered in blood.
“Call him here,” the Underlord commanded.
“We can't,” the Truegold woman said tightly. “The shadow aura is too thick. No one can hear us.”
She was lying. Good for her. No reason to give anything away.
Dross, Lindon asked silently, keep an eye on the Underlord. I want a combat solution as soon as you can.
[Not a problem! As soon as he uses a technique, I'll keep a record of it. As soon as he does that.]
“Then I'll give you another chance,” the Underlord said, lowering his sword and shield. “Surrender to me. In my name, I will allow you to live, as long as you cooperate.”
The Truegold Skysworn closed her eyes. The Highgold shifted, looking nervous, and the two Lowgolds behind them simply clutched their weapons and stood over the Redflower family.
Lindon wanted to act here, but this was an Underlord. He would have better chances if he went back and gathered the others, and they all fought together. Or better yet, if they could put a call in for backup.
But he raised his eyes, looking over the sea of black trees. This was not the only place where light flashed in the darkness of the Night Wheel Valley. Lights streaked into the sky all around, and—distantly—he could sense power flaring all around him.
[This is not likely to be an isolated event,] Dross reported. [This looks like the Seishen Kingdom pushing against the Empire. Probably. There’s a good chance.]
If this was part of a coordinated attack on the Blackflame Empire, then he couldn't expect rei
nforcements.
He remembered another village he’d visited as a Skysworn trainee; a village that burned because he didn't defend them in time.
Yerin would fight here, Lindon said to Dross.
[Good, then let's call her here. While we watch her fight, I can compile a combat solution. I like that plan. In fact, watching this Underlord kill all these other people will give us some great information.]
The Skysworn shouted, pushing her swords forward, and a cluster of a dozen deadly yellow-white lights flashed toward her enemy.
The enemy Underlord raised his shield, which projected a half-dome of solid gray madra in front of him. Her Striker technique detonated harmlessly on the shield, the lights cracking like eggs thrown against a boulder.
Still a dozen paces away, the Underlord swept his sword at her. Madra poured from the weapon, Forging in an instant into an extended blade that slashed into her side.
There was a flash of light as she protected herself with madra, but the weapon cracked her armor, sending blood spraying into the air as her body was hurled to the side.
Lindon activated his void key and reached inside.
Stepping forward, the Underlord swept his enlarged sword around, bringing it down onto the Highgold boy.
The Burning Cloak sprung up in the air around Lindon, and his kick exploded against the ground.
He came to a halt in front of the Highgold, holding up a massive axe in both hands. Lindon's blade caught the Underlord's as it descended.
The Forged gray sword met Harmony’s blade and stopped.
The axe’s broad, curved head shimmered with a red light that felt like blood, and its shaft was one long bone. To his spiritual sense, the axe felt hungry. His right arm agreed.
[I was wondering when you were going to use that,] Dross said.
The enemy's blow rang through Lindon's entire body, almost driving him to his knees, but he held.
The Underlord pulled his blade back, the extra length dissolving into gray essence and blowing away on the wind. He even lowered his shield.
