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all, and Yerin threw up her Goldsigns to block. When the claws met the steel of her Forged madra limbs, the impact pushed her back. She let it happen, falling back several steps. Then she tried again, focusing this time. Her technique should look like the wind: it should surround her, unseen except for its effect. It should be like she was defended by a thousand invisible swords. As she triggered the Endless Sword again, it looked more like a thousand invisible swords flailing wildly. Its tail slammed into her, though she got her sword in the way just in time. It knocked her backwards, and she had to use her Goldsigns to brace herself before she hit a tree spine-first. The silver madra limbs stuck in the trunk like axe-blades, catching her just short of slamming into the wood. Mercy emerged from beneath her, using her staff to lever herself out of the hole. She'd tied her hair back into a tail again, and her purple eyes were fixed on the dragon. "I'm sorry, she's training. I'm Mercy! You are..." The dragon drew in a breath. Black madra stretched away from Mercy and stuck onto the limbs of the tree just above Yerin's head. She pulled herself away just in time, as a spray of fiery golden madra incinerated the grass, leaves, and scripted blanket she'd left behind. Yerin glanced up at Mercy as the Akura girl dangled from a limb. "You want this to go faster, then you could help. Hit it with your stick." Mercy sighed, giving the dragon a sad glance, before she gripped her staff in both hands. "It's not a stick." The dragon was gathering itself to leap into the tree, but Mercy's weapon came to life in her hands. It looked like a bundle of flexible black tendons worked into the shape of a staff, except for the violet-eyed dragon's head on its end. That snarling head slid from the end of the staff down to the center. The staff itself bent like a wooden limb under pressure until it was shaped like a crescent, and a single black string slid from one end to the other. A bow. It was a bow, almost as tall as Mercy was. Mercy drew the string back, Forging a jet-black arrow as she did so. The point emerged between her weapon's jaws. "This is Eclipse, the Ancient Bow of the Soulseeker." She loosed, and the arrow stuck in the dragon's palm. "It was my mother's weapon from

Lowgold to Archlord. Made from the Remnant of a shadow dragon who became a Sage." Another arrow took the dragon in the other hand, but it had already burned the first one free. "With this bow, my mother sealed the living volcano of Shara Kahn." Two more arrows, and this time dark madra spread like a web from the point of impact. It started crawling over the dragon like living ropes. "She destroyed the Sunlight Rebellion with this bow, and bound together the thirteen islands into one." The dragon went crazy, tearing and clawing at itself like it was trapped in a net. But as Mercy continued firing arrows, the web kept drawing tighter. "I know it's just a bow, but I call her Suu." Mercy patted the bow on its dragon's head. "Good girl, Suu." The bow hissed. Yerin hopped down, inspecting the dragon. It still struggled, but it was wrapped in a dark cocoon and didn't look like it was going to escape anytime soon. This way, at least they didn't have to deal with its Remnant. "What about yours?" Mercy asked politely, dispersing her madra and dropping to the ground. She missed her landing and fell in a heap but didn't seem to care. "Did you get that sword from your master?" Yerin ran her fingers down the hilt. "...yeah." "So what's its story?" "I don't know." The Sage had never referred to his weapon by name. She didn't even know if it had one. He had made her use it to chop firewood by hand when he was trying to build up her muscles. He used it because he was too lazy to hunt down an axe. Instead of talking about that, Yerin asked Mercy another question as they walked away from the cocooned dragon. "How about your Path? Aspects of shadow and force, if I'm not wrong." She'd felt Mercy cycling over the last few weeks, so she was pretty certain about that. "Oh, this is just a restriction technique." Yerin glanced back. "I can see that. I've got eyes. You don't want me poking my head into your Path secrets, say so." Mercy gave her a surprised look. "I don't keep secrets. Bad for your heart." She held out one hand, and a Forged book of shining violet madra

popped into her hand. The cover was entirely covered by the most intricate script-circle Yerin had ever seen. She suspected she could keep staring at it forever and finding new secrets, and the scripts seemed to turn like wheels within wheels. It was a disturbing sight. And that didn't even count the way it felt in her perception. It gave off a menacing pressure, like the shadow of a shark circling beneath the waves. "The Book of Eternal Night," Mercy announced, holding her book up proudly. "I'm on the Path of Seven Pages. And the first page, the Lowgold page..." She opened the cover, revealing the first page. It looked more like a thumb-thick tablet than a piece of paper. Yerin wondered if it contained a binding. This page was choked with more incomprehensible script-circles instead of plain writing. Not that Yerin would have been able to get anything from it either way. "It's the central technique from the Path of the Chainkeeper," Mercy said. "Strings of Shadow. There are seven techniques in this book, one for each page. The Path of Seven Pages unites seven techniques from seven different shadow Paths into one." She let it fade away, and this time Yerin traced it with her perception. "You stock that thing in your spirit?" Mercy patted her stomach like she'd just had a full meal. "When I bonded with this book, they opened up my soulspace early. It's one of the requirements of my Path." A screech echoed through the woods. Either another dragon had caught up, or the first had gotten free. "All right, that's enough friendly time," Yerin said, drawing her sword. "We've been too soft on these things. Now, we punch through. I'm getting through that portal before the sun sets, or I'm bleeding out." Mercy's eyes sparkled, and she hopped out in front of Yerin. "Did you say we're friends now?" Yerin stared at her. Another Highgold dragon waited for them ahead, and spots of heat in her perception told her there were more Lowgolds and Highgolds ringing them. They were getting sewed in.

But they were making progress. After an hour of running and dodging through the trees, Yerin spotted something that brightened her heart: the sparkle of light on the ocean. According to the map, the portal was at the very edge of the island. They were close. The Highgold dragon roared at them, spraying fire. A Rippling Sword technique split the fire down the middle. Strings of Shadow dragged its claws to the ground, and Yerin's sword plunged into the back of its neck. Its scales actually managed to deflect most of the blow, but blood gushed up, and it shrieked. Mercy bound it to the ground a few more times as they kept running. She frowned at Yerin. "It wasn't going to hurt us." "It was trying," Yerin said. Mercy continued to argue, but Yerin looked ahead. This side of the island ended, not in a sandy beach, but in a strip of dirt overlooking a cliff that dropped to the ocean. She pulled out the map, examining it and pointing. "Farther north," she said. She had to guess the jade doorway would be in the same place as the first one had been. If it was, that meant it would be at the edge of the treeline. They were getting close to Redmoon Hall territory, but that couldn't dim her spirits. According to the map, they were within minutes of the Ghostwater entrance. At last, they could leave this boring rotten island behind and join Lindon in the Monarch's pocket world. It was about time. A golden shadow passed in front of the sun. Yerin knew what it was even before she stretched her perception up and felt the presence of the Thousand-Mile Cloud. She knew before the pressure of an Underlord pushed down on her spirit, before dragons roared in triumph and a woman jumped down from the golden cloud, landing easily a hundred feet down. This was where the Highgold dragons had been meant to lead them. Right into the claws of their leader. The woman wore a sparkling sacred artist's robe of intricate red, gold, and purple. Her eyes were golden and vertically slitted, and patches of gold scales remained on the pale skin of her cheeks. Her nails looked like claws,

and there were patches of scales on the backs of her hands as well. A thin, gold-scaled tail lashed behind her. She was doing nothing to restrain her spirit, or the rage that was obvious on her face. The Underlady's fury hit Yerin only a few steps from the trees, and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath. It was like a bear sitting on her chest. Mercy fell flat to the ground, in even worse shape than Yerin. She looked like she'd been pinned in place like a corpse prepared for study. The Underlady was flanked by Truegolds who looked like a cross between humans and dragons. They were scaled, their face reptilian, but they stood upright and wore clothes just like humans would. They spoke to the Lady from behind, but she had furious eyes only for the humans. "...then they can give me back my sister!" It sounded like she was responding to one of the dragons, but her voice raised to an angry roar in mid-sentence. Sunset-colored light gathered around one clawed hand, and that technique gave off heat like a scorching bonfire. Yerin used her sword to push herself up a hair, straightening her back a little bit. "Don't know...your sister..." she pushed out. The dragon tossed her head, and Yerin realized she didn't have hair, but rather a veil of loose scales hanging down from her head so that it looked like hair. "You will meet her now." Mercy struggled on the ground. Yerin braced herself. One of the Truegold dragons lunged at the Lady's arm, holding her back for just a moment. Madra shone in her hand. Yerin forced her own sluggish madra to move, lifting her sword in arms that felt a hundred times heavier than usual. She gathered power, Enforcing her weapon, holding it against the Striker technique that was about to come. It wouldn't be enough, but she had to try something. "Second page," Mercy whispered, through gritted teeth. A phantom image flickered behind Mercy for a second, so quick that Yerin thought she might have imagined it. The violet book, turning from the first page to the second. Light dimmed about ten feet around Mercy, as though she'd cast a bigger shadow than normal, and suddenly she was giving off the aura of a Highgold. It was the quickest, most casual advancement Yerin had ever heard of.

Not that it would save them. The Lady shook off the Truegold, hurling her Striker technique at the two humans. The liquid madra surged like a river after a storm, carrying the raging heat of a wildfire. The full-power strike of an Underlord. Mercy shoved herself in front of Yerin, holding up an arm as though she carried a shield. Another time, Yerin might have been impressed with the spine that took, but in that instant, she was horrified. Was she cracked in the head? Yerin had a better chance of weakening the technique by facing it with her own madra head-on; all Mercy could do was get herself burned to ash a little early. Violet crystals started to form all over Mercy's arm, and then the madra washed over them. It detonated as it hit, scorching every inch of Yerin's exposed skin. She couldn't tell how much of it had been pushed away by her Enforced sword, but it hit her weapon like a hammer, slamming it back into her, driving her back into the trees. Yerin lost herself for a second. She saw only light and motion, heard only a formless roar. When she came back, she was looking at the sky. Her face, her arms, her head—in so much pain she could barely breathe. She pushed herself up to sit, her Steelborn Iron body draining madra, and the flash of pain was so intense she almost passed out. Pieces of her robe crumbled away as she moved. The skin of her right arm was red-and-black, twisted, almost melted. Her master's sword lay not far away. It was unharmed, and she crawled for it. Then she saw Mercy. The girl's left arm was covered in a violet crystalline armor the same color as her book had been. Slowly, the armor faded to essence, revealing an arm that looked totally untouched. It was the only part of her body that looked that way. Most of her hair was scorched off. Her robes were half-melted to her body, and all her skin was red and burned. She cradled Suu in her arms. At first sight, Yerin was sure she was dead. Only her spiritual perception said otherwise. Another sunset-colored light bloomed, and Yerin turned slowly to face it.

If anything, the Underlady looked even more furious now. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she gathered this Striker technique in both hands. A Truegold dragon leaped in front of her. The man fell to his knees and spread his arms, clearly pleading with her. Yerin understood. She wasn't the only Underlord on this island. The dragons knew they had come from the Blackflame Empire with the Skysworn, but they also must see the two of them as members of Redmoon Hall and the Akura family. If she, a Lady, struck down two Golds, the other Lords would do likewise. It would be an invitation to tear the dragons apart. But Yerin wasn't going to stick around and see where the dice fell. Her Steelborn Iron body was drawing on her spirit to keep her limbs moving, and she positively flooded it with madra. She hauled Mercy onto her shoulder, skin screaming and tears flooding her own eyes in the pain. She gathered her master's sword and the ancient bow under one arm. Then she started jogging into the woods. If they got far enough away, she could pull the tent from Mercy's void key and hide in its veiling script. That was their only hope. For now, though every step was agony, she had to run.

Chapter 14 At the end of the second week after reaching the Spirit Well, Lindon advanced to Highgold in his pure core. It struck him again how much longer it took to raise the Path of Twin Stars. If he had focused on only one Path, he would surely be Truegold by now, thanks to the miraculous properties of the Well water. Even with the distractions of raising Dross and his pure core, his Path of Black Flame had advanced significantly into Highgold. He wasn't knocking on the door of Truegold yet, but he could at least see it in the distance. This was the easiest his advancement would ever be, and he relished it. Every sip of the Spirit Well water felt like a victory. Orthos' spirit burned brighter than Lindon had ever felt it. If the Dream Well water had helped him to stay focused, his newly cleansed spirit meant that Lindon no longer had to feed him pure scales or keep him calm. He spent his days cycling with Lindon, drinking from the Spirit Well, or swimming around the habitat. Lindon was fairly certain he'd been fighting with Sea Drakes, because sometimes he returned from his swims with an exultant look in his eye and scratches all over his skin. Little Blue was once again a deep ocean blue, and she scampered around like a child in a field. She played with some of the more advanced Dreamseeds, the ones who had taken a more solid form. The less-advanced spirits were hazy and ever-shifting, and they didn't seem to have minds at all. Though it still knocked Lindon sideways when Dross said he wanted to eat some of them. "It's not eating as you do it," Dross said from within Lindon's core. "No, thank you—that's disgusting. It's more like a...merge. A merge in which I take in everything and they cease to exist." Lindon supposed there was nothing different about that than using Remnant parts, but he couldn't help but think of some construct devouring

Little Blue. "The little ones don't have minds. They're like plants. If you wanted to feed them and raise them for a few years, sure, then they'd be all cute. And then you'd feel like a monster. But you haven't done that, so we're all clear!" Lindon gave in. Dross was confident that this would be the last stage of his growth, and that after this, he would qualify as a living spirit rather than a construct. Lindon was curious to see that, and just as importantly, he wanted the construct out of his spirit. Dross was taking up far too much of his time and water each day. Unfortunately, that meant he had to do the job of consuming the Dreamseed himself. "You've got an arm for it!" Dross said. "Just walk over there and slurp it up." "it won't work. My arm can't draw anything into my core." "Get it into your madra channels and I'll do the rest." When Lindon tried to consume the first Dreamseed, which clung to one of the nearby walls in a translucent purple blob, his arm of hunger madra drained something out of it and left it a lifeless husk of dissolving dream essence. The next time, he restrained the limb, pulling the Dreamseed into his core as delicately as he could. It swirled into his spirit, a mass of impressions that felt surprisingly compatible with his pure madra. Dross had been right; these spirits were less like real dream madra and more like pure madra pretending. That was interesting, but not as interesting as what happened to Dross when he absorbed the Sylvan. He shivered inside Lindon's core, his essence shifting, and some of the sparks inside him gathered together. It looked like he was forming a core of his own. "Oh yeah, that's it. That's the right stuff. Now grab the one that looks like a flower." It took six Dreamseeds before Dross stopped talking. Inside Lindon's spirit, the construct spun, turning in faster and faster loops. Lindon funneled as much power from the Spirit Well to Dross as he could. He didn't know if it was helping, but he reasoned that it couldn't hurt.

Dross started pushing at Lindon's core. It was only a little pressure at first, but it grew stronger and stronger, until Lindon had to extend his left hand and push the construct out like he was releasing a Striker technique. The ball of purple light spun into the air, wobbling. He was more solid now, a more clearly defined orb. Now, twisting lines of light formed a web through the mechanical spokes at his center, all leading back to a single spot of bright light. A madra system. He had grown madra channels and a core. "Oh, this is brilliant! Brilliant stuff! It's like all my thoughts and memories are crawling together and breeding new ones! I'm having ideas now!" Dross spun excitedly around Lindon's head. "We don't have to go to the portal at all, do we? We could harness fish and ride our way up! No, wait, we're in a pocket world. We could harness fish and ride our way through space." He stopped in front of Lindon's face. "I can activate the tablets myself now! Don't be surprised if I return as a master of the sacred arts." He whizzed off, out of the Spirit Well room and down the hallway. Ziel watched the whole exchange with a complete lack of interest, sitting against the corner and staring at him from beneath emerald horns. "Forgiveness," Lindon said. "I did not mean to disturb you." Dead eyes drifted over to the Spirit Well. "If you don't mind, how long until I reach Truegold? In your estimation." "Two more weeks," Ziel said without looking over. "And we have that long, don't we? You said a month…" "You don't want to stay here." Lindon wasn't sure if that was a warning or not. "This is my new favorite place in existence. I want to stay here forever." "And you want to leave." Slowly, Ziel's eyes returned to Lindon. "Don't you?" Lindon stood there for a long moment before he moved and took a seat beside Ziel. "Well, I have this friend. She—" Ziel held up a hand. "No. Stop. We don't know each other well enough for this." "Of course, I'm sorry." "You'll reach Truegold. Whether you do it in two weeks or two years, it won't make much of a difference in the end."

"Actually—" "Stop. It's my turn. I have nothing against easy advancement, but don't let it blind you." He raised a finger, pointing to the ceiling. It took Lindon a moment to see what he was pointing to: a long cobweb stretching from one corner to another. "The decay has already begun. That is a naturally forming spatial crack. You still have three weeks or so before this world collapses, so long as nothing accelerates it. By the time they form fast enough that you can see space cracking, you should have left already." He pulled his worn cloak around him. "If you're going to a deeper habitat, you'll have plenty of time if you leave now. You don't want to be racing the hourglass with a collapsing world." Lindon thanked him, though he was part relieved and part disappointed. He had already been apart from Yerin for so long; he found himself wondering more and more what she was doing on the outside. He had expected that to fade with time, but it had only grown worse. On the other hand, he felt like a fool for leaving the Spirit Well without milking every second. He filled every spare container he could find with the blue water: all of the vials he'd emptied so far and everything he could scavenge from the junk rooms in this facility. He'd opened his void key and prepared to leave, Little Blue on his shoulder, Orthos at his side, and Dross in the Eye of the Deep. Still, he looked over the pool of blue water like he was abandoning a fortune. Ziel waited for them at the entrance to the room, leaning on his hammer like an old man on a cane. He hefted a bag in one hand and tossed it to Lindon. It clinked as he caught it. "Six bottles," Ziel said. "Should be enough to get you to Truegold in at least one core." Lindon held the bottles for a moment before placing them into his void key. He actually teared up. Ziel ignored him. When they were ready to leave, they stood lined up in front of the wall of black water. Dross assured them that this was the way to the final habitat, the one containing the entrance to Northstrider's quarters. It was filled with the swirling blue lights of Diamondscale Sea Drakes.

Orthos chewed a mouthful of stone to gravel and swallowed it. "Hmmm…I left too many alive." He and Ziel had consumed far more of the original Drake's corpse than Lindon thought should be possible, but when it started to decay, they had tossed it into the ocean. Had that attracted the others? Little Blue chimed like a bell from his shoulder, and he patted her tiny shoulder with one finger. Together, they stared down a wall of flashing silver scales and blue lights. "Do we have time to swim around?" Lindon asked. "That depends," Dross said. "Do you still need air?" A loud scraping grew closer and closer, and they all turned to see Ziel dragging his hammer two-handed over the tile. "They focus on the biggest threat in their territory. I will punch through, and you head to the habitat. This is no task for a Gold." He hesitated and glanced down at himself. "…although I guess it is, isn't it?" With a heavy sigh, he pushed through the bubble and into the sea, his cloak billowing behind him. The faded symbol on the back reminded Lindon of spread wings this time. "You could learn from him," Orthos said, eyes blazing red. "He has the spirit of a dragon." "I'm not sure he would take that as a compliment." An instant later, a green script-circle bloomed above Ziel's head. It was big enough to swallow his body, but then the ring expanded. And expanded again. A second later, it exploded. Water rushed up in a violent column from his hammer, carrying most of the Diamondscale swarm with it. The bubblewall of the habitat rippled with the force. The other strings of blue lights converged on Ziel in an instant, but Lindon and the others had already ducked into the water. The ocean of Ghostwater was a chaos of blood and dust, with nearby impacts shaking the ground. They pushed forward, guided by a purple light projected by Dross. Occasionally scales flashed silver or blue lights shone in front of them, but none of the Drakes attacked them. Lindon's lungs were starting to ache by the time the water cleared, and then the new habitat was already in view. It was a dome of bright light

packed with green; it looked like a slice of a jungle transplanted to the bottom of the ocean. He hung onto Orthos' shell as the turtle swam toward it, but after a moment he felt a spike of battle-hunger from his contracted partner. The sacred beast turned, cycling Blackflame. A pair of blue lights headed toward them out of the darkness. The Burning Cloak had let Lindon down the last time he tried it underwater, the aura and the water dampening his movements. Now, he was a Highgold, and his body had been reinforced by weeks more of feeding on sacred beast meat. And this time, he had a new technique. The Soul Cloak swirled around him, and he kicked forward, joining Orthos in battle. ~~~ Ziel waited until the last moment to use his gatekey. Unlike a gatestone, the gatekey could be used without breaking it. The key was many times more valuable than the stone, but once he had been able to afford these things. Now he had to rely on his patron. One moment he was using the last of his madra to swing his hammer in the face of a Sea Drake, and the next he was dripping water all over the grass, staring that patron in the face. The Beast King sat on a log, tearing a hunk of meat between his teeth, grease sliding down his unkempt beard. A campfire crackled in front of him, casting long shadows. He showed no surprise at Ziel's appearance. Silver eyes looked the Truegold up and down as he took another bite. "Lot of blood in that water," the Herald observed. "Do I have the Lord of the Dawnwing Sect back with me once again?" Without his Enforcer technique active, Ziel's hammer was too heavy for him. He let it sag to the ground, where its weight pushed into the soil. "The Spirit Well didn't work," he said, his hammer digging a furrow behind him as he walked to sit against the Vastwood Mammoth that lay across the landscape like a hairy hill. The wall of fur gave a welcoming trumpet as Ziel leaned against it. He patted the sacred beast, though he doubted the mammoth could feel it. It would be like a human feeling the touch of a single ant's leg.

The Beast King had seen through the state of his spirit with a single glance. He shrugged, speaking through a mouthful of roasted meat. "It was a long bet. We can still try it in the form of an elixir. How much did you bring me?" Ziel tossed him a bottle, which he caught balanced on one finger. Silver eyes moved from the bottle to Ziel. "One? Had the Well run dry?" "No." Ziel leaned his head back, resting against the mammoth's hair. The sacred beast smelled like warm fur, and he found it comforting. The stars glittered overhead, distant and uncaring. The Herald grunted as though he understood, and the bottle of water vanished into his void key. "How long does the pocket world have?" "Three weeks, maybe less." "Shame. Built by Northstrider, and it's gone so quickly." He shrugged, tearing the rest of the meat away and tossing the bone behind him. Ziel could hear the dogs fighting over it: "You got it last time!" "Ah, but you forget about the squirrel that you did not share with me." "A squirrel's bones are tiny and snap easily. It is hardly the same." The Beast King leaned closer to Ziel, ignoring the dogs. "Since you seem so willing to help others, I have something to occupy your time. I put a couple of Golds on a task for me, and they seem to have gotten themselves stuck. How about you swing by and un-stick them." Ziel had just gotten comfortable. He reached a hand out to his hammer and gave a long sigh. "Where?" "Under the gold dragons. I'll send you close." He snapped his fingers as though something had just occurred to him. "Oh, and there might be an Underlord in the mix." Ziel heaved himself to his feet an inch at a time, like an old man. "Then maybe I'll die." ~~~ Lindon walked through the outer wall of the new habitat hauling the corpse of a Diamondscale Sea Drake behind him. He held one fang in his Remnant hand, dragging the serpent's long, silver body behind him as he walked. The blue-and-white light of the Soul Cloak still drifted through and around him.

Orthos followed, roaring with laughter. "You'll need to eat a dragon's portion of this one. It'll put some scales on you, that's for sure." Lindon's stomach twisted at the thought as he pulled the Drake the last few feet and released it. Each bite of the Sea Drake's flesh had been a new exercise in agony, and it had required his full willpower and not a little bit of madra to avoid vomiting up every meal he'd ever made of the sacred beast. At least it showed results. "What we have here is the refiner's garden," Dross said from the gem in Lindon's pocket. "They tried to refine an elixir, from rare plants and the blood of certain sacred beasts, that would make a mental breakthrough in the same way people make spiritual breakthroughs. They kept all the rare plants on hand here, but uh...according to our records, it's not supposed to be this much of a mess." If this was a garden, it was one that had been abandoned for years and then infested by monsters. Flowers that glowed like full moons were trampled by diseased, frog-like creatures the size of cows. Two hideous insects bigger than dogs wrestled in a patch of grass, surrounded by a pile of bones arranged into a nest. Whispers, cries, and twisted laughter rose in the distance, as did a pillar of smoke. In his spiritual perception, the powers of life and blood reigned in equal measure, all infected by a poison that reminded him of the Desolate Wilds. As he looked closer, he saw black spots on nearby trees. As soon as he noticed, he returned his attention to the giant frogs with patches of wet rot on their skin. They were dozens of yards away, but their stench carried. "Dreadbeasts," Lindon said at last. "They kept a few samples safely imprisoned in this habitat," Dross said. "Not quite safely enough, as it turns out." Orthos growled, and Lindon let the Soul Cloak drop to switch to his Blackflame core. "Which way to the portal?" "Life Well first," Lindon reminded. Dross slipped out of his gem and bobbed in front of Lindon. "To our good luck, it's on the way." Lindon and Orthos marched forward. Without discussion, they burned more dreadbeasts away. "The Life Well was really just a side effect of their work here. It bolsters the line of life aura inside everyone's body, and can even restore youth to

the elderly. This was the most rare and expensive of all the water; you'd be lucky to get a spoonful after a successful project." He flashed bright light in Lindon's face. "I used the word 'spoon' correctly there. Just thought you ought to notice." After the Spirit Well, Lindon was looking forward to this one. What could the Life Well do? Could it bring back youth? Heal injuries? Whatever it did, he could find some use to it. Lindon and Orthos destroyed the remaining dreadbeasts on their way to the Life Well, though Orthos had to use a Ruler technique to quash a few fires that they started in the process. This time, the Life Well facility was actually a building. It was the size of a large barn, its walls iron-gray. The huge door on the front was decorated with a skeleton cupping its hands; he recognized the pattern on the skeleton's palms from the previous keyholes. Dross slid into the keyhole without instruction, and slowly the door began to grind open, spilling green light. "Where is the portal?" Lindon asked, while the door slid from one wall to the other. "Right below us," Dross said, zipping back into his gem. "Good thing that the ground hasn't caved in here, or we'd be falling right now. There's a shaft inside that leads down to his quarters, but it's a one-way trip." "How did he make it up?" "He was a Monarch. He jumped." By then, the door had opened enough for Lindon to see the Life Well. It reminded him of a laundry tub more than an actual well, and though it released bright emerald light, it wasn't nearly as large as the other two wells. The reek of decay wafted out of the door, and Lindon waited with his hand over his nose until he figured out what he was seeing inside. The green light revealed tall, cylindrical tanks lining either side of the room; they contained bloated corpses of every species and description. There must have been two dozen of them along each wall, and the subjects ranged from hand-sized fish to coiled serpents that barely fit in their tanks. None of them had survived. The tanks were surely airtight; the stench came from the ones that had broken. Three or four of the glass tanks had been shattered from the inside,

shards scattered on the floor, covered by the rotting remainders of their former inhabitants. Lindon caught a new whiff of something dead, and at first he wondered if something had died recently. By the time he realized the sensation was coming from his spirit rather than his nose, Orthos had already turned and let out a roar, the Burning Cloak springing up around his shell. Yan Shoumei stood there, hair falling in front of her face like a veil, Blood Shadow clutched around her like a cloak. Her eyes, barely visible through the black locks, glistened with hatred. "You even followed me to another world," she hissed. "Tell Anagi that he was too late! I have everything I need." Lindon glanced down at Orthos to see if he had followed that, but the turtle had already unleashed his dragon's breath. The flow of black-and-red flame streamed from his mouth, but Shoumei punched out with a fist covered in a globe of crimson force. Orthos' Striker technique hit the globe around her hand and split apart, sending fingers of Blackflame splashing into the undergrowth. Tongues of fire licked up immediately. She gave a wild laugh, withdrawing a stoppered bottle and waving it at them. "You were days too slow! I have all the blood I need! I look forward to seeing your bodies buried beneath Hearthway!" Still laughing, she crushed a gatestone in her hand and vanished in a blue flash. Surrounded by burning undergrowth, Lindon turned to Orthos again. "Do you think she had the wrong people?" "I think she should have stayed and fought us," Orthos said, taking a mouthful of undergrowth. "But yes, as they say, she was crazier than a nest full of squirrels." Dross piped up curiously, "So Anagi didn't send you?" "Do you know who that is?" Lindon asked. "I don't know anything that didn't take place inside this pocket world. But I do wish she hadn't done that." Where Shoumei had once stood now waited a web of cracks. Falling leaves, passing through that space, were effortlessly sliced in half by nothing more than the weight of their fall. Slowly, the cracks expanded. It wasn't obvious, but if he looked closely, Lindon could see them inching forward.

"Let's hurry," Lindon suggested. Back at the Life Well, Lindon cupped his hands and drew out a mouthful to take a sip. It had a faint taste like a very weak tea, and he could feel it spreading to his body without his encouragement. But unlike the meat of the Silverfang Carp or the Diamondscale Drake, this didn't carry with it a burning sense of strength. Lindon felt a little more relaxed, a little refreshed, but otherwise he didn't notice much of a difference. Well, his expectations of the Life Well hadn't been high to begin with. He started to open his void key when Orthos dipped his head in for a drink. Pain shot through their spiritual bond, and the turtle bellowed in agony. His legs collapsed immediately, shell slamming to the ground, and his head curled back into his shell. His eyes rolled into his skull, showing all black. "Tell me what's happening," Lindon demanded of Dross, lowering the Sylvan Riverseed from his shoulder. Little Blue hopped over, placing both hands on Orthos' neck, letting her power flood into him. She gave a little cheep of distress almost immediately; whatever was wrong with him, it wasn't in his spirit. "The water of the Life Well can have...more of an impact on older subjects," Dross said. "Usually it's very healthy for them. Very healthy. Only in a small percentage of cases do they lapse into a coma and die." Green light oozed from Orthos' skin. It beamed like a beacon from the crack in his shell, shone from his mouth, and spilled from beneath his belly. Lindon readied his arm; if this was excess power overflowing from the Well's power, maybe his Remnant binding could devour it. But when he took his first step forward, he noticed that the wound in Orthos' shell was closing. The verdant light dimmed slowly over several minutes, and by the time it did, Orthos had gone through a clear transformation. His skin was less of a worn gray and more of a glossy black. The edges of his shell now glowed bright red, and when his eyes snapped open, they were bright. Orthos' voice was recognizable, but deeper. Smoother. Younger. "I...I feel..." He laughed, bounding to his feet and running in a circle like a puppy. Lindon had heard more laughter out of him since coming to Ghostwater than in the last year.

He galloped away, leaping and kicking off a wall, then backflipping and landing with surprising grace. Orthos turned back to Lindon, mouth open as though to say something. But he only laughed again and bounded out the door. Going to hunt some dreadbeasts, Lindon assumed. Lindon looked down at Little Blue, who had tumbled onto the ground while Orthos frolicked. He picked her up and glanced at Dross, who brightened. "I'd like some of that," Dross said hopefully. Lindon absorbed him into his core. Over the rest of the day and into the night, Lindon cycled the fire and destruction aura released from the burning undergrowth, using Dream Well water to stay awake and cycling power from the Life Well to Dross. Though the Spirit Well had taken him weeks to absorb, this started to change the construct immediately. He cheered as he spun inside Lindon's core. Orthos still hadn't returned, but the roars in the distance and the satisfaction radiating from his soul told Lindon the turtle was having a good time. This place had been at least as much of a blessing for Orthos as it had been for Lindon. Not only had it helped heal some of the damage that Blackflame had done to his spirit, but it had sharpened his mind and now restored his body. "Dross," Lindon asked, "If this place existed while the Blackflame family was in charge of the Empire, why didn't they use it?" "Oh, they did. They used to buy as much Well water as Northstrider would allow them. It was one of the ways this facility maintained itself." Dross squirmed inside Lindon's core, absorbing some more green water. He was becoming opaque, as though he were growing skin. "It was more an issue of quantity. A single cup from the Spirit Well cost a fortune, and it was the cheapest of the three. You've been drinking a fiftyyear stockpile. And you really dove into it headfirst, too. You should bow down in gratitude for every mouthful." Absently, Lindon took another sip of the green water. "It will all go to waste when the world collapses." "Yeah, that's...yes. It will." Dross' words were distant. "You know, I spent a long time in the Dream Well. And now I won't get to go back ever

again." He was quiet for a moment. "What do you call this feeling?" "Sadness," Lindon said, sitting against the Life Well. "It feels a lot like grief," Dross observed. "I don't like it." "It's not my favorite either." He spun quietly for a while, processing the water. "Here's some better news: I only needed a taste of this well. I'm coming alive by the second! How does that make me feel? Excited!" A sudden sound, like a distant clink of metal on metal, drew Lindon's attention to a rounded hatch in the floor opposite him. The clink came again, and again, louder as it continued. Lindon pointed to it. "What's that?" "The way down. We shouldn't go yet. There are some spirit-fruits in here that I think you'd really enjoy." Lindon rose to his feet, cycling Blackflame. The ringing sounded like a bell-tower now. "I'm not worried about going down. I'm worried about what's coming up." "There's nothing down there," Dross said confidently. "It's been sealed for decades. You'd need an Eye of the Deep." "An Eye of the Deep?" Lindon asked. "You didn't think there was only one key to this place, did you?" With a sound like a ringing gong, the hatch crashed open. Darkness spilled out, shadows oozing from the entrance. Lindon pushed Dross out. "Go get Orthos." Dross spun as he emerged from Lindon's palm, blinking in the light. Blinking. "I have an eye!" he exclaimed. This time, Dross' evolution was even more pronounced. He was covered in what looked like purple skin, with one huge eye in the center of his body. He was speaking with an actual mouth now, which Lindon could see was lined with tiny teeth. He looked like a very advanced Remnant, or a cross between a spirit and a sacred beast. Blunt tendrils extended from his sides. "And I have arms! Well, I have little pseudopod tentacle things, but I'll take them!" Under any other circumstances, Lindon would have been delighted with the possibilities of a construct coming to life. He would have started speculating about what could be accomplished with other constructs, about whether long-term exposure to dream madra was the way to turn a construct into a living spirit, or whether there was something special with Dross'

circumstances. If it was so easily replicable, the expert Soulsmiths would have tried it before. However, Lindon's spirit warned him clearly about that darkness. He turned red-hot eyes on the construct. "Dross. Now." "Oh, right." He spun away, flailing his stubby little arms as he flew. None too soon. A moment later, Akura Harmony rose from the dark. He looked as well-fed and comfortable as a man who had spent the night in the palace, his skin clear and smooth, his purple eyes bright. Hair flowed straight down his back, and the black disc of his Goldsign hovered behind his head. His black-and-white sacred artist's robes were spotless and pressed. He drifted up until Lindon could see the dark purple Thousand-Mile Cloud on which he was standing. Casually, the Akura hopped off and strolled closer. Lindon cycled madra, preparing to ignite the Burning Cloak. Harmony didn't even look at him. Every step brought him closer, but he had eyes only for the Life Well. The Akura produced a shallow bowl, and brushed past Lindon to dip it into the pool of shining green water. Lindon supposed he should be grateful the man wasn't hostile, but his spirit was still warning him. He pressed his fists together and gave a shallow bow. "Greetings, Akura representative. I am—" Harmony cut him off with a sigh. "Quiet." Like a painter raising a brush, he raised two fingers. Madra gathered within his hand, dark and sharp, and Lindon recognized the technique. The Burning Cloak sprang into the air around him, and he struck at the Akura's wrist with the explosive speed of Blackflame. Harmony's left hand intercepted his, pushing his punch aside with apparent ease. Lindon opened his Remnant hand, trying to grab hold of the Akura's body. Harmony stepped back, still graceful, and lowered his fingers. A black blade flickered down, slicing a line in the stone floor. Lindon managed to throw himself to one side, the blade cutting only into his outer robe. He rose to his feet, conjuring dragon's breath, but Harmony was once again looking at something else.

This time, he was looking at the corner of Lindon's robe, which had fallen to the ground. It had included his pocket. Harmony first drew out a blue-glowing glass ball, which he tossed aside. Lindon almost wished he'd taken it; Suriel's marble would return to him without fail. Then he withdrew the other blue orb that had been inside Lindon's pocket before it was severed by the shadow-blade. This time, it was the cracked, damaged sapphire that had once housed the Eye of the Deep construct. Harmony examined it for a moment, then reached into his own pocket and pulled out a sapphire that shimmered with a gradient of other colors. Another Eye of the Deep. Lindon launched a bolt of dragon's fire at Harmony, but a black wedge appeared in the air in front of him. The Blackflame madra split along the wedge, one half drilling into the wall on the left and the other half cutting a glass cylinder in two. Unconcerned, Harmony raised the dead sapphire. "The construct. You removed it." "It cracked," Lindon said, gathering madra again. "The construct dissolved." Harmony nodded to the door. "You opened the door not six hours ago." Lindon leaped at him, powered by the Burning Cloak. He grabbed for the gem with his Remnant arm. Harmony stepped away, but that step carried him halfway across the room. "Let's see, then." He held up the unlit gem, sending his spirit into it. A blue light flickered deep within, and Lindon's heart fell. There was a script inside the sapphire, which Harmony had just activated. And Lindon suspected he knew what it did. Soon enough, he heard Dross' shouts growing closer. "What's happening? What is this? Something's got me! Help!" As though drawn back by an invisible fishing line, Dross was hauled into the room and straight into his sapphire. Brows drawn in confusion, Harmony held both gems next to each other. One was blue, though it rippled with other colors, and smoothly glowing. The other was now purple, with Dross inside it, and was begging to know what happened.

After a moment of examination, Harmony simply turned and walked back to the hatch. Where Lindon was already waiting for him. Empowered by the Burning Cloak, he lashed out with his Remnant fist. Harmony met the blow with the back of his hand. It was a casual gesture, as though Harmony were waving him away, but it carried the weight of a hammer. Lindon flew back, turning in midair and cycling madra to his legs. He landed against the wall in a flare of black-andred madra. He leaped away, dragon's fire gathered in his palm. He shoved the halfformed Striker technique into Harmony's face, but Harmony's fingers pierced through it, shrouded in darkness. The ball of fire burst in Lindon's hand, and the momentum of his lunge carried him past Harmony and into the middle of the floor. The Akura turned, crooking his fingers as though beckoning a dog. Black swords stabbed up from the ground. Lindon slid aside, avoiding them, but they kept coming. He started drawing Blackflame into his palm, glancing up to judge his distance from Harmony. Icy pain flashed through his spirit as a sword shoved through his Remnant arm. He staggered, his technique disappearing, gripping his white arm around the dark blade that emerged from the forearm. Without another word, Harmony turned and hopped back into the tunnel. Taking Dross with him.

Chapter 15 Lindon wrenched his arm free of the Forged blade, biting back a scream. He rushed over to the hatch, grabbing it one-handed and trying to haul it open with the strength of the Burning Cloak. Orthos raced in at that moment, skidding to a halt in front of the hatch. He looked around at the burns in the walls, the sliced floor, and the newly damaged glass cases. "Where is the enemy?" he demanded, excited. Right arm hanging limp, Lindon slapped the hatch with his left hand. "Down there. He took Dross." The turtle's spirit swept over the hatch. "…it was the Akura?" Lindon nodded. "Then thank the heavens you are still free," Orthos said gravely. "The Akura do not kill honorably. They take prisoners." Without warning, Lindon gathered power in his left hand. The dragon's fire congealed in seconds, and he drove it at the domed lid of the hatch. Hidden rings of script shone on the lid and on the ground all around, the runes glowing the orange-white of heated metal. In seconds, they faded to orange and then to red. "Can't follow him," Lindon muttered, looking around the room. The refiners had left so much behind; had the Heralds stripped this place decades ago, as they had the other habitats? If not, there could be something he could use. "If you followed him, what would you do? A dragon does not walk blindly into the devil's lair." "I know you see the problem here," Lindon said, walking over to a cabinet next to the glass tanks. He threw open the doors—empty. "Without Dross, we are stuck here. Locked in a dying world." "Keep a calm head, boy," Orthos said quietly. There had been no heat in Lindon's words; even Yerin might not have heard any anger. But Orthos had a direct line to his spirit.

Lindon slammed his fist down onto the cabinet. It stood as high as his chest and wider than his shoulders, but under his blow, it burst. Wood chips flew everywhere as the two halves of the furniture collapsed inward. "He took Dross from me. From my hand. More easily than taking a bone from a dog." Lindon's rage stirred his Blackflame madra, which called fire aura to him from outside; he could feel the red power flowing into him. The shards of the cabinet started to smolder. "Swallow that anger," Orthos said. "Use it to fuel the fire in your belly. Dragons sometimes lose, but they learn from their losses and come back stronger." "If I accept this loss, there is no coming back!" "That's not what's setting your tail ablaze. If you had a choice between leaving alive and staying to compete with the Akura, what would you do?" "Leave," Lindon said immediately. Orthos grunted thoughtfully, then heaved himself to his feet. "Give me a moment. Cycle your pure core." That was unusual. Normally Orthos would tell him to cycle Blackflame. But then, normally Orthos wasn't the one telling him to keep his temper and think through a problem first. At first, Lindon paced in restless frustration, irritated at having to follow instructions. But eventually he sat down in a cycling position and focused on his pure core. He soon lost himself in a meditative trance, so he wasn't sure how much time passed before Orthos returned. In his mouth, he carried a fist-sized chunk of what looked like shimmering blue chalk. The turtle rolled the lump of chalk across the floor so it bumped into Lindon's knee. "This," he said, "is a gatestone. They come in different shapes and sizes, but crushing one will allow you to instantly return to one place. It is how the others have been escaping Ghostwater." Lindon's eyes brightened and his heart cleared. This was the answer to all of his problems. He reached out for it before hesitating. "Where did you find this?" "In one of the dreadbeast nests. A sacred artist must have died before using it." "Why didn't you bring it before?"

"We didn't need a way out before," Orthos said, holding his gaze steady. "Now, you can decide: use this stone, or not." Of course he would. Lindon almost laughed out loud. But something else came out of his mouth. "...why do you think he took Dross?" Orthos said nothing, but Lindon's mind started churning. Harmony already had an Eye of the Deep, so he had access to all of Ghostwater. What would he need a second one for? There was the possibility that he wanted Dross specifically, but there would have been no way for him to know that Lindon's Eye was special before he stole it. Not unless he had access to the bloodline ability of the Arelius. Maybe Harmony could have accessed the same observational security constructs that Dross had, but Lindon had no idea how likely that was. He had to assume that Harmony just needed another Eye. Or perhaps he was acting to keep Lindon and Orthos locked inside Ghostwater as the world crumbled around him. Maybe he was just that cruel. Lindon didn't have enough information to speculate. But using the gatestone would leave Dross to whatever Harmony wanted to do with him. And Lindon recognized that an Akura wouldn't move for a cheap prize. He benefited from this in some way. Lindon scooped up the stone...and slipped it into his one remaining pocket. Suriel's marble glowed there, though he didn't remember putting it away. "Whatever he wants, we can't leave Dross to him," Lindon said at last. And whatever the Akura was after, he wanted a piece of it. Orthos nodded as though he'd expected nothing different. "Once, you were weak. That boy is long dead, but his Remnant still haunts you." He turned to drink from the Life Well. "Your weakness, Lindon, is thinking you are weaker than you are." Lindon opened his void key, reaching in and pulling out a tiny vial of purple water. He drank it down quickly, feeling his focus sharpen. "I think I can see a way to break the script on the hatch," Lindon said after a moment. Orthos shook his head firmly. "No. We're too weak." "You just said—"

"Prudent caution," the turtle said. "That is where you should find yourself." Lindon spread his one remaining palm. "If we stay here, we're leaving Dross to his fate." "Convince me we can defeat the Akura without him escaping to his family," Orthos said. "Then I will allow it." "I can repair my arm with the hunger bindings inside the dreadbeasts," Lindon said. "That arm didn't win you the last fight, did it?" "We have some fresh Diamondscale meat. It will strengthen us both." "Slowly," Orthos said. "If we're going to wait another two weeks, we might as well use the gatestone at the last moment and be done." "There are supposed to be some spirit-fruits in this garden, and I still have water from the Spirit Well. I could reach Truegold, but that will take just as long." Orthos shifted in place. He glanced to the side, snapping up another piece of debris and eating it. "...Orthos." "It doesn't have to," he admitted. "I have the power of a Truegold. I had to share it with you in small doses before, as neither your spirit nor mine could handle the burden." A light dawned in Lindon's mind. "But now we can. And whatever madra you expend, you can replace with the Spirit Well water. Let's go!" He sat down in a cycling position immediately, ready to begin. "Listen, boy. You're only a few weeks from Truegold on your own. Don't rely on me for this last step." He hesitated. "And nothing good comes from opposing the Akura family." Lindon rested a hand on the turtle's head. "Dross has traveled with us for four weeks now. Would a dragon abandon an ally in time of need?" Orthos grumbled. Then he opened his spirit. ~~~ Harmony knelt before the jeweled tree, calming his madra, stilling his mind.

The two Eyes of the Deep sat in his pockets, one silently, the other one chattering. He ignored them both equally. The Akura family had known more than the others all along; they ensured that their disciples got the real prize in this pocket world. Of the other factions who had joined them to periodically plunder Ghostwater, only the Ninecloud Court had the knowledge they did. But the Ninecloud delegate hadn't made it inside this time, so Harmony would be the final recipient of Ghostwater's treasure. The tree that loomed over him was made of scripted metal, spiraling from the floor up to the ceiling. Instead of leaves, its branches held metal cages, and inside each cage: a sapphire. Only about a third of the cages were filled, but the chamber still sparkled with light from the Eyes of the Deep. Harmony withdrew the silent jewel from his pocket. There was a ritual necessary to prepare the construct before coming here; he had to carry the gem around the outside world, then give it a thorough tour of the state of Ghostwater. For the previous month, he had carried the Eye around with him as he cycled and trained, letting it absorb information about the world. About him. It would add its knowledge to the collective in the tree. In return for his efforts, he would be rewarded. He knelt before the tree, holding the shimmering jewel before him like a supplicant. "Harmony of the Akura clan returns the Eye of the Deep to the place of its birth." Without his power activating it, script flared to life all over the tree. One branch bent down toward Harmony, its cage creaking open. Carefully, Harmony placed the gem within. His family wasn't sure to what degree the tree was aware of his behavior, but it had been known to punish rudeness. When the cage carried away the Eye of the Deep, Harmony bowed. The jewel was restored to its state among the others, and a whispering voice echoed through the chamber. "Ask..." "What is the fastest path that I may use to reach Underlord?" Harmony asked. He had struggled with this question for weeks, regretting that he didn't have a second chance to ask another question.

Then he had sensed the delegation from the Blackflame Empire next to the Life Well. It meant they had an Eye of the Deep of their own. The heavens, it seemed, were looking out for him. The tree trembled for a moment, its script shining and its jewels shaking, as it contemplated the question. Then a sparkling wave of blue-and-purple light washed over him, and he knew. The shock of the sudden knowledge left him panicking and disoriented, as though he'd woken up from a dream and not recognized the room around him. When he regained control of himself, he pressed his fists together and bowed to the tree. "Akura Harmony is grateful for your wisdom," he said, his voice still rough. Then he waited. In front of him, at the base of the tree, was a scripted basin like a birdbath. He stared at the basin hungrily. The answer was only half the prize. A few breaths later, a clear tube slid out from the tree and hovered over the basin. A twinkling white pearl rolled through the tube, splashing into the center of the basin. A drop of ghostwater: the substance for which this world had been named. Abandoning dignity, Harmony leaned over the basin and lapped the droplet up with his tongue. Lords and Ladies would kill for this. A moment of cycling later, and he realized why. The droplet of ghostwater traveled through his madra channels to his head, where it fused with his channels and nested at the base of his skull. It shone there like a distant star, a tiny pinprick compared to the full moon of his core. He tapped it, and it was as though his mind was refreshed. He stood, Forging his Nine Blades of the Underworld technique. Ordinarily, the technique struck nine times at a target, and it took his full concentration to control it otherwise. Now, he caused the blades of dark madra to rise in a perfect circle. Once again, and they appeared one at a time on the same spot, delayed by a perfect second each time.

It was like he'd struggled all his life to juggle nine balls at the same time, and suddenly it had become as natural as breathing. One of his older cousins, who had earned a droplet of ghostwater twenty years before, had described it to him as 'strengthening his mental power,' but he hadn't pictured what that meant. The power faded after only a breath of time, the point of light in his skull dimming. The ghostwater was tapped out, but it would draw from his body and spirit and restore itself over time. One breath of increased control meant the difference between victory and defeat in a fight. Now, he could consider himself invincible among those of the same stage. And soon he would step into a new realm entirely; the tree had made his steps clear. He pulled out the second Eye of the Deep. He would be the first Akura since the Herald who found this place to return more than one Eye. Only a handful of people in history had attained ghostwater at all, and he would have more. ...assuming the tree accepted this one. It shone purple, thanks to the light from the construct inside the gem, and it was talking to him. "Oh, this place is amazing! I'm a little insulted I didn't know about it, but you know, I guess they couldn't tell me everything. I mean, they could, because I do exist to store knowledge, but it's fine. It doesn't hurt at all. Although now that you mention it, I do feel a sort of connection. Like that is the place I'm supposed to return to. You think that's the Eye talking?" He paused for a moment, considering. "Hey, how about this for a plan: let's not put me in there. I know you've sealed me inside this vessel, but how about you let me go? Hm? I don't trust mysterious compulsions that are telling me to go somewhere." The construct pushed against the script keeping it locked inside, and the script flared. Harmony reinforced it with his madra again. The Blackflames had corrupted this Eye somehow, maybe fusing it with a Remnant or the memories of one of their dead sacred artists. He knelt and held it up, hoping the tree would accept it anyway. But before he could open his mouth to ask, his spirit whispered a warning. Instinctively, he looked up to the ceiling. A dark, furious sun had dawned above and behind him. It was like feeling a dragon's birth.

The aura was only Truegold, but it carried such fury and destruction that his spirit trembled. It surprised him; he hadn't thought any Truegold could be a threat. "Did you feel that? Is that Lindon? I tell you what, let's wait for him. I'm sure we could talk this—" A cage drifted down from the tree, and Harmony shoved the Eye inside. The construct shut up as though choked off. The cage started to rise, but it froze only a few feet up. The branch trembled, and the gem shone purple. The ring of script inside glowed as the spirit pushed its way out, and suddenly Harmony could actually see it emerging from the crack in the sapphire. It spoke as though through gritted teeth. "...not going to...stay...here..." The tree's light shone brighter. When it did, the cage continued to move. The spirit was drawn back inside the gem with a yelp, and the cage settled into place. The jewel shone purple for another few seconds, and then its light dimmed. The spirit was finally, blessedly, quiet. ~~~ Lindon held up his hand of flesh, and the madra of a Truegold Blackflame burned the dreadbeast's blood away. He'd done some quick surgery on a few of the monsters in the garden, extracting the twisted corkscrew bindings in their body. They were hunger madra, the same as his arm, and he'd been able to patch up the hole in his skeletal limb. It was still scarred, and you could tell where the different sources of madra butted up against one another, but it worked. That was all that mattered. And he was Truegold. With Orthos' power running through him, and the water from the Spirit Well to guide it, he was filled with a sense of strength he'd never felt before. Orthos told him that it was always best to spend a few days practicing and cycling after advancement in order to get used to his new power. He'd heard such advice before, and generally agreed.

But not only were they out of time, something felt different about Truegold. He felt complete, as though he were a bowl that had been completely filled. He suspected that was partially overconfidence, but it was partially that he was approaching the limit of his Blackflame core. When he reached the end of Truegold, he would have advanced as far as he could normally. After that, he'd have to reforge his body and spirit in soulfire. Even minutes after advancing, he was looking forward to the next step. Lindon opened his void key, the closet doorway appearing in the air. This time, when he pulled Little Blue off his shoulder, he handed her a pure scale. His pure core was still Highgold, but that was higher-grade than he'd ever fed her before. She smiled at him before tilting her head back and swallowing the coin whole. Her blue body rippled for a moment until she let out a drifting hiss of satisfaction. He reached into the void storage, placing her inside. She squeaked, just as she had last time, clambering up his arm. Now, he met her eyes. "I can't take you with me this time," he said. Little Blue let out a sad note. "I know. But we have to bring Dross back. You remember Dross?" She whistled. "I'm going to have to fight for him, and I'm afraid I can't look after you at the same time. You understand?" She frowned for a moment, but then turned and walked to the edge of his fingers. She was six inches tall now, and he actually felt her weight as she leaped off like a diver, landing lightly on the edge of a jar filled with Dream Well water. Little Blue sat down on the jar and gave him an impatient peep. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, and closed the void key. Outside, Orthos gave the hatch a sideways glance. "This is not wise. I've changed my mind. The courage of a dragon is valuable, but it must be balanced by the wisdom of a dragon." Reaching into his pocket, Lindon withdrew the gatestone. The chalky ball shimmered in the light as though it were made of crushed blue glass. "Then you'll be relieved to know that I have decided to use the gatestone." Orthos brightened. "Really?"

"Yes." Lindon lobbed the stone so that it landed a few feet away from the hatch. Before Orthos could ask what he was doing, Lindon extended a finger. A quick beam of dragon's breath struck the gatestone dead center. The device let out a blue orb big enough to swallow a person, then disappeared. The stone was unharmed, a man-sized web of cracks hovering in the air. Orthos rounded on him in a fury. "What have you done?" "The scripts around the Spirit Well were disabled, and I thought about why. The cracks must have sliced through the runes and interrupted the script." Lindon pointed to the ground, where many of the silk-thin cracks ran into the stone. "Even if that's not what happened before, I'm fairly certain it would work that way now. Look." He extended a palm, and a much thicker bar of dragon's breath punched through the hatch. There was no flaring script to defend it. This time, it blasted through the metal, and Lindon moved it from one side to the other to obliterate the hatch. The edges of the tunnel now glowed white-hot, but there wasn't as much melting metal as he'd expected. That would be the destruction aspect of Blackflame at work. He walked over to the edge and prepared to hop in. Orthos peered over the edge. "That's a long way down," he said. "Look at it this way: the entrance is plenty big enough. You'll fit just fine." "What if it gets narrower as you fall? My shell is not meant for tight spaces." Lindon looked down into the darkness, swept it with his spiritual perception, and then took a deep breath. "I'll let you know," he said as he jumped. There was a rush of air and darkness, then he hit the ground. Even without an Enforcer technique active, he absorbed the impact lightly: the benefit of the meat from the Silverfangs and Diamondscales. He would probably look back on this month in Ghostwater as one of the most profitable of his life...assuming they made it out. "Nothing down here," Lindon called up. "You can jump." "Are you certain?" Orthos shouted back.

"I'm going to start exploring. If you don't think you can join me, you can leave it to me, and I'll let you know what I find." A moment later, a dull red meteor crashed into the ground as Orthos hit shell-first. He swung from side to side to right himself, marching over to Lindon. "A dragon doesn't hesitate." Orthos had hesitated for quite a long time, but Lindon said, "I'm glad for that. I think we should head this way." The room at the bottom of the shaft was nothing more than an open space with three dark tunnels leading in different directions. Since advancing to Truegold, Lindon's spiritual senses had immediately expanded, so he headed through the entrance where he most clearly sensed Harmony's shadow madra. They walked through a dark hallway with rooms on either side. The hall reminded him of the Dream Well facility, except it was lit only by the subtle glow from Orthos' shell. The sense of Harmony's madra pulled them straight down the hall, and Lindon started to pick up speed. Until a man appeared next to them. He was a hulking figure a head taller than Lindon, packed with muscle, his golden eyes vertically slitted like a reptile's. Black scales covered his arms up to the elbow, and he loomed like an executioner. Lindon had ignited the Burning Cloak and gathered up a handful of dragon's breath when he recognized the figure. Northstrider, the Monarch on the Path of the Hungry Deep. Creator of Ghostwater. He was shocked for a moment, but hurriedly dropped to his knees. "What are you doing?" Orthos growled. "Get up." "Don't you see..." "No, I see it. It's a projection." Lindon swept the image of Northstrider with his spirit. It reminded him of the White Fox madra his family had always used; a blend of light and dreams. Northstrider's projection surveyed them both, or seemed to, and then spoke. "For you who travel here after my departure, I have left this message."

"Let's hurry," Orthos said, and trotted off. Lindon followed him, with Northstrider's image floating along next to them. "I poured years of effort into this world and its research projects," he went on, undisturbed by their jog down the hall. "None of them delivered what I wanted: a mind, subordinate to my own, that could manage a small portion of my powers. The messengers of the heavens use such constructs, so perhaps they can only be created beyond this one small world. But I still left behind the greatest mind a man could create." Some of the doors had small windows, and the shining lights or shifting movement he saw inside made him want to look inside. But a new sensation from up above had drowned out the trail of Harmony's madra: it was a surge of power that felt like the Eye of the Deep, only many times more powerful. They picked up the pace. "I dismissed the researchers, but scattered keys all over the world. Over four thousand memory storage constructs, each gathering knowledge on their way back here. When they return, they contribute to a greater whole. Eyes of the Deep record and gather knowledge, all with the purpose of returning here. To add their information to the collective." Now the world was crumbling. This would be the last delivery Ghostwater ever received. It only had a few weeks left, at most. Lindon extended his perception behind him, sensing a disruption in space that felt like cracks in existence. The spatial cracks were crawling after him, down from where he'd crushed the gatestone. Maybe they had less time than he'd thought. "I will allow a few beggars into this world to fight over the other scraps, but you who bring an Eye of the Deep, you will receive the true prize. A drop of ghostwater. If you have tasted of the other wells, you should know they were only prototypes. By-products of our attempts to create this one power. It no longer benefits me, but what is trash to a Monarch may still be treasure to all others." The hallway opened up onto a huge chamber, like an artificial cave. A metal tree filled the far wall, with cages instead of leaves and Eyes of the Deep hanging like glowing fruit. Two-thirds of the cages were empty, but it was still bright. To the right of the tree, there was a jade doorframe. Identical to the one Lindon had destroyed in the first habitat.

And in front of the tree, Harmony stood in front of what looked like a stone birdbath. His Goldsign hovered behind his head, so all Lindon saw was a circle of darkness on his shoulders. "Return the Eye of the Deep to the tree," Northstrider instructed, golden eyes turning to the massive scripted device. "You may ask one question and receive one drop of ghostwater. And for the rest of your life, know that you are in my debt." Then the Monarch vanished, and Harmony turned to meet them.

Chapter 16 The dark green madra of the tent flickered and fuzzed like it was losing reality. For Forged madra, it had lasted a long time. Light trickled in through the entrance; Yerin had cut open a hill and buried them in it. All the better for hiding. She'd scratched basic scriptcircles into all the nearby boulders to help veil them, but the one on the tent was still their best. When it went out, it was only a matter of time until they were found. She opened a case that had once contained healing salves. As she'd expect from a rich girl, Mercy carried an herbalist's shop worth of pills, elixirs, and sacred herbs around with her. Or she had. They had delved deep into her stock to fight off the burn wounds the dragon Underlady had left them. There was one vial left in the case, its contents glowing like blue diamonds. Yerin removed it and tossed it to Mercy. "Last one," she said. "Make it count." Mercy tried to push the vial back to her. "What would I use it for? Look at me, I'm good as new!" She stood up and twirled in place to demonstrate, but she didn't have enough room to stand up straight. Yerin wouldn't have jumped straight to 'good as new.' The liquid fire madra had burned the hair off half of Mercy's head. You wouldn't know it now. Her salve was specially made to get rid of burn wounds; apparently the Akura family dealt with dragons more than mosquitos. Her hair had even started to come back in, faster than was natural, but Yerin had cut the girl's hair all over to match. Now it was cropped close to the skull; it would be months before she could tie it back into a tail again. The faint shadows of burn scars remained on her left cheek. Those would never heal on their own, but this salve should take care of them. Her leg was in worse shape. She hadn't been able to put any weight on it for

days, but a blood elixir had restored most of the meat. A sacred herb, sealed in a jade box like some kind of treasure, had taken care of the rest. They had burned through most of the healing elixirs Mercy had brought with her from the Akura family. She wouldn't be able to restock anymore, cut off as she was, but Yerin couldn't think of a better thing to use them for. So long as Mercy kept getting attention, she'd recover. Yerin was in a brighter spot. She had a sturdier Iron body than Mercy, and she was more advanced. Whatever Mercy had done by summoning armor onto her arm, it took the lion's share of the blow. Without that, they'd both be dead. "Use it," Yerin said. "Don't make me break it over you." She'd almost had to do that already. After Mercy had first woken, incoherent from her wounds, she had refused to take anything until Yerin did first. Yerin had forced a healing pill down her throat. At first, Mercy's spirit had scared Yerin worse than her injuries. She had advanced to Highgold during the fight, clear as glass; after waking up, she was a Lowgold again. Yerin had thought it was some kind of spiritual damage, and had avoided bringing it up for days, but Mercy explained that it had to do with her Path. She could push to open a page beyond her reach, and that book inside her would lend her the power to use it. For a time. After that, she went back to advancing like normal. Yerin had immediately asked if she could push to Underlord. Not that far, Mercy had told her. But she could hit Truegold for a minute or two. That was more than Yerin could say for herself. The gold Thousand-Mile Cloud was hovering over the edge of the island, and now there were Truegold dragons mixed in with the Lowgolds and Highgolds. Even if the Underlady stayed on her cloud, they were cornered. And the tent had only a day or two left. Yerin had spent the whole time in this self-made cave cycling and practicing the Endless Sword. She had started touching on the next stage of mastery, but the hourglass was running out like it had a hole in it. Mercy reluctantly started to apply the salve to herself, but Yerin was staring at the flickering tent. "I need to hit Truegold. Now." "We have plenty of time," Mercy said. That was something Yerin had learned quickly about the Akura girl—if they were about to be buried in an avalanche, she would point out that at least it wouldn't be hot.

"Even if I use my...guest..." Yerin still wasn't comfortable talking, or even thinking, about her Blood Shadow. "...I can't punch through any Underlords. If I don't advance, we're stuck on a raft with sharks all around. I've packed my madra to the brim, so I need something to draw more out of my Remnant and push me over the edge." Absently, Mercy rubbed some salve over a scar on her right arm. Her left was still clear, protected by the armor that had—briefly—stood up to an Underlord's attack. "When we reached a bottleneck in our progress, we were taught to find someone to guide us through." "My master told me something like that." He had said, 'You'd be amazed how much faster you run when there's a hungry wolf behind you.' His way of saying that danger could bring out new depths of strength. Also, his approach to training foot speed. "I'm headed outside," Yerin said, bracing herself for Mercy's arguments. Mercy's hand froze. "I guess we have to go sometime." She rubbed the remaining salve from her fingers, grabbing her bow—which was still in staff form—and pushing herself to her feet. Using the staff to brace herself, she picked herself across the crowded tent. Yerin didn't move. "Thought I was going to have to wrestle my way past you." "You want to put yourself in danger to push your advancement, right? Not a bad idea, but it would be safer with someone watching you." Mercy started to run her fingers through her hair again, but stopped and pushed it back down to her side. "I'm not eager to take more fire madra to the face, but we can't stay here forever." With a deep breath to cycle her madra, Yerin moved to push debris away from the entrance. Mercy stopped her. "One Highgold," she said. "Not looking to bleed, am I?" Yerin said. If she lured in a Truegold—or worse—then she'd get no chance to advance. There was risk, and then there was stupidity. "One Highgold. If there's more nearby, we back out." In Yerin's judgment, two Highgolds would be safe enough, but still she agreed. She pushed her way out, into the clearing outside their handmade cave. After stretching out the last week of cramped muscles, Yerin knelt in the

middle of the clearing. She breathed deeply, cycling sword aura to every limb. "Keep their breath off me," Yerin said. Her sword-aura couldn't deflect madra, but it would do a decent job with everything else. So long as she handled it right. Mercy bent Suu into a bow, nervously fiddling with the bowstring. "You can do this. One Highgold, you start to advance, and I'll tie him up. Then we run." Yerin tore the veil from her spirit. Her perception immediately extended; the veil dampened her spiritual sense like wearing a cloth over her eyes. Golden spots of heat flared into existence nearby. The closest one started moving toward her. Perfect. "They're all around," Yerin reported. "Plenty of targets," Mercy said, but her voice was higher-pitched than usual. Yerin focused on aura. Her sword shone silver at her hip, though she didn't draw it. Her Goldsigns were dimmer, but still useable. She summoned the image of the Sage's Endless Sword, keeping it focused in her mind. A delicate, controlled touch. Like plucking a string instead of hammering a drum. Aura like the wind. The first Lowgold dragon veiled himself as he approached. Yerin saw him before she sensed him, a rustling in the brush followed by a flash of golden scales and silver claws that flashed in the sunlight. It happened so suddenly that it didn't feel real. But Yerin was prepared. As a Lowgold, this dragon was more ruled by his instinct. He attacked like a beast, pouncing on her with fangs and claws extended. She tapped the aura around her sword, and sparks exploded from the dragon's claws like he'd run into an invisible steel bar. He was slammed back, twisting in midair to land on all fours, staring at her with clear surprise. Not enough. That had looked fine, but Yerin could feel that something wasn't right. It had taken too much concentration to deflect one clumsy attack. She met the dragon's eyes. "You waiting for sunset?" The beast leaped at her again.

Once more, Yerin knocked him away. It wasn't enough. What was missing? Extending her perception, she found that the nearest dragon was a Highgold. Abruptly, she stood up. "Let's take this on the road. Mercy, I'm done with him." Mercy nailed him to the ground with several arrows, but Yerin didn't stay to watch her work. She was already headed for the Highgold. When Mercy caught up, she was out of breath and leaning on her staff. "You know, I don't have unlimited madra." "Good thing you're not fighting, then." They were walking away from their cave, but if Yerin failed here, they couldn't defend themselves. When your back was against a wall, you had to bet it all. She found the Highgold dragon eating a deer. It turned and saw them, then lazily licked its snout clean. "Humans," she said in a feminine voice, her speech surprisingly clear. "You should have stayed holed away." Yerin knelt again. Though dropping to her knees before a fight felt wrong, she was putting herself in a place where she had nothing to rely on but the Endless Sword. Mercy waved to the dragon. "My name is Mercy. What's yours?" "Derianatoth," the dragon said. Her eyes flared. "The girl you Skysworn killed was my cousin." She leaped over Yerin, then. Straight at Mercy. Yerin kept her breathing steady, and her sword rang. The dragon staggered in mid-pounce, like something had struck her a glancing blow, but she wasn't knocked backwards. She landed next to Mercy, gathering up her breath. Yerin drew on the Steelborn Iron body. In one jump, she closed the distance between herself and the dragon, planting her foot in its ribs. Combined with her momentum, the kick sent the cow-sized sacred beast tumbling into a tree. It crashed into the wood, giving it a healthy dent. Mercy froze with an arrow half-Forged on her weapon. "Nice hit!" "Not enough pressure," Yerin muttered, walking closer to the dragon. Derianatoth was enraged now, shaking debris from her scales like a dog after a bath. She swept a razor-sharp claw, and Yerin could already feel that there was a second coming. She felt the pressure from a dragon as advanced

as she was, born with a body no human could match. Unstopped, this blow would tear Yerin in half like a piece of bread. Perfect. Yerin struck the Endless Sword, the weight of battle keeping her mind tightly focused. The claw bounced away, struck aside by a blade of swordaura, but a second had already closed, a hair's breadth from tasting blood. Another pulse of the Endless Sword knocked it back, but the claw had been so close that it nicked the side of Yerin's chin. She'd done it twice, and that second technique had been both faster and more precise. "Are you...practicing a technique right now?" The dragon asked. As she spoke, Yerin could hear her disbelief turn to fury. She roared, swiping with both claws. Yerin stopped them both with one pulse of the Endless Sword, but it still wasn't fast enough. Not sharp enough. She could do better. Another claw was deflected in a spray of sparks, and Yerin stepped closer. The sense of danger in her spirit spiked, but that was what she was looking for. After a second flurry of blows was met by invisible swords, the dragon backed up. Yerin, still with her sword in its sheath, stepped forward. The dragon may have been furious, but she wasn't stupid. She recognized sword aura and filled her mouth with orange-gold light. A black arrow slammed into her from above, tying her jaw shut. Madra sprayed from the sides of her fangs, and the arrow dissipated, but it had done its job. Yerin turned her attention to offense. Her sword rang again, and three white lines appeared across the dragon's throat. That was a step forward; only three lines meant she was more controlled. But when it was like the wind, her Endless Sword would leave only one line. And those scales would be nothing. Now the dragon was truly infuriated. She dashed away and pushed her madra to its limit, shining in Yerin's spirit. "You should run farther," Yerin advised. "Who's running?" A Truegold aura flared in the distance, taking to the sky immediately. Yerin regretted the loss; she could tell she was only a finger away from a real breakthrough in her understanding. But they couldn't play any longer.

"Truegold," she called to Mercy, dashing away. "Game's up." That burned. This was an opportunity she hated to pass up, but she'd pushed it too far already. There was a line between flirting with death and throwing yourself at him. Then another light dawned in her spirit, much brighter. The Lady. She was close. Yerin skidded to a halt, Mercy right behind her. The Lowgold's senses weren't as sensitive, and she gave Yerin a look of confusion. "Underlady," Yerin said. Mercy instantly drew her bow back and loosed an arrow. There was a screech from Derianatoth. "To the tent?" That was the decision. They could try and hide again, but the Truegold and the Lady were close. If they were found this time, that would be the end. "No," Yerin said. There was only one way out now. She rushed back the other way, running for the approaching Truegold. As she ran, she pushed deeper into her spirit, reaching out to her master's memories. Give me something, she begged silently. Anything. Madra flowing through her Steelborn Iron body, she ran like a rushing river. The Highgold dragon was waiting for her, but she leaped over the giant golden lizard, still aiming for the Truegold. There was one great thing about the Endless Sword, however she used it: it didn't take much madra. She had plenty left for her Iron body. A stream of orange madra spewed out behind her, but she flipped around a tree and kept running, focusing on her spirit. This was it. She was in the final, no-escape corner that her master had always said was the best for forcing an advancement. She'd advanced to Lowgold after her showdown with his spirit, and Highgold in the middle of the battle with Jai Long. It was time to go beyond herself again. She had to make it if she wanted to reach Lindon. But as she thought of it, that reason rang hollow. It wasn't wrong, but it also wasn't enough. There was more. Something deeper. If she didn't advance, she'd have to rely on her Blood Shadow. That wasn't it either. She knew she'd have to get used to the Blood Shadow soon. As much as it sickened her, she couldn't run from it forever.

She dug for more. If she didn't advance, everyone else would leave her behind. Lindon would keep growing, she'd never catch up to Eithan, and even Mercy had her advancement written out for her. The Truegold appeared over the treeline, glittering in the sun, standing on a small golden Thousand-Mile Cloud. His draconic face turned down to her. A memory boiled up, and Yerin couldn't tell if it came from her or from her master's Remnant. She was maybe ten years old, standing with her master beside a stream. Every morning, he would bring her a boulder and have her try to cut it in half with the Rippling Sword. Every morning, she failed, and he took the stone away, only to bring a new one the next day. She'd thrown her training sword aside in disgust. "I can't do it," she had said. "Been waiting for you to say that," he'd responded. He had taken her to a cave behind a waterfall, where he had kept all of the stones she had tried and failed to cut. There were the marks of her failure: slashes in the rocks where her madra had cut. The scars started faint, but they got wider and deeper. And the stones got bigger. "This is what you did yesterday," he'd said, pointing to the largest rock, the one with the deepest cut. "I can't wait to see what you do tomorrow." At the time, neither could Yerin. Now, she stood under the dragon, feeling the echoes of her master's spirit inside her. "Surrender yourself, Highgold," he said. "We will not make this painful." Yerin's sword rang like a bell. He reacted to the sword aura, striking with the back of his hand against the rush of silver. He knocked away the blow, but one tinkling scale was knocked free. It took with it a drop of blood. This time, the technique had felt right. It resounded in her master's spirit, resonating between the two of them. She basked in that feeling, memorizing it. Then the barrier in her spirit crumbled.

Her madra faltered, slipping from her fingers. This was the hazard of pushing for advancement in the middle of battle; it tended to throw you off your game. And this time, her opponent wasn't sweet-minded enough to give her some time for herself. Scenting blood, the Truegold dragon jumped down from his cloud. "Page three," Mercy announced. Yerin had time to wonder why Mercy had said that out loud before an arrow the thickness of her arm pierced the dragon through the gold-scaled chest. Mercy's Truegold aura blanketed the clearing in heavy darkness, and this time, the arrow didn't feel like one technique. It felt like three different techniques crammed into one arrow, and two of them were not friendly. The force of the arrow carried the dragon back, so he fell to the ground far away from Yerin, but he burned it away almost immediately. His scales oozed blood—so at least this technique did some damage, unlike the arrows Yerin had seen her use before, which didn't even break the skin. But now, the darkness that crawled over his skin felt like poison. He screamed, breathing fire on himself, but the darkness kept creeping. That was all Yerin saw. Rivers of silver aura rushed to her, blinding her, filling her spirit. They flooded into her veins, far more than she could ever cycle, rushing to her core. Her master's Remnant blurred, soaking more completely into Yerin's madra. The sense of his presence weakened again, as it had when she'd advanced to Highgold. Then, like a deep breath released, the sword aura burst from her in a wave. Every tree in the clearing exploded under the strike of a thousand axes. Mercy wasn't spared; violet crystal covered her chest in a breastplate, taking the brunt of the force, but scratches still appeared all over her body. The Highgold dragon Derianatoth had been webbed up by Mercy at some point. Yerin guessed when she was focused on the Truegold. She couldn't defend herself, and her black cocoon burst into sprays of blood. Blood spurted from the Truegold's scales too, but it wasn't enough to kill him. Not until she followed it up with a Striker technique. Seconds after the wave of sword aura passed through the forest, his body fell into chunks of flesh and bone. And then the forest was quiet.

Sunlight streamed down on them, unfiltered by branches. A chill wind blew through now that it wasn't blocked by trunks. Mercy's presence faded back to Lowgold, and her bow relaxed to a staff. She hobbled closer to Yerin. "Congratulations! Should we run?" "Not yet," Yerin said, eyeing the bodies. "Can't leave the Remnants to follow us. And we can't look like cowards in front of our new guest." Guided by her Truegold perception, she turned to look into the forest. A young man stood there, emerald horns shining very slightly in the shadow of the trees that still stood around him. He wore a faded gray cloak, leaned on a hammer as big as he was, and wore an expression like he'd died two days before. "Looking to pick off the winner?" Yerin asked, her sword starting to shine with the Flowing Sword Enforcer technique. It hummed with a might she'd never felt before; the strength of a Truegold. He took a long, slow breath, letting it out like it was his last. "…no," he said. It looked like it had taken him a week of effort to force out that one word, but she had Remnants to deal with. They rose like sunset-colored serpents from the bodies of the dragons. At least in death, they looked like proper dragons: flying, serpentine creatures of flame. As she'd expected, they both turned to Yerin. Sword aura wouldn't do much against these non-physical Remnants, but madra would. She whipped a Striker technique at the Highgold, dashing at the Truegold herself. A few strokes of her master's blade left the Remnant in a few hissing puddles on the ground. The whole time, she'd kept her perception locked on the newcomer. He didn't feel like he was ready to step in. He felt like he would fall over at any second. "We have to go," Yerin said to Mercy. She didn't like running past an unknown threat, but the Lady was coming from the other direction. Wait…no, she wasn't. Yerin's spirit crawled. In the instant she'd taken her perception off the dragon, the woman had covered miles. Dreading what she would see, Yerin looked behind her. The Underlady stood there, a sword in hand. It crackled with orange lightning. "On my blood and my name," she whispered, "I swear that you

will suffer as none have suffered." Perfect. Yerin's Blood Shadow spun out from behind her, and this time she didn't try to stop it. Like a red Remnant copy of her, it spread its Goldsigns. Its right hand flattened into another sword, and it leaned forward, ready to fight. "Don't suppose you have another one of those shields," Yerin said. Mercy gave a flat, lifeless laugh. The stranger stepped out of the trees, dragging his huge hammer behind him. It carved a furrow in the soil as he walked, as though he barely had the strength to pull it. "I am the Beast King's witness," he said with a sigh. "I witness a Lady attacking two Golds. Fall back, or he has cause to intervene." The dragon's shrieking laughter pierced the forest. "And who are you?" "Underlady," he said, "believe me when I say that I am no one at all." Her eyes narrowed, and she took him in from the tips of the horns to the bottom of his time-worn cloak. She bared fangs. Then more. "No," she said at last. "I will not bow to you. Nor even to your master." With a sweep of her sword, she whipped a rush of liquid flame at Yerin. Yerin had expected it all along. Together, she and her Blood Shadow both launched a Rippling Sword at the incoming Striker technique. The Blood Shadow's technique did about as much good as a kitchen knife against a tree. Her own wave of silver energy crashed into the flow of orange flame. But the Underlady's technique, like a river of fire bursting through a dam, pushed right through. Yerin met the madra with the flat of her master's blade. It pulsed with the power of her Enforcer technique; though it felt like pushing against an ocean's tide and the heat of molten metal all at once, she gritted her teeth and braced herself. Mercifully, the onslaught ended, leaving smoke rising from her arms— singed again—and her madra dangerously low. She'd stopped it. The green-horned man watched the whole thing with flat, dead eyes. "Remember you said that, Sopharanatoth." Yerin guessed that was the dragon.

Yerin's spirit trembled as another powerful soul was unveiled somewhere on the island. Yerin couldn't put a name to its advancement level, but it felt impossibly ancient. Then the mammoth rose over the trees and raised its trunk, trumpeting into the sky. She could see it mostly as a pile of fur in the distance; it looked like a mountain's pet dog. The stranger pointed in that direction. "My friend was listening. He's not happy." The golden Thousand-Mile Cloud rushed in as though blown on a storm's wind. Two Truegold dragons dropped from it, right in front of Sopharanatoth. "Sophara," one said. "We have to leave." The mammoth blasted another note. "We have to leave right now." The Underlady raised her sword again, but was tackled by her retainers. She struggled against them, and though she could surely overpower them if she tried, they managed to wrestle her onto a smaller Thousand-Mile Cloud. "Skysworn!" she howled. "I will come for you! Your Empire cannot protect you! You cannot hide from me!" She kept wailing as the cloud carried her into the sky. When she vanished, the giant Thousand-Mile Cloud started to slide away. It moved quickly, for something so huge. Yerin took a deep breath of relief as the pressure was lifted, letting herself be soothed by the Truegold madra flowing through her. Mercy looked to her, and then to the newcomer. "Hi!" she said brightly. "I'm Mercy."