ã€ŠThe Last Cycle: Genesisã€‹


 Chapter 1 Paterniel

    Year 370 since Upheaval, first month - Garn

    Dull gray sky. It stretches endlessly, a sight ingrained into my eyes over many years. I wish for the day to stay like that, uneventful and bland but that sluggish thing would disagree. In the distance a mountain moves. How many of my creations will die today? The plainstretching before us is monotonous mirroring the sky, with patches of mostly violet and some black grass scattered through the largely level ground. We are gathered near a cluster of hills with siege engines on top dragged there with some difficulty by my beast-type crystalborn of both air and ground. Scholars of Vantium designed the now strategically placed siege engines¡ªmade out of painfully slow-to-carve stonewood. They are works of art and will throw cottage-sized boulders for hundreds of strides at the approaching big thing. In the end, I fear the result will be as if someone threw amaranth petals at me.

    Some of my progeny wear the armor of alamarium, reflecting dim pewter light. It was always prized metal by humans for strength and durability. The experience of the wearer is revealed in scratches and slight dents although most of it is earned from friendly skirmishes during practice in the arena or one of many gymnasiums. Few had their armor annealed while battling far smaller beasts than the one approaching us today.

    Most don''t bother with heavy armor valuing mobility instead and wearing leather vambraces and greaves embossed with triquetra or symbols venerating the goddess of war: crossed swords, axes, and shields.

    Almost none wear perfect shiny armor and for some reason, I prefer it that way since it gives an army a certain rough appeal.

    Their large rectangular shields are another matter. Contrasting the rest of their gear, shields are flawless, without any scratches, and polished containing fractions of symbols and parts of lines. Each has a pebble-sized blue crystal in its center.

    The mindless thing is looming towards us from the west while we wait patiently. We are an army of tall, short, ground-bound, winged, and even some water-type kindred, all ready to die for one another and for the Five Cities.

    I can see the beauty in my most fearsome-looking creations but I find none in the approaching abomination. It is vicious, as humans would say,''''malice-made flesh''''with limbs of long impossibly thick pillars that carry it forward, making the ground cry. Its disturbingly arm-like forelegs have three fingers, each thicker than a horse''s chest, that end in yellowish claws dirtied by mud and stone.

    Waiting hits my creations the hardest, but patience is everything.

    Grunts of it can be heard like the distant rumbling of thunder with each of its steps giving the ground a heartbeat. Soon, the sound is getting stronger making me feel like the soil could start to fracture.

    Now!My thoughts race in a flurry of commands, all issued mentally. It begins with ballistae, trebuchets, and scorpions spewing large spears and boulders at the thing¡ªsome of which even manage to pierce its skin. Behemoth''s roar is an eternity of anger released in moments. As boulders scar the sky, tens of thousands are abandoning their hiding and three large divisions are formed.

    The middle formation, which forms a rectangle shape, is made of those possessing minds of their own and are therefore not controlled by me directly. Most are bipedal and of roughly humanoid shape, their task is the hardest, to stand their ground and stop that thing from advancing any further.

    Thousands of unsentients, mostly four or more-legged creations with horns, claws, feathers, mandibles, maws, and countless others become the extension of my hands as my will dominates them. I send those remaining two formations into a flanking maneuver, my eyes are focused on them as my thoughts race to give instinctive commands involving butchery. Ground-based ones flank and try to climb the beast, all the while biting, clawing, and tearing chunks of flesh that would mortally wound almost any animal. At the same time as I position the unfathomable legions of my Winged behind and above the large creature''s back¡ªand away from giant spears and stones cutting the air¡ªthe thing suddenly rears up on its great hind legs and stomps the ground in a miniature earthquake making many of my swarming ground attackers break away and fall off from the behemoth''s skin. Its thunderclap is followed by a torrent of dirt and bits of black and purple grass.

    Ogres, giants, beasts of air and land, many of them several times bigger than a human and still we are nothing but bugs when compared to the thing we face. The monster lifts its forward right limb and smashes it against shield formation. As the shields lock a combined image is revealed. They form a giant circle with Genesis symbols and patterns all speckled with glowing blue dots, which may seem as if scribbled from a mad scientist''s dream but there is power, there is purpose in them. Pale blue light flares and waves of energy ripple in circles above the heads and shields of my creations.The attack is blocked.As this was happening my Winged, many with riders on them, closed in. They swarm the behemoth,throwing spears, rocks, and shooting arrows. Some are even throwing themselves from their winged mounts while holding a spear, ramming it into the behemoth''s skin.

    Winged kindred are led by Kali; unrivaled in strength she is currently leading the air forces and is the army''s general. While most of my time is taken by my research, hers is the mind for logistics and war. I focus my efforts on commanding my unsentients, they have minds similar to creatures of nature and require constant guidance in battle.

    Kali circles in the air on her winged mount¡ªan enormous dragonfly. Those that fantasize about having wings often think of birds but it is the dragonfly that is unsurpassed in grace and flight prowess. The only downside is the deafening sound of its four wings which intermingles with the shouting, roaring, and screeching of her kindred below. I broke countless small crystals and gave life to many insect types but this dragonfly simply never stopped growing. It is rare but sometimes insect crystalborn grow to outsize even me. She doesn''t really need the straps which are connected to the belt around her abdomen, pinning her to the custom-made saddle, and could stay mounted while the Winged does its beautifully erratic dance in the sky. But in doing so she might hurt it with her thighs.

    Finally, she spots her opportunity and after removing her belt Kali throws herself from high above toward the behemoth''s head. While falling close to the creature''s neck she plunges her scythe and slides downwards, making a massive gash. There is an eruption of blood¡ªa crimson waterfall. As she gracefully lands the enraged behemoth sees her, and it''s about to squash her like she were a much smaller version of her mount. It is strong as a mountain range but also moves as one. Kali moves to the side slamming her scythe into the creature''s finger and throws herself on its arm. She runs the arm dragging the scythe behind her, plowing through the things skin like some human villager would do to a field. Red rain falls over most of us as the colossal beast is screaming and thrashing with agony while ceaselessly being attacked on all sides.

    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Throwing myself off my winged mount I go for the beast''s right eye. In the manner of a rock, I descend with my greatsword Pentacore held tight, ready to swing. Its eye focuses on me and with surprising speed for such a large creature, the thing makes a sudden snapping movement. Fast as a spring I drop my weapon and thrust my hands up blocking the behemoth''s maws. It is crushing me between its tree stump teeth while using a haycart-sized tongue to push me around and fails. Standing I''m lodged between its teeth, a taut blue shape of straining muscle holding its mouth open when Kali enters.

    I''m not in danger, not really, but she still followed me here and immediately upon arriving started slashing at the base of its teeth, tongue, and slashing everywhere creating a red swamp while somehow maintaining her balance. The scythe is her third hand, her movements are those of a virtuoso on their favorite instrument. Foolishly, for a blissful moment, I''m tempted to just forget our situation and watch her surprisingly elegant movements inside this sludge. Soon we are washed with the monster''s saliva and blood when suddenly the creature moves its head up to face the sky. It opens its mouth and we are swallowed.

    I see nothing, can''t move, and there is only darkness. After unceremoniously rolling in a mush I finally find myself in a warm ocean of soft wet goo. My heart beats even faster than while I held that abomination''s maw and I call for her. After an eternity I feel her presence and see the soft shine of the blue crystal near the beard of her scythe.

    ''''Are you hurt?'''' she asks with genuine concern in her voice. Blue light washes over the side of her pale purple face leaving the rest in shadows.

    ''''You know this thing can''t kill me, what were you thinking.'''' With considerable effort, I keep my voice even.

    ''''Forgive me, Maker.'''' She is always formal. I would prefer my creations to call me by name but that doesn''t sound respectful enough to their minds.

    Kali looks to the side and I think I saw something on her face in the dull crystal light. Her worry for me is completely irrational, she knows full well this beast has no chance of seriously hurting me whereas she is another matter.

    We are in a cave made of sludge. The pale blue light of her crystal is easily swallowed by darkness making this place seem an endless void. Her pure white hair which usually shines like silk now has a red tint that seems black in the dim light.

    ''''Can you cut through?'''' I ask.

    ''''I tried but it keeps reforming.''''

    Suddenly we are thrown to the side as the entire chamber of guts rolls to one side.

    ''''It is dead,'''' I say while covered in whatever this vile matter is.

    ''''My kindred never fail.''''

    ''''Don''t be modest, that neck wound you gave it made it bleed out, we should have simply moved away and waited for the thing to die.''''

    Within a short span of time, its blood turns to glass and its interior solidifies. She cuts and punches through the now glass-like substance all the while insisting that she should do this tedious work. Shards of glass are randomly flying in all directions from her terror of punches and slashes. Were she born male in some now long-gone human empire I have no doubt she would reach the pinnacle, becoming emperor on the merit of her wits alone. This is why her irrational behavior in following me inside the beast''s mouth baffles the mind.

    Humans always had a weakness for strength. Worshiping long-dead conquerors¡ªbutchers of their own kind¡ªand easily led astray. Their end is well deserved.

    Kali''s efforts finally bore fruit and light is pouring in through a small hole, fracturing and spilling all around us. Soon we are out in the beautifully fresh air and I grab her hand raising it towards the sky. Many of my creations, her kindred, are around us with sentient ones capable of speech screaming her name, while the rest roar and screech with approval.

    I turn to her, placing my hand on her shoulder. ''''Well done.'''' She can barely hear me from the cacophony. Smile dances across my face. Kali seems imperceptibly uncomfortable. Her eyes¡ªa vigorously purple expanse of all shades with a black zenith and no whites¡ªseem troubled. My sentient creations can sometimes be a mystery even to me.

    There will be time to mourn the fallen, time to collect the crystal dust, but at this moment I want everyone''s spirits raised. Five Cities are safe.

    ***

    Seven-hundred-sixty-four. I can''t stop thinking about that number. That is how many are dust now, with a myriad more injured. Most had tags or engraved armor marking their names. I should be helping collect and sort the crystal dust. What is left of many will be lost to the wind and former chaos of battle. Some scholars are drawing the parts of the behemoth''s body and taking samples while scores of their kindred smash the corpse to harvest the large crystal inside.

    Humans would laugh if they could see me right now. Sulking, brooding, being miserable over a few hundred deadfamiliars. While I was theirs thousands of my creations would perish in petty wars and I would feel nothing. My polluted mind saw it all through a fog as if I was having a lucid dream. They would simply command me to make more, always more.

    Now, none are forced to follow me or to fight for me but regardless many do it instinctively and this makes me feel even more guilty for each of my crystalborn that perishes. Sentient ones have bigger freedom of choice but the beast-types would almost all innately die for me in a heartbeat. I could command them to leave, not to fight, but I need them. I can''t stop a behemoth alone¡ªthe Southern City still bears scars from the previous attack.

    There is shouting and commotion outside. It negates the sounds coming from the crushing of the behemoth''s corpse. I get up from the table and leave the tent, with my brooding hopefully left behind.

    A hulking and brutish creature is brought in chains in front of Kali. He dwarfs many of his kindred around him. Despite his being shackled, others are wary of his mere presence. She holds a ridiculously oversized ax in her right hand. The ogre kneels in front of her accepting his fate, knowing it would be pointless to try and attack her. If anyone else was his executioner the ogre would probably rage and fight until his dying breath. Even kneeling he is slightly taller than her.

    Silence spreads as soon as Kali starts speaking. ''''There can be only one punishment for cowardice.'''' Hundreds of her kindred have gathered around her to witness the decapitation. Her cuirass is stained, almost fully covered with shiny dried behemoth''s blood, contrasting her flawlessly smooth face. Just like her kindred, she is blessed with long-lasting youth.

    I do not wait for her to even raise the vicious-looking single-bladed ax, made precisely for quick executions, before stopping this. Considering her might and desire to give the blink-fast kiss of death, to do it quickly and painlessly, I have no time for hesitation.

    ''''Enough has died today.'''' The eyes of hundreds of my creations are on me and they make room as I approach the stage. The wooden stairs grunt, protesting my stride.

    Menacing eyes, a small nose, and oversized bottom teeth; humankind would see him as a wild beast, a monster to be dispatched with no remorse. I see the beauty in all my creations¡ªtheir life is my life. I look at the ogre and see a tiny part of myself.

    Over centuries, to my boundless joy, my crystalborn have become too numerous to count, and even without my work, it would be impossible to know them all well, as much as I wish it so. Even though their numbers are vast¡ªmore than the population of a dozen large human cities combined¡ªit is still only a fraction of the numbers mankind possessed before their fall.

    ''''What is your name?'''' I ask.

    The ogre diverts his gaze. ''''Brontes...Maker.''''

    ''''Brontes you are dismissed from the army and forbidden to rejoin for the next twenty springs.'''' I look at the two guards near us. ''''Remove his chains.'''' To my often great annoyance, I''m seldom questioned and obeyed without pause, not unlike emperors of old. This is why their moments of hesitation are so unusual. After looking at Kali for a few breaths they unchain Brontes.

    Kali''s jaw tightens. Her height is matching mine and yet her presence is that of the beast we''ve slew today. Her gaze never left my face. ''''You will encourage future cowardice,'''' she whispers and then drops the heavy ax, which clamorous across the boards sending rumbling pulses through my chest.

    ''''It is easy to destroy hard---''''

    She abruptly decides to leave. Her face is replaced with slicked-back hair that ends at a level slightly above her hips. Kindred are making wide enough space for Brontes himself to walk through. Dabbler would foolishly see fear in those around her but it is reverence. More than a few bow their heads slightly as she walks by.

    Suddenly I become slightly envious of that tyrannous power that the now centuries-dead emperors had.

 Chapter 2 Anaya

    Year 415 since Upheaval (the second month - Ameth)

    My mother and father sit at my sides. I rest my hands on the table so they do not shake as the old priestess places the purple geode in my sweaty cupped palms. All the children are tested at eleven, twelve, and thirteen. The first one said I had no sign of the gift, to the great relief of my parents. She takes a sample of my saliva with a shiny wooden stick and puts it on the crystal.

    The reaction is immediate and the living light inside pulsates like a heart.

    Mom''s face is unreadable, and my father turns pale. ''''This means nothing,'''' he says. ''''The test is wrong...no, your test is wrong.''''

    The old woman throws a fleeting but compassionate look at him. Her gaze mostly doesn''t leave the geode. ''''Master Bolormaa your daughter is blessed by the Goddess.''''

    He stands up and speaks with a voice that is barely composed and close to a whisper, ''''You can take my daughter after you kill me. Go back to your temple, bring some soldiers with you for all I care, you can''t take her.'''' Father never thinks much before speaking. I wonder, is it his pride or the love of me that drives him now. Possibly a mixture.

    Before the priestess can reply Mother is calm and dignified. She stands up and takes my father''s hand. As befitting a crystalcrafter, his hands were always stone steady when they needed to be; only making slight delicate movements, and always under his complete control. Now they are anything but. His profession enabled our family a good life on top of a southern moss: one of the colossal rock formations littering the city and the canyon floor beyond; with often flat tops that mostly feature a sprawl of flush-roofed homes, temples, public gardens, and other buildings of white and gray stone.

    ''''John we should rejoice, there is no greater honor than serving the city and the Goddess.'''' My mother sounds less than enthusiastic. She always dominated her emotions but her eyes show glimpses of fear as her breathing speeds up. Olive skin graced with barely a few lines, pale brown eyes outlined with kohl and resembling those of a fierce yet gorgeous huntress from one of the manuscripts I''ve read, coal black hair, and rosebud-shaped lips, which are just like mine, reasonably make me think my mom is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She wears a simple white sleeveless tunic made of linen with bright yellow borders. Under her bust, cord belt reins in the garment.

    My mother suffered through two miscarriages before having me and the fact she keeps her composure at this moment is quite admirable. Sadly, these last few moments seem to have aged her somehow.

    ''''How can you say this Lana, we are to lose our only child and you talk about honor.''''

    ''''She will see you once a month, Master Bolormaa. Your family will be privileged and venerated.'''' Priestess Aleera almost chides him. She has more than a few lines on her face but her brown eyes are pleasingly clear for a woman of her age. Her hair is all gray but long and well-kept; it spills across the top of her brown robes. Like the rest of her holy sisters and brothers, she honors the Goddess by wearing it long. Male priests often grow a beard instead. On many of our statues, the Goddess is portrayed as an imperious woman with lengthy luscious free-falling tresses. Great look for the statues but a nightmare for sculptors. Her iron triquetra necklace is probably hidden under the spotless brown cloth.

    ''''To the Void with your privilege, you have my answer.'''' He was never overly religious like mom is or how most people we know are.

    ''''Priestess, may my husband and I discuss this in private. These are truly blessed news however all of our emotions are in the air now, and we need time to compose and talk.''''

    ''''Certainly. We are not animals; take your time. In the next few days visit me in the temple, we have much to talk about. There are still months before the start of her studies.'''' She picks up the still pulsating geode, stick, and the rest of her equipment. After saying goodbye to my mother, she moves to leave, but before finally doing so, she tells us not to talk to anyone about the test or its results. Father didn''t even bother to look at her.

    My parents fight throughout the rest of the day and a good chunk of the night but eventually, Mother''s composure prevails. Irritatingly, even though I was the subject of their bickering, I was never consulted for my input.

    Later, and after some comforting words of wisdom and warning from my mom, they are finally left for bed. Allowing me to unobtrusively climb to the flat roof of our home and gaze up for a heartbeat or two. I remember never being able to stare at it for as long as other kids did.

    Sol is blanketing Lodestar with its comforting red light. I always do this when I can''t sleep. I lie down and close my eyes as the red orb gives me a warm feeling under my skin.

    A small thought nags at me about how there was something strange regarding Mom. At first, there was the understandable anguish, same as with Father, but during our last conversation, she seemed almost relieved.

    Fruitlessly I try to catch a dream or two while in the distance I hear dogs barking and¡ªif I really focus¡ªthe faint and pleasant humming of waterfalls falling over the edges of our moss a few hundred paces to the north.

    ***

    Same year. Eighth month - Citar.

    A giant snake is in front of my home. Its six feathered wings, spaced at equal intervals, are weirdly folded as it lies half-coiled on the ground. It doesn''t constantly move its tongue in and out as its much smaller animal cousins would.

    My parents have a mixture of feelings, they know we will see each other once every forty days and we had plenty of months to say goodbye but I am to be raised away from home on Academy grounds¡ªan unknown place I never visited and only heard and read about.

    Mom packs me a little too many spare clothes, food, a few tokens of home are thrown in, and even some dried beef. All in all, I''m fairly certain I have enough supplies in my satchel to traverse the Wastes and back.

    ''''Anna, remember what we talked about,'''' my mother whispers in my ear as she hugs me.

    Father has trouble standing. ''''Whatever happens, come back to us girl.'''' He seems to have difficulty breathing, and my mother puts her firm hand on his shoulder. It helps, slightly improving his bearing. My father hugs me and after looking at me one last time with brown watery eyes he turns to leave. Without saying another word he trudges toward the house. Father is afraid that if he looks back he won''t be able to let me go.

    ''''John!'''' My mother reaches toward him to make him stay but then relents. He slowly closes the door behind him, unable to even glance back. He seemed so pale.

    ''''Go, girl.'''' My mother''s face is made of the same stone as many statues of the First Daughter Theia are. Nevertheless, forcing those words out seems to have taken a lot out of her.

    I will not make this more difficult than it needs to be. Besides, Aleera is already occupying the front saddle. I trace my fingers over the triquetra pendant Mother gave me. Feigning not to hesitate, I turn to stride toward the Winged.

    As I sit in the saddle behind, Aleera dismounts and places a thick belt around my tunic to which she then attaches multiple straps connected to the saddle. She checks the bonds numerous times, yanking the straps and readjusting the belt.

    ''''Thank you hallowed sister,'''' I say.

    Aleera grins at that. ''''Just sister or Sister Wellamo is fine.'''' She didn''t talk much with my parents and I''m thankful to her for giving us a decent amount of time for the final goodbyes. She is wearing a simple brown woolen tunic, with black gloves and a darker shade turquoise scarf with rolled edges and loose weave¡ªdespite the mild weather. ''''Hold the horn with both hands at all times.''''

    I simply nod.

    ''''And do not kick with your legs, just enjoy the view.'''' Her confident voice is reassuring.

    I take a deep breath. ''''I understand, sister.''''

    Aleera grabs the reins and secures herself in her own saddle¡ªshe has only one bag with her, firmly tied to the side. After I attach the satchel to the right of mine, her heels tap two times at the snake''s flanks, and it moves its large sinewy body slowly upwards while unfurling long narrow wings.

    As we are about to take off a sense of dread takes me but not for the fear of heights. Since around my ninth year, I have rarely left my home. When I was very little there was a boy about my age that liked to mock my red hair and would often pull it. Eventually, I had enough so I punched him and accidentally broke a few of his ribs. After telling my mom what happened I wasn''t allowed to play with other kids anymore. Luckily for me, the boy claimed he fell, ashamed to admit a girl beat him up. She nicely instructed me to always be gentle and to not speak of what truly happened to anyone ever. Mom can be very convincing but it wasn''t her stern hand that frightened me the most, it was the look in her eyes. She would tell me, ''''If you want to keep a secret say it in a graveyard.'''' I never saw that type of fear in her before that¡ªdeep and terrifying.

    I will be so close to them and yet in another world. I am scared.

    After a few breaths, we are airborne. Dried dark red leaves and swaying purple grass mark our ascendance.

    I continue to wave and gaze toward my home for a few more moments and then the city spills around us. We are soaring higher, immediately picking up speed. Soon after taking the skies the true chill of autumn is revealed and I''m grateful for my cozy, double-layered, woolen cloak. It is a large thick blanket folded into a cloak. I wrap it around me.

    The air tickles my face as we slowly rise. My grip on the horn instinctively tightens.

    The full view of Lodestar plasters my eyes as it nests in the middle of a massive canyon. The city''s outline is heavily elongated from north to south.

    The canyon floor is wide. It would take an adult from the first morning light until about midday to walk the Valley from side to side at a leisurely pace.

    In the very center of Lodestar, there is a colossal colorful pillar. Even from this distance, it is easy to spot. I''ve only seen it up close once a few years back but the memory is still clear. Its entire surface is carved with a painted frieze that spirals around it, showing the Goddess and her daughters. Goddess herself appears dozens of times in the form of a regal and serious woman''s face. Interestingly, I remember those large faces well because they are left unpainted. I think some strange symbols are around them. Theia, the First Daughter, is easily recognizable by holding a spear and a sword, while her divine sister Acrona has the slightly different battle gear of rich fields, strangely painted green, with joyful children and familiars scattered near her.

    The pillar marks the largest public space in the whole city: Senate Plaza. There are scores of worshipers around its base which slowly fade from view as we fly southeast.

    Far above the peak of the giant pillar, an indomitable red orb of light blissfully gives out its shine. During the day Sol''s impact is underwhelming but at night it can even hurt the eyes to look upon directly as it blankets the city with its red hue. Our clergy preaches that it is a tiny piece of Allmother''s divine body put there to bless and protect the canyon until the end of time. I prefer to think Sol is the hazy sun''s offspring.

    Anyway; even though our beautiful small sun is so high above the city, some grandmaster at the Academy calculated, to the slight displeasure of the clergy, that it still only shines at the height that is about the middle of the general depth of the canyon.

    During the day the air above the city is always swished and swooshed with winged familiars carrying, hauling, transporting, relocating, delivering, or simply revolving around Sol in long curves and ellipses. They are harmless, docile beasts of mane, feather, horn, scale¡ªjust like our current companion¡ªand I don''t know what else. There are consistently at least a few, and sometimes a throng of Winged circling Sol. Winged familiars, like their ground brethren, are drawn to the light of Sol, and even at night, there are always dozens of them flying around the small sun. At this distance, they remind me of tiny flies around a small clump of real fruit on my kitchen table.

    Everywhere I look Lodestar spans with its jumble of buildings, temples, and large circular plazas where there is always an occasional orator speaking to an eager small crowd of supporters; using the steps of some temple as their podium.

    A good few senators would pay a small group of people to follow them and listen to their speeches. These paid followers would serve as a starting point for other citizens to gather and hear the loquacious words of the speaker. Crowds attract crowds.

    All plazas are on the ground level. Loved by the public and merchants; they often have a fountain, or decorative pillar with a vividly painted statue on top, at their center. Splattered across them, singing and dancing troupes of mummers and street musicians often jostle for the best places to perform and earn some hex.

    If I focus enough, even obelisk-like quadrangular water towers become clearly visible. With their filled square tops, the ignored towers enable fountains to have their erupting glory.

    Far above ground level, carpeting the sprawling flat top of a moss to the east of mine, there are public gardens whose striking colors of dark-red flowers and purple grass mix with the white stone of the buildings and the pale imposing reddishness of the rock they sit on. Small waterfalls cascade from the sides of these and most other mosses into collection tanks or directly into ground channels. These channels are not very numerous but they cut the tissue of the city into large blocks of white buildings that sprawl endlessly northwards, consuming the horizon.

    Many of these flat-topped hills of rock dominate the landscape. Most are of an irregular shape with none being exactly the same. To me, the most unusual mosses have two or three wide column-like formations, each of different thickness, supporting impossibly large rocks with buildings on their flat tops. And even more structures, homes, taverns, and shops are hidden from view on ground level¡ªhuddled in the space created by these nature-made columns.

    Almost all mosses are connected with long white sky-bridges, which seem fragile when compared to the looming mosses, despite being more than wide enough for several sizable carts to be moving next to each other. The sky-bridges are smooth and strong but are relatively rarely used and mostly by younger people and merchants that live on mosses. Winged transportation is omnipresent, kinda cheap, and favored by the elderly. For large cargo the tedious ground route is possible.

    Almost directly below us and slightly to the right I can see one of many unassuming cubical castella. The settling tank is three times taller than an adult. I''ve seen most of Lodestar only in the form of pictures and maps¡ªalthough my moss gave me an excellent view of the southern area¡ªand castella are seldom depicted.

    It really is grimeworthy that my best view of the city comes as I''m forced to abandon it.

    On the western sweeps of Lodestar¡ªoccupying almost the entire top of the large western moss¡ªI can see a violet smudge. Ariadne Garden is an intricate maze of violet hedges. Literally labyrinthine swirling pathways have walls that are supposedly head taller than an adult, leading to an adorable fountain smack in the center. I had a sketch of its supposedly easy-to-get-lost passages which was easy to solve. Granted, my perspective was superior to that of someone surrounded by violet barricades. Despite concentrating, the individual rows are indistinguishable at this distance. I hoped to visit it someday.

    My neck starts to ache but I can''t stop myself from continuously looking behind.

    Directly ahead of us and far below, I can see the full void-sized scope of Allmother''s temple with spots of human flesh entering, exiting, swirling, jostling, praying outside, burning incense, bringing offerings, and children playfully climbing the bottom steps. Considering Lodestar is given to our chosen ancestors by the Goddess herself, the supply of the faithful is never short.

    Most temples are made of marble with triangular pediments holding heavily decorated tympanums that are always stacked with statues or sculptures. Statues are often depicting naked human forms in dramatic poses, and wicked-looking battle familiars¡ªall of it coated in predominantly red, blue, and scores of mostly bright colors.

    Temple sculptures I''ve seen in manuscripts often showed scenes of many-sailed ships on irate, gray-black waves. On others, our holy ancestors are shown holding hands, with lavish green plants I don''t recognize and thick-leafed branches spread all around them.

    Below the tympanums, vividly painted friezes in shades of vermilion red and ultramarine blue, float just above the elegant marble columns that are sometimes left white with only the top ends having a dark purple color.

    Temples of Theia have columns that are half coated in red with her painted statue on top of the pediment¡ªwhile horses, lions, or mean-looking war crystalborn flank her at the far edges. Acrona''s columns are blue. Her colorful statue is often flanked with palmettes or purple statues of artificial plants with spiraling tree barks and serpentine-shaped trunks.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    I''ve heard Allmother tends to have the most imposing temples and I do not question that even for half a heartbeat as Aleera and I fly directly above the cluster of painted marble. In a breath, we stream above the large white steps flanked with tall embankments of pure gleaming marble, and then above the five-men-high dark purple statue of the Goddess, placed at the apex of the pediment¡ªher daughters stand eternal watch at the corners.

    As we are about to leave the last vestiges of the city''s periphery, our snake increases its speed. In no time at all, we fly just beyond the outskirts. Smoke-gray maple groves and magenta thickets are mostly found lining the main roads, while violet grass carpets most of the soil close to Lodestar.

    For most of its extent, the Valley''s surface is overall flat¡ªat least that''s what they teach in common school. My parents paid for the tutors to come to our house so I can be homeschooled. Mother said it''s for the best since that way I can learn more. And I did. I rarely sleep, so at night I used the light of Cobalts or Ambers to read and do my assignments. I would put a bed sheet or old clothes at the bottom of the door so my parents couldn''t notice the light.

    My head hurts. I''ve overused it again.

    In the end, our flight should only cover roughly a quarter of Valley''s length. From here sides of the canyon floor appear dark purple to black and are dense with mostly Violet Breaker-made trees and shrubs. Some trees within the city, or edging the outskirts, don''t discard their leaves even now during the days of late autumn.

    The snake slows down our flight, for a few breaths at least, and I smell the wispy hints of dry crispy spicy aroma coming from the soil far below.

    I''ve never ridden a Winged before and my heart, naturally, wishes to leap out of its cage. A little smile sneaks up on me, and immediately I feel guilty for some reason. The view offers a welcome distraction as I glance at scores of scarcely noticed bridleways. They remain mostly unused, but for a crystalborn rider or two¡ªthrowing dirt and dust far ahead of us.

    Below and to my left, one of the four tentacular waterways converges with the outskirts of the city. Starting high at the sides of the cliffs and then feather-gently descending, the four large waterways diagonally converge towards Lodestar with each ending its long journey at the tallest four mosses in the outskirts. Extensive waterways provide water for most of the mosses, baths, fountains, senatorial villas, and for a decent chunk of well-off people while wells and sprawling underground cisterns, with creamy lime-plastered stone vaulting, provide the drinking water for the majority of city folk. I''ve read too much useless nonsense.

    The plentiful water never stops flowing.

    This waterway to my left is the southeastern one and is quite pleasing to the eye. A nimble succession of continuous arches forms the white arcade with the channel crowning the top.

    The Valley is no different from Lodestar when it comes to thirst. An extensive network of irrigation canals¡ªsometimes hugged by hamlets¡ªcarries the lifeblood needed to feed its purple heart. The biggest ones are used for coal transport from further south, the ocean''s bounty from the north, and carrying supplies. The largest and strongest Gray-made water familiars sometimes pull narrow transport ships and boats.

    All the canals in the Valley completely rely on the only two rivers in it. At least I think they are rivers, they might be giant channels or something. Anyway, these two river-channels are at the bottom of the cliffs, basically marking the eastern and western border of the long valley.

    My mom once said the water in the Valley is so plentiful that some farmers living in one of the small settlements scarcely doting the canyon floor use it to wash their cattle with buckets.

    ''''Hold on girl.'''' Aleera''s voice is half-diminished by the wind hitting my ears. She gently pulls on the reins for a few breaths. The winged snake lowers our height for just a fraction of its body length, and, as my grip on the saddle horn increases, I question my earlier confidence.

    In the distance far in front of us, down below, I can see a few slender lines of smoke. It comes from those small settlements that barely pass as villages. I throw an awkward glance to the north¡ªSol''s light grows evermore obscure.

    Most of our flight has passed and I can already see some of the supposedly striking shapes of the facade¡ªa blurry part of a somewhat rectangular silhouette really, with no discernible details at this distance.

    After about three-quarters of our journey, the face of the eastern cliff dominates the view. It¡ªjust like its western twin¡ªis about two miles high and more vertical in the tall upper reaches while the bottom area is often slightly thicker and more rugged as the escarpment slopes downwards. The lengthy cliff has thousands of, mostly small, waterfalls gushing out of its face. The biggest and the lower ones often break upon the rock until the water flows into the eastern river-channel.

    The rock is throwing up water by the voidloads. Although this is not so noticeable in all the places due to the size and scope of the cliff. The sound waterfalls make is mildly annoying¡ªirritable background noise chafing my left ear. I put my face fully against the oncoming wind, allowing its loud whispers to kill the annoying sound of the crashing water.

    Some of the waterfalls are so high that the water slowly turns into mist, never reaching the far bottom. The mist forms into random patches of pure white clouds¡ªslowly spreading, and swirling above the channel.

    The eastern river-channel meanders and follows the uneven bottom of the cliff. This channel, created by the countless waterfalls, itself ends up becoming a huge cataract as it spills at the northern extreme of the Valley, into Alldora far below.

    To my left and slightly below our height, a small barely visible rainbow hugs the palest reaches of a mist cloud before disappearing into nothingness. To my right, the distant western cliff is just an endless fat line. It appears smooth from this distance. The two of them confine the Valley.

    The landscape of the canyon floor is growing into uneven terrain of sharp-peaked hills, tors, and buttes, all possessing every imaginable shade of rust red and pale orange. Their scant ornamentations are occasional dark purple or black shrubs, and gray wildflowers. However, I have seen scores of Violet-made trees and even a few natural ones in this area. The air here is less heavy than the one in the city. I resist the urge to look back again.

    The snake''s graceful white-with-red-trim wings make the occasional sound of a distant drumbeat. The scaly creature uses winds sparingly, making us smoothly glide for most of our journey so far. It bizarrely reminds me of the golden-colored water familiar in a fountain near my home. Sudden, long, crestfallen breath escapes me. Anyway, the cat-sized glimmering fish was an arrow-fast part of the water as it cut and slid through it with no effort at all. This flying snake is like that golden fish: completely in its element.

    Aleera and I almost reached our destination. She pulls the reins, making us slowly descend as our six-winged friend begins its spiral landing.

    In the distance below I see a few minor irrigation and drainage canals, fountains, and pools. The area seems opulent with water, but it¡¯s not very lush.

    This region of the canyon floor makes the rest of the Valley seem flawlessly flat. Our slow descent is greeted with narrow and wide passages, hills, and columns of pure irregular rock; as if the rage of Alldora¡¯s immense waves got suddenly petrified to form the landscape, and then: chiseled by Allmother herself, pummeled by rock rain, and finally painted red, with each stratum having a unique tint of silver gray, buff, soft green, golden yellow, and every shade of pink. Closer to ground level, thin layers of violet, swarthy turquoise, brown, dark gray, and hints of the wealthy deep blue of lapis are stacked upon one another in an eternal embrace. I see wide open areas of nothing but stone, scattered gymnasiums, buttes, irregular towers of rock, circular fountains, and columnated streets winding through a mess of craggy hills. There is order in this chaos of a landscape.

    I can see several rock formations with half-shimmering flat tops, here and there, used for charging the crystals. They call it lightbathing. Emptied crystals are placed in bathtub-like vessels which have mirrors of polished bronze on the inside. The light of the pale sun gets focused on the crystals making them charge faster. There are a few dark-blue clad figures at the top of a tower-shaped formation, collecting the fully-charged Cobalts. An equal number of small winged familiars are nearby, awaiting for their riders.

    For a creature with no legs, the landing was surprisingly soft. I unbuckle myself and get the satchel before jumping off the saddle.

    ''''You''ll sprain your ankle like that.'''' Aleera reminds me of my grandfather. He would often make such comments and then wonder why my mom doesn''t even bother to rein me in. She adjusts her hair and tunic after gently dismounting.

    ''''It was a long ride and I wanted to be off the saddle.'''' I smile nicely at her.

    ''''It would be much longer on most other Winged. Nibbles is fast.'''' She pats the side of the giant snake. I''m not going to bother commenting on that name. ''''Long ago future students would take the ground route.'''' She looks up at the Academy''s facade for a few moments and then exhales. ''''Let''s go, girl.''''

    The ground route would have taken all day. I am thankful for the flight.

    My eyes run northward for a few heartbeats. I was never this far from home. At this level, I cannot see very far and even Sol, which at this distance should appear as a pretty speck of pale red light, is obscured by a craggy landscape.

    I stop following Aleera for a few moments and look up. Hair-swaying facade of the Academy reaches upwards for close to a third of the cliff¡¯s height.

    The facade¡¯s width seems to be about half its height.

    Strangely, the first thing that stands out to me is the two long banners almost flanking the carved structure. They are made of black nanilu cloth¡ªportraying the Academy¡¯s emblem: a greatly stylized phoenix about to take flight. The mythical creature has its left side dyed violet and right in iron gray. According to my mother¡¯s friend, our neighbor Mistress Imani Aebutius, this fabric is strong, durable, and expensive to make. Imani has a cousin that studied at the Academy and was more than helpful in answering many of my annoying and my mother¡¯s anguishing questions. If one threw mud at the banner, if one could throw that far and high, it would simply slide off it; together with the thrower¡¯s arm. Not even a drop of rain gets absorbed. I¡¯ve also read that nanilu is difficult and slow to manufacture. There is a unique artificial¡ªsome elderly might say familiar¡ªtree, with pear-shaped fruit that has long fibers at the bottom, resembling strands of fine hair. Since nothing can be wasted, the nasty-tasting fruit is thrown to the pigs. Strands are painstakingly woven together to create nanilu. Supposedly it can stop a steel blade. Only one such tree exists and no other Violet Breaker managed to replicate it. They say it is better guarded than some senators.

    My father would have to work for decades to afford the cloth making just one of those banners, while every Breaker gets their own, custom-tailored, pure nanilu, long-sleeved shirt, and stirrup pants, for free, after graduating. Both garments blacker than Void¡¯s butthole.

    I speed up my pace. Above the height of the banners, and occupying a central position of the uppermost reaches in the vast facade, there is a carved triquetra. Near the end of each point of the triquetra there are large spherical indentations in the stone¡ªeach giving away its own fleck of light. The top point houses a crystal that must be large but it appears a mere dot of pale lilac light, at this distance. The bottom left houses a red crystal, with the last interlaced arc pointing at blue. Being regularly exposed to pale sunlight, the three of them are always charged.

    My father has illuminated manuscripts, bought and more often borrowed, with notations and illustrations of many familiars, art, palaces, or structures of note. He says they help inspire him in his work. A decent amount of these was related to this obscenely large face of the Academy.

    Below the triquetra, which I''m fairly certain can be seen all the way from the other side of the canyon, and within the confines of the triangular tympanum, there is a sculpture¡ªa bizarre collection of spiraling naked forms. Not to be undone, and following the common theme of the facade of everything being colossal in scale, the tympanum has almost the width of the triquetra. Hundreds of naked human figures, each in prime youth and shape, emerge out of sharp swirling clouds. It''s hard to say whether the figures are terrified or excited. In the manuscript pictures, some seemed serious while others were mostly indifferent. The sculpture has an overall helical shape. Even the bodies of mostly half-emerging people are following the prevailing helical pattern.

    It is hauntingly pretty, although I''d prefer it to have more than just one color. If I said such thoughts aloud mom would clip me on the head. ''''The design of the Goddess is never to be questioned,'''' she would say. Our chosen ancestors held the entire canyon, including the structures within, in the highest reverie. Of course, over centuries some slight modifications and changes were necessary but only after a lot of fervent discussions. I once overheard Father jokingly say how you can''t dig a shithole without the Senate debating about it. Again an image of my mom taping me on the head emerges.

    Just below the tympanum, there is a frieze stretching from side to distant side of the facade. Depicting lightly armored human figures with axes, spears, and sledgehammers; while with them are familiars: Ground and Winged, possessing sword-like teeth and scythes for claws. The portrayal is a bit much. It is a scene of battle, although the enemy is not depicted, only corpses and body parts. I''ve read that the carved line of decoration is several times larger than an adult. This was probably done so their details are not lost due to the vast distance and scope of the facade. Sadly, it seems to me even these masterful details get somewhat lost within the scope of the structure. Some long-dead writers and painters no doubt used their Winged to acquire all this knowledge.

    It is a little disappointing that there are no pleasing and large letters formally stating, ''''The Breaker Academy.''''

    The enormous facade is as daunting as it is breathtaking; I feel as if it might consume me at any moment. It may be grand in its design and scope but I don''t like its unpainted surface. That pinkish-red color dominates, making the entire vast structure seem dull.

    For some reason, Aleera is smiling at me. ¡åCome along now, girl, rushy-rush.¡å I haven¡¯t even noticed that I¡¯ve stopped walking.

    We approach the bridge-like structure, spanning the wide river-channel. The beginning and the end of the bridge are a seamless continuation of the stone beneath our feet. There are many bridges like it strewn at equal intervals. Red-cloaked guards are on both flanks. I heard that their toil can be mostly ceremonial and that the Academy sometimes uses guard duty as a form of discipline. These two don''t seem to be students. From the way they stand and hold their spears, I assume they are trained soldiers. They simply nod to Aleera as we stride past them without asking about our business.

    We pass about a third of the bridge, and Aleera, always thoughtful, answers what I wished to ask. ¡åThey belong to Crimson Guard and are sentinels of this place,¡å she pauses for a moment, a somber look grabs her eyes, ¡åamong other things.¡å

    I can''t stop staring at the oversized carved monster in front of us. ''''Are there many?''''

    Aleera almost laughs. ''''Yes, girl. They are in a sense a small army of the Academy. Officially these soldiers owe their allegiance to the Senate but in reality, they answer only to the person at the top of this landmark institution.''''

    As we are crossing the almost three-armspans-wide bridge a pleasant mild wind dandles us. I''m surprised it can even be windy at all considering all the rocks and obstacles around.

    High above and to the right of the great facade I can see small shapes of about four Winged which slowly disappear out of sight as their forms merge with the cliff''s face.

    A strange sound, barely noticeable, draws my attention down at the channel. There is something in the water. ''''What is that?'''' I nod to my left.

    Aleera glances at the water for a moment. ''''Probably a sea serpent. One of those guards is pretending to be an ordinary soldier. Come, girl.''''

    I don''t quite understand, but I''ve already slowed her enough. My march quickens until l catch up with Aleera.

    After crossing the bridge, the large courtyard of stone greets us. I''m surprised at how pristine and flat the area appears. There are chips and cracks in places but overall: it''s smooth.

    ''''Why didn''t we land much closer?'''' I ask.

    ''''This is the Academy''s courtyard. Most enter through one of the bridges. They have a certain etiquette of behavior here, you should be mindful to adhere to it during your studies.''''

    I simply nod, not wishing to bother her with too many questions. There was time for me to get some research done but the Academy is known for being secretive. Regardless, many things were known about this place but people simply chose not to speak of it aloud.

    In the distance to my left, I can see a large cart pulled by a Gray-made four-legged familiar, considerably bigger than a cow; supposedly bringing supplies to this place. Soon a figure in a dark blue robe approaches it.

    Ahead of us, one object dominates the courtyard. The statue of Teshub Lartia, the Academy''s semi-legendary founder, and a renown Breaker. His domineering likeness stands in the center of this vast rectangular courtyard. He is recognized as the first chairman of the Academy and was supposedly allowed to have dozens of battle crystalborn at his command. The statue is made of khar-nogoon rock and it is strangely unadorned. No small crystals in the eye sockets, nor a drop of added color, only the natural dark and pale green shades. Countless delicately thin and some fatter lines, each having their own distinct greenish hue, diagonally cross the statue from head to distant base¡ªthe sides of which are carved with beasts. I assume these were some of his crystalborn. My home could comfortably fit inside that base of the statue with room to spare. Compared to those in the city, almost all of which are colorful or sometimes even clad in polished metal, it seems bland.

    About a hundred strides or more to the right of me, there is a fountain with five or six children. All dressed in matching green garments and sitting at the edge of it or on one of the benches nearby. The courtyard held many sizable semicircular benches of polished white granite, their plinths raising them slightly. The benches had sturdy-looking backrests, as tall as a man¡¯s torso. Bronze medallions depicting a phoenix graced each end. These seating areas seem countless but are mere dots in the courtyard''s wide expanse.

    Steadily rising huge gates in the middle are swallowed by the vastness of the cliff-carved structure and appear minuscule. Further at the sides, they are flanked by two smaller ones. All that space and only three entrance points? Clergy often preaches that since the Goddess made the world then even all of this would be considered nothing in comparison. A lot of nothingness. The imposing double gate in the middle is dark greenish-brown. It makes me wonder how they open and close the monstrosity. Without needing to see the beautiful interlocking grain¡ªor feel its fine texture¡ªI realize they are entirely made out of stonewood. My home, like that of so many others, has tables, chairs, bowls, and even eating utensils made out of it. Despite being commonly used it does live up to its name. At ten I tried carving my name on the kitchen table using one of my father''s tools made of steel. It took me a nice part of that morning just to carve a few decent marks in it. A shiver passes through my lower back at the mere memory of my mother''s reaction. I''ve read that the gates of the Academy are often closed except during those special days of the festival. They have carvings in them and not even a smidge of paint on their entire bulk, which I guess gives them certain simplistic beauty. Human figures are depicted in the carvings at the bottom, mostly relating to the life of the Prophet, with various Genesis symbols aligned vertically down the middle. During the festival celebrating the Second Daughter, the large gates open inwards for those wishing to pray to Acrona or bring tribute.

    The top steep curvature of the middle gates is contrasted by countless columns in front of them. Like spines of giants whose girth would put that of most trees to shame, they spread endlessly on either end. All columns are topped with ornate, inverted bell-shaped capitals, which have graceful curves of stylized motifs portraying two rows of jagged leaves from a plant that I don¡¯t recognize. The leafy curves nicely complemented the scroll-like ornaments that spiraled upward. They are fluted¡ªresembling the ribs of a starved person¡ªwith twenty-four sharp-edged shallow grooves carved into the surface of each column.

    At the end of the main rectangular courtyard, we are greeted with steps that were clearly made with no children in mind. With long strides I climb them, until reaching the clearing upon which the columns deceivingly seem to stand. Just like the rest of the facade, they are carved out of the cliff. The old priestess is often ahead of me and has a surprising lightness to her step.

    A forest of soaring, widely spaced columns, flanks us. I¡¯m unnerved at how they hauntingly disappear into the distance.

    While crossing the smaller inner courtyard, I notice we are about to be greeted with¡ªof course¡ªmore needlessly large steps, leading to the gates and the clearing in front of them. I must be blind.

    I pause after noticing the gates are flanked by two large beasts. On my left, there is a black panther far bigger than any dog I¡¯ve seen. Its pale blue eyes are gorgeous but that means little to my rampaging heart. The right side of the gates is occupied by a short but long creature made of spikes. Its snout ends up in a forearm-sized horn with smaller ones being jutted all over its scaly back. Its front legs are comically short¡ªshorter even than its fat neck. The most terrifying is its tail, basically a cudgel overflowing with pointed tips. Yet it seems so peaceful as it lies on its belly, with that mean tail coiled around as if it were a kitten.

    Near each of the beasts is one strange-looking guard. Both are garbed in black, clasping their hands behind their straight backs and looking forward. The two beasts just sit and lie peacefully, barely even noticing us.

    Aleera regards me with comforting eyes. ''''Are you scared, girl?''''

    ''''Yes.'''' There wasn''t much pondering about answering that question honestly. Claws from one of the creatures appear to be made of curved daggers. Obviously, I have seen familiars in their many endless shapes but I don''t remember ever seeing a battle familiar. Maybe years back during a triumph or if a Winged one flew close to my moss but I can''t really remember.

    ''''Don''t be. They are as much a threat to you as a fly.'''' She said it so nonchalantly like there was no greater truth in the world.

    As we move toward the right side of the large gates and the small doors within it¡ªme moving with wobbly steps¡ªI notice one of the guards has intricate tattoos near his throat. I freeze.

    A Black Breaker.

    A few moments pass and I realize, embarrassingly, that I was staring, my reverie broken only by a gentle tap on the shoulder from Aleera.

    We reach the corner of the gates, in front of the tall door embedded in its right side. As we are finally about to enter the Academy''s depths, my gut gives birth to a vortex.

 Chapter 3

    Northwest of the southern river city of Vedenemo there is a tranquil town of sloped roofs, well-built wooden cottages, purple hedges, narrow streets, and a small park littered with birch trees, one oak, and a few maples. Town of Carcassona. A town of blacksmiths, shepherds, poets, sculptors, painters, carpenters, farmers, and other kindred that enjoy a more peaceful life than the one in the Five Cities. Its inhabitants are strange creatures of mostly human-like shape that use pale sunlight as sustenance.

    All wooden structures are coated with a special substance that stops the wood from catching fire. Just another wondrous invention from Vantium''s scholars.

    Any crops within Carcassona''s perimeter¡ªwhether artificial or natural¡ªare used to feed the livestock which itself is used for leather, fiber, and making scentless soap from fat. Horns and bones are carved into tools such as needles, combs, and awls while sinew was formed into bow strings or used to simply bind things together. Sadly, most of the flesh gets thrown away. The best cuts are sent to Maker since only he has the ability to savor and digest them. Some of the stronger or more daring kindred have an animal pet that consumes surprising amounts of this otherwise thrown meat.

    Villages, and towns like Carcassona¡ªstrewn across the Western Equiya¡ªare the workhorses churning out vast raw materials and equipment which feed the Five Cities.

    The sun left a while back and it was all so peaceful now with only the death-quiet blue light of spherically carved crystals, attached to posts, wrestling the purest black in the modest town square. One home, in the western part of town, stood out with its flat roof and austere appearance. The pleasant cottage resembled a tiny fort and offered peace to its one townie.

    Inside, only the sound of a crackling fire is breaking the serene quiet. But the fire was alone in the middle of the room since its maker was on the roof looking up and listening to the autumn winds. Silver smoke, rising from the only chimney in the middle of the flat roof, was quickly lost to them.

    Nikolaos was gazing up at that black as if expecting the empty sky to provide an answer to his unspoken questions. Occasionally, he would pace in a chaotic pattern of a sentient kindred whose mind wanders the corridors of imagination¡ªunshackled by such trivialities as perceived laws of nature. He never liked his eyes the color of molten gold. True, the kindred possessed eye color of all tints and variations but his own was not particularly common. It was an irksome fact that would irrationally invade his mind from time to time. His self-imposed exile had the advantage of an idyllic life but living in Vantium would be far more practical.

    He continued looking up at the black carpet of the goddess. Decades ago, Maker told him that during the age of humans there were uncountable sparkling flecks spilled all across that carpet. He wondered if gazing at such an image would help or distract him when it came to his thought experiments.

    Nikolaos would sometimes ponder on how creatures such as humans that led short lives¡ªoften in primitive conditions¡ªcould have ever come up with great, remarkable ideas and concepts that made them dominate the world. Even in his ninetieth spring, with roughly a third of his life spent, he felt as though all his knowledge was close to nothing. No. Nikolaos knew he knew nothing.

    Days and nights would pass with relative ease while his mind wandered to the farthest reaches of creative thought. With almost no need to sleep, ideas would eventually become most forthcoming. Days would be spent walking on the flat roof of his small home. He found that walking helped him think. Concepts and ideas swirled and repelled each other incessantly.

    This world was deceptive. There was always an irresistible desire in Nikolaos to see through it. Sometimes quite literally. Decades ago, he researched the accounts of his underground kindred: large, sentient earthworms. They could communicate with the surface dwellers only through Maker and the earthworms spoke about strange distant vibrations, which they felt coming from the deep belly of Equiya. Nikolaos was intrigued.

    And so, to the additional scorn and ridicule of his peers, he took detailed accounts¡ªwith the help of Maker himself¡ªand marked the locations of these vibrations on a map. Then he was able to extrapolate points of interest. Often these tremors were noted in proximity to abandoned crystal mines and deep below mountains. This led him to find bizarre, often half-collapsed, tunnels. They were monumental. With only the light of crystal placed onto the end of the oak staff to guide him, Nikolaos was wandering in the rotten bowels of the world. He had theories about what created those huge tunnels, theories he could never speak aloud.

    He remembered reading hundreds of crisp-new-looking¡ªand more than a few dusty and yellowed¡ªbooks about animal physiology and behavior. Long ago there was a lizard with dark green-brown skin. This was during the time Maker and some human books claimed that Equiya''s plants and especially grass were mostly green. This greenish lizard was well adapted to its living space. In another colorful book, written around the time of Nikolaos'' birth, by one of his fellow scholars, there was a masterfully drawn picture of the same looking lizard but this one had dark purple skin with black stripes. It must have changed somehow over time to better hide. His writings on the topic of animals adapting to their environments were mostly well received, but only after years of scholarly debate.

    The theory that was not well received, however, was the one he took the most pride in, and simply couldn''t let go of. Decades of research and void-deep thinking led Nikolaos to propose the idea that if the entire world was at least somewhat larger then the force pulling down on everything would also increase. This would make it more difficult to build tall structures and the world would probably be filled with creatures that are shorter or that can just slither or crawl. Perhaps birds and those such as his flying kindred wouldn''t be able to take to the skies at all. He condensed his reasoning from reading copious amounts of scientific scrolls and volumes written by long-dead humans as well as more recent works of kindred scholars. He was laughed at when he wrote or tried to lecture about such things. ''''The world was already vast,'''' they''d say. Or, ''''It couldn''t possibly get bigger.'''' That was the problem with thought experiments, good luck proving one.

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    What really hurt more than Nikolaos will ever admit, even to himself, was that even Maker found the idea far-fetched. Maker, despite being a wise and great scholar, only truly believed in things that can be proven repeatedly. A good trait for a scholar to have but also potentially limiting.

    We are standing on the shoulders of giants. Maker was always heavily interested in uncovering the lost knowledge of the human empire and yet he does nothing to address this petty odium his kindred have toward knowledge of old.

    Occasionally, he thought about returning to Vantium¡ªa good few days of flight to the north¡ªand stopping his way of pursuing knowledge. There was always that cursed instinctive desire to belong, to be accepted by his peers. But then he wouldn''t be in his element.

    Because of his fascination with the humans, and with him often noting how most of his kindred''s language and knowledge has human roots, he became shunned by his scholarly peers. Eventually leading him to continue his work far away from the central capital. An unusual accommodation, possible only due to Maker''s intervention to allow the most precious of books to be packaged and sent far away, directly to Nikolaos.

    He released a deep sigh while spreading his fingers against the wind.

    Scarce birds and leathery-winged craklers, diminished in numbers by the autumn, were starting their secret symphonies¡ªso lost in thought Nikolaos was, he didn''t even notice. The adorable chirping of the tiny, pale red blushes, each slightly smaller than a fingernail, resonated through the crisp air of Carcassona''s melting night. Not to be outdone, a few smooth-skinned craklers, used their long, narrow, spear-pointed beaks, to rapidly click-clack, as if speaking in a secret language known only to them and others of their breed. There was also the pleasing whistling of occasional pufferpie. They resembled extremely bloated fish that can somehow levitate in the air. The dark-green floating balls even had wings that looked closer to fins than anything feathery-leathery. They were helpless and slow creatures¡ªif one ignored the fact that their flesh is highly poisonous and could melt your stomach away. A rooster could be heard in the distance proclaiming something he instinctively knew was coming.

    Murky reddish dawn, similar in shade to his red skin, was breaking the eastern horizon. The fire is probably out by now, he thought.

    Every now and then he begins to glance northward. In the distance, the scenic violet, topped with pure white snow of the Xanadu mountain range, consumes the vista. I hope the winds were kind to him. He tugged slightly at the sides of his hood¡ªprotecting his bare smooth scalp from the winds.

    There was something in the distance. A giant bird was rapidly moving toward the cottage. Welcome, old friend, he thought. He then smiled and began to wave at the oncoming regal shape.

    The sleek, air-cutting, chestnut-brown form of the feathered creature began to land gently on the roof. Nikolaos'' black with red trim silken cloak swayed and protested the gushing winds made by its mighty wings. After contracting them the large hawk lowered his head and Nikolaos roughly rubbed his fingers across the top of it.

    ''''Hope no storms were daring to come across your path.''''

    The creature straightens up, silently regarding him. Not intelligent, perhaps, but there were many forms of intelligence and Ganbold was a clever Winged nonetheless.

    Nikolaos untied the package from the hawk''s right leg. There was a metal chain on top of the box for easier hold during flight¡ªthe leg bond was just a safety measure. The large hawk was never used as a mount. Ganbold would transport smallish packages but the creature refused to have a rider.

    Nikolaos had spread a thick layer of straw over a third of his roof¡ªcovered with a big cotton blanket and edged with rocks holding it in place¡ªso the Winged could rest for a while after its long journey.

    Ganbold is larger than a horse and can be a fearsome sight to soak in, especially with his wings fully unfurled. Nikolaos patted the beast some more and talked to it as one might to a child before heading inside. He opened a hatch and went downstairs with his package.

    This shipment contained several, centuries-old, human tomes¡ªgems of Vantium''s great library. Many old human books of science which survived their fall were considered to contain ''''junk science,'''' as one of his peers had said. While the vast percentage of human knowledge was taken for granted, only newer works of kindred scholars were truly appreciated¡ªsometimes even to the detriment of scientific facts. He had no love nor hatred for humans for he understood that emotions have no place in scientific pursuits. Except...maybe there was room for passion toward such things as learning and always questioning. While he was holding lectures in the capital he would say to his students, ''''The day you stop asking questions is the day you need to retire.'''' He would teach them to question everything¡ªespecially themselves.

    His study still had a pleasant warmth to it. After leaving the box crate gently on the table he moved to the fire pit in the middle of the room and grabbed an iron poker to uncover the embers hidden in the ashes, still dancing with light. Nikolaos then placed a few twigs and other kindling on top of them.

    Later he will need to package an old shipment together with a note for more volumes, to be sent back to Vantium after Ganbold receives much-deserved rest. It helped that the hawk listens only to Maker and those scholars closest to him. Otherwise, the new shipments of goodies might end up drying away.

    He used the poker to crack open his delivery of securely packed books. Opening the crate always felt like opening a present from an old friend. Nikolaos removed the straw and blew some chunks of it from the silk wrappings protecting the tightly bound tomes. Despite all he read and all the lectures he listened to, there was always more. More truths to be questioned and much more to learn.

 Chapter 4 Anaya

    As Aleera and I entered, the closing door behind us released a sound of a distant bird which was quickly replaced by a slightly echoing thunderclap when they closed. I look at the corners¡ªat the hinges which are taller than me¡ªand realize the giant gates, like the door Aleera and I just passed through, open inwards. Thick black rings are thrown across the inner surface of the gates, close to the middle.

    I look around me in awe. We are thrown inside another world that took the form of a long and tall corridor. If they left the gates open Nibbles could''ve easily flown us through the length of it. Despite all of the open space inside the cliff, the corridor is surprisingly well-lit. This place must use more crystals than my entire moss. Hanging on iron chains, far above, are wide shallow glass plates brimming with shiny blue and some yellow crystals. Most of them are left in their raw natural form, but there are some spherically carved ones.

    Two fat lines of highly polished bronze, in the far upper reaches of the corridor¡ªflanking the sides of the space¡ªdeflect the light of the crystals, making the vastness which swallows us feel less...void-like. Together with the ones in carved niches, there are scores upon scores of Cobalts and Ambers lighting the corridor.

    While the facade was dull in color this straight maw is alive with it.

    Shallow carved decorative arches continue on both sides until the distance devours them¡ªthey remind me of the southeastern waterway Aleera and I saw. Well...a little bit anyway. On the undersides of the shallow arches, there are bronze cast flowers neatly arranged to follow the inside curvature of each. Within the tops of most, placed in special nooks far above, bundles of fist-sized fully charged Cobalts shine. Their blue light also spills over the fat lines of the shiny bronze.

    Essentially, the sides of the looming entrance corridor are an imitation of a colonnade with shallow carved pillars and polished bronze-clad entablature.

    I see the gray sky above me with strange patches of blue. The vivid frescoes of the high vaulted ceiling depict carvings that are not there, giving me the false impression of the open sky. During our stride forward¡ªalways forward¡ªI continue to look up at the row of continuing vaults, each with its own colorful mural paintings.

    Ahead, three figures draped in violet coats pass to our left. ''''Sister,'''' one of the women among them nods to Aleera in acknowledgment as the trio continues to move behind.

    I look at the space around me. ''''Is everything big in this place?'''' I notice there is no echo following my voice. I like that.

    ''''Yes, girl. There is a world, deep inside this cliff.'''' Aleera notices my parched lips and stops. She then pulls a waterskin out of the bag hanging at her left hip and gives it to me.

    ''''Thank you.'''' I haven''t drank water in days. I forgot. Even though I''m not that thirsty I gladly take a few sips. I give her back the waterskin and wipe my mouth with the red cloak.

    From what I know this corridor leads to the central chamber which is supposedly ¡åthe most magnanimous space of all the Academy,¡å if Imani is to be believed. We continue our marching for what seems a smidgen of eternity and my mind starts to escape this...Throat of the cliff?

    The tip of my finger runs across the small fluffy pouch of my left ear. Thoughts of home are never far. I''d wish to have brought with me the exquisitely made earrings of Viridian, carved by my father as a gift for my ninth spring but someone might steal them and we are not allowed to bring jewelry with us. I cheated this a little with my bronze fibula which clasps the simple, blood-red, thickly-woven woolen cloak, at my right shoulder. The round, ring-shaped fibula has a sturdy pin whose head is shaped like a lion''s one. The head of the lion is no bigger than a nail but highly elaborate, with the addition of two tiny green crystals for the eyes, expertly shaped by my father into spheres. He wanted to sell it, but after noticing how much I liked it he gave it to me. The brooch is a small enameled work of art but it would look plain to most people so I doubt anyone will notice.

    After passing through the gullet of this stone monster the corridor ends in a similar way it began, with another large gate and a smaller doorway to the side, leading us to what I assume is its belly.

    Goddess Acrona stares at me.

    The oversized statue of the Second Daughter stands in the center of a cavernous chamber. Her little toe is bigger than me. The depiction is that of a beautiful woman with wide hips, large breasts, and long ravishing hair. The swaying ocean of the statue''s tunic is painted with that blue-green color of turquoise. Masterfully crafted uncharged spherical blue crystals¡ªthat must be the size of a small child¡ªare placed in the eye sockets. Father once said that smooth circular shapes are some of the hardest to make without fracturing the crystal and making you end up with nothing but a pile of useless dust. The face of the statue is dignified with a hint of a smile just appearing. Some say if you are an optimist you''ll see the smile and if you''re a naysayer there is none to be found. I don''t know who says that but the manuscript I''ve read stated so. A small thought occurred to me to say all that to Aleera or ask her if she saw the smile, but then, I thought otherwise.

    That is pretty. The sporadic glowing lines across her face are stunning.

    ''''Is that katadron?'''' I ask.

    The corner of Aleera''s mouth quirked up. ''''Not bad, girl. You clearly weren''t idle months prior to coming here.'''' She lifts her chin, looking at the statue. The rock itself has that nice color of the fertile black soil where the most bountiful crops grow. At first glance, there are glowing cracks all over the smooth surface but looks are sometimes deceiving. The cracks are more akin to exposed veins of the flesh¡ªan inseparable part of katadron. These veins have a constant dark blue glow that never dies¡ªtheir light is mild in strength and pleasing to the eye. ''''It is a rock even more valuable than khar-nogoon and far stronger,'''' Aleera continues. ''''A chunk of it the size of a baby can buy you a nice house. Like all the most precious things in life, katadron is rarer than an honorable man.''''

    Her last words are met with my blank stare.

    ''''Ignore my bitter tongue, girl. Old people always tend to say one word too many,'''' Aleera notes.

    ''''You don''t look old to me,'''' I say.

    Aleera just looks at me as if expecting laughter to burst out of my face. Moments later her mood seems to improve. ''''Your parents raised a good daughter.'''' She hesitates before continuing. Carefully choosing her next words. ''''I know this is not easy for you nor your parents,'''' she puts a hand on my right shoulder, her eyes bore into me. ''''It can''t be. But know that the Academy serves a pivotal purpose. You will understand one day. My words feel empty to you now but that doesn''t make them any less true. You will understand.''''

    I know the exact purpose of this place. Everyone does. But I suspect Aleera talks about the fairness of it all. For me to be taken away from my home, and my entire future to be chained with responsibility and service I did not choose. When she says, ''''You will understand,'''' she really means ''''You will accept your fate...eventually.''''

    I give her a tiny smile. ''''Thank you, Sister. When my mother visited your temple she spoke about how helpful you were. You must forgive my father, though. He works so hard and---''''

    ''''There is nothing to forgive girl,'''' Aleera cuts me off. She looks in the distance, to the south of the statue¡ªat least I think that''s the south, it''s hard to say inside this place. ''''Time is never kind. To pretty girls or old women. That means you and I should hurry up. We need to move on.''''

    I clear my throat. ''''Of course.''''

    We march on and I can''t stop gaping everywhere with that lost look of a person that is obviously here for the first time. Aleera read my face and told me this place is called the Great Chamber and that almost all the main corridors are leading to it. This again reminds me of what our neighbor Imani told me and my mom¡ªthat this is the biggest space in the entire Academy. Despite Imani''s words, my eyes did not expect to see all this open expanse. Why does it feel like we''re outside?

    I scratch the side of my throat and continue to inspect my new antihome. Directly above the statue, the center of the sky-wide dome is crowned with giant Cobalt. Even at this distance, the beauty of the blue crystal is undiminished. This Alldora-wide dome is left naked except for the bluish light bathing the swirling lines of blushing pink sandstone, exposing the innards of natural rock far above. It must be one of the largest crystals there is although it''s hard to judge due to distance and bright light. There are scores of decently-sized, mostly six-faceted, Cobalts and Ambers around Aleera and me but none, none of them come even close to the shining blue eye above.

    How do they possibly charge it? Aleera must have noticed me saunter behind, and throw an occasional stare upwards so she accommodatingly answers the unvoiced question. Apparently, my face is an open manuscript for her. ''''Hidden high up in the facade are two wide passageways.'''' Aleera looks up for a moment, regarding the large blue crystal with fondness, before the bright light makes her look sideways. ''''They have sheets of polished silver inside them that channel the pale sunlight towards the large Cobalt, in the hours past midday.'''' For some reason, she looks at me with eyes full of compassion. ''''Come along now, you will have plenty of time to absorb the sights.''''

    The effect on my eyes is annoying as I try to blink away the hazy afterimage.

    Hmm...never doubt your neighbor. My head swings left to right as I soak in the hidden world around me. Goddess. The height of the dome may not be anything near to that of the facade, nonetheless, the long Winged that brought us here wouldn''t have complained at the scale of these chromatic skies. A thick ring of highly polished bronze¡ªseveral times thicker than the straight fat lines of the corridor¡ªtraces the base of the main dome and helps reflect the light of Great Chamber''s many crystals. Most of them give away a delightful blue-colored hue but there is a decent amount of Ambers and even Viridians. Not to mention that blazing blue eye at sky-dome''s apex.

    We are deep inside the cliff but it does not feel like it.

    Metallic sheen of reflected crystal light snaps my attention back toward the Second Daughter. Acrona''s long hair is clad with alamarium panels. Polished to a silvery shine, it rivals the splendor of even the largest waterfalls that Nibbles showed us. Thousands of swords could be made from her ''''hair.'''' I''ve heard that the Academy would occasionally let some of the worshipers come and pray to Acrona at the bottom of the statue.

    At the moment no one is praying, though. Smallish clusters of people are lost in this expanse. There must be over a hundred¡ªif I count the space above the ground level. More. I almost didn''t notice the guards, somehow the red-cloaked bastards know how to look like statues. I mostly ignore all the people in the Great Chamber since studying the layout of these dungeons takes precedence.

    The floor is made of large squares which combine to form a seemingly never ending horizontal plane with ripple-like patterns of mostly white and gray. While lagging behind Aleera I notice a circle of pale red stone on the floor, dozens of strides wide, surrounded by much smaller ones, each of which with its own distinctive tint of green, red, and gray. All of the circles are framed in a square of inlaid night-black stone making them stand out even more in this ocean of white-gray.

    I look up again. Below the height of the unpainted main central dome is a total of nine, much smaller but still gargantuan, half-domes with golden mosaics depicting scaly, feathery, and downy familiars and animals with what seem to be artificial plants. They create additional semicircular partly darkened spaces dotted with crystal-holding nooks and silver sconces everywhere around me. The farthest ones are nothing more than distant blue fireflies hugging the rock. Not all are shiny. Instead of gold, few of these half-domes have frescoes¡ªon a far larger scale than the vaults of the corridor. I strain my eyes to see more. Again with that nice blue color interrupted with patches of pure white.

    The vast space of the chamber itself spills over into a continuation of a sprawling mezzanine, not really that high above Aleera and me. Higher up are more balconies and passageways.

    The priestess guides me from the prodigious chamber to a place below the mezzanine where I hand over all I brought with me to a young man sitting at a wide sturdy desk. A tall guard on my left swoops in and in no time at all starts to roughly sort through my stuff like an animal. He would be more careful with the satchel if it was his. Roughneck!

    The young man said that whatever is allowed will be sorted and sent back to me later.

    Aleera nods me to the side. She scratches her left gloved hand. Only now I notice she never took them off. ''''I''ve already said what I wanted to say.'''' Aleera looks at me with stone-cold eyes. ''''Goodbye, girl.''''

    ''''Goodbye.'''' That is all I manage to say. The priestess then leaves without any hesitation.

    After that, I''m left on my own.

    For a time I further survey the space around me and small hammers begin smashing onto the inside of my skull. I notice other girls and boys close to my age are clearly scared and reserved. Smiles that don''t touch the eyes, a slight slouch, the way of talking, breathing¡ªwhen people are nervous they begin to breathe through their mouths more¡ªall make a hill of clues as I read the room like a chunky book. They don''t want to be here any more than I do.

    I notice a pretty girl standing alone. I''m surprised a boy or a few girls are not around her, although the entire atmosphere here is far from jovial. After standing alone in this large space for some time and a half, a certain disquiet in my chest forces my legs to move.

    I look closer at her face. Unlike my bright green eyes, hers are a much darker shade. The sort of eyes some people have that always seem to be smiling. Her straight, daffodil-yellow hair is tied at the back of her head with two side tresses framing a nice face. She notices me staring so I smile and wave awkwardly. Idiot. She waves back. I''m a genius.

    After promenading toward her we clasp each other''s forearms and I make an attempt to present the question as sort of a joke. ''''Tell me, are you petrified?'''' I fail miserably. Goddess, take me. That was so bad.

    She stares at my shoulder for a few annoying moments. Her smile is tiny, like Acrona''s, and honest looking. ''''Hi. I''m Hebe Idunn,'''' for some reason her voice is lowered and guarded.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    I was careful not to make my grip too tight. ''''Hi. Anaya but call me Ann.'''' Void''s curse! I should''ve added my last name.

    Hebe nods a tiny bit too eagerly and looks around us. ''''I think we all are.'''' Nice of her to answer my pathetic-joke-question.

    ''''Did a Winged bring you here?'''' I ask

    ''''No, I was on a boat pulled by an Aquatic.'''' She has a charming green cloak and nicely woven white tunic. Her fine leather sandals look brand new.

    ''''Did it take long?'''' Am I asking too many questions? Void''s arse, that was another question.

    ''''It wasn''t as long as I thought it would be.'''' Hebe''s answer interrupts my rambling chain of thoughts. We continue to talk about our homes, families, and other mundane things of that sort. While she speaks I keep thinking of new questions or topics...to avoid awkward silence. Despite me being half a head taller I found out she is a year older than me and comes from the northern part of Lodestar. After Hebe''s test was positive and she was proven to be one of the ''''Blessed ones'''' it seems her parents took that decently well.

    I look around me. For some reason, most of us whisper and talk as if we were sharing the world''s greatest secrets. The overall mood of other children in the Great Chamber is more befitting a funeral.

    Hebe looked up at the mezzanine, roughly toward the direction I was now glancing. ''''Do you know who she is?'''' She points her chin at two people surveying us all. A tall woman and an elderly man. There is also a man-sized eagle perched at the thick handrail to the woman''s right¡ªit is the only familiar I''ve seen so far inside the Great Chamber.

    I lift my arm at the woman above. ''''You mean her?''''

    ''''Don''t point with your hand.'''' Hebe almost whispers. ''''Sorry, but it draws attention and the person knows you are talking about them.''''

    It seems the duo above didn''t notice us at all. I do the thing with my eyes, that I promised Mom I won''t do ever again, and focus on the woman that seems to unnerve Hebe.

    She is tall with brown eyes and matching skin. Her large bulk of braided hair falls back to waist level. Nice full lips, and a highly symmetrical face. Relatively smooth skin for a woman in her forties. Some women are really good at hiding their age but their eyes never lie. I''m really good at that, telling someone''s age with an error of maybe plus maybe minus a few years. I spotted the intricate tattoos on her neck and her right hand when she pet the eagle. Hmm...the creature must be hers. She looks akin to a mistress of her own palace, regarding the guests with mild interest. Spotless black coat, unbuttoned, reveals purple shirt. It is hard to find a flaw on her, except maybe that cold stare. She has the bearing of those pillars in front of the middle gate¡ªand is somehow more imposing than that eagle. I can understand Hebe''s reluctance at being noticed by her.

    ''''Yeah...I wasn''t thinking,'''' I say.

    ''''That is Chairwoman Amina Zaria.'''' Hebe continues, locking her eyes back to mine. ''''She is basically a consul in all but name. Supposedly the Chairwoman is the only one allowed to have more than three battle familiars.'''' As Hebe continues to talk about Amina and her relationship with the Senate I try to focus my hearing on the two people above.

    Crap, I''m not that good. Need to practice more. What are they saying?

    ''''The first year looks strong,'''' Chairwoman Amina Zaria notes. Her human-sized familiar was on the balustrade, next to her looking down on the students with contempt.

    ''''I recall a time we had a class of at least forty students.'''' Archmaster Pinarius was a man in his late sixties. Despite being hairless at the top he grew his pure white side hair long. Wild silver-gray eyebrows, warm eyes, and a long beard gave him the look of a loving grandfather. Even though standing on Chairwoman''s left-hand side, Archmaster Pinarius was her right hand and an old friend.

    ''''Quality over quantity, Metion,'''' Chairwoman said while petting her eagle.

    Archmaster Pinarius looks at the future students below. ''''Hmm...too soon to tell. They look like baby lambs, just taken from the ewe''s udder.''''

    ''''They will be weaned soon enough.'''' She looks at the far distance, toward the closed inner gates.

    Archmaster clears his throat. ''''Some of the lambs have lions for parents. It would be wise---''''

    Chairwoman Zaria''s gaze stops him from continuing. ''''They are in the same pen now...you stubborn old man.'''' Her last words held no malice and were said in a tone used between family members or, as is the case now, between a ruler of an underground kingdom and her closest advisor-friend. While they continued their private conversation a strange and rude little lamb, standing down below, kept trying to listen in.

    To the Void with it. I give Hebe back my full attention. After talking to her some more I learned she knows a surprising amount about spices. My nose instinctively wrinkles for a moment.

    She suddenly looks ahead at one approaching guard. ''''It''s time.''''

    Before I can ask her to elaborate, seven additional guards begin to surround us.

    We are herded like sheep into one cluster of scared children. I look up. Acrona''s stare has no pity for us. Our group numbers a total of twenty-five, thirteen of which are girls.

    ''''Boys over there,'''' a heavyset Crimson Guard member in his forties points to his left. ''''Girls move here.'''' He points to the other side. After a little commotion and ''''gentle'''' guidance from the other seven spear-holding brutes, we are divided. He then tells us to wait.

    About twenty paces away, a man in blue says something to the boys and then takes them away.

    A young woman smashes her hands together with loud clapping that grabs all of our attention. Just when I thought she would start addressing us an elderly woman, appearing out of nowhere, stands next to her and starts talking instead. The twelve girls around me are so quiet I can hear their lightly-quivering breaths.

    ''''My name is Leto Vitellia. I''m one of the caretakers of this place.'''' Like so many people I''ve seen at the Academy, she also wears a smooth dark-blue woolen surcoat over her white tunic. In her right hand she holds a simple iron lantern with a single shining, adult-fist-sized Cobalt, firmly fixed inside the casing. ''''Over the next weeks and months we will get to know each other well enough. For now, all you need to know is this: respect others of my ilk and me so that your stay here is lambswool-smooth. Now follow me and try not to get lost.''''

    A voidload of staircases and a plethora of corridors combined to form a labyrinth of twists and turns that led us to the main classrooms we need to memorize. Carvings of signs and arrows on the walls reduce the possibility of getting lost¡ªI mean...they help a little bit but during the near future I intend to follow the other students while at the same time pretending to know this place like I know the roof of my home.

    After being shown where the classrooms are, and a few other main spots of interest like the communal showering cavern, The Hall, and the latrine, we are nearing the dormitory. All of us are told that within a few weeks, we will quickly learn where the other facilities and amenities are¡ªespecially outside ones.

    ''''Obviously, we had to divide you into male and female quarters. You are only to mix during classes,'''' Vitellia tells us. She keeps talking about this place with great reverence. I ignore her words about the history of the Academy since I''ve read most of that stuff.

    I think about everything I''ve seen so far and wonder why so many large chambers and even some smaller rooms in this place have a dome-like ceiling. Most classrooms shown to us seemed unprepared for classes and were in complete darkness¡ªthe light of the Caretaker Vitellia''s crystal lantern wasn''t nearly enough for me to see deeper inside. She mostly focused on showing us the entry door and the numbers carved on them. The tour is unimpressive and somehow seems to have made me feel more disoriented. I''m not a mole.

    ''''Once the classes start the classrooms and corridors leading to them will light up more than stripling''s eyes at seeing honeyed figs,'''' the older woman guiding us had said.

    As our group is walking through what I believe is our seventy-seventh corridor of rock, four women wearing bronze helmets and holding steel-tipped spears are passing to our left¡ªthey might as well be passing a cockroach cemetery for the amount of heed they paid us. Their red cloaks sway behind them, almost kissing the floor. This area of the mole kingdom has mostly female members of the Crimson Guard. I don''t know whether to be comforted or unnerved by that.

    Do people ever shut up? My ears easily pick up the soft susurration coming in a form of neverending periodic waves from a dozen girls around me.

    ''''...When are we going to eat?...''''

    ''''...Zuri, look at that. I told you...''''

    ''''...It doesn''t look so bad...''''

    ''''...The old woman doesn''t shut up...''''

    ''''...Lower your voice...''''

    ''''...They took all my things...''''

    ''''...What is Red''s last name?...''''

    Enough. Something in their voices...I can''t say it scared me but they remind me of myself. That''s not really shocking. I instinctively lower my ability to hear. There was a time, not so long ago, when the world around me was screaming in my ear but I''ve learned how to turn those screams to whispers or snuff them out completely. With the same ease of someone lifting their arm. It''s effortless.

    Our squad climbs the last set of carved stairs and finally walks into the dormitory¡ªthis is after traversing the, oh I don''t know, the seventy-eighth corridor. Caretaker Vitellia ushers us inside and I take in the layout.

    I did not expect this. Which is stupid of me considering what I''ve seen so far. The space is immense and nicely lit with the pleasant glow of fully charged Cobalts. There are long twelve faceted ones, spherical, slightly crooked in raw form, bundles of nail-sized crystals all clustered in one spot, carved into an egg shape, double-terminated, raw clusters of them, pebble-shaped and so on. Together they provide more than just what would be considered reading light; not the brightness of the day, perhaps, but not that far off either.

    I wonder if my neck will hurt from constantly looking up. The vaulted ceiling of the dormitory reminds me a little of that giant corridor Aleera and I went through. All that space above my head will never be used but I like this expanse, for some reason.

    It is a rectangular room, with mostly just beds really. There are about twenty chairs, and dozens of small tables arranged around the spacious clearing in the center or tucked in the distant corners. Each table is enough for one or two students to use. The top opens up for additional storage. Some of them are left open. Same as with chairs there are twenty beds in total, all equally spaced, with plenty of room for twice as many.

    Ah!

    Out of nowhere, three apparitions appear. The three young women start to hand out fat iron keys to all the girls. I forgot they were trailing us.

    ''''Do not lose those.'''' Our elderly guide begins. ''''Look at your number at the grip. Find your chest and you found your bed.'''' Most of us just stand in the middle of the dormitory, unsure of what to do, like calves who just lost their mother.

    ''''Move it!'''' One of the three younger women yelled. The same one that was clapping loudly before Vitellia first spoke. It was a crude but effective way to snap us into action.

    The large key has a pleasant weight in my hand. Nine. There is a hefty stonewood chest at the end of each bed. I notice a few girls are already unlocking and rummaging through theirs. That didn''t take long. I scratch my eyebrow and move to do the same.

    My bed is roughly in the middle of the room. I regard the straw-filled mattress with slight disdain before removing the cute fibula and throwing my red cloak on the bed. The air of the dormitory is surprisingly brisk and not far from pleasant.

    After a satisfying click-clack I open my chest to find coats, tunics, spare clothes, wax tablets, a golden stylus, wide strips of linen, and there is even some parchment tucked in the compartment at the inside of the lid. It was kinda hidden so I showed Hebe where to find it after locking back the chest.

    ''''Thank you,'''' Hebe says. She got bed number thirteen. ''''Look under your bed.''''

    There are several pairs of sandals, two pairs of reddish-brown tall boots¡ªthat seem like would fit very snugly around my feet¡ªbelow each bed. Also, a simple clay pot is placed closer to the chest.

    ''''Welcome to the Academy girls.'''' I almost forgot Caretaker Vitellia was here. I stand up and glance to the side. The look in Hebe''s eyes is similar to that of the other eleven girls. They remind me of pretty little birds stuck in a cage.

    One of those three women that gave us the keys whispers something in Vitellia''s ear as she passes next to her. ''''All are present.''''

    Vitellia nods. ''''We will speak more later,'''' she continues addressing us. ''''Now is the time for you to talk to each other and slowly settle.'''' Her eyes carom from one girl to the next while she speaks. ''''The time you should use well for it will not be tolerated during bedtime. In the next few days, you will get things which you brought here from home.'''' Caretaker Vitellia moves toward the exit. ''''If...they passed the inspection of course.'''' She waits for the three young women to leave before closing the new-looking door behind her.

    After she leaves we are left all alone for hours before bedtime. They want us to get to know each other and adjust to new surroundings¡ªthat''s my guess anyway. I''m in no mood to talk to anyone and so I further inspect the room instead.

    Near the ceiling height, there are strange rabbit-sized holes, placed in various places around the dormitory. They are easy to miss, but I noticed other rooms had them too. The latrines especially had many. Most of the chambers shown to us had blue and green murals showing imaginary landscapes and animals. Dormitory is no different. Fitting the theme of this whole place, there is a mural of a grotto with calm turquoise water in the background and lush green plants smudging the dark-gray rock. Placed above my bed.

    Our time together was only interrupted when two female guards came. Sent by Caretaker Vitellia. They gave us all a decent amount of time to use the latrines since apparently walking the corridors during the night is not tolerated. It was really weird having an armed escort while going to piss. An arrangement we are told is only temporary until we learn the layout.

    After we came back I didn''t bother talking to other girls, except Hebe. Fact which I will have to rectify in future days¡ªmy mom told me not to stand out in any way, and I will listen, just not today. Or is it tonight? It has to be dark outside. This place is so disorientating.

    Again, unease in my legs causes me to move and I prowl to see our schedule pinned on a large board at the end of the dormitory. I could practice my eyes and try to read it all the way from near my bed but that would probably make me look weird. Two other girls are standing near the brown-green board. I ignore them.

    The way I understood it from Imani is that if we don''t pass certain classes this year they will follow us into the next like a bag of rocks. This can''t be right. Strange. The schedule looks like something largely taken from a military academy in Lodestar. Why such a heavy focus on the physical aspect? I don''t even care anymore. Physically I feel exceptional but my mind laughs at that. How can I feel tired and not be tired at the same time?

    I move back, to sit on my bed¡ªthe Trashy Nine. Perhaps that''s not really fair since all the beds in the dormitory possess similar levels of trashiness. My fingers twiddle with the folds of the cloak and then the fibula.

    I need a distraction. I look up and focus my eyes. Murals are not everywhere and there are areas in the upper reaches of the wall where striking soft red-lined patterns of rock mix with the shine of the blue crystals. I''m surprised at how large the dormitory is. It is a cold-looking place but vast. No...it is a cold-feeling place. That doesn''t make sense. A hidden sigh passes my lips. I keep my chin up and look straight so I can portray the face of someone perfectly at ease. Like all this is just a routine¡ªa minor inconvenience really.

    Beyond the murmurs around me¡ªwhich for some strange reason I''ve allowed become my background noise¡ªI can barely hear walking in the corridor outside. Moments later the door to the right of my bed opened. The young trio of women caretakers is back. In no time at all, they begin collecting all the crystals in the dormitory into wide, white-brown baskets made of the wisteria vine.

    ''''Girls. Girls.'''' One of the three women started, quieting the room. This time she is not yelling at us. ''''It''s time for dream hunting. After the last of the Cobalts are removed there will be no more talking. No noise. Otherwise, we will have to disturb Caretaker Vitellia to come and quiet you all.'''' She is odd. The woman is in her early twenties but talks with an air of authority and confidence that makes her words hard to ignore. Since she never bothered giving us her name I''m gonna call her Rings because she has more than a few of those choking her black hair. ''''If you give respect you will receive it,'''' Rings continues. ''''Yelling, arguing, stealing, fighting, or any other way of disrespecting this place is rewarded with two nights sleeping completely alone on bare rock¡ªin the deepest dungeons, the Academy has to offer. Minimum. Prove that your group has more discipline than the boys do and do not embarrass yourselves.'''' Clever. The male students are probably told the same about us. Using threats of punishment, sort of hidden competition between us and boys, and potential for embarrassment all to make the students behave.

    The other two women don''t say anything and strut into the corridor, taking the last of the shining blue crystals with them. Their crystal-filled baskets are held with both hands in front. The thirteen of us are left in almost total darkness, with only the small light coming through the open door and the corridor outside.

    ''''Now would be a good time for all of you to move to your beds.'''' Rings then swings to mosey toward the other two women¡ªthe light of the crystals gleams across the metallic bindings of her long mane. She waits a good few moments in the doorway. ''''For minor emergencies in the night, you have a pot below the bed which you will empty in the morning.'''' She grabs the door handle. ''''Goodnight girls.''''

    ''''Goodnight,'''' our lukewarm voices chant to the growing darkness. The closing door consumes the last sliver of light and the thirteen of us prepare for sleep.

    I lie on my bed of straw and the moment my head touches the also straw pillow my mind takes me to my own feathery-stuffed one. Sometimes a feather or two would push through to poke at my cheek but it was a tiny sacrifice for the snugly comfort it gave me. At this very moment, I wish to scream like a zero-year-old just to get it back. As always, I will probably spend most of the night awake. Despite the darkness, I will lie still, close my eyes, and slow down my breathing. Yes, it is a bit excessive but, like Mom said: ''''Details make it perfect.''''

    Not long after the last of the glowing chunky Cobalts are taken away, I start hearing some sobbing in the dark. Somewhere to the left, another girl is quietly singing. They are both shushed by the girl around my right. I close my eyes and think of home.

 Chapter 5

    The creature he hunts sleeps about once every forty days. This was a rough estimate and in that Max and the Wraith were similar. But, this is where the commonalities stopped.

    A Wraith can be a mother and a father at the same time. Not needing an opposite to procreate as animals do. Often a Wraith''s young would end up dominating their surroundings, wreaking havoc upon the natural order. At least, that''s how he understood it from Vantium''s scholars, almost half a dozen decades ago. There are stories about entire forests being overrun by such fiendish descendants.

    Max is aware he can''t kill the Wraith in a fair fight and so he must wait for the beast to fall asleep and then he will strike. It must eventually go to its cave to rest and Max was fairly certain the large creature had its brood there. He thought about slaughtering them while the Wraith was away but this would alert and enrage the creature making the long-planned surprise attack a daydream, really. Younglings were like a lesser copy of the beast. Formidable but not really a challenge to Max.

    His dark blue skin was not ideal for this environment so he wore a soft long-sleeved purple shirt made of silk with an even twill weave, hard-wearing cotton pants, and robust boots with a matching cape¡ªthe hood cuddling Max''s blue-black hair. It was a visually pleasing coincidence how the blade of his hepatizon broadsword, secured firmly at his back, had a dusky purplish patina, almost matching the overall outfit.

    Max had decades of experience in forging swords, axes, daggers, armors, and so on, and so on, but not even these twenty-five days of waiting tested his patience like working with hepatizon did. You had to know how to read the secret language of blazing metal and hepatizon had quite obscure letters. Still, Max loved forging and it showed in the artisanship of the final product. The blade was a masterwork. It will do the job, the rest was up to him.

    Having red eyes also didn''t help when it came to prowling but he was well hidden. Both Max and the broadsword were parallel to the ground¡ªhalf covered with violet and dark red leaves and some twigs.

    Mostly purple with a tinge of gray, the brush around him was poking everywhere but it was just a minor inconvenience. The cave in the distance ahead of him was wide, much wider than its height.

    The hazy sun far above marked the twenty-fifth day since he first began staring at the damn cave. Max felt like he knew its every nook and crevice by now. No sign of the occupant and yet he understood it was only a matter of time. Once committed to the task he wouldn''t stop even if Theia herself showed up and told him to.

    When was the Council meeting? Sometime in the middle of Sardon, he thought, answering his own question. Max will probably have to miss that. Time becomes fluid when you pretend to be a rock for more than half a month. It didn''t really matter, the meeting was just a formality. Only Kali was always regular and another behemothic attack was not yet close. Well...hopefully. Max kept thinking of Maeve and time went faster. He would love to have stayed in Vantium to hopefully spend more time with her but the city often became suffocating. The air there just didn''t feel right.

    Maeve the Comeliest. Of course, no one called her that except him¡ªand even then, only within the deepest chambers of his mind. She was formally known as ''''Maeve of Vantium'''' or ''''Maeve the Fairest.'''' He preferred his unvoiced version, though. She told him to avoid these...excursions of his. There was a method, a proper way of hunting for these monsters involving multiple squads communicating and encircling the beast in a manner of an ever-tightening noose. His method was a borderline crackpot one, but Max, perhaps selfishly so, wanted this kill for himself.

    Some scholars guessed that Wraiths were made by humans in their unnatural experiments, long ago. Others speculated that they were born from the bowels of Equiya, but it was only a guessing game in the end. There were also theories that---

    Finally. His mind snaps back to the present moment, hammer and tongs.

    The sound around him stopped. Not a single nearby insect or a distant bird could be heard. Nothing, except his own breathing which now sounded almost clamorous. For a moment of perfect stillness, Max felt as though he was inside a painting, destined to forever be hidden by foliage with spears of clouded sunlight breaking through the shrinking purple lush of early autumn.

    There were two empyreans above him. One made by the murky, almost achromatic clouds and another, far less bland, made of that retiring, darkening, violaceous, plum, lilac, amethyst, and every other possible shade of that purple lush that his highly astute eyes could discern. This second sky was created by trees whose height rivaled some of the tallest structures his city had to offer. The forest floor had a luxuriant blanket composed of purple and garnet-colored ferns.

    Max was at the edge of the Armada. A sprawling forest southwest of Vantium.

    Everything was cat-silent, lack of sound matched the environment, since not even the faintest wind could be felt. Suddenly he could hear a distant noise of gentle thuds and a scraping sound as the Wraith slowly came into view. His prey seems to have caught something. The Wraith was dragging a giant short-faced bear to the cave to eat it. Max didn''t understand why not just eat where you kill it, since when you are the top predator around it''s not like anyone will disturb you. Well not unless a lone hunter wanted to try something foolish. Very foolish, he thought.

    Wraith hunts, he hunts. Perhaps he will become its new prey in the end. Or, they may end up killing each other. Max smiled. Perfect circle.

    Possible forms in which a Wraith might appear are without bounds. There are no two that are the same¡ªminiature copies not included of course. In this particular case, the beast was squat and wide. Lizard-like with black eyes, no whites, and pale gray scales. It used its long thick tail to drag the bear to the cave.

    Frontal assault meant certain death. He must wait for the thing to gorge itself. Only after it fell asleep, all content and relaxed with a full belly, it should be easy to kill it.

    Come on...Max thought as the black-clawed lizard slowly disappeared into the depths of its lair.

    Before getting up he turned the cape to its other side with a pale yellow color.

    There is no honor in this kill. No honor in what he is about to do. Such is life. Honor can be an expensive thing, indeed. Kali and Maeve could probably take it down easily, fair fight or not. In moments of endless boredom¡ªduring those twenty-five days¡ªmoments that demanded patience and some more patience yet, the mind tended to wander and he imagined countless scenarios of his kindred and him fighting in the arena; of him fighting together with Maker against the humans. Of course, since he was only sixty he never even saw a human, except in some old drawings. Stories said they were wild, brutish, and below even animals.

    As Max slowly approached the cave, hugging every shaded, crepuscular spot and every sizable rock or cover, he imagined Maeve and her perfect lips. Though in general, he tended to stave off such thoughts, it was a futile effort¡ªcognate to trying to cut the wind or wrestle a mountain.

    Even in my mind, she distracts me.

    He suspected Maeve was only using him to learn everything that was said during Council meetings; however, considering her position it wouldn''t be entirely surprising if she knew all the topics to be discussed before even Maker himself.

    Perhaps she truly likes me, the thought brought a grin to his face.

    Stop. There is only prey and me. There is only prey and me. Max kept repeating the same thought until his mind was sharper than the alamarium stiletto dagger tied at his ankle.

    Every step: calculated; every breath: planned. He felt as though standing straight was a long-forgotten notion. Max paused after reaching the right side of the cave''s entrance.

    What follows is the most dangerous part of the hunt. Max simply could not afford a direct approach and so he will use the wall to his right to slowly climb¡ªfirst high up then moving to the side. That''s the idea anyway. He looked to the right and up. The ceiling will be the most difficult part. It was far from smooth which suited him just fine although one might as well call it ''''velvet'''' when compared to the roughness of the cave''s sides.

    The cave itself was made out of limestone, a prime climbing rock if Max is the arbiter. Where others would see plain rock Max saw hand and footholds, purchase, aretes¡ªthankfully those are not so numerous¡ª, plenty of holds large enough for both hands, grips, anchorage spots, fingerholds, cruxes, almost rostrum-like spots, ''''belvederes'''' as he called places with the best views of the surroundings, rungs, steps, and so on. It''s all a matter of perspective, really, he pondered. Maker once told him: ''''Each of us sees the world through a sui generis tincture of our eyes. We can''t help it how we see it.''''

    His path will most certainly not be a straight line. Nature made these hidden pathways and Max had to find, follow and respect them.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The climb begins. His pace was that of an incapacitated snail. Any sound, however small, might turn him into a blotch on the wall, quickly followed by falling shimmering dust. Max didn''t find this image particularly appealing, his remains scattered in this forgotten place¡ªbehind the skirt of the goddess, as the popular idiom went. That is to say in the middle of exactly nowhere. Max practiced climbing with his weapon and sometimes with even armor on. At this moment strength was not the issue, but patience.

    And it was surely tested aplenty after hours of zig-zagging, weaving, curving, then hugging an oblique way upwards, resuming an anfractuous course up, following a devious vertical serpentiform route only he could see or uncover, until finally, finally he almost reached the ceiling. The belvedere spot offered a fantastic view of his surroundings.

    Considering the size of the Wraith there wasn''t really much chance to lose it and it was really only a question of time before Max locked his two red embers on the target. The beast was sleeping on the cave floor¡ªjust as he expected. With the grace and dexterity of a spider, Max continued his climb sideward for some time until his body was almost precisely above that of the giant lizard.

    The tiny thought kept reappearing in the back of his mind, sticking to it like a bur that one could never fully remove out of his or her favorite shirt¡ªone loose rock, one audible sound really, is all that separated the blue hunter from becoming an unenviable small pile of crystal dust scattered upon this cave in the middle of nowhere. The Wraith couldn''t possibly reach him, he was too high for that, but¡ªas always in life there was that cursed caveat starting with ''''but''''¡ªthere were more than a few sizable rocks near the sleeping monster, and Wraiths are known to have a decent intelligence, greater than that of a dog or pig. It''s not entirely unheard of for a creature of its ilk to start throwing boulders, in this case directly at Max, and therein lies the slight problem. He was in no position to dodge. In such a hypothetical his best bet would be to make a long jump down and tail it¡ªwith a good chance of being snatched from the air long before his feet even touched the ground.

    Where is it? The slumbering beast''s rigid scaly mouth was clean, with no blood or remnants of brown fur. He couldn''t see the short-faced bear or at least its remains anywhere he looked. It doesn''t matter, he thought.

    There was a doline about one respectable stone''s throw away. Or...maybe two good stone throws away, he thought while lowering his head awkwardly and getting a better look. It was perfect. Just enough overall light to suit his needs, just enough light to see the spot where he must strike with precision his architecturally-inclined kindred speak of when designing immane structures of the future.

    His ability to see was exceptional but even he couldn''t see in absolute darkness. This is why daylight was paramount.

    Max already identified the dead-on spot on the Wraith''s body he will need to stab through. The neck was not an option since it gave the giant lizard ample time to tear him apart before it bled to death. The stab had to be quick like the sweetest dream. Practical. Brutal. Resolute.

    No...

    Something was on his lower back, just under his silken shirt, moving upward. A crawler. It was a reddish-brown insect about fist and a half big, with tiny evil-looking red eyes, that attaches to you and sucks several times its body weight in blood. A white-hot needle was piercing through the center of his back as the creepy-crawly tried and failed to penetrate Max''s skin.

    He didn''t panic. There was nothing he could do in his current position but accept the pain. It was infuriating. A pain you can''t react to, an itch you can''t scratch.

    Prick, prick, prick. Scrape, scrape, scrape. The little bastard refused to give up trying to break his skin.

    Max inhaled. Alldora-deep and moths-wings-silent breath. The pain was a part of him now. After I''m...finished with the black-eyes...I will pulverize you. Goddess is my witness, he thought to himself.

    He calmed himself further. ''''Keep pushing until something good happens,'''' as Maeve once told him. ''''Life will not give you what you deserve. Only what you can take.'''' It''s strange where one''s mind will go in moments of great stress. Her words were a column Max could lean on, the sound of her voice: a shield. Max spent a good part of a month waiting for this exact moment. A stupid bug is not stopping him now.

    He feather-twist-gently unclasped the wicked-sleek and yet bulky broadsword from his back, grabbing it firmly in his right hand. The familiar weight of it was a handshake from an old friend.

    And Max did just that¡ªhe took¡ªas he launched himself from his rocky purchase. The ''''flight'''' down drenched his mind with feelings of exhilaration and strangely a sensation of unalloyed bliss. Max was ecstatic. It took him considerable effort not to scream from excitement. Cutting the air, Max''s body was an arrow, a thrown spear shaft with the hepatizon sword being the primed tip. Before this hunt even began he experienced jumping off different elevations over eighty times in total to stab a large pumpkin or a watermelon placed at ground level; such was the extension of his preparations. Max knew how to position his body in such a way that it delivered an adult-archerfish-precise hit. The far-out deep-blue comet shrouded in purple and trailed by a pale yellow streak felt its flight was short and Void-long all at the same time.

    The sharp tip of the cold blade pierced the Wraith''s skull at the top with a sickening crunch, quickly followed by a muffled splattering sound. The force of impact nearly threw him across the cave floor.

    Even as it opened them, the beast''s big black eyes were already abandoned with the light of life. Gaining that empty hollow look all those who just met the Void had.

    It twitched a little¡ªswaying his entire body like a twig in the wind, Max''s grip on the sword the only thing keeping him from being thrown to the side¡ªand then the creature died.

    How disappointing, he thought. A small part of him hoped for an epic fight however a much bigger part was relieved at not turning into aforementioned crystal dust.

    Next, he stabbed the broadsword into the ground and threw himself¡ªback first¡ªonto the knee-high rock nearby; again and again, with the fervor of a drone bee during the nuptial flight. ''''Die you piece of shit.'''' A crunching sound could be heard together with his violent thuds. His back was bruised and oozing with a disgusting cold feeling.

    Laying sprawled on the rock, Max laughed as the thought dawned on him that a bug technically hurt him more than the slain monster.

    He looked to the side. Something moved in the deeper part of the cave. A bunch of smaller versions of the big slain thing started appearing. In a flash, he got up and grabbed his sharp friend. The chunky lizards didn''t attack as one but rather in an indecisive manner of pure chaos, fear, and instinct.

    After memorizing their shapes and sizes Max closed his eyes. With multiple opponents, vision can be a distracting sort of weakness. They were loud, so loud. Their swarming steps were ripples on the mirror-like surface. In the deepest nooks of his mind, despite the refined coiled blackness covering his eyes, he saw them, he saw them without seeing. Max''s body became a whirlpool of movement, his arms twisted like snakes and his legs swirled with the timely precision of the best chronos, no movement was wasted. Not a single one. Gracefully, Max dispatched them all.

    It seemed cruel but the Wraith''s offspring often destroy the environment they are in. Nothing contains them. They have no natural competitors and would simply spread to dominate everything. Like humans did.

    Breathing a little more heavily than he''d liked, the slayer moved back toward the Wraith''s corpse.

    True, the beast was not one of the mightiest of Wraiths there are but it was a fine kill nonetheless. There was a large vomit-inducing pile of excrement, bigger than him in volume, near the beginning of the Wraith''s tail. The air of the cave quickly became overwhelmed with the foulness of it. Max, registering none of it, continued on with the next task. The blood of the cubs was barely noticeable on the dark purple-tinted blade of his broadsword as it now pierced the dead creature''s gut.

    Now for the messy part of taking out the hopefully plump crystal and cleaning it. His mount¡ªa six-legged boar the size of a yak that could probably pull half a mountain across half of Equiya¡ªand a sturdy cart are both away in a safe spot. With plenty of stifled sunshine for the boar, of course. Besides the presumably heavy crystal, Max plans on taking the Wraith''s head on his trip back to Vantium, too. The scholars there could never get enough samples for study. He almost shrugged at the thought. There wasn''t really much to study, though. You hunt and kill a Wraith or it does that to you. Simple.

    The cart had several barrels of salt and wood for smoke. There were some herbs there also, to help preserve the head, deter the flies, and slow down the rotting. Obviously, he could never smell the rot but no one liked flies and wild animals would sense the decaying flesh, somewhat slowing his journey back home. Also, Max didn''t wish to endanger the large boar and the cart might get damaged¡ªthere is a whole list of potential logistical problems best avoided. Little effort now goes a long way later.

    Part of him still yearned for a dramatic fight but he was alone in the wild and honor in this case was a thing reserved for his much mightier kindred or for friendly celebratory fights in the arena. Nature doesn''t care about such silly notions; it''s kill or be killed. During the past few decades, there were hunters¡ªcrackpots just like him¡ªwhich he taught: to track, to stealth, to be patient. Those that listened survived, and scarce few others that didn''t are dust, forever lost to the world. Max released a deep sigh. His sword was making mushy-slashy noises as he cut through the skin, tendons, bone, and tissue, searching for his prize.

    Performers in Vantium''s many theaters would sometimes tell stories of humans and those often had dramatic fights. The hero struggles and then wins. But again, nature doesn''t really care about stories or silly notions such as honor. Unlike most things in the city, life in nature is beautifully and yet brutally simple and practical. Nonetheless, that small irrational part of him was aching for a fair fight that never was. Sure there is a small chance of losing an arm or leg or a head but with a trusted hepatizon broadsword in hand, almost nothing could match him. One lucky stab and I think I''m Theia, he chastised his own arrogance.

    How many bowels do you have? The broadsword was good for killing but apparently not so much so for eviscerating. Max was now half-covered with the creature''s blood and some really vile-looking viscid substance he wanted to convince himself was blood.

    After rummaging through the red vital fluid and viscera for quite some time, Max found a large yellow crystal within the beast. Even embedded with gore and entrails, the Amber was magnificent-looking. Unlike most of those being mined. Maker will be pleased. Well...Maker will never admit this and will probably-absolutely scold Max for being foolish.

    After some finishing cuts, he grabbed the several-anvils-heavy precious honey-yellow crystal with both hands and lifted it with an obstreperous splish sound. Max carried his loot a few steps before deciding it was better to just roll it almost like one would a barrel. So he did just that, moving the crystal a little to the side of Wraith''s mutilated body. Max then crouched¡ªplacing a right hand onto the roughly egg-shaped, blood-stained, and jagged Amber.

    Despite not being charged the crystal possessed a muted soft glow deep within. The light inside was something ethereal and smoke-like in shape, seemingly coiling with a mesmerizing swirling dance of gossamer threads. For a few blessed moments, Max let the living light inside enthrall his red eyes.

    He stood up, his breathing now almost completely normalized, and looked at the mess around him, at the Wraith''s neck, then at the distant entrance, now exit. I should''ve left the cart much closer.

 Chapter 6 Anaya

    Excerpt from the lost memoirs of Anaya

    I was a foolish girl worrying about foolish things....days at the Academy are remembered with fondness now.

    I told myself I don''t like that place¡ªand I didn''t in the beginning¡ªbut it ended up growing its vines around my heart.

    There are days I feel as if nothing is beneath my skin except the Void. No flesh, no bones, no heart, no guts, just cold oblivion. Perhaps I feel sorry for myself, and rightfully so. In the end, it doesn''t matter what is or is not inside my heart, nor what I feel. The Crucible of Blood melted the core of my being until...until whatever I am now, remained. Cold iron, steel, and alamarium are my closest kin now.

    Are these words cast upon the Void?

    The Wastes were cruelly named, there is life here. More hidden perhaps; underground life of shadows yes, but life nonetheless.

    My first year was largely uneventful. It began with all of the students swearing an oath to Lodestar and The Breaker Academy. Exams of cerebral and mostly physical nature marked its ending.

    The average year at the Academy started in the eighth month of Citar. From there it continued the next year until rock rain(around the middle of the fifth month - Sardon when our classes stopped). After this, all of us students needed to work together, to compare notes and consolidate knowledge gathered over the academic year while classes were held. These preparations lasted from the second half of Sardon until the middle of the next month- Lapul. Exams lasted from the second half of Lapul until the end of Taz(the seventh month). The next academic year would then start again anew in Citar.

    I don''t know why I bothered keeping the calendar and noting which month or year it is. Void''s breath, I could''ve invented my own. Perhaps I needed a sense of normalcy, at least a thread of it. While I lack the proclivity to indulge it, my sense(if I can call it that) of retrospection increased greatly ever since I started writing all this.

    The clouded corridors of memories are made of blazing embers, they burn me, they burn, and yet I walk them and feed on the torment of my bereavement. I will feast on it forever. <u>I will.......</u>

    I broke my old quill pen. It took me days to compose myself and continue writing this. I must be cold. I will be colder than a long-forgotten grave.

    Despite portraying itself as a confident, untouchable institution with a heart of rock, the Academy was in fact desperate. The ''''gift'''' of the goddess was fickle, growing thin over centuries, and the place wanted its students to succeed. Many failed exams were transferred to the next year, and if less than half of the exams are passed; only then the student is expelled.

    It was a practical system based on the needs of humanity; the needs of my beloved Lodestar.

    To me, physical trials were obviously inconsequential although my grades were never allowed to reveal this. The Academy rated us with marks from one to five. One was called ''''insufficient,'''' and it means you failed. Two was ''''sufficient'''' and represented the most barely passable grade. Three meant ''''good,'''' four was ''''very good.'''' Lastly, five meant ''''excellent'''' and it was, of course, the best grade one could covetise. I was mostly ''''very good'''' with few ''''excellent'''' marks sneaked here and there when it came to wrestling, spear and discus throw, lifting partly loaded carts, weightlifting stones, long jump, running, and many other such corporeal demands I considered nonsense at the time. It is a rating system I''m using to rate the combat readiness of many in my ever-expanding army. At first, I taught few how to properly hold steel and fight¡ªlater they taught future teachers. This way my knowledge spread like wildfire.

    Perhaps the strangest, most useless physical effort of all that I can remember was familiar vaulting where we would balance on one leg or arm, stand upright, throw ourselves off the saddle or assume ridiculous body poses on four or six-legged galloping beasts...Theia''s tits...despite my many decades, I may not look like a grandmother but I certainly reminisce and write as one.

    There were days, mentally and physically draining at the time but now they feel to have been fulfilling in the end. Older students had an internal joke, we would say: ''''this place is called The Breaker Academy because it was meant to break us.'''' Memory is a strange thing. I wonder...how much can I trust it now. One often only focuses on the best and worst moments in life.

    At the time I did not understand why, but during my studies, the blight of insomnia decided to ease its steel claws upon my mind and there were a few nights per week half spent in oblivion. This ended up working to my advantage since the Academy''s library was accessible for studying at night in the weeks prior and during exams(besides staying open all the time throughout the last two days of each week). Once I pretended to fall asleep there which earned me a scalding or two. It was necessary to kill any potential for awkward glances or questions that I couldn''t answer at the time, even to myself. I honestly believed the Academy taught us much useless knowledge, in any case, sleepless nights were utilized to their full extent, therefore, making me an excellent student in all matters scholarly.

    <u>Goddess...it all feels so trivial now.</u> I should be careful not to damage the parchment, my resources are ever so sparse.

    A part of me wished to feel guilty about my unfair blessings however ''''one must use the tools presented or they may rust away;'''' or some such, I''m unsure about how the saying went, my...father...told that to me so long ago...The ''''might'''' in me never felt wrong, this was and is a part of me, a part of who I am. If one was born with strong arms or powerful legs would he or she feel guilty about their very limbs? That is how I saw it then and that is how I see it even now.

    I missed the simplest comforts of home(to this very day there are moments I still do). During those first months at the Academy, at night I missed my bed so much, but most of all I missed my parents. Mother''s hug, listening to my father''s carving and smoothening of crystals, creating exquisite wonders...Sol''s light. I''d gladly cut my hand off for that hug or those sounds of home. Things I''ve always thought were granted to me by life as if by some divine right, things that were never given a second thought now dominate the primeval stem of my mind.

    Long ago I pondered how perhaps truly Blessed were those untouched by the <u>curse</u> of the goddess. Throughout the years of my studies, I kept a certain bitterness in me fostered by the idea of how I did not choose the ''''gift,'''' nor to tread that Genesis path in life.

    I did not like the Academy and even in my later years of study I continued to resent the place, nevertheless, some of the sweetest moments of my life arose there, within its honeycombed heart, before the calamitous fate befell on all my kind.

    End of excerpt

    ***

    Year one

    The first-year students are in the Great Chamber standing in front of Acrona''s colossus, with even a few white-toga-draped senators and brown-clad Brothers and Sisters from probably each temple, sitting in attendance.

    All of us ''''fledglings'''' wear downy, dark-green, linen long coats¡ªwith the lining of slippery lambswool¡ªand pleated breeches of the same color. Our long-sleeved shirt is made of finely woven wool and it is a lighter green with that stylized phoenix embossed above the left breast, now covered with an unbuttoned below-the-knee coat. The phoenix looks like the tiny version of the one seen on the facade''s banners, with one-half gray and the other violet and there is a delicate black outline around it. Both sleeves of the tightly woven coat feature the same insignia.

    Facing us all from a dais, Chairwoman Zaria utters the words of our oath and we all repeat them while our echoing voices travel to the furthest reaches of the large, every-shade-of-red, sky-dome:

    ''''I will never bring shame upon myself nor will I abandon the comrade at whose side I stand, but I will fight and serve our city and our Academy, alone or supported by many. I will not leave my valley diminished in any way but greater and better than when I received it. I will obey the Senate and submit to the established laws and all others which the people shall harmoniously enact. If anyone tries to overthrow the constitution or disobeys it, I will not permit him but will come to its defense, alone or with the support of all. I will honor the religion of my ancestors. Let the Supreme Goddess with her first daughter Goddess Theia and her second daughter Goddess Acrona be my witness.''''

    ***

    Moments before dawn the sound that punches our ears and wakes us is agony with rage intertwined. It boggles the mind that such a small creature can be so loud. The hairless familiar is smaller than an average dog, with tiny horns encircling the top of its smooth head. Each morning the tiny demon is placed near the entrance of the dormitory, and each morning it screeches with impossible punctuality. I despise the thing with the passion of a thousand Sols.

    After making the bed we move to the shower caverns. Academy puts great focus on discipline and cleanliness. The water always flows from eye-sized holes, falling continuously. Like a small indoor waterfall, it never stops flowing. It is akin to the frost of an early, late-autumn morning.

    Weeks have passed since the oath ceremony and yet there are still a few girls that hesitate. And so, we were all given a choice, wash or don''t eat in the morning. Some take it, but I suspect in less than a week or two more none will.

    I go toward the very nippy flow.

    Cold bites my skin, initially it is a great shock for my body but then it gets easier. If only slightly. Small holes on the ground to the side drain the outpouring of water. I''ve read that some villas and Lodestar''s biggest bathhouses have water warmed with coal¡ªsupposedly even the floor is warm. With the Academy''s wealth and influence, they could arrange for us to have an occasional warm bath though I suspect we may never feel such obscene opulence.

    The caretakers said we need to shower every day, with hair needing to be washed three or four times a week. Once per ten days and occasional combing are more than enough to keep the hair clean, anything more is just a waste of time.

    As the frost bites my bones like a starving bear I try to focus and think of home. My mom would prepare a nice warm bath for me a few times each quarter of the month; obviously, I should leave such luxurious thoughts to the realm of dreams.

    Every ten days or so, each of us got a bar of lye soap, scented with hyacinth. The soap has an earthy and sweet floral smell to it like a rich garden after the rain. Although visually unappealing, I can''t fault its nice fragrance.

    Caretaker Vitellia, an elderly woman wearing her usual woolen indigo surcoat over her white tunic, states her usual displeasure at the hesitation shown by some girls. ''''Girls, those that don''t wash don''t get to eat for the day.'''' Today her tone killed more than a few protesting voices.

    During my weeks here I''ve realized a little better how this place operates. Caretaker Vitellia is one of the numerous caretakers that keep the Academy from collapsing in on itself. The woman with metallic rings in her long hair¡ªthe one I skillfully decided to call Rings¡ªis really called Katerina Varro. She is the right and also left-hand woman for Caretaker Vitellia and would occasionally throw one or two...encouraging words at us. When she comes to the shower caverns instead of Vitellia we all embrace that gelid water like it''s a mother''s hug.

    They don''t beat us, but the methods used here can¡ªjust like this water¡ªget under your skin.

    This morning, just like the ones before, for about the first ten rapid breaths I panic and think how I couldn''t possibly stand the water as cold as the Void''s kiss. Still, I''m even less keen on standing out or going hungry. Was tempted many times, though. Goddess...I still am.

    ***

    In general, classrooms seem to follow the same layout.

    Rising levels of semicircular seats around the podium in the middle. The shape of the classroom is similar to that of a small theatre. Rows of ascending slightly curved long narrow-looking sinewy tables are all carved from the guts of the cliff and broken only through the middle of the classroom, making room for the rising passageway. The classroom is richly lit with the brisk pale blue light of fully-charged Cobalts. This one could comfortably fit around ninety students, making twenty-five of us seem scattered. I like it that way¡ªmore elbow space is always welcome.

    Even though several weeks have passed since my first coming here, almost all of us are still sort of strangers to each other. I don''t know how else to explain it.

    Our murmurs and whispers die as the bottom left door of the classroom opens and swiftly closes to let in an unassuming-looking man wearing an unfastened long black woolen coat with a high collar, over a brown fitted cotehardie with silver buttons down the front. That is adorable, the buttons are shaped into tiny owls.

    The Grandmaster of Cartography and Bearing walks with confidence, although I notice a slight slouch on his shoulders. He is a slender man in his lower fifties with a short, neatly trimmed, and sort of thinnish brown-black beard, with only a few gray lines. The grandmaster''s eyes appear intelligent and slightly snake-like. His eyebrows are scarce, having the density of a dead forest. After giving us all a polite nod and placing a book he was carrying on the table, he rummages through its drawers for a bit.

    I pull a wax tablet out of my satchel. The Academy provided us all with a sturdy¡ªvelvety blue with a touch of purple¡ªsatchel made of wool felt with a flap over the top and a shoulder strap. I think the thing is stitched to be waterproof although it seems a tiny bit doubtful that rain will fall on us through the cliff-tall ceiling above.

    Since parchment is as dear as a consul''s ransom, that is to say, wicked-expensive, it is mostly used for making books¡ªnot something they would let us use to scribble some dribble during lectures. Wax tablets are quite handy yet simple things¡ªthey are wooden tablets covered with a layer of wax so that you could take notes by scratching into them with a pointed golden stylus. I like erasing things from them, this is where the spatula-like arse of the stylus comes in handy. Linked loosely in two places with a simple rope, the thin stonewood blocks always come in pairs since one of them also serves as a sort of cover-tablet, and to me, they look like a cute wooden notebook when closed.

    The wax tablets are small and classes long¡ªlasting almost an hour each¡ªso I keep most of the stuff between my ears. Oh, we were given some parchment but that is only to be used to transcribe the most ''''critical'''' of notes. All the text I have on mine back in the dormitory is written in tiny letters.

    ''''How is everyone?'''' The grandmaster''s head swivels from side to side.

    No one answers. Before he entered, the classroom was a large tree filled with trilling sparrows but now all our tongues seem to have been misplaced somewhere.

    ''''Ah well, it was rhetorical anyway.'''' His gaze travels across all of us. ''''My name is Decius Hadrianus and my task is to teach you all about the face of the world.''''

    Grandmaster Hadrianus unrolls a large, slightly stained map of Equiya and attaches it to a stonewood board. ''''Can anybody tell me what this is?'''' He has an annoying habit of sucking his teeth after every time he asks a question, rhetorical or not.

    ''''It looks like a short dog bone.'''' That brings out a few chuckles. The remark came from a grinning boy, sitting in the distant upper parts of the classroom, whose smugness melted away after the grandmaster''s icy gaze fell upon him. I think the boy''s name is Jax or Jayson, I always confuse those two names since the name ''''Jayson'''' is fairly popular.

    ''''Not quite.'''' The grandmaster is clearly not amused. ''''It is of course the map of our world. Can anybody tell me where are we on the map?'''' Again ending the question with that irking sound.

    ''''We are close to the northernmost part of Eastern Equiya.'''' A brown-haired...flower-girl calmly states. She is sitting in the front row of the lower seating area, directly in front of the lecture floor.

    ''''Correct. What is your name?''''

    ''''Zuri Anemone.'''' I like her last name. Anemone is a winsome dark purple flower, one of my mom''s favorites. I did not talk to Zuri much, but there''s time aplenty.

    ''''Now tell me Zuri¡ªhope you don''t mind me using your first name¡ªdo you know the name of our canyon?''''

    ''''The Scar Canyon,'''' Zuri answers without a shred of doubt in her pleasant-sounding voice.

    Grandmaster Hadrianus pulls out a stick and drags it a bit across the top of a large eastern landmass taking up a good part of the map. He is teaching us formal names that rarely anyone uses. Our Valley is surrounded by the Wastes and I haven''t heard anyone ever say: ''''The Scar Canyon,'''' it is just known to everyone as ''''the canyon.'''' My father told me there are a few temporary mining settlements scattered here and there across the Wastes since it would be pointless to build something lasting in such a place. There are also some temporary outposts in the upper third expanse of the Wastes, north of the long undulating Icauna river. ''''Exactly.'''' Grandmaster SnakeEyes goes on. ''''To someone on the ground, it may seem our canyon stretches north to south but in reality, it is a jagged line going from north to south-east.'''' One of us having a brain seems to have energized the old man. Although...The letters on the map seem to be easily discernible.

    Crap. I almost slam my forehead as the realization dawns. Sometimes it''s so easy to forget, the rest of them do not have my eyes. The rest of them do not have my eyes¡ªI repeat the thought to punish myself. I take a deep breath through my nose to try and calm my mind a bit.

    ''''For many days of flight, on even the fastest of Winged, The Crown of the World dominates the landscape, far to the west,'''' the grandmaster lectures. The stick slides north to south in a long line. I''ve read this mundane scroll that compared the massive mountain range to a spine of the world itself. I think I like the word crown better.

    After talking some more about mountains, rivers, and other features of the East, he proceeds to drone about Middle Equiya which is the middle part of the ''''small dog bone.'''' I don''t really see it, though. Anyway, although a vast region in its own right, Middle Equiya, also known as Arcadia, is a few times narrower than the landmasses conjoining its sides.

    Western Equiya or more commonly: Dontium, is roughly similar in shape and size to the eastern part¡ªit appears so empty when compared to the regions of the East.

    His stick moves around the entire Equiya, basically everywhere where land isn''t. ''''The unrelenting ocean Alldora,'''' the stick then slides north of Arcadia. ''''Gives birth to two seas. North Sea,'''' even I''m better with names than that. The pointer rod jumps south of Arcadia. ''''And of course the South Sea.''''

    Grandmaster Decius Hadrianus returns the narrow stick back, somewhere behind the greenish-brown board, and spreads his arms. ''''Alas, a thousand most detailed maps can''t show you the true splendor of the world. Nevertheless, during your later years you will expand upon the whole we learn here and see beyond the Valley.'''' Jealousy? He sounded and looked a little envious as he said that. Well if it''s to his liking he can go and live in the Wastes for all I care, but me...I''m not going.

    ***

    ''''Children. Children,'''' she grabs our attention and silences a group of three whispering girls. ''''Now, most of you already know this, probably, but we will have a refresher. What do we call this?'''' She pulls out a fist-sized red crystal. Thirteen girls and twelve boys in the classroom sit still as statues, almost ignoring our teacher. I scratch the side of my head while my right knee rapidly jiggles up and down to an unknown rhythm. ''''Well, don''t all raise your hands at once.''''

    Crystallology Grandmaster Penelope Arden is a gorgeous woman of about thirty-five. She has the clever eyes of an eagle¡ªthat doesn''t make sense, hmmm...well, there is something hawkish but pretty about her hazel yellow eyes. She is tall and slender and moves her figure gracefully with an effortless gait of a cat.

    Classroom eighty-eight is quite similar to the one we had cartography and bearing in, with some slight variations. Grandmaster Penelope''s desk looks like an obelisk lying on its side. No! It looks more like one of those blocky water towers Aleera and I saw while flying to this place, but placed on its side. The ceiling here has special nooks which hold scores of fully-charged Cobalts. Combined with a series of well-placed crystal lamps, there wasn''t just reading light, there was a crisp full-might-of-the-best-spring-day type of light in the classroom.

    Grandmaster Penelope Arden proceeds to look at some list placed on her long desk. ''''Lana. Lana Furia.''''

    ''''Crimson.'''' The girl with bright yellow hair and pale brown eyes answers. Lana sits far behind me and to the left, in the distant upper part of the classroom.

    ''''Next time raise your hand, silly child.'''' The last two words were muttered but the sound carries well in this space and I''m sure all could hear her, easily enough. ''''All of you,'''' the grandmaster raises her clear confident voice a little bit while addressing us. ''''Will communicate with me or I might triple your time spent here.'''' I don''t like this. She smiles now. The evil grin doesn''t suit her pretty face at all. ''''If none of you wish to answer my next question we will be here until this Crimson turns to shiny dust. Oh, and it''s a fresh one.'''' Grandmaster Arden then pulls out a blue crystal from somewhere behind her desk and gently places it on top. She clears her throat. ''''Now. What...do we call this little shiny.'''' Her long delicate fingers almost completely cover the Cobalt, obscuring most of its light, as she grips it with her right hand. The last uttering coming from the grandmaster was said with a hissing whisper¡ªkinda like a praying mantis might whisper to anything smaller than it.

    Akin to long-pent-up arrows, twenty-five arms shot up for the sky. We all raise our hands. Every single one of us.

    She repeats the process with Lilac, Amber, and Viridian and all of us are quite enthusiastic to oblige and answer each question.

    ''''Crystals come in different shapes and there are no two that are exactly the same,'''' Grandmaster Penelope Arden continues. ''''Ordinary crystals can be broken into smaller parts but it is very difficult to do. If they come in a cluster or as twins then it is easier to cut them separate without shattering. Smaller the piece being cut is, greater the chance the crystal will break and crumble into crystal dust. The cutting process must be done while they are empty of living light. Now, besides light, how else are crystals used?''''

    ''''Money.'''' Some tallish boy, sitting near the dead center of the classroom, speaks without even bothering to raise his hand.

    ''''Good, Horatius,'''' she nods at the boy. ''''Through a painstaking process, hex is made. What else?''''

    ''''Weapons,'''' I say.

    ''''Using crystal in the making of weapons is possible but extremely expensive and in the end, not very practical way to use them.'''' Her eyes stare through the back of my skull. ''''Also, raise your hand before answering. You can''t all speak willy-nilly, it would be pandemonium.''''

    I''ll just not bother anymore.

    ''''Crystalcrafting is a difficult process,'''' Grandmaster Penelope climbs upwards to the middle of the classroom''s benches and stands in our midst. ''''Crystal is chipped with a special chisel or cut with wire made of strong metal, all the while being empty of light. If it still has light in it then there is a much bigger chance of the crystal cracking and crumbling away into dust. The room where the process occurs has to be shielded from any sunlight. Smaller pieces of the once bigger crystal can be further shaped and charged with light and...perhaps even used in the Genesis process.''''

    She continues with her many questions, testing the limits of what we know. Learning the basics about crystals is an early autumn breeze and a waste of time for me considering my father''s profession. But, ''''arrogance is an ugly tunic to wear,'''' as my mom would say. I look our teacher straight in her comely ''''eagle'''' eye and absorb her words like a sponge. I bet my father could make a really wicked-nice crystal sword.

    ***

    It has been almost a month since I last saw Aleera and Nibbles. The twenty-five of us are standing in the middle of a gymnasium built on a high, flat-topped butte, overlooking the Academy''s monumental facade.

    During my very first days, I expected the deep insides of the Academy to be filled with stifling air but I did a little exploring and learned that this place is more complicated than it first seems.

    At lower levels of the cliff, to the north and south of the facade, there are tunnel-like openings that pick up cooler air which then travels through an intricate network of tunnels and passages. And I do mean intricate.

    All those great shiny chambers deep inside the cliff are getting a neverending flow of rich, invigoratingly fresh air, through many, many, long and sometimes very narrow tunnels connecting to them. These tunnels, which often bend and curve, then continue to join the vast network of even wider tunnels that, in the end, fuse with the enormous, main inclined shaft. The diagrams I saw were a mole''s dream typa thing¡ªlike the roots of an old tree turned upside down. This large inclined shaft; or maybe I should call it a giant chimney-thing...anyway, the giant chimney-inclined-shaft-thing ends in a Maw. It is a large gaping circular opening, located on the higher level of the cliff¡ªvery high up around the middle part.

    The rocky lungs are maintained and kept clean by a busy army of Gray-made familiars¡ªsmall, diligent, flying creatures, some no bigger than insects. Must be a pain to clean after Aegis disappears.

    In conclusion...Hmmm...I should sometimes try and use that word when I want to sound all official and smart-like in front of the grandmasters. Conclusion. Conclusion. So...in conclusion, the exceptional architecture of the many tunnels keeps the air inside the cliff always bracing.

    It turned out that the design of the goddess is not to be questioned for a reason.

    My classmates and I continue to stand in poor order, our backs turned at the facade, while the Grandmaster of Physical Education inspects us¡ªwith an expression of a henpecking grandmother looking at half-rotten vegetables on display in one of the shabbier plaza markets. I''m having problems standing perfectly still. The gymnasium tunic feels rough on my skin. On more than a few occasions, I had to resist the urge to adjust it.

    Eventually, after insulting us all for about the time it took my class to climb all the way up here, he notices me. Of course, he does.

    ''''My goddess,'''' he looks at me like I''m a turd. ''''Half of your weight must just be hair.''''

    The hair of girl students is required to be worn in a bun, braid, ponytail, and so on, during our labors in the gymnasium or while running. The boys have it cropped short although I''ve seen older male students having more freedom in this regard. I had tied mine behind in a wavy mess of Sol-colored strands with bangs reaching my eyebrows. I assume he is being overly dramatic with his words to establish dominance over our group. Or maybe he''s just an ass. I should ponder on this.

    His eyes sweep our line and again annoyingly land on me. ''''Holy ancestors, we may tolerate girls having long hair but that doesn''t mean to never cut it.'''' He stares some of us in the eye before continuing. ''''It makes me sick to look at you all. Useless dustbags,'''' his voice almost drops to a whisper making the last few words somehow sting more.

    Grandmaster Vidar looked like a veteran soldier¡ªor at least how I imagine a veteran soldier¡ªwith a couple of straight and deep scars burrowing his left hand, wide shoulders, and a spear upright bearing. Maybe he does have a spear in him alright. I smile a little, but in a hidden, subtle sort of way¡ªI don''t need his flamboyant attention on me again.

    The grandmaster also had a receding hairline and a thick brown beard. Apparently, his big fuzzy beard was perfectly suited for all physical activities. Hypocritical piece of--

    ''''But that is part of the job,'''' he continues cheerfully, interrupting my happy thoughts. ''''To slowly cut and polish you so that maybe one day what remains is a person worthy of this place.'''' He throws his big arms toward the core campus in the distance behind my back for dramatic effect. The nest-beard bastard doesn''t yell yet his voice is grating and the words get to me since he speaks with such annoying conviction. Grandmaster Vidar regarded all of us like one might regard puke or a piece of trash on the street.

    He is about two times taller than me but I''m fairly certain I could find a way to reach and snap his thick neck. Sure, it would get me chained and thrown off the northern end of the canyon at the foaming water and jagged rocks far below, but that seems like a small punishment compared to potential satisfaction. Knowing that I could, will have to satisfy me for now.

    ...''''I did ask him but''''...whispers continue to come from my left. The voices were Lana Furia''s, the girl with the pale brown eyes, and that of her close companion, Ariana Cassian. She is a tall girl with a long torso, fastidious type, always tidy. Not a speck of dirt on her or her dormitory''s bed?¡ªbut who notices things like that. I''m slightly jealous of her impeccably styled ink-black hair?. Ariana is one, but looks two years older than me, really. Both of them giggle about something.

    Grandmaster Vidar suddenly halts pacing, he even stops insulting us. I think he...I think he stopped breathing too. He tilts his big blocky head a little and just looks at the girls with cold eyes that seem to struggle to stay in their eye sockets. ''''You all must forgive me. I am a creature of weak, feeble mind.'''' Like a stage performer who has done his act a thousand times, he seems more bored than angry and unnaturally nods at us while speaking. The nods are somehow artificial, with contrivance in each movement. ''''We''ll do a tiny bit of running but in the main courtyard, down below.''''

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    With great zeal in each step, Grandmaster Vidar starts dashing toward the exit. ''''Hippity-hop. Those that don''t keep up, don''t get to eat tomorrow and lose library privileges for a week!''''

    In the course of my very first months at the Academy, the large rectangular yards of sand, framed by covered porticos of the Academy''s many gymnasiums, are each student''s second home. During our physical classes there or while continuously running the long outer courtyard with that giant green statue of Teshub Lartia in the middle; the cushy coats, dark-green breeches, and snugly, almost knee-high, leathery chestnut-brown tall boots, are all supplanted, and we are made to wear blue double-stitched woolen tunics with sturdy heavy-soled hobnailed sandals. The strong tunic ends just above the knees with the excess cloth being draped over the cord belt.

    I like the fresh air and the feeling of the pale sun on my skin.

    We carry heavy weights, pull wagons, swim in one of the many smaller canals, and mostly: we wrestle¡ªa nerve-wracking activity for some such as me. I can proudly say that not a single bone was broken since I''m a gentle little bird. One shoulder was dislocated but this was not by my design¡ªone of the boys did it to another because they''re morons.

    ***

    The Hall was a place where all the students and grandmasters ate. It is a roughly rectangular room about three times as long as it was wide, and, as one might expect, following the common theme of this place, the Hall was cloud-scrapingly high. The massive canteen¡ªI sometimes prefer to call it canteen¡ªis a smelly chamber divided into sections for younger and older students. The older students often regard us with curiosity. Like a cat regards a mouse sort of curiosity. The grandmasters had their own separate tables, in the highest reaches of the Hall. Besides winding staircases, their area was accessible through the unseen corridors only they and the caretakers used. Never saw, or went all the way up there, only heard about it.

    Scores of lamps, fixed on long iron chains¡ªeach containing mostly shining Cobalts while fewer have Ambers and fewer still possess a couple of beautiful Viridians whose glowing emerald light is thrown into the shining pile¡ªall combined to provide a pleasing, almost sumptuous light that is easily good enough for reading.

    On the walls, a plenitude of handsomely decorated tapestries feature circles with crudely depicted images of familiars inside them.

    Red and black banners, with strange symbols on them, decorate the walls at the bird''s-view level of the Hall''s uppermost reaches; while at lower levels, midnight-black and blue, chunky thick-knit banners are hanging down from balconies. Some of them seem to have been made by combining different sections of cloth, stained with barely visible brownish-black blots. I never liked banners placed indoors. They are as still as statues. I almost want to jump and punch them, make the fabric come alive and ripple like waves.

    Long cascades of swaying dusky-green drapes are placed at even intervals to give an illusion of openness or to decorate the commodious enclosure. The splendid drapes are securely attached to the wall with a thigh-thick hepatizon rod which seems incredibly wasteful. Maybe it''s a steel bar coated with something to make it look like hepatizon. A silver-gray alamarium holdback, shaped to resemble a braided rope, hugs the curtains open, framing lengthy elegant curves while every other pair of the luscious cloth, lining the distant walls of the Hall, is tied around the middle with arm-thick, golden-black cords that end in dark-blue linen tassels. The hem of every drape is trimmed with a yellow stripe¡ªwithout exception, the ample fabric of each has a mellow sheen, like some of my mother''s best woolen tunics do. The ones used for ''''special'''' occasions, that she never wears.

    Carvings in the form of tall arched windows are sculpted into pale red stone.

    Thrown across the space all around me are many cavities holding statues of people and animals I don''t recognize. Above and around me, there are very wide balconies where mostly older students eat. With annoying regularity over the past few months, more than a few of them would sometimes snicker and stare at us from above. There is plenty of room for all the present at the ground level but I can understand the appeal of being high up.

    Lightly armored red-cloaked guards stand near almost every door and passage, they are generally scattered throughout the vast space of the Hall, some inconspicuously near the corners while others are quite the opposite and would occasionally patrol between the long tables and all the students. I''m not sure, but it seems this patrolling is concentrated on the ground level where most of the younger students are. Based on the way they move, some are mayhap partly made of stone¡ªI still hadn''t decided. As one might expect, most guards are large and imposing, wearing their faces all stern-like, of someone who ate only boiled cabbage for a month; their disquieting presence stops any chance of discord before it even begins. Female soldiers don''t slack behind in this regard and I wonder if all the members of the Crimson Guard went to the same school of grimacing faces and disapproving looks.

    I stand in the serving line and move sideways grabbing plates, utensils, and so on until finally my tray is stacked with appetizing and slightly salty-smelling food.

    Today is a special day. Breakfast of rice, boiled eggs, a small chunk of smoked sausage, and two pieces of white bread¡ªmade of fine flour.

    Nice. Today there is even a full cup of milk.

    I can''t deny, the meal looks rich and seems filling. Different from the usual artificial tasteless garbage or worse. There are a few unfortunate days each week when rough, smokey gray, pitted iron pots, taller than me, are used for boiling water with meat and vegetables inside to produce some yellowish soup that I hate. Honestly whoever was first who came up with the idea of putting meat in boiling water should be Thrown. The meat turns gray and the taste gets bleached out of it. These dungeons increased my appetite somewhat and in the past few months, there were a handful of days when I was much more hungry than ever before.

    I move on with my tray to sit and feast.

    Our class sits at a long stone-carved table with thirteen girls on one side and most of the boys on the other. It is one of many such tables in the Hall, those largely unused are left bare. The naked red-pink stone of ours is hidden and the table is entirely covered with the largest tablecloth I have ever seen. It is made of wool, in splendorous glossy satin weave and dyed honey-yellow of wheat¡ªjust about to be harvested. How in Allmother''s name do they wash it?

    The table has room for more than sixty students, making us scatter into smaller groups. Why do we do that? Most groupings have three members. Why not four or two? Well...there is one group of four boys. Maybe I''m just looking for patterns, or maybe four is a crowd.

    Chewing, slurping, swallowing, the incessant clanking of plates on trays and utensils on plates, bubbling pots, talking, and sometimes laughter, all rumbled about the Hall like fat flies. I did not find most of these noises particularly melodic and the manipulation of my hearing sensitivity got its fair deal of exercise in this large¡ªseemingly made for a big hamlet of hundreds¡ªcanteen alone. And footsteps...the accursed sound of footsteps was a constant whether you were sitting and eating or standing in line.

    One of the four boys, grouped around the middle of our table, throws a piece of bread at another one to his left. All four of them laugh about something. They''ve been at it for a while.

    Well played ninnies. I scratch my right eyebrow. There are two members of the Crimson Guard approaching our table. Soon, all twenty-five of us become dead quiet.

    ''''Since you waste food, you and your friends must not be hungry.'''' The guard that spoke has a handsome face but there is a mean-looking stance about him. I''ve only seen him on very few occasions. He probably enjoys having authority a bit too much. I hate people like that.

    The one on his right throws a small grin at us, holding his spear like it''s a whip that he can''t wait to use. ''''They do seem a bit too plump to me,'''' Grin says.

    ''''Well...'''' the Handsome-Face pauses almost mockingly, pretending to think deeply about something. He spends some decent time staring at the boy¡ªI think the offender''s name is Peter, but I''m not sure...besides Michael I''ve avoided talking to the other boys. ''''We can''t have that. We just can''t.'''' After Peter looks to the side, the guard then glowers at the other three boys and each of them can''t hold his gaze for long, except for one boy with dark blue eyes sitting in the middle.

    Grin leans down to whisper something in the bread-throwing boy''s ear. Like an owl on a mouse, I focus my hearing on Peter and Grin. ''''Throw food again and we''ll feed you rat poop in the Guts.'''' He claps the boy''s shoulder two times before leaving, making him flinch a little each time.

    The two guards take away all four trays of mostly unfinished food.

    Four really is a crowd. I slowly exhale an Alldora winds worth of air.

    ''''I thought they''ll take everything,'''' Hebe says. She is sitting to my left and appears quite relieved. Her appetite is always strong and healthy, contradicting the skinny frame she has.

    ''''The day is still young,'''' I tell her. ''''My appetite is lost.'''' I put my last slice of cloud-white bread, untouched, on Hebe''s tray.

    ''''Thank you.''''

    I need to be careful and finish my tray spotless. On a few occasions, Hebe noted how little I eat. By now she knows it is futile to argue and not take the food out of concern toward me. I appreciate her easygoing nature. My mom would have shoved the plate down my throat.

    I look around me. Everyone always seems hungry and thirsty.

    Spiced ale and wine were not allowed in the Hall, or Academy grounds in general, but I could still occasionally smell it on some of the grandmasters and caretakers¡ªI won''t comment on some of the guards. Now, true is true, none of those few dared drink enough for it to be perceptible but this was of little comfort to my poor little button nose¡ªMom always said it was a small, rounded, ''''button-like little thing'''' with a tender slope. To think I could ever miss her teeth-grinding remarks...I should think of something else before my mood goes down the well.

    My eyes land on two bronze-heads flanking the arched grand entrance to the Hall. We were told the plethora of red-cloaked, spear-wielding guards are only here to impose ''''order, peace, and safety,'''' yet instead I have a feeling of being surrounded by jailers.

    ''''Are they really necessary?'''' I ask Michael who is sitting on my right¡ªhe is the only boy on the girl''s side of the table.

    Oh! Hebe and I met a boy. Michael Aquillia. Perhaps it is more accurate to say Hebe met him. At first, she thought of him as cute but it turned out he also has a keen mind and is a little too interested in games honoring Theia, especially chariot racing.

    Brown eyes with hair beautifully matching eye color, he is...decent-looking.

    From what I can tell, Michael is sharp-witted and occasionally gets some teasing for spending too much time with Hebe and me. At two years younger than Hebe he is one of the youngest students in our class. He only truly speaks with one or two other boys.

    ''''We''ll talk later, about it.'''' Based on Michael''s forced smile, evasive eyes, and tightness in his voice, I deduce he is uncomfortable, so I drop it and the three of us talk about something else as I try to finish my meal.

    While many senators have most of their villas in the city, or high up, carved out of the face of the cliff; the Academy wasn''t slacking behind. Although lacking luxury, reaching about half the height of the facade, there were many carved rectangular spaces, platforms really, located both south and north of it. The one I''m on now is a good deal south of the facade, with enough room for even the largest of Winged to land. A few luscious purple and gray plants decorated the corners here and there, while very widely-spaced, mostly empty benches are placed near the walls.

    Getting here took us considerable running and plodding over a stair and a few since there are no air-transport familiars operating for most of the students. The running was fun at first but after a time it became annoying, yet the air was still rich and crisp even in the deepest of tunnels¡ªI think this made it easier for Hebe and Michael to keep going. Of course, I had to exaggerate my breathlessness toward the end of our trek.

    With a well-lit spider''s web of narrowish ascending tunnels and wide corridors, I''m starting to wonder if the Academy perhaps uses more crystals than Lodestar itself.

    There are large common areas deep within the Academy that are far more accessible and richly furnished, but the pleasant wind and this view are, without question, worth the hassle of coming here.

    I throw a long look at the mostly jagged landscape far below. My eyes devour the captivating sight of the Valley, filling the stretching abyss down and beyond us. Even though the height was always a constant in my life, my bone marrow thrills with excitement, but I hide it well and try to give a torpid exterior, unaffected by the magnificent view. I tilt my head a little. Eyes focus, focus...I can see the trickle of smoke coming from the Forge, far below. There is even an area not that far from the facade, designated for saddlemakers. That profession is sometimes overlooked, with people not realizing how important it is. Nearly every saddle has to be custom-made, with the addition of reinforced stitching, regular maintenance, and repairs, all being mandatory, especially for winged crystalborn. Rich breakfast in the Hall being a dead giveaway, today was Ninthday. Our classes last from Firstday to Eighthday with the remaining two days being unshackled for students to use as they saw fit. The majority spent their free time using the Academy''s many facilities. Especially loved are gymnasiums and pools, with even a relatively small theatre and a little arena down there, all logged seemingly randomly in the jumble of rocky hills and knolls¡ªroughly shaped into fists, spears, and all other erratic formations that only nature can devise. Michael told me the Academy even has catacombs, south of the ridiculously large facade. Like all of this is not enough, there are temples dedicated to each Daughter and to Allmother, don''t remember where exactly, though. To be nice, I pretended to listen with great interest when he described those temples since he seems to have an affinity toward religion. Ignoring a garden or two, this area of the Valley was not the most kind to plant life but there are occasional black shrubs and bushes with even a few purple ones dotting the landscape. Even my eyes struggle to see those. Need to practice more.

    This place seems like a miniature city which might be understandable since it is more practical to produce the basic necessities near one''s base of operations. Not good. Half a cliff is clamping upon my head. I''m proficient at hiding the discomfort, but it is an effort to do so. My fingers instinctively rake through my hair.

    I look to my left. Despite being a year younger than me, Micheal seems to almost annoyingly know everything Hebe and I ask him about the Academy. He wanted to show us this place and from the way he behaved, I suspect he wanted a nice private spot to talk.

    Based on Hebe''s glint of wonder and Michael''s look of appreciation I''d say they seem absolutely awed. Michael looks at me and seems slightly disappointed. The three of us decided to come close to the secluded corner of the platform. My fingers tap one after the other across the thick stony railing.

    ''''It''s a little chilly.'''' Hebe slides a right hand across her long coat.

    Out of my sleeve, I pull out the cozy woolen hat that my mom knitted and put my other hand on Hebe''s shoulder to grab her attention. I prefer to wear it inside my sleeve because I don''t like how it stands out in my pocket. ''''Here.''''

    She takes it almost immediately. ''''Thank you. You good though?'''' Hebe moves the delicate-pink hat back toward me.

    I wave my hand, nod at her in confirmation, and then look hard at Michael. My patience is low as my dislike of stairs is high. ''''I don''t mean to be mean but---''''

    Raven-black horse¡ªwhose wings bristle with long feathers of matching color¡ªlands further away from us, near the central area of the ample space. The rider, a well-dressed elderly man with a long white beard, hops off the crystalborn with surprising agility and goes on with his business. The regal beast suddenly turns and starts sprinting. It spreads its mighty wings and jumps over the railing with great ease into the canyon below. I look at the Winged for a few heartbeats as it gracefully flies away. The thing looked as if stolen from the night.

    ''''Anyway...The ring is yours, chariot rider.'''' I say after the interruption.

    Finally, Michael feels comfortable enough to talk.

    ''''For centuries, the Academy had problems with oppression and order. Novices would often be jarred by older generations, and classes would have their petty bickerings between them, creating strife and bad blood. Disastrous for future teamwork and morale. Long ago, it was thought this makes for better Breakers, better soldiers...men, and women ''as hard as a fully-charged crystal,'' as my grandmother would put it. Experience showed if students are left unchecked to govern their internal strife, discord grows faster than Violet-made saplings. With incidents pilling and often being ignored, it all culminated with the massacre decades prior, and drastic changes were made.''''

    It feels as though he''s trying to talk like an adult. Even his voice got a certain rougher edge to it.

    ''''Before, at the end of the fifth year, students would perform Genesis and create their own crystalborn. The sixth and seventh years were always meant to be specialization years based on the produced crystalborn. Since familiars grow up fully in about two years it doesn''t take much time to distinguish Grey from a Black Breaker, while Violet''s plant familiars were immediately apparent. The system was changed since the event.''''

    Michael looks to the side at the vista. His throat moves like he just swallowed half an apple. ''''I can''t be sure if it was a century ago or many decades ago, since there is no public record available to most, but once there was a student who was incessantly harassed by his classmates. The story goes his father was a coal miner, way down at the southern end of the canyon. He died during this student''s seventh and final year. Others called this student ''dirty'' and ''soiled'' or something absurd like that and after years of harassment, he has done something horrific in the closing months of his studies. Despite some of his familiars not being fully grown, they were still formidable beasts, and one day he used them as his sword, on students and grandmasters.''''

    Hebe''s face loses almost all color until it becomes paler than the hat I''ve given her. ''''No one would do such a thing.''''

    He has my full attention and I don''t wish to interrupt him, so I say nothing, spurring him to continue.

    Michael sighs and lowers his voice a bit. ''''So...before he was stopped, the boy...No. He was probably an adult at the time of the incident.'''' He corrects himself, still avoiding eye contact. ''''So, this young man killed dozens of students and a few grandmasters. Now grandmasters are difficult enough to replace but those with the gift are even more so. The Senate was in an uproar. New rules were made. New people put in place. The entire leadership of the Academy was eviscerated,'''' his mouth twitched and his nose crinkled a little, after which he clears his throat, ''''I meant to say changed, people and rules of this place changed. Order and discipline were increased with no tolerance for harassment. The incident was also deeply damaging to the Academy''s prestige and reputation. This is partly the reason Black Breakers are allowed to have only three familiars.''''

    ''''How do you know all this?'''' I ask.

    He finally looks at me and just shrugs. ''''Before leaving home my mother told me to learn whatever I can about the Academy.''''

    The silence that follows is annoying to me and long. I do not like the look in their eyes, I do not like this growing feeling of unease in my chest. A distraction is needed.

    Snake-quick, I flick my arm to grab ''''Hebe''s'''' hat and then whip the end of it at her chest.

    ''''Ow!'''' is her eloquent response. ''''Ann that hurt.''''

    I start to walk slowly backward. ''''If any of you can catch me they get to keep it.'''' I twirl the hat on one finger, then turn and bolt back inside.

    Hebe begins to chase me but my laughter is all she will catch. ''''You only said that cuz you''re faster than me!''''

    I glance behind me for a flash and see Micheal leaning on the railing with both arms, looking at the vista in the direction where that black horse disappeared.

    It''s getting late. Must be night. Not that it matters from deep inside this tomb. I saunter down the lonely corridor, moving away from the library and toward the dormitory.

    Michael''s history lesson unnerved me; can''t lie. I did a little reading about the history and creed of this place.

    If a student is about to be expelled from the Academy then he would have to walk in a procession manner, wearing an all-white robe, between all the students and grandmasters. Also, his family and neighbors are required to be present. It is a humiliating process that is probably meant to serve as a deterrent against anything that may displease or soil the Academy''s honor. Turns out this stuff is common knowledge. Shows how much I know.

    Over its long history The Breaker Academy tried whipping, beating, and other forms of punishment for insubordination but after a lot of bloody trial and error it turns out public humiliation and being shunned by all around you is far more effective. A legion of column-tall guards helps too. It even often gets to a point where students are wary of what they say and who they talk to. My theory, anyway.

    To make matters more unnerving for all of us, what may or may not get you expelled isn''t exactly known, it varies greatly and it is that unknown which makes it more difficult to bend or twist the rules. Students don''t know where the line is, which cannot be crossed. It is a clever way of using opacity.

    People are so strange; you can threaten to peel our skin or to beat us half to death and still there will always be some who choose to ignore the rules, but threaten with public humiliation and expulsion from the community and all will honor the rules as if the goddess herself wrote them.

    ***

    It has always been an unnerving moment for the entire Valley. Most people tended to huddle up inside and pray. Today is the day rock rain strikes. Twenty-first of Sardon, the end of spring and beginning of autumn.

    The three of us stand south of the impressive edifice of the facade, on one of the many stout Winged-high balconies dotting the face of the eastern cliff; prepared to watch the macabre spectacle. Unlike the landing platform, this balcony was very private and rather small with barely enough room for Hebe, Michael, and me to stand next to each other shoulder to shoulder.

    ''''It will hold,'''' Hebe notes while looking up. I''m standing in the middle and she is on my right. Again, the spectacular view is a masterwork from the artist called nature but today all the attention is on the up, not down.

    ''''It will hold.'''' Michael and I repeat the popular maxim in a quiet chorus.

    The most unnerving part is that there is no lightning, no roar of thunder announcing what is to come. That quiet before it starts is what gets under the heart of many. At least that''s how I''ve heard my grandfather put it.

    Mother never allowed me to watch and would sometimes even lock me, unsuccessfully, in my room to stop me from going to the roof.

    Three conjoined epic domes of power are formed, with the middle one being far above Sol¡ªso far above. Together they cover the entire canyon and from my understanding a decent-sized area beyond it. Semi-transparent blue haze is all that protects our homes from becoming rubble.

    The specially-chosen priests and a select few, guard the secret of how exactly the Aegis operates but it is known large Cobalts are involved and that the Academy plays a critical role in obtaining it. Punishments for trying to uncover more about this topic are draconian and so I lacked any particular desire to learn more.

    Michael can''t stop twiddling his fingers and Hebe swallows hard, with annoying regularity. I can''t say there is not a tiny sense of dread in me. But, it''s more that I don''t like this annual event than fear it. Yet I can''t resist the grim spectacle. Why do we want to look at things that give us unease?

    Curiosity? Distraction? Or something more morbid. I''ll debate that with myself tonight while trying to fall asleep.

    It begins.

    Plumes of blue haze ripple, a few at first and then many soon after, until the pretty blue shield is swarmed with ''''the tears of the goddess.'''' I consider it a silly and overdramatic expression but some scholars theorized how this regular event is a reminder for humanity to be more pious or something. Rock rain is so punctual that Lodestar uses it to fix the time on its big water chronos.

    Each impact spot is marked by concentric circles which radiate outwards. The waves, if I can call them that, have a slightly darker shade of blue haze to them. Resembling a large lake''s pristine surface being overwhelmed by a hailstorm from a cruel darkening sky. Except that Aegis can never be overwhelmed. The entire surface of the mighty shield receives merciless hammerblows, the rocks beyond count slam it again and again, sparing no spot, giving no respite, making the pale blue light pulsate and spread in a pattern of growing rings that mix and fuse¡ªas far as the eye can see.

    The monster is hitting the gates with all its strength. The distant deep roiling sound is thrumming with a symphony that echoes throughout the Valley. Infinity of Void''s vicious drummers play a dreadful-violent cadence to produce a sound that I can only describe as a distant deep stomach growling of some ravenous, Alldora-sized creature. Try as I might, my ears struggle to make the sound clearer or much stronger.

    Like blood droplets across the skin, swarming hordes of crushed and pulverized rocks slide and roll across Aegis until most of the dusty junk and small lumpy broken stones finally fall well beyond the limits of the canyon itself. Forming entire hills purely made out of piled gray substance.

    The recent prime brightness of midday clouds gave way to twilight in the Valley. Our new skies are akin to glass smeared with fine dust and rubble.

    Due to the cursed jutting rock of the cliff, I can''t see Sol¡ªalthough this didn''t stop me from leaning on the carved balustrade and throwing more than a few glances northwards. Sol''s shine is always stronger with diminishing light.

    The thrumming slowly disappears and Aegis, the grandest of bulwarks, is soon to follow. The once pale blue slowly fades away. Sad. Why does that make me sad? Dust will soon blanket the Valley in a vile cough-inducing shroud forcing those unfortunate enough to be outside to wear wetted scarfs over their noses and mouths until the dust settles. If you''re really desperate you can pee on a piece of cloth or a cloak. I''ve read about such things happening in the Wastes. My mom did not enjoy me mentioning that at dinner once, years ago. Not one bit.

    We should move inside before such a need arises, but my eyes keep looking up as if willing Aegis to reappear. I then look north for let''s say a second time.

    My thoughts fly the fastest flight back to Lodestar. Gray Breakers and their crystalborn will take weeks to fully clean all the plazas and other public spaces. I''ve heard of some familiars with large tongues that can pick up and consume the dust and tiny pebbles from the streets or roofs, a most unsavory meal which later must be regurgitated at proper water channels flowing northwards.

    Someone''s hand on my right shoulder snaps me away from my reflections. ''''Ann?'''' Hebe asks. ''''We should go.''''

    Michael is already a few steps ahead of us looking back at me. ''''All good?''''

    I nod at them while giving a reassuring tiny smile. ''''Just thinking of home, as always.''''

    We walk away from the balcony, deeper inside the cliff and Michael closes the door at the soon-approaching gray miasma behind.

    Screw the goddess and her ''''tears.'''' Glory to Aegis.

    ***

    It is the middle of Taz now. I flounce my way through the main courtyard to train spear stances, as well as some stratagems on how to properly attack using it, with Hebe and Zuri. Goddess knows why is that important. Dressed in their indigo and white livery, caretakers walked to and fro across the sprawling courtyard. The imposing every-shade-of-green statue of Teshub Lartia, Academy''s first chairman, rose from the center of it like a giant. It was flanked by distant fountains, their basins adorned with beautiful sculptures of beasts and all sorts of other crystalborn.

    I told my friends to wait for me at one of the gymnasiums while I make a plea at the secretary''s office. I wished to see my parents again. It was to no avail. Hebe probably knew this outcome but had no heart to tell me. My overall good behavior was partly due to the imaginary reward this might bring. I''m an idiot. Despite finishing all the exams even before the end of Lapul, it was still not enough.

    Months had passed with philosophical dribble sprinkled with sermonizing theology for ''''good'''' measure and I did not complain. Reading dreary works of probably stone-old, leaden-sky-gray philosophers and long-dipped grandmasters. Works that often had to be deciphered because of the annoying jargon none living today uses. I had to scour books in search of meanings and phrases to better understand other books. And. I. Did. Not. Complain. Just a few days spent with my family can''t be such a mad request. Apparently, it is.

    Tests of physical nature were nothing to me. Frustratingly I had to restrain myself and my results are only slightly above average.

    When it came to intellectual endeavors, there was no need to hold back. During exam months the Academy''s leviathan library was always open, day and night, and this is where my insomnia came in handy. I got a few weird looks from the night-shift librarians and caretakers but I liked going there at night. It wasn''t quieter than during the day, it couldn''t be, but it somehow felt as if it was. There wasn''t much else to do but read old volumes and spend time with Hebe and Michael. Even after my exams were done I continued to devour books, hunting for myths and long-forgotten legends, albeit with a lessened ferocity so as to not arouse any suspicion.

    I thought about additionally pretending to struggle in my studies by transferring some subjects to the next year but I hindered myself enough already as it is.

    I carry with me a black sack of rough spun wool filled with gymnasium clothes. Before I thought I would get lost in this maze-like place but previously strange hills and tall rock formations now serve as guideposts. I''m unnerved by how quickly I''ve grown accustomed to navigating this place. It will never be my true home, though.

    Crossing the river-channel towards spear-wielding guards, I notice that the sea-serpent Aquatic that Aleera told me about is still there, wiggling in the murky deep. Scary thing practically lives there. Part of me screams to release myself, to run and jump, but I keep my stormy pace contained, all nice and normal, that of a student in a rush.

    I look up at the glorious bright blur of spilled ruddy paint, ruling the sky. Obviously, unrelenting¡ªlittle¡ªphysical tortures were omnipresent¡ªwell...they were little so far, from my perspective anyway. Nevertheless, the feeling of subtle soreness became my state of being for most of this school year. Also, I must note a sense of admiration for my classmates. Yes, they complain, a lot, however, there is always a sense of stubborn continuation no matter the struggles our bodies are put through. In the end, they always pick their sandals up and look ahead; in defiance of twinges, aches, or whatever other stings the Academy throws at us.

    After a few thousand steps I reach the gymnasium on top of what I decided to call a mini-moss rock structure. I really need to work on that name. There are a few gymnasiums on ground level but this particular one is very high up and provides a good view of Sol. I suspect it''s an insignificant red dot to many yet it is a beacon of home to my eyes.

    I thought we were doing spears. Hebe and Zuri were sparing with stonewood swords. Maybe warming up?

    I reach to clasp both of their wrists. ''''Swords?''''

    Hebe simply shrugs. ''''A little bit.''''

    ''''Better change or they might nag about it.'''' Zuri nods at the few members of the Crimson Guard patrolling the flat roof around us.

    For a little while, I change clothes, stashing my coat and the rest of the garments in the changing room. The dark-green coat has a handy inner pocket on the left side, which I use for my adorable fibula. I keep thinking how someone will steal it.

    I slip on my sandals, secure them tightly around my feet and tie my hair back in a long red tail.

    In no time I''m back out on the palaestra, grabbing a greenish-brown bastard sword from the weapons rack. For about the time it takes Grandmaster Vidar to insult our entire class, the three of us do some stances and what I can only describe as tepid, sort of mock fights. I don''t need both hands to wield it but mother''s fear is rooted in me, I guess¡ªdetails, always.

    Zuri is nimble with the spear, proficient with the sword, and the best archer in our class. We mostly focused on the basics of archery and in my view, she seemed years ahead of most of us. I''m decent with arrows; however, I...once broke a supposedly very expensive purple-black bow and do not wish to dwell on it further.

    As far as I know, Zuri passed all her exams on time but I assume she wishes to help Hebe. Also, despite having places of leisure, the Academy is carved towards students constantly honing their bodies or sharpening their minds through reading. Maybe Zuri finally got bored of reading. Can relate to that.

    The flower girl stops disemboweling air with her sword. ''''I don''t understand why we need to know this nonsense.'''' I like her. ''''In a true fight, you can kick a boy between the legs, and he is done.''''

    ''''What do you mean?'''' I ask, making the two of them stare at me.

    Zuri waves her arm. ''''Never mind that.''''

    Swoosh! Thunk!

    I turn my head at the source of those sounds. In another half of the gymnasium, there are six girl students, all of whom are three or more years older than me, practicing the harpoon throw. The barbed missile, resembling a spear, is attached to a long rope and thrown by hand. My palms got a little tingly simply from watching them. Harpoons are used only when Harvesting a Wraith that can fly. It is only done in desperation and avoided like Void''s kiss. Not only that but, mostly ordinary soldiers throw harpoons in an actual Winged Harvesting, while Black Breakers stay safely behind them.

    Zuri stares at me for a few breaths, narrowing her eyes a tiny bit and giving me the faintest of smiles. ''''Let''s make this interesting. Hebe and I will attack you at the same time.''''

    ''''That seems...that''s hardly fair.'''' Hebe is obviously tired, her breathing, labored, her grip on the sword''s handle, lessened.

    Again, Zuri just looks at me for a few moments. ''''Yes, to us.''''

    I instinctively inhale and open my mouth to ask her what does she mean, but Zuri just turns away to grab a spear from the weapons rack and then places herself at some distance from Hebe and me.

    ''''Hebe, take a spear and move opposite of me, attack at the same time in tandem.'''' There is an imperious edge to Zuri''s voice which I find unappealing.

    ''''This does not sit well with me. We should finish for today.'''' Hebe moves toward a barrel of water, placed behind the weapons rack and in the long, covered portico, next to one of the columns.

    ''''Ann is this a problem?'''' Zuri asks.

    So; apparently I did not hinder myself enough after all. This is good...in a way. Now I know I need to be even more unnoticeable. Either that or this girl simply sees too much.

    If I protest too harshly it might seem suspicious but despite that, if I trash them both upon these sands that might make even the guards, located on the flat roof around us, raise an eyebrow or two¡ªnot to mention those older students in the distance. And I can''t act clumsy since Zuri will know I''m holding back.

    ''''No problem at all. It could be fun.'''' I nod a little at Zuri, smile a little to reassure Hebe, and move to take a spear for myself. Hebe splashed cold water all over her face and now it''s dripping like sweat all over her tunic.

    The blades we use to practice with are never sharpened. Heavy-on-the-wrist stonewood swords and dulled steel or alamarium blades, of every variety, occupy the copious weapons rack. Daggers, broadswords, axes, polearms, bastard swords, bladed tonfas, a strange two-bladed sword, rapiers, two greatswords, light maces, two uchigatana, four sai capped with a small ball on each tip, nice-looking slightly curved single-edged alamarium falchions, six kukris(that look like recurved oversized daggers), two large adult-tall tridents, four gisarmes, two sleek naginatas with no crossguard, two ax-spear hybrid-looking things(I think they''re called halberds), and as might be expected, standing like soldiers at attention, a row of nine spears¡ªfive with angular and four with leaf-shaped spearheads. Like a missing tooth, one spear is gone from the rack, taken by Zuri.

    I grab the angular one because I like the stabby look of it better. With the reluctance of a timid puppy, Hebe approaches the rack and does the same. She is so sweet, afraid she''ll hurt me. Exactly the type of fear I have now.

    All three of us secure special pads over the spearheads. The ends of our spears are then dipped into a bucket of red powder, sitting close to the weapons rack. The spears will leave an easily washed mark on the tunic if any of us lands a blow.

    Zuri places herself about ten steps in front of me, Hebe about the same distance behind.

    Like two bulls, my opponents charge straight at me.

    With both hands, Zuri thrusts the spear at my abdomen. Her attack: easily dodged, her movement: sluggish to my eyes. Hebe sweeps her spear low across my legs. I simply jump up, about the height of Hebe''s shoulders. Their breathing, their movement, their grunting, their footwork, the rustling of fabric, their spears cutting the air¡ªthey are simply too loud. Mistaking me for a log of stonewood, Zuri goes for an overhead strike, seemingly wanting to break her spear on my skull. At the same time Hebe, holding the spear near its base and with only her right hand, makes a swift strike at my knee. They did good, they attacked as one.

    I smash my spearhead at the left side of Zuri''s exposed rib cage, my legs clap together and hold Hebe''s spear. The red powder left its mark. Zuri, making no cry of pain, backs down a few steps away from me. She is hurting but far from laid low.

    My legs spread, releasing Hebe''s spear. I feint an attack at Hebe''s left side then quickly spin, slamming at her right. I was careful to go for the rib cage again and this time to hit with the shaft. Using my shoulder I jab at her body about a dozen times, she retreats but nicely dodges and parries.

    I can hear Zuri sneaking up on me and so I position myself in such a way that both of my opponents are in front of me. My shaft deflects and blocks their attacks as I make a point of breathing through my mouth with just a touch of panic in my eyes. Don''t wanna overdo it.

    Bash! Slam! Pound! Wreck! Four times in total, Zuri strikes my fingers with her shaft. I retreat, I retreat, I retreat, my feet sinking and sliding across the sand, closer and closer to those older students.

    I''ve had enough!

    I chest kick Hebe, but with controlled force, to daze, not harm. My rampage of lunges and stabs is hard-focused on Zuri. She flinches away from me. As per my design, I allowed Hebe to position herself behind me.

    My eyes spread really wide as if I just saw a Wraith standing directly behind Zuri. She is several spear-lengths in front of me and glances behind, for a moment¡ªone flap of butterfly''s wings, really.

    With nimbus quickness, I turn my spear bottom first and throw it hard at Zuri''s gut. As Hebe tries to stab me in the back I sway my body, letting her thrust go next to me. With both hands, I grab Hebe''s spear and plant my left leg in front of her. She is completely out of kilter and doesn''t stand a chance as I pull and throw her body across the sparkling golden sand. Just like her spear, Zuri is lying on the palaestra, her body coiled, resembling that of a sleeping kitten.

    My face is tickled by the autumn wind. It feels cold but in a pleasant way. I lift my chin against the wind, staring at the gray sky.

    I''ve read a story about a tribe, now long gone. The Academy''s library is a fantastical place¡ªmade of books¡ªthat allows one to travel through time and learn about what was or what can never be. So...this tribe, whose name escapes me at the moment, believed in all sorts of things: forest spirits, gods affiliated with the sky, soil, water, and other such things, today considered heretical. They also believed that as the person dies, their last breath becomes a tiny gust of wind that joins a river of it which courses throughout the world. Beautiful...

    Why does my mind do that? There are some days with moments like this one when I wander off and imagine myself flying or living in another life, another world even.

    My mind snaps back to the gymnasium''s sand. ''''My cousin,'''' I exaggerate in my panting. ''''Taught me the spear.'''' A bad lie but a necessary one.

    I did not make a single step toward Hebe or Zuri, to help them get up, since I wish to appear slightly arrogant. Like a student that won through an amazing display of skill or some such nonsense.

    The world around me is still. The palaestra is unusually quiet. Even the wind is gone. Those six older girl students are staring at me, and guards on the roof are staring at me. I feel like each of the many columns is also staring at me.

    One of those six girls, tall with a strong jawline, starts clapping and the rest of her five friends follow. ''''May the goddess provide each of us a cousin like that!'''' The girl that started clapping first, yells in my direction, making her friends smirk and laugh.

    In the distance, a sour-faced guard gives some hex to the one standing next to him. Zuri is still laying on the floor while Hebe, looking like she bathed in the sand, is crouching next to her. What have I done!? My legs fly toward my hurt friends.

    So much for details. I will not be mentioning this to mom.

 Chapter 7

    As the almighty Aegis finally collapses¡ªafter resisting the merciless blows sent by a cruel sky¡ªthe dust of pulverized stone falls across the canyon floor, enriching its heavily used soil with life-sustaining nutrients.

    To the north of the canyon''s upper end, away from the sharp vertical drop of the pale red coastal cliff, and within a quarter of a day''s flight for a raven, a lot of this nutrient-rich dust and pebbles tumbled and rolled across Aegis while it was active, ending up in the world-ocean and allowing for the blossoming of life unseen. It is a tiny life, so infathomably tiny it is invisible and yet it forms a bedrock for the feasting of far larger creatures. This offshore region experiences a bloom of marine abundance¡ªa plethora of fish to be caught¡ªwhich spreads almost up to the coastal parts. The Time of Plenty lasts for eighty days or so into autumn.

    Pasturelands adoring the flat, tall tops of the canyon''s eastern and western cliffs are made of grass that is both richer and thicker than the one found scattered across most of the Wastes.

    From the windy high coastal paths overlooking the ocean to the far mountainous southern end of the canyon''s valley, purple grass, dotted and speckled with black clovers and dark-blue chicory, creates an unbroken, jagged, sinuous world-line, an expanse mirrored hugging the top of the not so distant opposite cliff. Like two wide, rich, purple, neverending, velvety rugs, they outline the canyon.

    In the northwestern and northeastern reaches of the Wastes, the land is pockmarked with countless lakes. Scattered and often deep, the surface of the many lakes becomes pristine once more, after the rock and the dust are swallowed by its depths. The glistening mirrors plaster the cloud''s white and gray face across the world.

    Contrasting the white and the gray, thousands of underground lakes, to the west and to the east of the canyon, are wombs of darkness¡ªforever forgotten, forever hidden.

    Centuries ago the very first rock rain''s death-showering of the entire East, length and width, brought not much more than obliteration to all of the cities, leaving ruins, rubble, and red-soaked dust.

    The annual cascade of destruction marks the end of the long spring that lasted the entire first half of the year. It was time for spring''s counterpart to shroud the world. However, autumn was deceptive. True, trees would lose most of their shriveled, dark red, black, and dark purple leaves, but, about a month after rock rain, there will be a blossoming of life.

    Continent-wide dust storms.

    After rock rain''s seemingly complete obliteration of the landscape, fine dust rises all over the battered face of Eastern Equiya. Walls taller than any mountain yet softer than a down feather blanket entire regions.

    In world-spanning arcs, the invisible rivers of air flow. Far north of Arcadia and to the south too, they flow high above Alldora''s raging waves, going westward.

    Some of the dust, kicked up by the storms, becomes part of these mighty air currents. It rides the highest winds, traveling roughly ten days, before falling from the sky like invisible ashes. Unfathomable amounts of dust are scattered across Western Equiya, across the forests, valleys, mountains, and fields, enriching the loam and sandy soil alike.

    After about forty days into autumn, the dust storms subside and the fine grit settles. The light of the pale sun is free to hug the tortured soil of the East again.

    The purple grass of the Wastes grows quickly, with bulbous outgrowth forming on the top. During the first few weeks after the dust storms, if the conditions are right, this round outgrowth slowly fills with a fume lighter than air. Eventually, it detaches itself from the blade of grass. It floats up and up, sailing the winds, carrying thousands of seeds in it.

    Birds of the West flock.

    Around this bountiful time creatures of the air, of both feathery and leathery variety, finish their long migration from the far Dontium. Riding the air currents for many days has made them famished. From dawn to dusk, avians¡ªin some regions, their numbers contest even the dominance of that nebulous gray, ruling the world''s spherical vault¡ªgorge on the floating seed-filled pouches.

    Leathery-winged craklers use their long and sharp beaks to pierce the floating pouches. With quick snapping movements of their beaks, they snatch the falling seed from the air.

    The craklers are always closely followed by tiny-feathered, pale pink birds?¡ªcraklers'' acolytes no bigger than a hazelnut?¡ªwhose beaks are not strong enough to burst the floating seed pods. The pinkish hazelnut''s speed seems unmatched. Like small arrowheads, scores of them whizz around each crakler in an unpredictable rapid chaos of movement, only to all, as one, suddenly converge downward at the seeds being strewn across the soaring heights of the aether.

    A devourer unsatiable, one of the animals consuming most of the seeds was a four-winged leathery creature with two big triangular and gracefully-shaped wings at the fore of its wind-cuttingly sleek body, paired with two smaller ones at the rear. Akin to a fish, the whistler opens its large mouth to swallow the seed pods whole. With widely spaced black eyes, no neck, and gaping mouth, one might be forgiven for thinking the gliding creature looked purely made to sustain that white, wide, flat, long, sleek belly of its.

    The whistlers, in their myrmecoid numbers, continue to swallow the round pouches, filled with fume. During digestion, this fume escapes through two rows of holes lining each of their gray-striped backs. The whistling sound echoes throughout the world in tandem with the popping barrage.

    After floating and being carried away by wind and reaching a certain height, the surviving bulbous pods burst open with a pop and the seeds rain down across all four corners of the Wastes. Due to the sheer horizon-breaking quantity of floating sacks, most will manage to heap down their seeds inside and avoid being digested.

    This simple plant is a survivor. Back, weeks before the rock rain strikes, fully understanding the whisperings of the world, the purple grass would start to dry and wither, turning black and dark purple, retreating the precious nutrients into the seed underground. Now was the time to reap the rewards.

    Not all that floats is a banquet.

    There are regions of the sky best avoided. Regions with malicious shapes as if stolen from the Void. The plant''s profile closely emulated the depiction of a wind rose, with plenty of mean fat boisterous spikes escalating at every side. The pouches of fume inside its protected body allowed it to float the air currents indefinitely while feeding on the light coming from a blotch of spilled orange-yellow, staining the clouds. Needless to say, the black plant was found to be less than appetizing to any animal cruising far above even the highest of mountains.

    An unmatched network of hair-thin vines is always hidden. These fungi spread their delicate tendrils, connecting plants big and small across the vastness of the elderscape. Destined to be unsung heroes, for without them the natural world collapses, these organisms paradoxically use death and decay to fuel future life, through an eternal circle of recurrence.

    The vines are often narrower than even hair in places. Delicately, they pierce and fuze with shallow roots of many tiny flowers¡ªthat often have ant-sized violet petals¡ªas well as the abyss-deep roots of colossal trees, exchanging nutrients with and between all of them.

    The strands are the secret subterranean veins and arteries of life on Equiya. Together they create an infinite mesh of impossibly delicate spider''s-thread-thin roads, whose role is paramount in keeping the land alive and fertile.

    Mighty or fragile, eight out of ten of all plant life knows the uncountable cuddles of these gentle gossamer threads.

    If a spore, each smaller than a speck of dust, lands on a perfect spot, where there is moisture and food, it may be able to grow. Most specks will never find such a blessed place.

    There is a plant that feeds on these dots of life which sail on even the gentlest of air currents. The plant is a violet hairy orb of long, dense, always-swaying, dancing strands, connected to the small round hidden core, located at the top of the stem part. The purple-black stem has the thickness of a forearm, it is flexible and strong¡ªits toughness surpassing that of even the mightiest known wood. Spores that stick onto the thin, fine, and very delicate strands, become consumed. Despite having deep, powerful roots, the never-still plant gets some of its most vital ingredients from spores.

    Near the base of the Dancer, a flower of amaranth found its purchase. The queen of flowers has a crown of twelve dark, reddish-purple petals. Each was the shape of a butterfly''s wings and as delicate. Amaranth''s scent is sweet and warm, with notes of caramel and honey making it irresistible to any flying helper near it.

    The flower can live for many centuries but such a long life was only possible in the most forgotten, remote, and untouched places of the world, if there even were any such places left.

    Trees, akin to fists of angry gods, reach for the Empyrean.

    Trees of the East adapted to survive the rock rain. The taller the tree, the deeper the roots. With deep, deep roots indeed¡ªfused and intertwined with each other and with fungi¡ªmany trees grow to become giants. Near the time of rock rain, their entire bark exudes a slowly-growing shell that hardens. This shell-shield is a stony coating that upon impact cracks, absorbing most of the damage. Days after the rock rain is done reforging the landscape, what''s left of the stony bark crumbles and peels away slowly, like an old scab.

    Long before the bark gets its shielding, a variety of insects have their larvae burrow into the steadfast trees of the East, seeking refuge deep inside. Larvae dissolve the tree''s greenish-brown flesh with their saliva, gorging on it, growing long and plump. They will only come out after the dust settles.

    Insects are the bloodstream of nature. Without them, giants fall, and the entire wilderness of Equiya collapses.

    After about fifty or so days into the long autumn, when the dust fully settles over the plains of the East, and plants begin to bloom, these intricate tiny sculptures of life leave their hiding places from underground, in rivers, or tree trunks, and swarm the world from north to south, often with procreation taking the highest priority. They hatch, mate, feast, pollinate and molt¡ªeach breed at its own pace.

    Violet to black ferns and heliotrope grasses blanketing the world as well as: thinly leaved or in bud break, black-brown, scabrous, knobbly branches of stonebark trees, whose shielding of rock-like quality is now gone, all become nurseries for a myriad of tiny life.

    Their chitinous shapes are often diminutive in size but beyond count in variety and the sheer scope of gleaming iridescent colors.

    In the deep south of the Wastes, not far from the coastal region, there is an agile insect of glossy-purple coloring, dotted with contrasting white spots. The small thing was shaped like a perfectly round plum, cut in half, with eight delicate legs at the bottom. Its head was little and rounded, with a large, orb-like, circular, golden eye on either side. The eyes together were almost two times bigger than Plumy''s head, with blurry-black, egg-shaped pupils within.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Plumy also had wings so special they could sing.

    The female uses those wings to make a series of chirping sounds and the male has to mimic them exactly, flawlessly, with exact volume and duration. She chooses to mate with only the male that repeated her song exactly and to her satisfaction. It is unknown how these insects can discern any individual sound from the cacophony thousands of them make, scattered across the half-lush meadows, fernlands, and grasslands of the world''s southern region.

    The world is filled with creatures so small they are invisible to even the sharpest of eyes and yet their footprint upon the terrain can be greater than that of the biggest of lumbering beasts. In the southwestern fringes of the interior, deep inside the Wastes, layers and layers of their solidified minuscule remains build-up over many decades to form large hill-sized rocky mounds. The strange hills, painted with pale green patches of faint luminescence, are surprisingly resilient from the devastating consequences of rock rain¡ªtheir haunting glow, returning in full splendor within a few scores of days after rock rain''s passing.

    At night a black-blue insect, with an unusually long neck, longer than its entire narrow body, and twelve almost as long legs, lands on the green-light-speckled rocky formation, irresistibly drawn to the glow. The minuscule whispers of life stick to the Black-blue''s limbs and sometimes, like the night before, to his abdomen. Others of his kin, hidden in the night, crawl and fly to nearby rocky hills, disseminating the Tiniest-of-tiny and feasting on the deliciously-sweet liquid produced by the glow. But every sweetness has a price.

    The lanky black-blue insect has wings, however, they spend a lot of energy and can be easily damaged, making him use those wings sparingly.

    Now, he notices another glow. Different, stronger in luminescence. A little away from his hill.

    Sparingness be damned, the Black-blue activates his wings, like translucent blooming petals they spread from his elongated back, to take him toward the pleasant glow.

    Darkness.

    The Black-blue''s body is crushed by the throat muscles of his unseen killer.

    The nectarous sugary reward was in reality a black, round animal with smooth, dewy skin, bulging gray eyes, and a large, flexible, circular mouth, which could be opened wider than the width of its body. In the cover of darkness, the plump animal usually places itself near these large rocky structures, opens its mouth with the alluringly gloving green tongue inside, and simply waits.

    This is not truly the end. As the round mouth of doom snapped shut on him, in less than half a flicker, so too did three of the long-necked insect''s legs detach, before they could get swallowed. Each of the three legs started violently thrashing, jumping almost, in three different directions.

    When the gray day finally came, the violent convulsions stopped. All three slender legs, now far apart, started releasing a unique scent.

    One of the limbs ended up in a patch of violet grass. It was not long before another long-necked, long-limbed, insect found it. This one looked similar to the Black-blue except that it was much bigger than him, with more powerful legs, and a thicker neck. Also, there was a vivid violet iridescent-like coloring of her chitinous armor.

    The female moves to skillfully break the middle section of the leg with her mandibles without damaging the fragile content within. Using a special organ on her abdomen she picks up the tiny white spherical package.

    The Black-blue will have progeny yet.

    The deep heartland of the Wastes is often cruel to any life. As if in an act of defiance, a lush canopy creates a purple marble surrounded by seas of red sands and dotting rocks.

    An oasis.

    The mighty stonebark trees here have their thick branches grow very wide, forming a protective covering. Refuge to many.

    Below one such covering and close to a pristine, cold, trickling spring, a buzzing noise grows louder and suddenly stops. Even those feasting on death have a part to play. A fly''s brood swarms and wiggles inside the corpse of a midnight black wild boar, claimed by its many years. Nature''s cleaners decompose the unfortunate ones. After hatching from the eggs laid by their mother, hundreds of maggots were feasting on the foul flesh. Such an activity rarely goes unnoticed and soon, like an uninvited guest, a golden-yellow, two-thumbs-long wasp, with dark red eyes, swoops down toward the feasting maggots. A fat black fly, standing on the long-dead boar''s red eye, zaps directly at the approaching wasp''s head and clings to it like a drowning man to a rope. As the wasp stabs the fly, desperately, again and again, it is already too late. The fly''s body explodes, releasing an acid that melts the wasp''s entire head.

    The hordes of maggots, now safe, blissfully continue to munch away.

    Before rock rain''s catastrophic symphony arrives, there is a four-legged creature¡ªthe size of five horses and a head roughly similar in shape to one, barrel-shaped body, a thick yet stubby tail, and dense dark brown fur with a gray-white patch on the upper torso¡ªthat can feel the approaching doom. Using long, powerful forelegs and fat aubergine-colored claws, it slowly digs a cave in the side of the hill or mountain and goes inside to protect itself from rock rain. The robust creature''s sense of smell was of such magnitude it was able to find hidden salt beds inside the protective cave. It would hold chunks of salt-rich rocks inside its heavy-jawed mouth for a considerable span, to get the much-needed sustenance.

    After the pummeling vibrations are over, the hefty beast continues its long slumber, breathing slowly and barely moving for more than forty days, before unburrowing itself by removing the piled rubble of dust and broken stone, often sealing the entrance to its cave. Stems, twigs, and grasses of the world will not grind themselves, after all.

    At the height of a small mountain, a crakler nests. The nest was richly decorated with foliage of deep purple, dusky red, and even a smidgen of black. The leathery creature with black-gray stripes has its pebble-sized hatchlings safely tucked away from most predators.

    They will have to grow quickly, big and strong in less than a year, to follow their parents on the long journey back West.

    The crakler shares its realm with many species of feathery birds.

    Most birds prefer to nest at extreme heights of the tallest trees, their nests are safe there from most ground predators and seamlessly camouflaged with often pale purple and dark red-brown leaves, chosen with care.

    In the distant past many creatures of the dark relied on the glint of stars, a sky of molten silver, to see in the night. Many of them went the way of countless others, never to be seen again. Naturally, there are always those who adapt.

    During the day, an obsidian-black, fur-bathed animal with thick, curved claws, constantly digs the soil in search of anything its sense of touch, or another yet-to-be-understood sense, deems to be its potential prize. With no humans nearby to mine them, nature found a use for the long-dormant crystals, waking them from a slumber of eons. And so, if this dog-sized creature is fortunate in its labors, just as it happens to be the case now, a small crystal is uncovered from the soil.

    Curved-claws instinctively places the small blue crystal at the hopefully most opportune location. For the rest of the day, the exposed crystal slowly charges in the pale sun.

    At night the crystal, of often red or this time blue variety, shines like a beacon in a fog of blackness, attracting diminutive piceous flies. Their tiny swarm eventually attracts a small and round furry animal with eyes bigger than its brain. The large-eyed orbicular creature shoots its exceptionally long tongue at the nutritive flies with immaculate precision, despite the half-darkness. This was what the sable four-legged creature waited for, so patiently.

    Curved-claws converts his claws inwards, exposing the soft padded layer of skin, and then he prowls, shadow-silent and well beyond the blue crystal''s light.

    Snap.

    The sound was pathetically quiet, the tiniest of branches cracking, almost nothing. Yet the Curved-claws stopped. It was over.

    The little furry, mouse-sized creature is not completely helpless and it instinctively bounces off into the night, using its potent and flexible hind legs, previously almost entirely hidden within its round shape. The blue glint reflected in its large reddish-brown eyes is whisker-swift swallowed by the night.

    This hunt ended as most do and was unsuccessful, but it didn''t matter since the hardest part was finding the source of alluring light. The rest was simply a matter of patience, and Curved-claws had copious amounts of it.

    In the distance, a centipedal-looking creature with widely spaced yellowish eyes and long chitinous upright neck¡ªas long as its many-legged body¡ªwatched and waited in silence. It was only slightly smaller than the Curved-claws and could potentially kill it. But there was no need to risk it, after the black hunter is successful and finishes feasting, then the Yellow-eyes will rush in and use its powerful mandibles to break the bones and eat the nutritious bone marrow within. It sensed the air currents with its long antennae and stayed well positioned, so not even the slightest scent of its presence may be noticed.

    Deep within the heart of an unremembered southwestern forest, hundreds of verdigris-colored mushrooms stand. The biggest have tall stems and caps the size of a half-timbered house or a large knoll, while smaller ones have caps no bigger than a cat. The stem of each is unusually small in width, but only if compared to large caps. No insect nor any other creature bothered to try and consume this seemingly abundant bounty since the mushroom''s flesh was highly poisonous, causing instant paralysis and death.

    The mushrooms sprawled the area around many tree trunks, encompassing their entire bulks, in places. There were entire regions within this forest where mushrooms created cap-based woodlands of their own.

    A raven, standing on top of one of these verdigris giants, was scraping its claws, quite vigorously, across the side of the mushroom cap. Then, it stood there, lost in the scope of the mushroom''s edge, silently watching a pile of mud down below with great interest.

    After about half a day of waiting, a white boar with pink-red eyes appeared, trampling over some violet ferns and moving toward the muddy clearing.

    The boar walked on with dominance in each step, easily pushing through the tall, thick, tangled, and fern-intertwined dark red shrubs. As it made its way to a nearby muddy patch, a few of the ruby-red leaves fell, marking the boar''s passing.

    With glee, the creature rolled in the mud.

    The raven was a pebble on the side of the mushroom, observing closely.

    Suddenly, it sprang into action, swooping, seemingly foolishly, at the white fury bulk, now largely covered in mud.

    The boar turned its head after hearing the raven''s wings.

    Continuing much further meant certain death for the black feathery shape, but it was not deterred. At a distance equal to about two of the boar''s body lengths the raven spread its wings, halting its progress, and pointed every single of its black claws at the boar. All of the eight claws ejected from their purchases, rushing toward the boar with the speed of a fast autumn wind. Two claws managed to barely penetrate their target, one lodged above the boar''s left eye and one in its left ear¡ªthrough the mud, fur, and boar''s thick skin. As the raven flew upward, the boar''s body stiffened, its legs: wood-rigid. The beast was as if made out of iron, it simply fell on its side, with all four legs not moving even a hair''s width as some of the mud splattered across the nearby grass and fern.

    ''''Kraa! Kraa! Kraa!'''' said the raven.

    Out of oblivion, dozens of other ravens soon appeared, their dark shapes flying between the widely spaced tree trunks. Many of them were several times smaller than the now clawless one that was already feasting on the boar''s right eye, the endings of his toes bleeding a little.

    After circling the corpse and releasing many throaty croaks of approval, about ten adults, many with missing claws and others with small, stubby ones, swooped down to land at their feast. With great difficulty they managed to tear through the boar''s skin as the smaller ones waited nearby, observing.

    The younglings are not immune and the flesh will have to be partly digested by the adults and then regurgitated directly into their offspring''s mouths.

    A blood-plump crawler was helplessly petrified, attached around the boar''s back. It was promptly gobbled up by one of the fully-grown ravens.

    The spine of the world stretches roughly north to south. Mountain ranges of the Wastes are largely found in its western reaches, standing their eternal watch against Arcadia.

    In defiance of late autumn, the woodlands of the Wastes are adorned with a rich, sable-violet carpet of feathery fronded ferns. Much of the land is a violet canvas with patches of dark red and black, all occasionally impastoed by wide rivers.

    In the southeastern regions of the Wastes, more so than anywhere else, there are mighty wooden seas of sprawling forests whose cloud-scraping trees have their deep roots intertwined with other such stalwart obelisks. Rebelling even the heaviest of winds, root in root, together brethren stand. Nonetheless, as is the case with most things in life, there is an impediment. If one tree falls it could cause an unfortunate ripple effect making its neighbors follow suit. A distant screech permeates the entire forest, reverberating across the rows and rows of unending wide tree trunks.

    The constant, unfeeling hardships are just part of existence, just another obstacle to be overcome.

    What one might call a calamity, nature uses as but a mere tool for achieving transmutation; forever seeking that elusive perfect balance in all things.

    The winds of late autumn are strong. Their whispers reach the most hidden of caves, their caresses tickle the tallest of tall branches. It is the time when the foaming waves of the world-encompassing ocean become mightier still, emboldened by these whispers. A somewhat colder time, when the falling, rustling, gliding, swishing black-purple and reddish-brown leaves outnumber all the birds of the world by far. Yet, half will remain clinging onto their branches, waiting for the kiss of the warmer spring air.

    The heat of summer and the snows of winter are long-forgotten memories. The true heat is with the stone-encrusted sands of deserts in the deep interior expanses of the Wastes; while snow mostly dwells on mountain peaks.

    Spring or autumn, the air of the world is vigor. Lava, bone-dissolving environment; from the deepest ocean floor or darkest of caves, to the highest of snows topping the mountain ranges¡ªit never mattered¡ªlife must continue. Each organism is a survivor, always hunting for the next day, for that next pale dawn.

 Chapter 8 Paterniel

    As is befitting for a crown jewel of the world, Vantium sits in the middle of Western Equiya. While the other four cities are made to mostly accommodate creatures of the air, water, ground, or those that burrow it; Vantium is the largest and built to be welcoming for all of my creations.

    Wide boulevards form many concentric circles which converge towards the core of the city. From all cardinal directions, four avenues, serving as main thoroughfares, cut the boulevards, side streets, and alleys, stopping just short of the city''s center. I imagine if all these roads were to form a straight line they would traverse a decent chunk of the continent. They are often lined with purple-leafed trees of maple, oak, and many plane trees, among others.

    However, the longest of trees¡ªoften several times the height of the highest oak¡ªpossessing thick, irregular, inclined trunks and spiraling bark, are mine. From a good distance, the trunks of these crystalborn trees resembled colossal twisted ropes¡ªeach of them topped with a miniature sky of often purple, black, or red foliage.

    They are thrown across the expanse of Vantium, and beyond. Their roots often tend to burst out of the soil in tall undulating arches, like peaks of a sea snake, sticking out of the water''s surface.

    Humans found little use and killed most of the plant life I ever made. And, the vast majority of my creations are animate, therefore making those trees precious.

    Buildings in Vantium are tall, and mostly of vertical proclivity, like elegant fingers of the continent bursting upwards. A lot of them are capped with blue-gray, slate tiles, and also have an abundance of slender-looking, arched windows that let in plenty of light.

    Each of the cities has schools or other places of learning, but Vantium possesses most of the world''s universities¡ªtheir gray-black spires often form much of the skyline in the outskirts.

    Those with the will and the scholarly mind are treated like royalty and given all the immense resources our civilization can muster. The goal: to expand our understanding of the world through the pursuit of knowledge.

    Dozens of colleges¡ªessentially I see them as smaller universities, really¡ªgracing the outskirts, are additional centers of intellectual activity and critical thinking. Theirs is the greater focus on religious matters, logic, and philosophy.

    Arts, architecture, music, and literature are omnipresent. Vantium is a melting pot of many scholars. Creating, arguing, debating, learning. Inspiring each other.

    The foundation for any structure is important. For the largest ones, long trunks of stonewood needed to be inserted full length into the ground, to make the soil more compact.

    Thousands of imposing trees were felled, processed, and transported from the far-flung East on ships and barges.

    Try as I might, accidents during construction could not be fully eradicated. Heights involved and the development of new building techniques will always carry their dangers, but compared to the way humans treated their workforces our death rates are far smaller and working conditions far superior¡ªno one is forced to toil, there are no cracking whips or beatings. Vantium is home, and many wish to add to its splendor.

    The face of the city is ever-changing. At the bustling work sites of today, master builders use winged mounts, or, in some cases their own wings, to inspect the works. Special devices for measuring angles, as well as leveling instruments like the chorobates(and scores of other tools of iron, steel, and wood), are essential for building the edifices of tomorrow.

    Open-air lodges are found near most construction sites in the city. Used by masons to carve and shape stones, many lodges have dozens of workbenches, and some even function as learning centers for the kindred with a love for masonry. Small crowds often gather near lodges to observe skilled artisans at work. At night the workbenches become gathering spots where dice games and table games like Senet and Manacala are played.

    Long ago, when the first edifices of Vantium were first built; hefty blocks of granite, marble, and many other stones needed to be painstakingly pulled over rollers of ash and oak, coated in grease. My might felt wasted on lifting quill and paper alone, so I pulled thousands of blocks on my own. A drop in Alldora, compared to the combined efforts of my creations. Regardless, we brought and stacked the stones close to building locations. For years we toiled: days under the pale sun and nights under the glow of crystals, and later the Archcrystal itself.

    Cleverly engineered architectural tools made it easier to move blocks of stone higher and higher. With the help of mighty beasts and cranes, the circular motion was transformed into a vertical one. Through a process of mechanical advantage; gears, ropes, and pulleys became a system that distributed the force from the draught crystalborn to the load.

    Strong Winged possessing a wingspan wider than that of a big whistler helped in construction by bringing the building materials and workers to hard-to-reach places.

    Defying my moniker, I''m not really the wright of Vantium¡ªonly a minuscule cog of a wondrous apparatus.

    With little need for sleep, my progeny was prolific over the centuries. In stone and on paper, we have prospered.

    In my view, one of the most fascinating structures is a special pyramidal one that uses cogwheels, levers, and weights to power itself, telling time with impeccable accuracy.

    Forming the pointed apex of the pyramid is the face of the chronos¡ªor perhaps I should say faces. The four triangular faces are oriented toward cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west. Each face has two long pointers, one is shorter, and both are made of pure hepatizon whose purplish patina stands out on the background of white quartzite. The dials are alamarium, shaped into elaborate marks and dots, and arranged in a circular fashion. Some of the dots are bigger than me, allowing for the dials to be seen at a great distance, from all four sides.

    Greedily, Vantium expands in all directions.

    Monuments in the form of statues and cubical buildings embellish squares and other prominent places of the city. The statues are building-sized and mostly honor those who fell during the war against the humans and those who distinguished themselves in scholarly pursuits. I expect Nikolaos'' likeness to grace a square or two, one day.

    Taller than most monuments, there is a religious statue dedicated to Acrona on top of a rocky hill, in the eastern outskirts. Made of steel frame, covered with panels of rare katadron that fit together so well not even a sheet of paper could slide through the joints. Most sculptures in Vantium are alive with colors, however, painting katadron would be similar to Maeve applying cerussa. A superfluous venture. The black stone is pleasing to the eye; its dark-blue glowing lines are even more striking at night.

    Thrown in the far reaches of the northwestern outskirts was one unusual-looking temple, shaped like a triquetra when viewed from above. This temple had three curved wings spreading outward that ended at three equally-spaced points. The northern wing had a statue of Allmother, graced with human-sized purple crystals in the eye sockets, the southwestern wing had one of Theia, adorned with aurichalcum, and lastly, in the southeastern wing stood a striking pure katadron statue of Acrona.

    Some statues of the goddess and those dedicated to her daughters in the outskirts are a bit too grand for my liking. Be that as it may, many of my progeny have inclinations toward believing in the divine, prompting me to keep my peace.

    Bath complexes can accommodate the needs of thousands, each. With colorful statues, gilded carvings, floral mosaics, blue murals, long warm pools, fountains, and painted sculptures¡ªmostly carved or forged out of murky-purple hepatizon, white marble, khar-nogoon(whose mesmerizing diagonal lines possess every shade of green), gray-white granite, reddish-brown bronze, and such and such¡ªthe baths of Vantium rival the obscene splendor of old imperial palaces. Only these palaces are not to be used by just a select few.

    Floors are an expanse of granite and marble tiles, often inlaid with khar-nogoon to create geometrical and floral patterns. In addition, slabs of marble and granite cover the baths'' walls like a fondant covers a cake. Rotundas and halls holding hot and cold pools were always full of life, always bustling with kindred.

    Most baths are in the western part of Vantium.

    Skies of Vantium are often littered with mounted and unsaddled Winged alike. Without the Winged above and the beasts coursing through the city''s streets, moving through Vantium would be highly impractical for many kindred.

    Circular sunbathing platforms are thrown here and there across the outskirts for the Winged to rest and play. The platforms are attached to tall spires and pointed towers.

    Vantium has thousands of circular and rectangular platforms where my creations can rest and bask in the pale sunlight, or archlight, of course.

    Periphery possesses innumerable conical structures that may seem unusual in appearance. Some of them have spiraling pathways on the outside, encircling the cone like a vine. Packed with dirt and violet grass, these paths allow many four or six-legged wingless kindred to run, walk or climb around the structure until reaching the flat top to bask in the archlight.

    Hundreds of towers and hills have ascending jumping stones winding their sides, instead of steps. These mostly accommodate my two-legged creations with sufficient strength to make large jumps to reach their homes at the top of a hill or to reach some high chamber.

    Hives, tall rectangular constructions, are mostly found in the southern outskirts. Designed to house insectoid crystalborn, these buildings have thousands of small and big hexagonal entrances. The openings are engineered to face the sun and archlight.

    Hives are perhaps not among the grandest buildings in Vantium, often not even having any rooms or chambers inside. However, they are home to the smallest among us, and, by and large, I was often fond of the hexagonal shapes.

    The northeastern outskirts have the main arena. Mainly used during festivals to Theia, the place is a miniature desert otherwise, occasionally used as an oversized gymnasium of sorts, and sometimes as a staging ground for Wraith-hunting squads.

    Follies of pure marble, gilded and partly painted in blue and red, adorned many of the voluminous thousand-shaded-purple gardens sprawling the outskirts. Large and small violet and red patches of rich foliage often appeared messy and without order or any clear plan, but this was by design. Most gardens of the periphery are actually strategically placed to be in harmony with stone, paint, metal, glass, and plaster.

    One of the largest ones was a town-sized garden in the northwestern outskirts. Named fittingly: ''''Everbloom,'''' the variety of plant life there counts in the hundreds of genera. The garden''s blue, purple, red, and black wildflowers swallowed most of the space there, their sweet aroma wafting throughout much of Vantium.

    Considering there is...no need for defensive walls, Vantium provides a sense of open vastness, a sense of freedom, with environs that know no border.

    Some proposed the building of massive walls around the city or even utilizing the might of the green Archcrystal to protect Vantium from behemothic attacks. But, sadly not even a crystal-powered shield blanketing the city would hold one of those grotesqueries for long. They need to be slaughtered long before reaching anywhere near one of our five cities. Defending is akin to delaying defeat.

    With no large bulky ramparts, the city avoids having choke points and spreads naturally. Like a living thing.

    The movement of my creations is a glorious organized mess. The exact mechanisms involved in thousands of Winged above Vantium avoiding air collisions will forever elude me.

    Beasts of fur, scale, feather, chitin, and everything between, course above and below, blood moving through a body, obeying the rhythm of a giant ethereal heart.

    The middle of Vantium is a city within a city. This vibrant Core is an organized chaos of many pale granite hills, themselves dwarfed by superstructures of numerous footbridges, and edifices like the library, amphitheater, temple to the Goddess Creator, and other notable structures, commanding the landscape.

    The Core has many hills of granite that are adorned with castles and palaces¡ªoften placed on top or at the side of the hills. Their blue-gray roofs charmingly complement white granite walls and gilded marble sculptures, gleaming in the pale sun.

    Underground walkways, ablaze with crystal light, connect the grandest of buildings with each other.

    Sprawling purple gardens, sprinkled with dark red and blue flowers, often mixed alongside a stony forest of towers and spires topped with blue-gray tiling. The Core makes the outskirts seem serene and flat in comparison.

    In terms of sheer numbers, most of the amphitheaters, temples, and even a large mausoleum are spread across the outskirts, but the majority of edifices are found in the city''s center. The granite ashlar masonry applied in multitudinous buildings is executed with such mastery that the resulting uniform smoothness and levelness experienced across all of them is as flat as a sheet of paper.

    The heart of the city is also strewn with small paths and roads¡ªhidden passages leading everywhere and nowhere. I use them once a year to walk the alleys and avenues of Vantium unseen, wearing a night-blue emerized cloak. My face shrouded by the hood. It is a good way to gather impartial information, to sense the true mood of the city. I trust Maeve, of course, but I mustn''t become cloistered.

    Again, for the building of most colossi, it was necessary to first embed the longest of stonebark tree trunks deep into the soil, making it compact. Foundation is often overlooked when one gazes upon a small mountain of graceful lines and polished stones but it is obviously critical if the structure is to stand for centuries.

    Creating even one grand structure is a massive endeavor, consuming sky-trees in the hundreds, at least. An army of carpenters is needed to make the critical wooden scaffolding, the wooden cranes, and hoists¡ªgiven muscle by strong crystalborn whose circular movement lifts heavy stone and timber. Carpenters are also responsible for the shoring(to support the structure during its infancy), and the design of custom-made centering ribs that shape and support the vaults and arches. My scholars are able to make devices for more than just war.

    Entire timberlands were felled to build Vantium.

    Over many decades, we cut down entire ancient forests of the East. Expansive heavens of purple were brought down to kiss the soil, mainly in the southern and southeastern regions of Aurum. The logistics involved in cutting and transporting the things almost made me give up on the venture.

    A large lake and a connecting Reua river separate big sections of the Core. The river flows into the lake, exiting the opposite side. It cuts through the entire Vantium from northwest to southeast.

    Water levels can be very unpredictable and management thereof required clever placement of smooth granite dams and several strong, vaulted bridges which partly hug the lake.

    Rough white-gray stone rises to surround much of the lake. Most of the structures in the Core have granite in their bones. Some are even carved from it entirely and polished to a high shine¡ªthey rise above the Silver Lake, the white granite shimmering upon its surface like a mirage. Here and there, the natural roughness of the stone is left untouched, making the buildings appear as if born out of the rocky hills.

    Clad in limestone and overlooking the Silver Lake is my manor. A luxurious building of towers, domes, and labyrinthine corridors. Like bursting stars, filigree works of platinum rosettes are embellishing their vaulted ceilings. The estate is fit for an imperial prince. I haven''t been there in months.

    In a few places prodigious rocky causeways, made to look nature-made, brush and slice the edges of the lake. Sometimes they form large pool-like sections where kindred can swim or bathe.

    Sea serpents, one giant nautilus-like creature, long, wave-cutting fish-shaped beasts with smooth skin instead of scales, a large yellow octopus, and so on, are just some of my crystalborn that found a home in this lake. There is even one lorelei¡ªa striking kindred, having the upper body of a human female with bright green eyes, and the lower half being that of a purple-scaled fish. The eyes are mine but her swimming prowess is otherworldly. I raced her once, decades ago, across the entire lake. She beat me, effortlessly.

    Wild-world also uses the lake quite extensively. There is a blue animal, shaped like a tadpole and about an arm long. Its blue skin was that of an olm. There are thousands of them in the lake, feeding on: I don''t know what.

    Silver Lake is bordering the very omphalos of the West.

    A large, tall inselberg of pure granite rises from the center of Vantium, overlooking the lake that stretches away from its side. Jagged white mixes with slightly gray rock that ultimately gives birth to white buildings. They sprout from the colossal rocky fist like tree mushrooms across a tree trunk.

    On top of this granite fist, and well underneath the levitating Archcrystal, is a big, citadel-like structure named Bastion. It has a domed top and tall windows, often several times my height, with thick glass panels, coated to resemble stained blurry mirrors. The blurry effect is only seen from the outside, while anyone standing inside the Bastion has an unobstructed view of the surrounding area. At night Silver Lake glistens from the archlight, resembling a small emerald sea of liquid silk.

    Bastion''s base is dominated by four large dome-topped towers that are partially fused into it. Stacked with crystals, swords, spears, and the like, the towers serve as treasuries and armories.

    Bastion''s domes are a wonder. They are made entirely out of stonecrete: a mixture of water, stone, lime, and pozzolana. Stonecrete is used profusely throughout Vantium, even more so in the Core. Bases and capitals of columns, walls of many buildings, footbridges, temples, palaces, manors, amphitheaters, arches, and vaults, all and more, owe their strength and stability to this remarkable material.

    The formidable structure is used for the Council meetings, and, occasionally as my residence.

    A long spiral is carved deep inside the inselberg, far below the Bastion. The interior of the spiral is engraved with Genesis symbols of power, precisely spaced and put in proper order, they enrage the Archcrystal, thereby turning it into a small green sun. Decades of careful research went into discovering and using the symbols correctly. Of course, the shining green jewel in the sky is nothing compared to the glory of the once-naked sun. Yet, it is an empowering beacon to the might of knowledge¡ªand, naturally, a delight to my creations that bask in its light.

    Carved into the side of the inselberg is Balaur''s likeness¡ªa statue almost as tall as the inselberg itself. He wears the flowing robes of a scholar, a giant quill of pure granite in his right hand, an open book in his left, and stretching across the inner forearm. The beautifully-carved lettering on it states: ''''Forward! Scream at the coldest clime and rejoice. For one day its bowels will become slashed.'''' It was written on parchment, hidden below the straw of his cell''s bed. I believe it was the last thing he wrote. I never grasped the meaning, however, if it was important to Balaur, then it is important.

    The inselberg was flanked by two broad white bridges that encompassed almost half the lake. The bridges had very wide arches, and below each, a waterfall roared. Mascarons at the sides of the bridges portrayed the faces of my long-dead creations, a large number of whom fought and perished for me. Many faces have exaggerated features, but done with taste and carved with great skill¡ªchiaroscuro contrasts of light and dark give the stone a quality of living flesh.

    Much of the Core is white stone graced with just the right amount of golden veneer. Humans often disregarded gold as a useless metal since it was so abundant. Aristocracy throughout most of humanity''s history generally avoided using gold, and those that were well off like the rich mercantile classes didn''t use it at all due to gold being called ''''poor man''s shine.'''' Lapidary crystals, sculpted aurichalcum, and such, were in repute.

    Some of our scholars argued how Vantium is, ''''Empyrean in the flesh.'''' I''m not particularly fond of such notions. Humans thought of Empyrean as a place with a neverending bounty of honey and wine. Vantium would seem like a strange place to any of them. Grand, but strange.

    Most humans would have considered the city to be abhorrent since it was not built to accommodate their corporeal needs. Although, some religious texts described Empyrean as an expanse of divine light, a domain having no wars or diseases. And in this regard, our sublime city is rivaling that otherworldly expanse.

    It is night. The Archcrystal is suffusing its emerald hue across Vantium. Long spectral shadows edged with green spread long and wide across the outskirts, attacked on all sides by the blue light and the golden haze of crystal-lit streetlamps.

    I gaze up at the black.

    The night sky was beautiful once, a glowing carpet of stars. Each cloudless night, human eyes saw thousands of these cosmic candles, but my eyes...my eyes saw even the faintest candle. A canvas of purest black was speckled with radiant diamonds. Light and darkness locked in an eternal, glorious war.

    A few times over the last four centuries I wondered: Is the war over?

    Now only the green orb that is the Archcrystal adorns the celestial dome.

    Ganbold''s piercing screech echoes in the far distance, almost drowned by the chatter of the theater crowd, few crickets, and the pleasant chirping of round-shaped goldyeyes. The giant hawk''s impetuous nature made him no friends, but the beast is brave. He sometimes accompanies Wraith-hunting expeditions, acting as a scout. Like me, Ganbold is endowed with keen vision. Difficult to say, but his remarkable eyesight could potentially rival even mine.

    The theater I''m in is a good deal east of the Core. Compared to palaces and temples, this theater is a modest and simple structure. Made to be semi-circular, with step-like seats gradually descending towards the clearing at the bottom. There are three seating sections, with the smaller, lower one, often reserved for the youngest or those with weaker sight. A rule written with water, apparently.

    Some months ago Max, one of my more...headstrong creations, slew a Wraith. Alone. The large Amber extracted was expertly cut into smaller chunks and, to my delight, the few kindred born out of them grew to become sentient. They are growing, still.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Max is clever but imprudent. The shape, size, cunning, and might of each Wraith are unique. Max could have easily---

    No point in brooding on such thoughts. His heart is the wind and I must accept that.

    At the moment, there is an intermission. Given my eyes and hearing, I sit furthest from the stage, in the remote upper tier of the theater. And, I prefer to be unnoticed.

    To my left, on the walkway strewn with slightly rough and cool to the touch, colorful granite statues, the younglings were playing pell-mell, the theater their playground. They are giggling and running around during the pause, able to find the most simple joy in all things.

    This highest passageway of the theater offers a nice night view of the city. A few members of the audience decided to climb the stairways to reach it and gaze upon Acrona''s statue glowing in the distance. The mesmerizing dark blue ghostly lines possess the warm brightness of dying embers; scars of the night itself.

    ''''Maker,'''' one of the younglings whispers while pointing at me. I place a finger across my lips in a shushing gesture.

    One of the toddlers giggles while pulling my hair behind me. My night-blue hair, the color of that long-forgotten twilight sky, is nearly impossible to cut or for even a single strand to be uprooted without great difficulty, but the little sprout is certainly giving its best efforts.

    After some time of pretending not to notice, I suddenly turn and mockingly bar my teeth at it.

    In an instant, I regret my folly as the small thing starts to cry. Of course, there could never be actual tears on its tiny cheeks but the sad sentiment is definitely there. My intention was quite the opposite.

    ''''Forgive me, Maker.'''' Its caretaker quickly removes the child before I get a chance to try and console it.

    I spend too much time with sheets of paper.

    Next to perform is Flo. I hear he is a slightly overzealous performer but well-liked. His light green skin is purposefully contrasted with the vivid, red swirling patterns of his silken costume.

    Much of the audience has already settled into their seats.

    The kindred in the theater wear a rich attire, including doublets made of silk with a satin weave, tight-fitting woolen breeches, often richly embroidered, and long backless gowns of velvet or silk, dyed vividly in violet, pink and red, bejeweled or adorned by crystals and gems, occasionally outlined with fur. About half the gowns are woven in a heavy raised pattern of a brocade weave, sometimes using silver or gold thread. Hats are mostly avoided, although, there are one or two feathered ones.

    Most of the cloaks were a cascade of dark turquoise, indigo, blue and red, crafted from silk, velvet, fur, cotton, and wool. There are even a few of my crystalborn wearing a soft yet tough Wraithskin cloak. About a third of the cloaks were finished in the smooth and soft twill weave, giving some of these garments a pleasing light luster.

    I instinctively unfocus my eyes.

    ''''Humans were vile creatures,'''' Flo begins, ''''they needed to eat the flesh of other things to live.'''' The younglings make disgusted faces, mimicking the orator. ''''They also drank water, can you imagine drinking water like some beast of nature.'''' Again the youngest ones in the audience seem repulsed. Despite the smile on my face, it makes me a little sad they stay like this for only a year or two. ''''They had everything. The dominion of the whole world was theirs, but the heart of mankind,'''' he rapidly taps his chest, ''''was made to never know peace.

    ''''Against each other, they fought. Their own kin, they slew. Like a snake eating itself.'''' Flo hisses towards the audience. ''''In the end, after many eons of tribal warfare and squabbling between petty kingdoms, there came an age of balance.'''' He then throws his arms and tries to mimic a scale.

    ''''This balance began long ago with the establishment of two empires. In all of Western Equiya the Dontium Empire ruled with a bloodsteel fist. While in the faraway East a powerful trading empire of Aurum, rich with trade from ruling Alldora''s waves, held sway. For hundreds of springs, the two empires were in a neverending cycle of war and peace over the control of luscious Arcadia.

    ''''At one period in human history, both East and West had almost the same amount of land in Arcadia. However, both sides thought that the other had holdings richer with crystals, so the hostilities remained.

    ''''Ordinary human soldiers became obsolete by this time and were mostly relegated to being bodyguards of the gifted humans who each, in turn, commanded their armies of beasts.

    ''''Overseeing the battlefield from their winged mounts, the Imperial Breakers would dictate butchery, to their many legions of Warbeasts.

    ''''Hills of shiny dust beyond count were made as the two sides used their hordes of crystalborn to try and dominate each other.

    ''''Some years Dontium would hold almost all of Arcadia, harvesting its rich soil for crystals and making more and more of crystalborn; bent on following every bloodthirsty whim of their masters. While at other times East would have half or more under its thumb.

    ''''But this balance was not to last.'''' His voice turns overly somber.

    ''''About seven centuries ago, the now forgotten Dontium emperor of bloodline Balius, at the behest of his Genesis-blessed advisers and some schemers dabbling with forbidden symbols,'''' he wags his finger at the crowd, ''''was convinced to order the unspeakable. To break one of the Endless.'''' He gasps, pointing towards the jet-black sky of the night, at the orb of light casting its viridescent hue, high above Vantium.

    ''''Wait.'''' No sound has left my sealed lips, and yet my words echo in Flo''s mind as I stare at him. The performer is startled a little for a moment but then gives a slight nod.

    I look at the caretakers next. ''''Take the younglings away. I don''t wish them to hear this.''''

    With a few minor voices of discontent, the little ones are taken away through the vomitorium.

    ''''Go on, Flo.'''' I tell him. Again, only he heard those words, making some in the audience slightly confused at the pause in the performance.

    As the actor continues, his tone gets more serious, with some of the theatrics gone.

    ''''Humans executed the forbidden Genesis process and went on to break one of the Endless.

    ''''To break the Archcrystal was something considered inconceivable. An anathema for most well-versed in Genesis. But the humans, ever cunning, found a way. Every three hundred and fourteen springs there is a special window of opportunity where the might of all creators can become amplified, called Alignment.

    ''''The twelve humans blessed with the Gift used this and stood together in the vastly oversized spark circle, ready to sacrifice their kinfolk. Twelve children were shackled far behind Imperial Breakers, inside the several times larger blood circle.''''

    His voice turns sorrowful. ''''And of course, in front of the Vile-Twelve, larger than a two-story house, the Archcrystal stood in the center of the third and final, creation circle. Or as our scholarly kindred like to say, ''induction circle.'''''' Flo points at a group of kindred, sitting close to the stage area. One of them casually waves at Flo in greeting.

    ''''One might think a circle is a simple affair but these were not. Deep within a rock desert, humans removed the top layer of the reddish-brown pebbles and soil, revealing the pale dirt underneath. The long lines created this way formed the Genesis circles, and also, the stylized-looking, and geometric shapes of the many arcane symbols of power.

    ''''The two bigger Genesis circles were so large they could encompass an entire human metropolis. The middle one, several times smaller, and yet, a human could spend almost an hour walking the diameter. From side to distant side. The now long-lost Genesis symbols, hugging the circles, were wider than a stump of a sky-tree.

    ''''The Endless was beautifully blue like the skies were said to be so long ago, shining with its ethereal living light.

    ''''Ignoring the screeches of their shackled kin the Twelve crouched, and after their palms touched the dirt it began.'''' He pauses for I assume dramatic effect.

    SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

    Scores of kindred in the theater are jolted as dozens of whips crack, somewhere behind Flo.

    ''''A cornucopia of sparks tore the air just above the three large circles with the buzzing and crackling sounds, like an infinity of insects gathered in one place. Quickly the pleading screams behind subsided and after a few hours of bright crackling spectacle, our Maker was born.

    ''''The balance was shattered forever. Maker''s might, crushed the scale.

    ''''You see, Maker''s crystalborn were almost always far superior than those created by Imperial Breakers. And, as you all know, Maker can give life to many crystals at the same time. A mere human would get exhausted by giving life to just one. Not only that, but Maker can create intelligent life, a power possessed by none other, a power that humans dreaded the most.

    ''''He was the weapon that tipped...broke the scale, and helped the Western Empire to conquer the East, making it dominate all of Equiya.

    ''''The close kin of the aging Vile-Twelve, and much later the cousins of those kin, were all specially trained to force their will upon Maker''s mind so his enslavement may continue for centuries.

    ''''Dontium ruthlessly forced the dozens of newly acquired regions of the East to only teach the imperial tongue and laws.

    ''''This new world-empire is said to have had unimaginable riches, with mountains made of beaming crystals and enough aurichalcum to clad entire palaces with it.

    ''''At its zenith the expanded empire was magnificent. Cities, trade, culture, works of art and sculpture, and writing; it was, in a way, a prosperity with limitless potential.

    ''''But it was still not enough.

    ''''The last few emperors sought immortality with great desperation. This desire culminated with the last true emperor of humans, Omniel Balius. To those that don''t know, the emperor is akin to a supreme general, his every whim was to be obeyed without question.''''

    ''''So like Kali the Behemoth Slayer!'''' someone from the audience shouted, prompting a few chuckles here and there.

    ''''Be quiet.'''' I looked in the general area of the shouter. The words were heard by more than a few, although I meant to target only the heckler.

    ''''...Maker...'''', ''''...Maker is here...'''' slight commotion ripples through the theater. The growing excitement is quickly squashed by the loud drumming sound and Flo''s pleading.

    ''''How can I be expected to perform in these conditions?'''' Flo mutters quietly to himself¡ªright hand perched on his chin, fingers twiddling, moving like the legs of a spider.

    After gathering his wits, Flo continues. The mask is back on. ''''Before Upheaval this human...grand empire, tried to break two Archcrystals at the same time, with the idea of channeling their power into the Emperor Omniel Balius, thereby transforming him into a god.

    ''''An act which resulted in Upheaval.

    ''''You see, after Dontium made Aurum into its giant province and forced it to pay tribute, Dontium''s emperors became rulers of the whole world. Power became more and more concentrated until emperors began to be worshiped as deities. As if they were living gods.

    ''''Eventually, rulers themselves started believing the lie, believing they are divine.

    ''''A continental Genesis was attempted.

    ''''At least half of those belonging to the Vile-Twelve''s posterity¡ªhalf of those responsible for dominating our maker''s mind¡ªwere placed in the center of Aurum, together with hundreds of other humans, young and old alike. In Arcadia, scores of the best Breakers the Empire had to offer were waiting patiently for the Alignment to begin. And of course, Omniel Balius was in the midst of what was once the largest mountain range in the world. Not that far from where I am standing now.'''' Flo points at his feet with both hands.

    ''''One of the Endless was placed to the north of Omniel, and one to the south.

    ''''Maker himself was put on a ship, and taken far away from the shores of Equiya.

    ''''Imperial Breakers crouched, their soles and palms touching the ground.

    ''''The moment struck, Alignment came, and Genesis began.

    ''''But something was wrong.''''

    Boom-rumble-rumble!

    A thunder sheet was struck with a mallet¡ªbehind Flo, beneath the stage, inside the hypogeum.

    ''''The Emperor''s body exploded. Turning into a fine red mist. Those Breakers, those finest of fine, had their inside switch places with the outside, their bodies turning into mush. And those hundreds in the center of Aurum? They simply fell asleep. Never to wake up.

    ''''Hubris led to Upheaval.

    ''''Some of the mightiest human creators, instead of forging a new life, dared to dabble with forces beyond them. Dared to attempt the breaking of two Archcrystals.

    ''''They''ve killed...Killed! The blazing summers.'''' He spreads his hands while looking up with lamentation. ''''Ended the steel-cold snowy winters...'''' Flo''s voice drops to almost a whisper as he utters those last few words, all the while rubbing his upper arms.

    ''''The world became shrouded with gray clouds that knew no end. Alldora slowly changed into a turmoil of raging waves. Some say the greatest calamities born of mankind''s sin were the fate that had befallen the once beautiful land of Arcadia, and the curse which took the whole East.

    ''''As the thick ashen skies blocked much of the sun, humanity slowly became plagued with famine and internal conflict.

    ''''Instead of uniting they fragmented.

    ''''Nevertheless, even weakened by famine and all that comes from the collapse of the natural world, they still had stronger forces than the Maker.

    ''''One spring after Upheaval began, the East was engulfed in a cataclysm as human cities fell from the onslaught of heaven''s wrath. Miraculously there were many survivors in the ruble and a decent chunk of humankind managed to flee westward. A large number of starving mouths additionally added to human woes.

    ''''East became inhabitable no more, and so, the world''s stage became West.

    ''''Diocles Balius, a cousin of the exploded emperor, was the prime claimant to the World Throne. The six humans who controlled Maker pledged their allegiance to Diocles, who, after poisoning a few of his brothers and sisters, took power and constantly tried to establish absolute control over the West, fighting other noble-born of his ilk.

    ''''Humans foolishly believed that six of their kind were enough to continue to ensnare Maker''s will.

    ''''For years Maker pretended to serve the humans.

    ''''He used their strife; this lack of unity, to eradicate more and more of the dying humankind. Maker expanded the discord between various groups of humans, destroying them piece by piece.

    ''''Human reliance on Maker''s power only grew.

    ''''And he helped them. Through a series of bloody battles, he helped them to consolidate the many provinces of the West back under the imperial boot. But you see, Maker had the quality which humans so desperately lacked: Patience.

    ''''During those first years of Upheaval, our creator played the role of a dutiful tool. Humans never realized Maker could speak with his creations quieter than whispers, without the need of opening his mouth. He slowly organized those who had a mind of their own while knowing that others who were animal-like would follow him to the Void and back.

    ''''Maker knew that to abolish an enemy such as humankind¡ªan enemy powerful still, with Genesis-gifted humans having crystalborn legions of their own¡ªcunning and guile were needed. Secretly, he commanded his sentient creations to begin highly targeted assassinations that would prolong human infighting. More and more, the human faction with Maker became increasingly dependent upon his power to fuel their war.

    ''''Prime spear of Diocles'' he was, while feigning to serve the perishing Empire dutifully¡ªto try and meld it back together. His mask of katadron never faltered as he pretended to be humanity''s slave, as he waited.''''

    The dramatic symphony of violins and flutes washes over the theater.

    ''''Maker''s pale blue skin was awash in red. Rivers of red. Using the legendary archblade of Pentacore¡ªthe king of all greatswords¡ªMaker bathed in noble human blood. Our creator sliced Diocles Balius in half, down the middle.

    ''''One night during the feast where all the nobles gathered, Maker arranged for the chamber to be locked down, and then he slaughtered the last trace of the central government. The feasting chamber had hundreds of the most influential humans from all the lands, gathered to celebrate their victories against other human factions. Fine cloth, fine food, fine music; the chamber was drowned in them.

    ''''Maker took command.

    ''''What followed was the War of Extermination.

    ''''In the years of blood and dust, our creator''s host only grew. He seized the imperial treasury, broke almost all the thousands of crystals inside within days¡ªhiding the birthed younglings.

    ''''Most of the other archblades,'''' Flo takes a step back and turns to his left, ''''were also secured.

    ''''Maker knew humans would target him, for crafty they were. In each devastating battle, he had to be craftier yet. Thus, covered in a long gray hooded cloak, and riding a Winged, Maker commanded his legions of land and air from a great distance. Scores of his strongest crystalborn guarding him. Maker knew that if he falls, all is lost.

    ''''Amidst the chaos of the last big battle of extermination, humans used men, women, and even their young, even their elderly as soldiers. They all stood together alongside crystalborn beasts of all sizes, bristling with sharp teeth and thick claws. But it was all for naught. While annihilating them all, Maker lost more than half of his army. The humans simply refused to surrender, their divine spark was fire, and the price of victory was steep indeed.

    ''''Most humans perished due to the consequences of Upheaval. Nevertheless, even after starvation, breakdown of society, infighting¡ªprovinces wanted to separate from the empire¡ªdiseases, and so on, there were still humans left. The surviving millions had to be put to the sword, spear, and claw, otherwise, we could not be. Otherwise...humans would do the same to us.

    ''''The battles of extermination, although gruesome, were necessary.

    ''''Alas, the nemesis plaguing the world remained.'''' Flo throws his arms upward, at the pure black, far above. ''''An eternal reminder of human folly.

    ''''In the very end, only tens of thousands of humans were left alive. And so, after one final command, the Children of Equiya were no more.''''

    ''''Aye!'''', ''''Huzzah!'''', ''''Blessed be!'''' clapping, shouts, the flapping of wings, and roars of approval are heard throughout the theater. Basking in the din of ovations, Flo bows low at the audience.

    A decent performance, although a little artistic liberty was unavoidable.

    This nemesis of the world is like a human having a cold, it doesn''t need some hero of legend to save it. Given enough eons, Equiya will go on, and life would find balance again.

    Regardless, my creations will all perish one day. Unable to procreate, only shiny dust would remain.

    I look to my lower left at the diazoma, the walkway over which the younglings were taken away.

    I want for them to see the full might of the sun, to experience the true splendor of the world, and only to leave it in old age, with their descendants being the last thing they see.

    I close my eyes, releasing the breath I held without noticing. The moment I breathe in I perceive an aroma: faint and sweet. The scent of star jasmine is wafting from some distant garden. Brought to me by the southern wind.

    ***

    With a surprisingly considerable effort, I found an ideal spot for the formidable brawny griffin to land, without damaging the pristine nature-made garden.

    Leaves did scatter around us, purple grass and flowers swayed heavily in the blasts of strong winds made by the griffin''s wings when we landed. But overall, the valley remained undisturbed.

    In little less than a full day of hard flying south, Toranos managed to traverse almost a quarter of Western Equiya, putting some falcons to shame. This griffin is among the fastest of Winged and more importantly, an old friend who lent me his wings for over a century and a half.

    Toranos has the body, tail, and hind legs of a black lion, and trunk-crushing, golden-brown, scaly feet that end in wicked, black talons of the deepest abyss. The noble white head of an eagle pleasingly contrasts the rest of his caliginous features. Unlike many other mounts, Toranos has no reins. My thoughts flow to him and he becomes an extension of my will¡ªgranted, I command direction, but Toranos commands the gales.

    With impeccable instinct, the griffin felt the slow and fast air currents, making us travel nimbly, and in shallow arcs.

    The reasons I chose it to be my wings were not just its might and speed but mainly its artistry in reading the winds. This magnificent creature doesn''t just fly, it loves flying. Passion and love for something you''re already good at can make you a crackajack for others to gaze upon and marvel.

    However, on the way back to Vantium winds might be against us, making for a much longer trip.

    I pat the griffin''s neck and it soon lies on his rotund belly while neatly furling wide dark-brown wings for a well-earned rest.

    I turn to bathe my eyes with the beauty that surrounds me. Nobody knows of this place.

    The small valley is snuggled within the Xanadu mountain range, with the modest river cutting through it. The name of the river is long forgotten, there are no surviving maps that even feature it. Blue lotus adorns and outlines the flow, hugging the nearby banks.

    The air feels different here. Silky, pure...untouched and forgotten.

    The valley is lush with purple grass, dark-red ferns, clusters of star jasmine, a hidden amaranth or two, some cattails, lupines, a few willows along the banks, and scores of cherry trees¡ªwith scant fruit but dense purplish...leaves. Star jasmine climbs up the trunks of the cherry trees, beautifying them with a fat blanket made of white flowers and small, glossy, egg-shaped, purple leaves attached to brown stems.

    The small river whispers. Its gentle babble and splashing reverberate throughout the dale. Even the short cascade has a pleasingly low murmur to it. Although, my aural manipulation plays a part here.

    In theory, I could spend years without sleeping. My research and uncovering of lost knowledge consumes most of my time and these are rare and cherished moments I get to spend with my creations that chose to wander the wild.

    Crystalborn felt my presence and were already partly gathered as I neared this place. The southern city of Vedenemo is designed specifically with water-dwelling kindred in mind, still, about a tenth of them rather decided to roam the rivers and lakes of the West.

    I have not seen many of the kindred present here today for decades.

    Water and mostly Ground type crystalborn creations surround me. Among them are a large snake with a head at each end, a beast with an upper body of a horse and the lower body of a fish, a dark green turtle bigger than a cow, a great ape with five eyes and rock plating for skin, a monstrous black dog, a yellow lizard with six legs, and a bulky, short-limbed, salamandrian creature with damp, dark red skin, gnarled horns that curve upward and a tail longer than its entire body.

    Their striking eyes, so alive, so vivid, glow with a gentle radiance of the forgotten starlight. Dozens of my other creations are also present. The majority of crystalborn are wading and swimming in the river.

    All the creatures in this valley are unsentient. A fact that does nothing to diminish my affinity for them.

    Jumping and running would get me here faster, but I find it a crude method of moving that does a decent amount of damage to the landscape. This would be a sin to the beauty which now surrounds me.

    In the distance to my left, there is a small waterfall. After retrieving a splendid musical instrument out of my saddlebag, I stride a little further down and away from the cascade until I reach a nice stone outcropping, slightly above the water. It is located in a roughly central spot of the purple valley.

    My theater of song is a scenic landscape partly filled with crystalborn as my audience. And there is no better audience than a quiet audience. I like playing for them, some compositions are mine, and once a decade I might even play a human-made one.

    The flute is of exquisite craftsmanship and was used in the Imperial court. Long ago its melody echoed through palaces, adding to the lavish ambiance of royalty.

    The delicate-seeming flute is made of aurichalcum. This strongest of metals has an eternal dark red beauty to it with dancing swirls of pale black shadows frozen within.

    Whatever long-dead human made this was wise and understood there is no need for complicated decorative engravings, the metal''s undiminished beauty speaks for itself.

    It is an obscenely decadent way of using bloodsteel. Hmmm...possibly the point.

    I was created with consciousness and a fully formed body. I don''t remember much from my first years of existence¡ªall I do remember are chains. They became one with the mind. Similar to how tree roots are part of the soil. Even to this very day I would, on rare sickening occasions, find myself bizarrely missing those roots. Perhaps if I fought harder, she...

    After sighing over the vile days of the past, a distant rumble of a gathering storm in the east reaches my ears, locking my mind back to the valley.

    Hot or cold, the environment is not a factor. I could easily traverse deserts or mountain tops unclothed. Yet, I wear a vest made in opulent red on black tapestry fabric with raven satin lining and back. It has a tapered fit and ties in the back with velvety belting. The front is fastened with six shimmering Cobalts, painstakingly crafted into buttons. An elegant notched collar enriches the vest''s design. The boutonniere of eye-sized Cobalt is masterfully carved into the shape of a single delphinium flower, attached at the left breast. My cotton breeches are black, with a medium-rise waist and two pockets at the sides.

    Considering my surroundings, these are absolutely not the most appropriate of garments, nevertheless, they are comfortable.

    As I sit on the stone outcropping with legs crossed, my hair brushes the ground.

    The melody I prepare to play for them is written hundreds of years ago by Balaur, my first creation.

    Centuries of occasional practice have made me decently proficient.

    I place the flute to be as level as the surface of the nearby rivulet.

    The song is about a bird that spent its entire life in a maze-like cage. It begins slowly with sad and sweet chirping sounds coming out of the flute.

    The tune stays such for a while, all soft and mellow-like, mimicking the singing of a creature resigned to its fate.

    Only after many years, one of the doors of the main cage opens, and the bird sees its chance to escape¡ªall the while the melody creates this image in my mind, image of a bird in flight.

    The rhythm picks up.

    My fingers move with the blurry speed of a tiny-feathered, pebble-sized blush. But it is not about the speed, it is about tempo. It is about hunting for that warm internal feeling of tingling glory in one''s heart that only music can evoke.

    Occasionally, I close my eyes and allow the melody to drench my mind. I focus my hearing fully on the sweet sounds coming from the flute. The nuance and clarity of each note are detected. Without haughtiness and with full factual coldness I can state that there is no living thing able to perceive music like me.

    The notes are pure and crisp as they merge into one continuous sound.

    Of course, now goes one of the most exciting parts of the melody, with the bird dramatically trying to find the exit out of the neverending cage-corridors.

    I breathe in the brisk air of the valley through my nose while at the same time, I push the one stored in my mouth. My breathing is one continuous uninterrupted flow making the sound remain always unspoiled and uninterrupted.

    Crystalborn in water and on land seem almost hypnotized at the lilting sound. My efforts at seeking perfection in every note, every airflow, and every movement of my fingers may seem wasted on an unsentient audience but I don''t believe so. Although they may not possess self-awareness this does not diminish their ability to feel.

    Their minds experience curiosity and serenity which then gives birth to fondness.

    The melody moves around me and, like that small river, flows through the serene valley, going somewhere far away.

    It is a positive tune and during the finale¡ªa dramatic culmination made of rising and descending, fast and slow, coiling and unwinding, spiraling and linear, down and up the ethereal stairs of Empyrean, cascading and trickling, subtle and bold, consonant and dissonant, sounds, that unite to form a blissfully-chaotic composition¡ªthe bird finds a trickle of light, leading it toward expansive blue skies.

    Balaur never got out of his cage.

    As I stop, my creations'' reverie disappears.

    A strong gust of wind turns my hair into a dark blue battle standard.

    More than half of the purple leaves fly off their branches. Thousands of them join to form a periwinkle river, coursing above the real one. These butterflies possess a striking violet beauty, with black-edged wings and a tinge of blue spilling over from their middle.

    That salamandrian creature with red skin and gnarled horns is Milo. The shine of his blue eyes is waning. He has close to three hundred years. Over centuries, its eyes lost most of their inner sparkle. Once bright and clear, like the birthing crystal it was born from, the eyes are now dimmer than the veins of a katadron.

    I leave the flute, almost tossing it to the side of my rocky seat, and go to Milo.

    I walk into the shallow edge of the river and sit in it, settling onto the jagged and muddy riverbank. As the chilled water reaches my hips, Milo places its head on my lap.

    For about eight fleeting heartbeats, Milo gazes into the distance, mouth slightly open. A lorn and exhausted look hung over his face.

    Milo''s long tail, his entire body, even his horns, all begin to break apart. Turning into a small mound of crystalline dust.

    I lift my palm, clear water and sparkling dust lamentingly dance in it. With the slow movement of a falling feather, I lower it back, spreading my fingers in the water.

    Some of the shiny dust floats, some of it sinks.

    All of the dust is swiftly dispersed, taken away by the uncaring flow.

    It could never have had young.

    I stand up straight and gaze ahead, my rise disturbing the river''s edge.

    I will never stop.

 Chapter 9 Anaya Part 1

    I should have killed him; the traitor, the fiend.

    Memoirs of Anaya

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Year two

    I fucking hate stairs. We are running through the city with no clear goal in sight but to move forward.

    My classmates and I stream across Lodestar at a trotting pace. I thought I was much stronger than this.

    My lungs are on fire and my legs are two long logs.

    Most mosses have steps carved out of their sides. Like petrified snakes, the steps twine these miniature cliffs; twists and turns their seal. A few had no railings at all! Even if you had a grain of rice between your ears, you''d still avoid using them.

    Ninthday is meant to be free for m---, for all of us poor little suffering students to just sit, and then maybe: sit some more.

    Shit! I''ve almost stepped in one. My moss is far cleaner than this part of the city. I think.

    A little while ago, the bastard made us run to the top of a lower moss, only to almost immediately climb back down.

    Our wise grandmaster saw it fit to transport all twenty-five of us on the backs of Winged, across a good chunk of the entire canyon, all the way to Lodestar. The purpose? Well, to give us a nice little tour of the city, of course.

    Which is completely understandable. It''s not as though the tiny Academy has a plenitude of facilities to train us in.

    Not all is bad, though. Lucent in daylight, Sol''s comforting presence is a warm hug. Soft quilt on a cold night.

    They say Sol''s light gives no heat or warmth, or at least not the way the sun does. Nonsense. It feels like the sun.

    Spear-armed guards are always close. A few behind, and a few further in front of our group.

    Over their short dark-red tunics, all the soldiers guarding us are wearing simple sky-white chest armor made of layered linen. At the upper center of the chest area, just below the chin, each of Crimson Guard''s custom-built thoraxes has the Academy''s emblem of a phoenix taking flight. Fist-sized and highly detailed, the emblem is made of alamarium¡ªthe striking swirls and lines of gray and shadow-black are subtly at odds with the whiteness of the armor. The thick brown leathery strips of the tasset skirt, stitched into the armor, cover their thigh area. Molded bronze greaves of golden-brown, match their helmets in gleam and color.

    Their helmets are made of bronze, have a rounded top, and narrow slits for eyes, with a long nosepiece and pronounced cheek guards, tapering down snugly to cover the face and neck. The slits remind me of two snakes facing away from each other. How can they protect anything while being half blind?

    For some reason, in addition to Academy soldiers, two Black Breakers are assigned to guard us. Both of them don''t use reins to control their Winged, which means all four of the battle familiars flying above us are commanded with their creators'' thoughts alone.

    Like always, the sky just above the city is swarmed with Winged whose leathery and feathery wings swish-swoosh the air.

    Richer families have their own Gray-made crystalborn, but, if needed, many beasts can be rented for a day or two.

    Shadows flicker across all of us when a formation of seven flying familiars swoops directly above; flying seemingly a little too low.

    A feather detaches from one of the Winged as it flies above. Immediately, the red feather starts to degrade and crumble. A gust of wind blowing from the west sprinkles the sparkling dust over the students.

    I breathe in deeply the half-stale air of the city. If I had a list of favorite places, the Academy would certainly be near the bottom of such a list. Even so, I must admit the crisp air and less noise that haunts the place can have their appeal.

    Most Lodestarians wear blue and white himation garments made of linen. Merchants are often draped in finely-woven wool. They all tend to give us space after seeing the guards and the circling formation of teeth and claws above.

    Our lissome footsteps are in time with our heartbeat.

    I am grateful this drudgery is mostly in the north and northwestern outskirts of Lodestar. Even if we were running through my moss, chances of passing next to my home were slim but I could easily imagine my mom throwing me a satchel of food to run with.

    It wasn''t just the reduced threat of embarrassment that had me relieved, though. I didn''t wish to pass anywhere near my home for the real possibility I might try to run away from everything and lock myself inside my room.

    Above and to my right, I see a large bull with four eagle-shaped wings, transporting three passengers, securely strapped in their saddles. A blank expression of monotony was etched into each passenger''s face. Not their first time on a Winged, I brilliantly deduce.

    They sit on cushy, well-padded saddles, the blissful wind chilling them.

    I almost trip and fall on my jaw.

    ''''Eyes forward, Red,'''' Grandmaster Vidar politely says. His harsh voice slams a stylus through my ears. If he continues talking in such tender ways I might just give him scars across his right hand to match those on his left.

    Close ahead, there is a crowd of about forty or so people, gathered at a respectful distance of our route. They watch as we pass by.

    ''''New crop seems promising!'''' someone shouts at Grandmaster Vidar.

    ''''They seem something, alright!'''' he yells at the crowd without looking back or losing a single stride. Many in the crowd just stare at us and bless themselves as we run by.

    Unobtrusive roads we run on often seem to be avoided by the public during this hour. Sadly, this doesn''t stop minor groups of people from gathering to watch us pass by¡ªthis happens with annoying regularity, almost every hundred strides or so.

    After passing the nearby throng, Hebe notices me wrinkling my nose. ''''What''s wrong?'''' she whispers.

    ''''Nothing. Had a pebble in my sandal,'''' I lie.

    Perfume, bath oils, sweaty linen, occasional manure, distant latrines, the not-so-distant ordure of emptied chamber pots, and the miasmal odor of piss, are just some of the smells thwacking my nose every dozen or so labored breaths.

    Goddess heard my ruminations.

    The bad smells from before are somewhat negated as we run past small open-air marketplaces; where cinnamon, nutmeg, dried rosemary, and other unknown, but mostly pleasantly-smelling spices, spread their tickling vines. Applecherry Plaza¡ªlocated in the northern reaches of Lodestar¡ªis surprisingly not-so-shitty smelling. The occasional drizzle of the plaza''s grand fountain hitting my face offers some nice refreshments.

    The fountain had fifty statues made of smooth marble, all painted in mainly red, blue, green, and purple. The statues were about the size of a giant sloth, a large creature inhabiting the Wastes. Each burly figure had two wings bursting out its back and a basic human-like shape. But only about half of the statues had a human head, the rest were animalistic, possessing horns, snouts, and even fangs.

    All hundred wings are adorned with gold leaf that covers their entire surface.

    Purple and blue are largely used for their apparel, while red is splashed on hair and lips. Green is used on very small sculptures of trees, thrown about their feet.

    The coarse-textured marble rocks upon which the statues stand are just rocky outcroppings, very rough-looking and unadorned.

    The fountain''s basin held a large body of turquoise water, clear and serene¡ªgentle ripples and splashes reflected a pale sheen from above. Two powerful crystalline jets soared skyward, further disturbing the surface.

    Striking, yet dreadful. The plaza''s main centerpiece viciously clashed with its name.

    Before exiting the Applecherry Plaza completely, we pause and wait for three large carts with coal to pass. Stocky Grey-made four-legged crystalborn larger than oxen, pull the heavy load. Their horns are waist thick and longer than even the tallest man¡ªdespite being curved. Long fly-chasing tails end in a tussock of black mane.

    The beasts'' heaving muscles are clearly outlined through short gray-white fur.

    I look to the right. A tall, colorfully-clothed form captures my attention.

    ''''She could...probably buy us all,'''' Hebe pantingly notes after seeing me staring at a finely dressed woman.

    ''''Vambrace-looking thing...on her right hand is almost...pure platinum. It means she is the Headwoman of this guild,'''' Hebe continues, pausing after every few words to catch the much-needed gulps of air.

    ''''That guildhall belongs to the...wool-trading guild.'''' Hebe nods towards the well-kept but unassuming...no, the building is stately. The guildhall is like a pretty girl trying to remain unnoticed in the crowd; smaller than most temples but it stands out in the end.

    Purple banners, dropping between the tall arched windows, had an emblazoned white symbol of the Wool Guild: a crossed drop spindle with a whorl and a simple spindle stick. Jutting from the middle, the tall rectangular facade occupied about a third of the building''s side. About thirty arched windows graced the white-gray limestone facade, making it more glass than stone. Far above the stonewood doors, a coat of arms is carved from pure white limestone. Two winged horses were facing each other, flanking the decorative shield with crossed spindles at its center.

    My eyes see the joints, the lines, and the tiny cracks; marks of rain and time. From a distance, the stone seemed perfect, though.

    The limestone-and-brick building resembles a manuscript''s gold-leafed illumination of a small castle. I don''t like its slanted roof. That must be a pain to clean.

    ''''That roof must be a pain to clean,'''' I murmur to Hebe.

    ''''I know. The dust gets between the tiles, but it looks nice,'''' she points out.

    Hebe''s mother has a sister in the spice trade, working for the Spice Guild. Lana Furia and Ariana especially, offered Hebe pretty combs and nice-looking bone hairpins in trade for some smuggled pepper or cinnamon. To her credit, she rebuffed them quite easily. I would take that deal any day.

    The Headwoman has a wheatish complexion and dark brown eyes. She is in her late forties but hides it well, very well. Covering her body are several tunics in layers of pure white, bright green, and that yellow hue of Amber found in crystals often used for lighting the city''s streets at night. Exquisitely carved Crimson and Viridian necklaces, earrings, and bracelets decorate her tall stature and valorous poise while displaying wealth that somehow doesn''t seem ostentatious¡ªeven my father would probably take note of that artisanship.

    Crimson tits! I''m getting a slight headache. It often happens when I enhance my eyesight a bit too much or too often. A couple of years back, when I told Mother about it¡ªand showed it by reading tiny notation letters from a manuscript on another side of the room¡ªshe didn''t know how to respond. At first. But then came her typical reaction of fear. Not of me but for me. She made me promise never to do that or speak about it ever again. How can my having a better vision than hers be a bad thing? I thought about not doing it anymore¡ªI really did¡ªbut I can''t resist. Sometimes I do it instinctively without noticing. Besides, no one will ever know.

    Two servants carry the bejeweled woman''s belongings, while, standing nearby, two thickset men¡ªpossibly related to those oxen-like familiars¡ªare guarding her. These men are somewhat trying to act inconspicuously while wearing ordinary garbs but are failing, failing miserably with those poorly concealed knives, or possibly daggers¡ªnot to mention the constant hawkish glances they throw at their surroundings.

    Typically, our breaks come after pausing at crossroads. I will never again be so grateful to see slow-moving carts and the elderly.

    For the last few hours, our panting and the sound of our feet only got interrupted at crossroads, or when a few of the students lagged too far behind the main group. In such cases, we would all pause for a bit so that those few can catch up, and so that Grandmaster Vidar can utter obscenities at us. Strangely, I would prefer he yelled more. I''ve read that the people who yell a lot are usually very weak. Powerless, in fact.

    Our running resumes.

    Oftentimes, Hebe and I stick to the middle of our ever-moving group.

    I would rarely place myself closer to the first place, preferring the middle of the running pack. I won''t go first. That spot is reserved for Tomoe, a girl with wings for legs.

    Tomoe is trailed closely by some of the boys: Gabriel, Peter, Jax, and Michael.

    Here and there a Winged or a group of them can be seen transporting people, smaller packaged goods, woven baskets, or sometimes, large wooden chests and even barrels.

    Polygonal blocks of stone with strange smooth, lime mortar-like solid substance around them make for fairly level roads. While running on them, constant click-clacks of our tight-fit hobnailed sandals announce my class'' arrival to any potential onlooker.

    The main roads of the city were wide enough for two hefty wagons to pass in each direction.

    We are about to reach the long outline of Nemea''s Track, the hippodrome which can hold almost a quarter of Lodestar. It is a popular place where ground-dwelling familiars, with one or many riders behind, chariot raced.

    The gates of the stadium stood wide open. Pulsating shrieks from the doubtlessly entertained crowd within, easily reach my ears. When I was little, Father supposedly took me there once but I have no memory of it. I think horses were racing that day, black horses, blacker than the Void itself, though I''m not sure if that memory is real or a dream I once had.

    Personally, I never understood the appeal of chariot racing¡ªnor the passion coming from thousands of zealous onlookers. Charioteers going in circles and raising an Alldora of fine dust. Glorious! Still, I can''t stop myself from being envious of people sitting and enjoying themselves while we click-clack through the city.

    Near the hippodrome, numerous small stalls were filled with palm-sized pastries, stacks of brown bread, and smoked sausages. The smells are pleasing but I have no appetite to speak of.

    We turn westwards through a narrow street.

    ''''Slow down!'''' Grandmaster Vidar yells. ''''Crossing blocks ahead!''''

    This street''s road is narrower than most, but it has a robust and compact feel to it¡ªlike running on some flattened turtle shell. Elevated large stone slabs created a footpath on both sides, periodically connected by crossing blocks. The blocks were spaced enough for the wheels of carriages. Centuries of usage were evident by the carriage ruts that marked the road''s surface.

    We make a short pause at another crossroad marked by a small fountain at its center.

    My eyes are drawn to an elderly woman scooping water from it.

    I''m not really thirsty, though I wouldn''t mind dipping my entire face into the fountain to freshen up a bit. Void''s curse, I wish to lie in it! Even the cold shower caverns seem almost inviting now.

    We stream on. No end in sight.

    While we are running through the spacious northwestern Lartia Plaza, three boys that couldn''t be more than eight excitedly run parallel to us, for a bit.

    The sprats are jubilant about something as they release an annoying cryptic chirping that only others of the same age can decipher.

    The Lartia Plaza''s main feature is a decorative column with a painted statue on top.

    The woody and a bit fruity aroma of burning frankincense mixed with the warm, slightly bitter scent of myrrh.

    The looming temple of Theia nearby is so clean and blood-red color¡ªspreading the lower halves of the pillars¡ªso crisp, it seems as though it was built yesterday. It is well-kept. The priests like to show some of their devotion through upkeep. And the more worshipers you can attract, the more crystal chips you make via donations.

    Before long, the plaza''s column disappears into the distance.

    We continue our pointless excursion as it takes us charging forth next to a millrace. The earthy, sweet, and grassy whiff of freshly-ground grain wafts over me. That picturesque olive-colored watermill ahead of us probably does the work of forty men. Greenish hue charmingly stains its exterior. A large, turning, stonewood waterwheel rotates the granite millstone inside. Must be granite. Most watermills use sandstone, but this one has a two-story design, is well-kept, and located in an opulent part of the city.

    And...the sign outside says: ''''Granite crushed! From grain to greatness.''''

    We climb. We climb the steps born from rock. Luckily, with railings this time. Ground level of the city becomes something distant, and there is only up. Realm of birds, our goal.

    We run westward.

    The northern moss was not the highest, nor the lowest of mosses. Its streets, narrow and winding, were often lined with four and five-story dwelling complexes. A few of these brick and stone buildings had blue and yellow facades, richly painted with depictions of lions, familiars, and purple floral patterns.

    Much of our path today was surprisingly unobstructed, which makes me wonder how many other wretches before us did this same mindless excursion. What is the point of this? It must take considerable effort and strain for the Academy''s resources to not only transport us all here but also to guard and train us.

    The bridges connecting the mosses offer breathtaking views, and this one is no different as it spans the abyss of white stone, rectangular homes, and distant circular plazas.

    Since I grew up on a moss, height never bothered me. But I don''t think that is the case for most of my classmates, more than a few of whom were forcing themselves to look only forward. Some slowed down considerably, and perhaps, reasonably so, wish to have skipped their breakfast. Little escapes my eyes.

    A formation of about twenty or so Gray-made Winged glides far below us, each with one or two riders.

    Winds seem to be slightly stronger here, making me feel more alone. That doesn''t make sense. I''m surrounded by people. Why would I feel alone?

    ''''A heart has eyes of its own.''''

    I just remembered that quote. It''s from a shitty book I''ve read years back. The manuscript spoke how the heart and the mind are destined to always be at odds, and how divine spark often tips the balance toward one or the other. Personally, I think the author was too philosophical in style but, you know, a big volume is bound to have a good maxim or two.

    On a few occasions, I was able to hear the low humming of the flowing water beneath my feet and sense the barely noticeable vibrations made by its passage.

    All the sky-bridges connecting the mosses have thick steel pipes inside them that carry water, and, I''d wager, add to their strength. Just as is the case with the one I''m running over now, there are no pillars below any of the sky-bridges, they are elegant and continuous.

    Halfway done.

    The radiant white marble balustrade runs along the entire length of the bridge. It is adorned with candelabra-shaped lamps made of gilded bronze. Although numerous, the lamps are nicely spaced. The Cobalt and Crimson light of the candelabras is pale, only at night or at dusk is their true splendor revealed.

    The sky-bridge is made of strange grayish-white stone. There are no joints on the roadway, I don''t know how to explain it, the roadway is like one smooth continuation made of this stone. It has an overall rough texture but smooth appearance. The sides of the roadway are little worn and polished by the patina of use, making them a bit smoother than the middle section.

    All of us huddle to the right side of the broad bridge as a four-legged Ground familiar runs past us in the opposite direction. Long, barely curved horns and serpentine body¡ªits forelegs and hind legs are widely spaced from each other¡ªelongated muscular neck, pointy ears, wicked claws, ruby eyes, a snout of two slits for a nose and spearheads for teeth, all make for a striking image.

    The long zaffre-blue creature is pretty.

    Following close behind it: a same-looking fur-shimmering beast. Except this one was awash with vibrant vermilion-red, the hue of crushed carnelian.

    They''re probably some senator''s pets.

    The bridge crossed, soon we traverse the clearing and climb the wide steps leading to the moss'' level top, strewn with white and gray buildings. Like in most of the city, their roofs are often flat.

    Lodestar in miniature, Caelius Moss is roughly the size of the one I grew up on, except that it was more irregular in shape. This moss is one of the tallest ones, the northwestern waterway connects to it.

    Every other street we pass seems to have a saddlery¡ªthat are possibly more numerous than smithies.

    Most saddleries often feature a red, blue, or green vividly painted stonewood board, claiming that their Master Saddler and services are matchless. Or professing how the prices were never lower.

    The shop we are passing, to our right, is no different. Their displayed saddles seem so inviting to my ass. An old man inside gave us barely a moment of attention before returning to thread his long nail-like needle through thick leather.

    The walls of this saddlery are adorned in a rich floral pattern of dark-red blossoming vines, with black silhouettes here and there symbolically depicting transport familiars.

    The best saddlers probably make more hex than my father.

    I saw no chairs inside. Maybe you don''t need actual chairs while making the sculpted ones meant for the backs of familiars. As I trot onward, the silly thought baits a fleeting misty smile from my lips.

    Ahead of us, a woman wearing a purple palla is a little hesitant at first to make way, but in the end she and her four tall guards, each armed with a spear and draped in a blue cloak, move for us. Her perfect dark-brown eyes bathed in black skin whose tint mirrored the one found far above Sol at night. Shimmering pale green paint graced her eyelids, but that was that. She wore no crystal finery, no earrings or necklaces, not even a simple bracelet. She didn''t need any.

    She regards us curiously, with a warm expression. Like a mother might at her children playing.

    She seems to be wearing half a tent.

    ''''Long live the Senate!'''' a boy behind me shouts toward the dignified woman. The rest of the students, including the grandmaster, repeat those words.

    I almost choke on my last thoughts as if they were words said out loud. A senator. How can I see so much and so little? The four watchmen near her belong to the city. The Cobalt Guard''s white thorax armor is scratchless, and bronze greaves are not even a little bent. Unlike the overall armor of Academy''s Crimson Guard, the signs of true usage are slim. Apart from that, the armor worn by the Lodestar''s blue-cloaked soldiers is identical to what I''m used to seeing at the Academy. Of course, the alamarium phoenix emblem is replaced by the one depicting a boar.

    Munificently, the Senator gives our group a slight nod.

    That is strange. I supposed all of them traveled in a private litter with richly patterned awnings; usually carried on the shoulders of at least four servants. Or, as I''ve seen it once, on the back of a decorated Winged¡ª bristling with charged crystals embedded in custom-made, sleek, polished, light alamarium armor. I remember my eyes being drawn to the metal''s misty stains, its charcoal-gray swirls, and long smoky lines.

    I''ve heard a few senators take it even a step further and ride a destrier. Most people would probably see it as a rather unimpressive animal, especially if compared to some mighty crystalborn, but they are gorgeous beasts nonetheless. Sadly, I doubt any of the haughty riders care much about the destrier''s beauty. Horses are rare, and warhorses are amaranth-rare. Combine this with the equine maintenance costs and the noble beasts are reduced to being glorified trophy-thingies...living status markers.

    My father once hushedly said to me that senators have twigs for legs and therefore can''t walk; Mother was nowhere within earshot, of course.

    I tried not to think of my parents but our current excursion makes that difficult.

    Shortly after reaching the blessed end of our journey, Lana Furia and Cassius disgorge up their last meal.

    ''''We all cry for our mothers as we are born and as we die,'''' Vidar regards our sorry state with a slight grin, ''''however, some of you seem to have been regrettably stuck at the first stage. I will never question the wisdom of Allmother, but if our holy ancestors could see you all now they would be doing cartwheels in their watery graves.'''' Keep talking and you might meet them soon.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    He notices my death glare. ''''Is there something you wish to add to my words of wisdom, Red.''''

    ''''Some of us need water.'''' To drown you in it. You florid-faced dustbag.

    Nest-chin regards me quietly for a few moments. ''''All in due time.''''

    This moss has a long protrusion, jabbing westward and resembling a spear born out of the soil itself. From the ground level, it looked like an ugly nature-made wall with purple mossy patches thrown about. Thousands of dirty, rough, jagged dents and other irregular shapes make for anything but a smooth wall. But, standing on its flat narrow top, I must admit the view is pleasing. Lodestar stretched southward: a patchwork of white buildings and houses.

    The city is a white canvas splurged with almost incandescent colors.

    Rising red blush forms dominate the city''s landscape.

    Distant roseate mosses had tops speckled with white dots, their high rims edged with purple. Faraway flat-roofed houses resembled miniature castles.

    Lodestar''s outskirts and the canyon floor beyond, have rock formations that hardly deserve to be called a moss(with their narrow top of a butte, spire, or wild inselberg-like shape).

    Yet the name is very flexible.

    Given by ground dwellers long ago, the term stuck, describing almost anything tall, rocky, and with life on top.

    Again seeing it as a violet smudge, Ariadne Garden added a life made of incalculable purple glossy leaves to Lodestar''s western reaches. On those rare occasions when visiting home, I was seriously tempted to try and fly directly over it. Maybe even walk the hedge maze. Sadly, that was never possible. Familiar transporting me home and back was imprinted with a singular command: to take me home and then, after a visit too short, back to the Academy''s voidish embrace.

    Grand streets and byways led me to this spot, yet I barely give them any attention now.

    Even the large purple, blue, red, green, white, and gold horizontal bands of the column directly below Sol are easy to distinguish. Laid in the center of Lodestar, the circular outline of the Senate Plaza was bursting with tiny people and some crystalborn thrown in. The plaza''s marketplaces seem well-provisioned. There are vegetables of both natural and artificial origin lining the---

    I need to be careful. Mustn''t give voice to what my eyes truly see.

    The rocky spear of Caelius Moss pointed toward the imposing Western Cliff that wasn''t just a part of the horizon, it was the horizon.

    Mist veils the cliff, making pockets of fragile white clouds.

    Waterfalls are not easy to spot from here, but mirroring the Eastern Cliff, the Western one also had thousands of cascades creating white clouds of mist across its grand face.

    Western river-channel''s thick outline was red, somewhat echoing the redness of the cliff. Although; on a closer look, the water''s surface glimmered with a darker shade of red and a tint of brown. It looks like a river made of mud and shit.

    Above, several senatorial villas are clearly visible. Carved out of sandstone, the villas are wide luxurious houses with multiple landing platforms, which can also serve as a courtyard of sorts. These spacious structures were often very high and only accessible using a winged mount.

    To the north, the buildings quickly gave way to Valley''s violet gown. Distant trees became dots and blurs, marching toward the canyon''s northern end.

    The arcade of many white arches stretches in the northwestern direction. It meets the Western Cliff somewhere far away from me.

    My city''s emblem, the black silhouette of a wild boar with long tusks proudly standing on a field of blue, is featured on thousands of fluttering banners scattered across Lodestar. Their sheen of vivid blue elegantly drapes the walls of round, crenelated scouting towers and public buildings.

    A recognizable, delicate, clinking sound reaches my ears.

    Dust washes over us, causing a few of my schoolmates to cough. A beautiful pink horse with matching feathery wings lands noiselessly nearby. Bella.

    Katerina Varro, crystalborn''s rider, smoothly dismounts from her mount. Did she even put her straps on?

    She retrieves a medium-sized sack from her saddle. Her nimble steps quickly bring her in front of the grandmaster. The tinkling of many metallic rings in the caretaker''s long black hair announces even her slightest of movements.

    ''''Were they good?'''' Rings kisses Grandmaster Vidar on both bushy cheeks.

    ''''They were good enough,'''' he answers, profusely praising all the students.

    Rings gives him the sack and, after he pulls something out of it, both of them move about the students.

    Grandmaster Vidar begins giving small black pebbles to all of us. She does the same, but pulls the white ones out of the sack.

    ''''Each of you is going to cast a ballot,'''' the grandmaster begins. ''''If all cast a white pebble, we run to the city''s southern outskirts, and then back toward the Academy on the backs of Winged. Same way we came.'''' Vidar puts a black pebble onto my palm. He already gave out about half, his bear-like right hand serving as sort of a bowl. ''''If even one of you casts a black pebble, then thirteen students, randomly chosen, will fly to the Academy immediately on a Winged, from here. The rest, no Winged at all. On foot, all the way back.''''

    ''''...What?...''''

    ''''...They can''t do that...''''

    ''''...When are we going to eat?...''''

    ''''Shut up,'''' Fuzzy Beard orders, silencing the discontented voices. ''''Once you choose the pebble enclose it in a fist, and open the fist inside the box so it''s all secret.''''

    Rings puts a wooden box on the ground.

    Grandmaster Vidar looks at our pitiable condition. I and about eight students sitting in dirt. Cassius and Hebe are almost lying down. The standing ones don''t fare too well either. Grayish pallor holds Zuri''s face; Lana Furia might heave up again, her face a sickly shade of green.

    Gabriel seems almost unaffected, as though we all took a stroll through the city.

    We''re all just very tired, wishing to go home.

    No, not home. The Academy, I correct myself.

    ''''Pebble. Fist. Box. Now!'''' Grandmaster Vidar rarely yells, but when he does, well I can''t argue with the results. Our stupor broken, one by one, we vote. ''''Nice and dandy,'''' brown-bearded-bastard nods in approval.

    After wrapping up that affair, Fuzzy Beard and Rings separate from our group, Rings taking the box away.

    I focus my hearing and eyes on the duo.

    At a comfortable distance, Rings opens the box. After a few moments, she shows four fingers to Grandmaster Vidar.

    ''''Every fucking time,'''' Grandmaster Vidar mutters so quietly that even I barely heard the profanity.

    ''''They will learn,'''' Rings whispers to him. ''''In few more Ninthdays, the group will come together.''''

    Shit. Fuck. Shit. That was a test. They are going to keep taking one of our classes-free days until we all cast the white pebble.

    The duo comes back.

    Grandmaster just smiles at us, the way a child might smile at an ant about to be squashed. ''''It is decided. We all go back the same way we came.''''

    Of course. It would take days for the tired students to run or walk all the way back to the Academy. He is going to pretend we all voted with a white pebble.

    ''''I will let them know,'''' Rings tells Grandmaster Vidar before sauntering toward her pink mount.

    Grandmaster just nods in acknowledgment. He tells the twenty-five of us to rest before we ''''hippity-hop'''' back home. His tall frame perched with a boulder-head, leaves us to a much-needed respite, hopefully for a good breath or two.

    ***

    The library''s antechamber was decently sized. Could probably fit multiple girl dormitories.

    Before getting inside the library I had to put a special padded covering over my new knee-high leathery boots. My guess is that that was Vice Keeper Sabina''s invention. She is number two of the Great Library, set to become the next Master Keeper. Or would her future title be: Mistress Keeper? I don''t know.

    The current Master Keeper is older than old. Him considered being half-deaf and half-mad, you can imagine who truly governs this wonderful place. Vice Keeper Sabina is sorta like Rings in this regard.

    Anyway, the current Vice Keeper is a firm believer that noise gives birth to more noise. I wouldn''t be surprised if she had better hearing than me. On several occasions, at least five girls from my class lost library privileges¡ªsome for a few days, others: a week¡ªfor supposedly laughing raucously. And one or two girls said their banishment was due to them breathing too loudly or coughing, I can''t remember exactly. Such punishments, especially during times of exams, can be a scholarly death sentence for some students.

    I approach the black-brown desk. Bent at a right angle, the desk was thrown into the antechamber''s corner, its both ends almost seamlessly fusing with the sandstone wall. A small door on the other side, only access point.

    Vice Keeper Sabina narrows her eyes upon seeing me. ''''You again.'''' She doesn''t like working at night. Nor during the day, perhaps.

    Vice Keeper Sabina Sabinus is in charge of library access. She can be a tiny bit strict. Damage a book or make noise one too many times, and you lose access to the library perhaps indefinitely.

    I''ve heard some older students calling her, ''''The Whip.'''' She has a special thin stonewood stick. Basically, the offending student is given a choice: fingers or exile. Depending on your offense, she slams your fingers with that stick. Sometimes until they get swollen like sausages. You can always choose exile, of course. Hmmm...I guess naming her ''''The Stick'''' would be a bit silly-sounding.

    I scratch my cheek. ''''Greetings. Yes, me...again,'''' I say, softly.

    ''''You know, it''s interesting. You practically live there,'''' she nods at the library''s large entrance, ''''and yet I never seem to see shoddy red bristles anywhere.''''

    ''''I''m very quiet.'''' I give her a tiny smile. If I gave her anything more, like: ''''One end of the broom is on top of my head, but the other end is deep inside your back end,'''' or anything of the sort, it would just give her an excuse to use her power on me. She would search and find a reason to get me barred from the Great Library.

    ''''What do you want?'''' Her pinkish gaze is slightly down. Even at fourteen, I''m only about half a head shorter than her.

    Unshockingly, she wears pink-tinted crystal lenses with a thin and elegant golden alloy frame. Mother had plenty of berating for my father about how he should be focusing his craft more on making these remarkable vision-improving wonders. There was simply more hex to be made that way.

    Grudgingly, I must admit she is not hideous; as is evident by the number of boys frequently asking her stupid questions or staring at her back as she slithers through the library, always ready to disperse punishment for any trifling misdemeanor.

    Vice Keeper Sabina is in her mid-twenties, ancient to my eyes but young considering her position. Her skin of polished marble and flawlessly balanced features were harshly contrasted by a vicious nature, hiding beneath the pretty veneer. Although her eyes mirrored each other in immaculate likeness, they seemed somehow empty to me¡ªlike a fetching but drained Amber.

    Hebe told me some older students start to whisper or clamp their mouths if Sabina''s slender form suddenly passes next to them in the Great Chamber or courtyard. She must think of herself as a consul or some such.

    ''''Just a lantern, thank you.'''' I tap at my satchel. Shoulder strap diagonally cuts across my chest and coat, satchel resting at my right hip.

    Before entering the Great Library, we are allowed to ask for a shining crystal or two, attached to a stick or inside a lantern. The stick is easier to carry but lantern is more suitable for reading.

    ''''Cobalt, I assume,'''' Sabina says.

    I''ve always found the pleasant blue light of Cobalt to be the best for reading. Not that it matters that much to my eyes. ''''Yes please.''''

    She hands me a simple-looking black-gray iron lantern with a shining Cobalt inside.

    I smile at her and leave for the library''s entrance.

    As is so often the way throughout the Academy, the large double doors have their own small portal embedded at the side.

    The swirling vortex forming in my midsection is far different from the one I had upon first entering the Academy with Aleera. No fear of the unknown this time. Just the thrill and the feeling of thousands of tiny spiders moving beneath the skin of my lower back.

    Even after so many times of coming here, the feeling of awe is undiminished.

    Resembling some forgotten strongroom bursting with lost treasures, the Great Library is located very deep within the cliff.

    The library''s main aisle is simple in design, really. Basically, the Gutter is a very wide and long central corridor that stretches straight forward, disappearing into the Void''s mouth. Its floor is a river made of perfectly flat stone, about half a mile long.

    I always feel as though I''m inside the rib cage of a mountain, walking its spine.

    Oh! I was repeatedly corrected and told that the Great Library is a chamber and not a hall. So...anyway, this gargantuan hall stretches the length of the Gutter¡ªthe library''s main aisle reminds me a bit of that middle entrance corridor Aleera and I walked through, a lifetime ago. The same way a candle might remind one of Sol, I suppose.

    Giant upright slabs of stone are embedded with books, millions of books.

    On each side of the wide walkway, bookcases¡ªif I can call them that¡ªare carved from the very pale red stone of the cliff itself. Many stories high, the cases stretch at a right angle from the Gutter and seem to additionally serve as pillars...hmmm...no, obviously they look nothing like pillars, but, I''m fairly certain they function as a pillar does. They must support the ceilings.

    Stacked shelves are recessed into these wall-pillars, taking the form of special indentations used for storing books.

    All this panthalassa of knowledge is a gift by the Goddess to our holy ancestors. I''ve learned that word here. Can''t really use it much, if at all. Although, Grandmaster Hadrianus would surely know its meaning.

    The Great Library boasts many illuminated manuscripts whose elaborate illuminations typically include shiny metals such as gold or silver, sparkling on pages beyond count.

    Inside this giant vault of knowledge, the shelves abound with luxurious tomes that seem as though they might be works of art; too precious to be touched and read and instead needed to be admired from a distance with pure reverie.

    Astonishingly, endless thousands of books are bound in silk and velvet.

    Silk has an appearance similar to nanilu and is one of the hallowed vestiges passed down to us by our holy ancestors. Not even consuls wear silk. It might be rarer than nanilu itself but not nearly as strong.

    Yet here, here the silk is far from rare. I''ve read several books just to hold and feel the softness of their luxurious covers.

    Many of the most richly decorated works are often religious ones.

    Tonight, my sapphire satchel holds three books, and none interests me. A book needs to be requested in advance, a day or two earlier before you wish to get it. Usually, we can''t have more than three taken outside the library, but this rule is flexible.

    Those that graduate get expanded access. And, you can take ten or more books with you to your own private chambers. Imagine that, your own quarters. No need to share anything, or listen to someone''s noisy breathing and snoring; or having to pretend to be sleeping, or...ah. Despite Academy''s spaciousness, privacy is rather lacking.

    The books of medicine, science, history, philosophy, art, poetry¡ªeven a precious few about Genesis¡ªand beyond. All is here. Knowledge of the world permeates the space. Neatly cut and stacked sheets of papyrus and parchment are braced with velum, leather, and such.

    Was there ever such a place? Worldly understanding at your fingertips.

    On top of that, Academy''s library is sealed to most of the public. The place has its perks.

    Leathery, earthy, slightly sweet, and a faint scent of wood, all blended together to form a subtle aromatic mixture. There was even a whiff of an acrid smell, which strangely didn''t disgust me, but complemented the rest of the smells quite nicely. Like adding garum to a cake batter: it shouldn''t go well together but it does.

    An occasional faint aroma of hyacinth flows around me. That''s probably just me, though.

    The majority of reading spaces are thrown at the far sides of the library.

    Within the distant walls of the Great Library, there are high, hollowed-out small rooms, with only a slab of protruding stone and no chairs inside. The slabs burst out of these rooms'' walls, acting as legless tables, so you can read while standing. Why would anyone wanna do that? I don''t know. Even sitting on the floor is preferable to standing all the time.

    The library''s name, although well-earned, is...quite bland. Why not name it: ''''Parchment Imperium,'''' or ''''The Arcanium''''? If everything is named ''''Great'''' then nothing truly is.

    In all four corners of the library, there are these fantastic double helix staircases¡ªthe only stairs I wish to tread¡ªthat can lead one to many levels of reading alcoves, honeycombing the tall walls. The alcoves are so numerous that even if all the guards, the students of each year, and all the caretakers suddenly felt that divine urge to read, all at this very moment, they...they would still be mere grains of sand thrown at a large hill.

    Elbow space, indeed.

    It would be incredibly wasteful to try and bring crystal light everywhere. That''s why there are plenty of areas where darkness rules, making haunting images of cave-like entrances swallowed by the black.

    Pockets of trapped inky blackness had an edge of vivacity to them, playing tricks on the eyes. Shadows here can come to life, if you let them.

    During my first year, I did a little discreet exploring of the forgotten and rarely-used alcoves lining the highest reaches of the library''s walls. So, I discreetly punched the walls inside some of these very high reading rooms, listening to the sound my punches made. Conclusion: huge sections of the library are hidden from the students¡ªpossibly even from fully-fledged Breakers. I was thinking of using my little ears to learn who else knows of these concealed areas.

    My hearing manipulation has improved, but I''d rather not push my luck. One can be discreet only so many times, you see.

    Orbs of light throw radiant spears at the unkillable night.

    Scattered across most of this...hmmm, what is the best word...magnificent. Yes! Magnificent.

    Scattered across this magnificent expanse, thousands of crystals shine their red, blue, yellow, and green glow.

    During the day, a small army of caretakers is responsible for replenishing and charging the spent Cobalts. There are some Viridians and Ambers, placed willy-nilly, but I would wager they are used for variety''s sake rather than any practical purpose.

    Edging the spots of brightness, twilit nooks and crannies spread like ghostly vines across the Great Library.

    Lantern is handy mostly while studying at one of the many carved reading alcoves dotting the walls, or those far-away tenebrious areas between the bookcases that have secluded, fine-textured stonewood desks and tables. Otherwise, the spaces near the main entrance have plenty of light.

    Every time I''m here, my mind struggles to explain how this Alldora of volumes can be possible. I feel as though it would take thousands of years and resources beyond imagining to make all the tomes around me. Creation...mark of the Goddess is evident everywhere I look.

    Not only that but there are books here¡ªthe biggest slice of the cake, really¡ªthat are filled with strange, punctiliously drawn letters on crystal-sleek papyrus.

    Most of the books have lettering so crisp and clear, they look as though made with a ruler. Since Allmother gifted them to our chosen ancestors, these books are considered holy. And I must admit, their papyrus is divinely smooth, so pleasing to the touch, and whiter than purest marble, often with barely any yellowish tint to it.

    Forever gazing sternly across the Gutter were the towering shapes of philosophers, poets, writers, semioticians, arithmeticians, and scholars of all sorts. The narrower side of every bookcase is carved into a statue of their likeness. Sentinels of stone guarding parchment. Luminaries of the past, hidden but not forgotten.

    On closer inspection, roughly resembling wood grain, the statues are streaked with countless lines of varying thicknesses. Each line has its own unique shade of red, brown, or pale yellow.

    Surrounding me on both sides, the bookcases are so wide I''m having problems discerning their farthest shelves.

    Some shelves are stacked with books whose spines have no letters but strange, almost blossoming flowing gilt shapes that create floral-like lines, instead. The pretty patterns would often repeat more than two times across the spine, separated by raised bands, or fat golden lines. Must be a delight to catalog those.

    The Great Library has dozens of levels of shelves, soaring upward. Each level has its own balcony.

    Spiraling svelte staircases, often narrow and soaring, are everywhere; cutting through balconies, connecting them.

    Each balcony has a slender spiral staircase made of wrought iron connecting it to the one above.

    They remind me of the pendant, warmly resting on my chest.

    The triquetra pendant Mother gave me looks plain and cheap. As though made of iron. But, the pendant was made of rare Lilac, later coated deeply in black-gray metallic paint. For the most part, we are not allowed to have jewelry. And not only that but a Lilac would certainly get stolen.

    Ascending galleries kiss the distant ceiling.

    It would take me dozens of jumps to reach the top gallery. I never had the proper opportunity to test myself fully in that way but I could probably leap over the combined height of six or seven adults without much difficulty.

    Sometimes I''m tempted to do just that. To jump high and race the wind.

    The library has about twenty flying crystalborn for reaching the highest balconies faster. They are small, enough for just one rider, and have owl-like wings. Sometimes even I struggle to hear them. I think these Winged are specially trained to be quiet. Of course, there are more than twenty in total. Those inside would perish without the sunlight and need to be rotated from time to time.

    My favorite is a pink, winged horse. Her name is Bella. She is so pretty and sweet and lands gently like a feather. And to pour honey on seaweed jellies, she doesn''t shit all over the place.

    As I walk the Gutter, I notice what must be hundreds of dark greenish-brown ladders placed on balconies. Stonewood ladders, several times taller than a man, are everywhere, often several per balcony, and yet, they are twigs in a large forest.

    All the balconies held platform-like four-wheeled ladders, for reaching the higher shelves.

    The ladders often seem to be fairly new, and not that old.

    Straight, rolling, swooshing, swaying, twirling, curvy, winding, sinuous, coiling, wandering, flexuous, undulating, tortuous balustrades infuse the space around me. Their top rails are sometimes level and sometimes curvy like a snake.

    Rising around balconies, the often meandering balustrades had their handrails supported by thousands of newel posts, most of which had flat newel caps. Each of these caps had its own unique, fist-sized, intricately detailed figure on top. These finials portrayed familiars in all their splendorous variety of shapes; possessing manes, horns, scales, scutes, feathers, blunted claws, beaks.

    Just like the crystals, no two figures were the same.

    Crystalborn of every type and shape were here, forever standing guard over a myriad of books.

    When I was a little girl...well, a smaller girl; anyway, when I was smaller I would try to guess the number of pages in a manuscript simply by observing its thickness. I was terrible at it, but it did give me some sense of scale. If all the figures in the Great Library turned into a leaf of parchment, I imagine the stack would rise to burst through its ceiling.

    And the most astonishing part about the balustrades is that all of them are made of Valley-type of wood. Their oak has a warm dark brown tone with a tint of yellow.

    The lower levels of bookcases are well-lit while higher levels are often lost in darkness, shelves reaching into the distance everywhere I look.

    Vaulted ceilings are frequently eaten by the dark. Without a crystal lantern, one could easily get lost in the embrace of raven''s wings.

    Candles, torches...thinking of embers, and such, were strictly forbidden in the Great Library.

    Obviously, we were told nicely that if even the smallest candle is found within the library, the student who brought the flame is barred from it forever. In addition, all the classmates of the perpetrator are also forbidden to set foot in the library for a month. I believe, if you are lucky, the minimum punishment for bringing any flame to this place is that you get banished for two years. Same dust, in my view.

    It is strange. I should be partly exhausted from all the running in the city but I do not feel achy. The opposite is true. A fiery vigor is coursing through my blood.

    I may or may not have slipped my tongue to a few girls in my class about how I overheard ''''two guards'''' talking about the voting test. I''m as innocent as a lamb.

    At this time of night, the Academy''s library is even more tranquil. I''m not sure if that''s truly possible, my mind is probably playing tricks.

    A feather in my hand, the iron lantern serves its purpose, casting a small sphere of blue radiance about this much less lit region of the library, keeping the encroaching darkness at bay.

    At the distant end of the Gutter, large double doors made entirely out of alamarium dominate the view. They rise, embedded into the Great Library''s end wall. The carved-out reading alcoves and nooks continue far above.

    The doors have hundreds of strange symbols etched all over their surface: circles, inverted triangles, flowing and straight lines growing out of squares, and triangles forming simple and elaborate shapes alike.

    Crossed and symmetrical lines created intricate patterns and glyphs whose true meaning is only known to the best Genesis semioticians.

    During my first year, I was told that if caught simply touching those doors or sketching the symbols, I would get barred¡ªfor at least two months¡ªfrom using the library. Or maybe even expelled from the Academy.

    I''ve memorized most of the symbols. Many nights I''ve imagined myself drawing them again and again.

    The double doors seem to have been made by giants for giants.

    The sealed entryway has eight child-sized hinges, four on each side. They could probably reach my shoulders, a bit hard to say, though. Even for me. From this distance...of about eighty paces¡ªyes, the length of a decently-sized gymnasium¡ªthe hinges appear small when compared to the doors.

    They are arched, but unlike most of the Academy''s larger doors, this arch is slightly more aggressive in appearance: slightly more pointy at the apex than just mildly curved.

    A few months ago, as I passed closer to those doors, at the corner of my eye I''d glimpse the metallic-gray shadowy stains and swirls of alamarium seemingly dancing across its surface, locked inside the metal.

    Not once have I seen them opened. There were no marks of heavy usage on the hinges and I noticed a very thin layer of dust on the doors'' cantilevering bottom rails, at my eye level. The light of the lantern was pale, the last time I went there, but my gaze was undeterred. Got a voidish headache that night, too.

    I turn left.

    The space between the bookcases is a gorge whose soaring cliffs are made of books.

    This region of the library has probably been quiescent for months.

    It is serenely quiet, so much so that at moments it seemed as though someone might hear your very thoughts. This is a place where every whisper seems magnified and most of the time if there is a sound it only comes from the spider-quiet steps of library-keepers.

    At this time of night, The Breaker Academy''s library is devoid of even such rare sounds.

    Every so often I hear the daintily tippy-tapping made by some dormouse''s teeny steps. But that''s about it. Dead silence.

    Now and then, I avoided going to this forlorn area of the library, the obscure section feels strangely colder, probably because of its remoteness.

    Sometimes when I read, my ears would pick up even the faintest of sounds. To escape people and the noise I prefer going to some of the Great Library''s most remote regions, places quieter than quiet. Reading alcoves during the day, cozy ground nooks at night.

    Usually, I like to begin my reading sessions with the book on the table, or, during the daytime, on one of those flat slabs of stone in the alcoves far above. This never lasts, and I always end up sitting on the floor or on a chair with my legs up, a book perched over my thighs. Since I prefer my fingers the way they are, slender and smooth, and since I prefer not to be noticed, this forsaken spot is perfect. Add the sublime quiet into the mixture, and my reading haven is ''''better than honeyed mustacei,'''' as Father might say.

    A chair, table, and wide balcony above.

    Slender spiral staircase behind me.

    I leave the crystal lantern on the table, pull out my books, and adjust the reading reflector.

    Most reading spots on the ground and high up have a polished gold plate attached to small post; it serves as a reflective mirror that concentrates the crystal light on the parchment. The Great Library holds thousands of reading reflectors, a good chunk rarely used.

    I make myself snug and begin reading.

    ...In the long human history, it was often those cultures that have proclaimed themselves to be the most superior and pure that have committed the greatest sins against all mankind.

    Only true superior culture would be the one that acknowledges its own failings and openly admits the possibility of not being the best...

    ...Those that build roads and bridges that they themselves will rarely walk upon may end up with their progeny conquering the world.

    There is a pattern in history. The greatest civilizations were those in which their citizens were willing to work, live and die for the glory of the state. Cultures where loyalty, sense of duty, and valor were deeds, not words. Regrettably, such remarkable traits are...

    ...Long ago there were two renowned swordsmiths, fierce rivals. One day, in order to decide who makes superior blades they each planted their finest sword in a shallow stream.

    First sword would cut every leaf and twig the water brought at it. The second one would cut only some leaves and twigs, others moving delicately around the blade. Since his blade cut everything, the maker of the first sword, naturally, declared himself the victor. However, the sagacious justiciar decided that second sword is superior because its edge cut with purpose. Moreover, it was decided---...

    Plotinus -Date Unknown.

    Well, this is boring. I stretch my legs and lower the old book. Reading philosophical works is a good way to solve my sleeping problem. We are often given lists of tomes, which are obligatory to read. I have no idea what does all that have to do with Genesis. Some, no doubt, older than dirt grandmaster deemed it to be part of the studies, and now it''s taken as holy curriculum.

    My short break over, I continue perusing the old text.

    ...Rules and laws work for those who create them. As individuals we are limited to the knowledge gathered by a narrow scope of one''s own life, therefore, concentration of power into one individual is a folly of the greatest order.

    Ruling over everything requires a ruler who knows everything. Span of one life, with all its limitations, is simply not enough to produce such an individual. In an empire of millions, avoiding famine alone can be a major logistical challenge. If those around the ruler are valued for their loyalty far more than merit, well, worms and crows will hunger not. Of course, preventing the collapse of an empire is a far greater challenge than---...

    Author Unknown

    Again, that symbol. Papyrus of about one in ten books I''ve read here had a small symbol of a snake eating its own tail, hidden inside it. Only seen by shining a crystal through the papyrus. The impression is easy to miss. I first noticed it months ago by chance, when turning the pages while the Cobalt shone at my side.

    ...It is part of human nature to always want more, to be restless. This can be good for avoiding stagnation of mankind but it can also give birth to conflict and destruction...

    ...The most dangerous individuals are those that do not know they are...

    ...There are 2 types of anger: Fire and Blade. Fire seems more powerful but it dies quickly. It destroys a small area around itself and then gets extinguished. It is quick anger. Blade waits patiently, cutting flesh with purpose and calculation. It can cut many times before going dull. The Blade is cold anger.

    Fire is easier and more satisfying to many, however, in most cases, the Blade is more effective and devastating in the long run. It should be noted that in a primitive situation Fire---...

    Tiny tremors scatter across the back of my neck. Hours of pure silence are broken. A delicate sound reaches my ears: barely audible rustle of pages.

    Balcony above.

    I stop breathing and focus.

    Even during the day, this area of the library should be a desert.

    Using the nearby staircase, I dawdle to the first-level balcony and towards the sound.

    The last few treads creak a bit. I don''t think I''ve ever---

    THEIA''S TITS!

    My stomach is a bubble of pain as spine after spine of books fills my vision, flying upwards.

    Moments after I reached the balcony, my body was catapulted over the handrail.

    I land hard in a jumble of dark-green linen and red tresses.

    There is a large tear on my coat''s left shoulder.

    That was meant to kill. One of my classmates could have died from that.

    The library, the Academy; the world is gone and my mind is full tilt focused on my ''''killer.''''

    Despite partially losing my breath and the fall; in mere moments I''m getting up. Dull pain radiates through multiple spots on my head and body. A feeling quickly muted, thrown into the background as my frenzied heart bursts out of its cage.

    No need for discretion anymore.

    I compose myself wind-fast, and jump all the way back up to the first-level balcony.

    As I glare at the young man that kicked me, his cloaked shape, now clearly shaken, takes a step back, quickly pulling his hood low.

    The Hood''s reaction is that of palpable fear. There is something more, he seems confused about what to do.

    I bend my knees and hips a little. My toe, knee, and shoulder arrange to form a line. My feet are hip distance apart, right one in front; hands in front and bent at the elbows. Perhaps this place is not teaching only useless dross.

    Minding my new stance, I move forward to repay the friendly tap in kind. My eyes are fervid, unmoving, unrelenting, unblinking; not leaving this man-shaped dustbag for even a swash of time.

    Horrendous images and thoughts of Hebe, Michael, or some other student lying broken on the floor, flash through my mind.

    A dark flame burns inside my chest, and I realize: I am going to kill him.

    Judging by the hooded man''s body language, he seems surprised. I expected him to try and hurt me, but instead: he begins to flee.

    I chase after.

    The cloaked man runs with an impressive speed of a Winged and then jumps impossibly high, grabbing the balustrade of a next-level balcony.

    He moves like I can!

    I follow the Hood whip-close, my own jump spearing me through the air until I grab and squeeze my fingers around one baluster''s narrower part. I''m over the handrail in half a moment.

    Just as his form is about to reach a dimly lit area of the library, I notice a shape outlining the right side of his flapping cloak. The shape is that of an oversized wax tablet. Did he steal a book!?

    The Hood suddenly jumps, throwing himself from balcony''s end.

    In a flash of movement, his right hand flings a pouch in my direction.

    A pale blue mist hugs my eyes.

    Holding my breath, I continue to chase.

    In no time at all, whatever that smoke-mist was is already behind me.

    Where are you?Where are you?

    Fruitlessly and for some time, I try to hear, to hear anything, focusing my hearing everywhere around me.

    He is gone.

    He sent me flying across like a thrown toy. The bastard moved so fast, perhaps even faster than I can. And where did he disappear? All the exits are always guarded.

    The lion pin of the bronze fibula in my inner pocket stabbed at my heart as I fell. Hope I didn''t break it.

    ***

 Chapter 9 Anaya Part 2

    ***

    My core is bluish-red and still slightly sore, but it doesn''t really hurt like it did the first few days.

    My torn coat, and the bruise, clearly visible in the shower caverns, required some imaginative explaining on my part, so I told everyone how I fell down the stairs. I really need to work on my ability to spin a tale. Being truthful would give birth to questions I don''t wish to answer.

    Our current teacher is not a grandmaster but a High Priestess.

    The size of her thick pointy triquetra and long iron chain makes me feel almost sorry for her neck. I''m sure beyond doubt, If I gave voice to such thoughts Mother would appear out of nowhere, possibly riding a Wraith, to chide and strike me for such blasphemy.

    The triquetra itself is bulky, forged out of finger-thick iron, its curvy lines form a twisting, flowing shape.

    Her draping brown robe has a red and blue intertwining trim, denoting her status.

    Blessedly, the priestess'' lecture is near its end. Conforming to the ways of her ilk, she spent much of the class preaching about piety and chastity. I''d rather read boring philosophical works again than listen to her.

    ''''At first, there was only Goddess, and the Void,'''' the High Priestess says.

    ''''In this very beginning of everything, from a shred of her divine bones, Goddess made a daughter.

    ''''Then, from a drop of her heavenly blood, Allmother made another, her second daughter.

    ''''Goddess made the world.

    ''''But it was veiled in darkness so the First Daughter filled it with light, brighter and purer than any that exists today. And the world was beautiful. But something was missing. Someone needed to admire all this beauty. The Second Daughter gave it life.

    ''''Our world was Empyrean in which humanity prospered.

    ''''It is said our kind once had rivers of honey and mountains of cheese.

    ''''Regrettably, it was not to last.

    ''''The ways of man grew astray and Goddess sent a blue demon of hate whose legions culled all those considered to be wicked and unworthy.

    ''''Our kind lost its way. We worshiped flesh more than the divine and thus the Goddess punished the wicked with pestilence, famine, and the blue demon, released from the Void''s deepest pits.

    ''''He slew men in their hundreds, with one cleave of his longsword, slicing alamarium armor and flesh as if through air. The blade, just like its wielder, made of Void''s foul essence.

    ''''Nothing could harm him. Nothing.

    ''''The true light of the world was gone and the demon with his legions beyond number fed on the darkness, continuing to cut down nine of ten men, women, and children. But the Goddess, in her infinite mercy, granted salvation to our holy ancestors. The chosen ones.

    ''''Allmother took pity on our holy ancestors, who, led by the Prophet, sailed to our city, our piece of Empyrean in the Wastes. This was a time Alldora''s rage was less.

    ''''We must never fall again. We must abhor the sins of...''''

    Sound of the handbell greets my ears first. Moments later, thirteen girls and twelve boys rise as though our seats had suddenly caught on fire.

    ***

    The Scar Canyon''s southern end gradually rises toward the upper surface world. From cliff to cliff, irregular mounds, rocky hills, jagged protrusions, and even mountains, all dramatically surge upward, aiming for the Wastes and the half-dead lands beyond.

    Deep mines and valleys, enclouded, hidden, inhabit a world between here and outside.

    The highlands appear pretty from here. A regal cluster of rock and soil, a gathering of all irregular rock formations the canyon has to offer, only magnified many times over, both in size and scope.

    Criss-crossed with many paths that lead away from the canyon, those highlands are often called ''''The Gates.'''' Of course, they look nothing as such but I assume there is something poetical about the name.

    Not far from The Gates¡ªwhich are less than an hour''s flight from here¡ª two massive fortresses guard the route to Lodestar. Hardknott Fortress, and the one the three of us are in: Trinity Rock.

    Their purpose is mostly just for show. They are meant to guard against Ground Wraith incursion, although, to my knowledge, such an attack never happened. The two fortresses probably help people in the hamlets and city to rest easy at night. Any Wraith near the Valley is tracked and Harvested. On top of that, the terrain between Valley and Wastes is mountainous, craggy, and unhospitable for most Wraiths and their sizable frames to traverse.

    I mind climbing the stair turret leading us here, but I don''t mind the view.

    Trinity Rock''s projecting round towers were connected by a curtain wall, snaking its way around the plateau''s lip. The lofty blue banner of Lodestar proudly graces each of the towers down their middle.

    I''ve never visited Hardknott. This second fortress is closer to the Western Cliff, and visible from here as a distant smudge. I could focus my eyes on it for closer inspection, but I won''t. I''m in no mood for a headache.

    Hebe, Michael, and I are standing on the parapet of the eastern tower.

    The towers are crenelated and flat at the top.

    It''s windy up here so I wear the red woolen cloak from home, clasped by the ring-shaped enameled fibula¡ªits lion pin piercing the fabric. The lion''s masterfully-crafted head has two tiny green crystals for eyes that glow with a light so pale I don''t think it''s visible during daytime.

    Simple and plain, the cloak is really a folded rectangular blanket that drapes over my long dark-green coat¡ªshoulders, sides, and back. The phoenix insignia of both sleeves is covered by the red cloth.

    Hebe decided to sit between merlons, her back turned at the spectacular view. Michael, standing at my right.

    Our idle talk feels gone once Hebe notices Michael was being a little too quiet and more serious than usual.

    ''''Today I received a letter from home,'''' Michael says, his voice a bit hoarse. ''''A man living near my hamlet was tried and convicted of being a Vorza. He was taken all the way north; tied and thrown off the Wind''s End.''''

    ''''Do you not know any uplifting story?'''' Hebe asks, arching her eyebrows at him. The wind threw her hair of spun gold this way and that.

    Michael looks at her, annoyed. ''''I will try and learn some nursery rhymes just for you.'''' He looks slightly menacing and also a bit silly with his hair cropped so short. Obviously, I won''t tell him that...to his face.

    ''''What do you mean: ''Vorza?'''''' I cut in.

    Hebe waves her arm in dismissal. ''''Oh, they are as real as the Red Spark.''''

    I give her a blank look.

    Hebe sends me a gentle giggle. ''''Void''s curse, Ann. Did you grow up on a tree?''''

    ''''Yes, a rather big one,'''' I remark, shrewdly.

    Michael jumps in. ''''Vorza is a person that is said to gain superhuman strength by consuming crystal''s light and eating the flesh of his fellows.''''

    ''''So much for those cute rhymes,'''' Hebe softly chimes.

    Michael just throws his hands at her and stops talking.

    I swallow hard. My bones feel as if made of parchment. ''''Eating. Flesh.''''

    ''''Ann,'''' Hebe begins getting up from her perch. She gives me a tiny smile and reassuringly rubs my shoulder. ''''Those are tales mothers throw at their misbehaving children. ''Behave or a Vorza will eat you.'''''' Before long, she sits back in her crenel.

    Michael clears his throat, lifting his astute eyebrows at Hebe. He then quickly runs his forefingers upwards across the throat and points at her. Older people use the gesture to basically say: ''''You are the same as me.''''

    Hebe is not amused. ''''I''m not as morbid as you. I was only explaining.'''' She then glances at me. Her gaze lingers, scrutinizing my face. ''''Are you alright, Ann?''''

    They both stare at me with worried looks. ''''Yes. No. I...must''ve eaten something; drank something spoiled.'''' Void''s arse! Collect your wits.

    I pretend to speak with my mother, placing a sharp edge around my next few words. ''''It is nothing.''''

    That last part and the look I gave my friends seemed to have worked wonders. They let it go.

    ''''Well, I have to go to the gymnasium. Zuri will teach me the bow.'''' Hebe gets up, putting her hand on mine. ''''I''m going back with her group.''''

    Zuri. She recovered fully in less than a week...ish. I didn''t get punished thanks to her saying it was all an accident. After our little bout, she continued like all is forgotten, but I know better. She avoids me. Zuri doesn''t fear me, she just...avoids me. And her eyes are always glazed with a trace of iron-cold enmity during those rare times we talk.

    Afterward, after the fight, I was careful to eat more in the Hall, to run slower, to make mistakes more often, to do everything...well, slower. I don''t know if I could''ve killed her. The thought often lingered, a ghostly stain haunting the heart. Zuri accepted my myriad of sorries, on the surface at least.

    Like candlewax dripping over a book, the most dreadful thoughts stick to the mind. What if I missed and the spear landed on her throat? Or her eye. And for what? That one guard was the only one who made anything from our skirmish.

    I know I must move on and learn from my mistake but I don''t want to. I don''t deserve to.

    Zuri...

    ''''I could''ve helped you with that,'''' I say with a tinge of residual shakiness in my voice. They don''t seem to notice. My thoughts of Zuri consumed those others, less savory ones. I almost shudder at my last musing.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ''''You already helped me too much.'''' She kisses my cheek and waves at Michael. After exchanging our goodbyes she meanders away.

    I notice Michael looking at me as though I might crumble into dust at any moment.

    ''''I''m fine.'''' My voice lacks conviction. ''''Anyway. Do you believe that Vorza stuff?''''

    ''''I come from a small settlement where people will believe anything.''''

    The silence that stretches is long, so I break it. ''''Michael, that strange stone of sky-bridge''s roadway we ran on. What''s it called?''''

    ''''Seriously?''''

    ''''What?''''

    ''''Nothing,'''' Michael says, clearing his throat. For a moment he looked at me as though he wished to say something else, but thought better of it. ''''Most people call it melted rock. It is like lime mortar but far stronger. One of the gifts Goddess provided for the chosen ones.''''

    Awooo!

    Woeful, lupine howl pierces my ears.

    A battle familiar and a guard next to it were patrolling the southern curtain wall''s battlement that stretched below and away from our tower. The familiar resembled a black wolf with crimson-red eyes, its withers almost rivaling the tall guard''s shoulder height.

    Daylight made the sound nothing more than background noise. But this fortress at night, well...this far from Sol, with scant torches and the few crystals provided here, the dark might have given the howl a certain nocturnal edge it lacks.

    Usually, crystalborn do not behave, or have primal instincts of animals. They rarely howl or growl like a dog would. One of the Black Breakers stationed here was clearly bored and commanded his familiar to howl.

    ''''So...Red Spark?'''' I ask.

    He narrows his dark brown eyes at me. ''''Ann, for a person who spends so much time in the Great Library you know surprisingly little.''''

    ''''Don''t play with me, Aquillia.'''' When you want someone to get serious fast, say their family name. It always works.

    I''m in no mood for teasing.

    Michael clears his throat. He sometimes does that when he''s slightly agitated or nervous. ''''It''s a tale drunkards tell each other during Acrona''s festival. Some of them would claim how they saw a red jagged line break the sky. Others claim it is a thunderbolt sent by the Goddess as a sign.''''

    ''''Sign of what?''''

    He scratches his chin. ''''Death.''''

    ''''Please do learn some nursery rhymes. For me.''''

    Michael laughs. ''''I will.'''' After a quick sigh, he adds, ''''For you.'''' He softly clears his throat. ''''We should go. Our ride won''t wait for long.''''

    ***

    ''''...teas, potions, and even salves to avert the rot. Some of you might be sent to one of the outposts, where resources are scarce and kindness scarcer still. Unlike many useless dribbles you were showered with, what you continue to learn here can keep you or one of your fellows alive. A perfectly healthy person can die from a simple, small, cut.''''

    Herbology Grandmaster Seraphina Meadowsweet is a short woman with bushy hair. I don''t like her high-pitched voice, but she seems the kindhearted type.

    The herbology classroom is high up, located on the cliff''s face, and a little to the south of the Academy facade''s giant triquetra. Exposed to the outside, the classroom has a small balcony-like ledge. The cantilevered outcropping above it prevents rainwater from accumulating.

    The classroom''s well-stocked pantry is packed with jars, pots, and crates, all lining the shelves. The different ingredients are often dry or powdered.

    Small vials and pouches hold crushed minerals and powdery thingies that look like colorful flour.

    The herbology classroom has a big parchment on the wall, with painted drawings of mushrooms and a notation below each. Those with vivid yellow handwriting underneath are to be avoided while text written in black describes edible mushrooms and potential locations in nature.

    Some mushrooms have black stripes, but most are plainly colored, having caps of primarily purple, blue, white, or black. The verdigris-colored one has a thick yellow inscription below it. Most are edible, though.

    The classroom is filled with about twenty mortars and pestles. Of course, glassware is abundant: crucibles, beakers etched with markings, narrow-necked flasks, interestingly-shaped retorts(that were the source of many jests, made mostly by the boys), glass tubes, several alembics, and so on. All nicely arranged across a really long desk that reminds me of the one Grandmaster Penelope has: the lying-water-tower-shaped one.

    The surface of the expansive desk was covered with the jumbled intestines of a monster, all turned to glass. But, there was order in the chaos, I guess. The glassware is clean and the classroom is always neat, although smelly¡ªall the students are forced to clean everything toward the end of class.

    Despite the herbology classroom being regularly cleaned, the air was always thick with the scent of herbs.

    Sage, mandrake, rosemary, lavender, the pungent odor of brimstone, the smell of copper, and other, acrid smells I can''t identify mixed together, permeating the air. Unlike my other senses, taste, and smell can be difficult for me to command. This sometimes resulted in random bouts of coughing, and, despite my best efforts to act tepid, the grimaces I made in this classroom did not go unnoticed. Lana Furia and Cassius found them very amusing. I should grin at them the next time they retch.

    It is better lit than most classrooms. Besides the many Cobalts about, the space also received plenty of natural light.

    Herbology was one of those few subjects I consider to have an actual practical use¡ªwell, that and wrestling. It teaches about the use of herbs to stop rot and how to make medicine, salves, or even how to stop bleeding or dress a wound.

    Like the rest of the class, I wear a pale pink apron with black straps. Apparently, if you''re caught being here without one you lose library privilege¡ªof course¡ªand get sent to the Guts, and your family gets cursed for fifty years or some such. Although; some stains are hard to remove, I suppose.

    ''''Weeks ago,'''' Seraphina Meadowsweet continues, vivaciously, ''''we learned how to make potions that can help you stay awake longer. Today we have something special. An ambergris. We will use it to make a potion that dulls the pain from any injury.''''

    Ambergris is a brown greasy substance. Its scent is nice, slightly sweet and loamy.

    Using stonewood mortar and pestle, I grind chamomile, rosemary, and elderflower, breaking them into tiny pieces. Next, I add ambergris and grind some more, fusing everything.

    Bit by bit, I pour the olive oil into the mortar while grinding the ingredients. I continue until the mixture gets all nice and smooth.

    Grandmaster Meadowsweet walks around the students, inspecting our work. ''''Those potions found to be the best will be packaged and sent to outposts. The rest will be given to pigs and sheep about to be slaughtered.

    ''''Gentle, Bolormaa. Or you will break your mortar again.''''

    ''''No worries, Grandmaster Meadowsweet. I won''t break it again,'''' I say, nonchalantly.

    ''''That''s what she said about the dancer bow, too,'''' Lana Furia whispers to Ariana. They both giggle at that.

    I look at Lana and farcically pretend to barf, my tongue partly out.

    That sorted, I transfer the mixture to the beaker in front of me.

    Gently rotating the beaker above candle flame, I make sure it''s all heated evenly.

    After about a third of an hour, I use a piece of linen cloth to strain the brew into a clean glass vial.

    I wish I had this potion years back.

    Perhaps later I should go back to the library.

    Yesterday, I stupidly held a crystal in my hand to wait and see if anything might change with the light inside. I didn''t notice any difference in brightness, though I''m fairly certain a tiny afterimage of the glow is etched somewhere on the back of my eyes. I''m even more certain I have no desire to eat anyone. Quite the opposite, I can spend days without eating or feeling hungry.

    A thought did occur about immediately looking for books mentioning...Vorza things, but doing that mere days after talking to my friends about flesh-eating, crystal-sucking fiends would be slightly suspicious. I trust them greatly. Just not putting-my-life-in-their-hands trust them. Patience is my unloved friend. I will slowly develop a certain interest in chimerical stories and legends¡ªwell...expand my interest, I should say.

    For every book that mentions a Vorza, I''ll read two or three about towers in the sky.

    ***

    Two black tongues of the Eastern Cliff cascaded their long way downwards. The phoenix banners of the Academy rippled in the high winds to the facade''s left and right.

    The gymnasium our class is in resides on ground level. It is a simple large open space. The design is similar to other gymnasiums, only this one is a bit larger than most.

    Blade Grandmaster Cariocecus slams the sword into the ground.

    I expected the Blade Grandmaster to make us run and slash at each other with stonewood swords but he just told us to sit and listen to his lecture...for the better half of the morning.

    Grandmaster''s visage beams down at us, his eyes alight with joy. ''''What is the most important part of the sword?'''' He stares at the students sitting on gymnasium''s sandy expanse for a few moments. ''''Well?''''

    ''''Blade,'''' Jax says, and some of us repeat the word in a weak, poorly choreographed chorus.

    Jax is a tall boy, and almost as strong as Peter, but less stupid. I believe Jax is the leader of that former bread-throwing quartet in the Hall. Gabriel, Peter, Jax, and Cassius are inseparable. Something like blood brothers, I suppose.

    ''''It is not the blade. Nor the guard or hilt.'''' He points at each mentioned part. We simply look at the thing in confusion. Suddenly the grandmaster points at himself, smiling. Blade Grandmaster''s left index finger runs across his right arm and ends up pointing at his head. ''''The sword is a thing. A useless thing without a wielder. Let us say we leave it somewhere in the Wastes. Will an animal know how to use it to its own benefit? Will the stone slash air with it? No. Therefore, the swordsman is the key element. Until the key element is properly forged, you will use sticks.'''' He just smiles at us again. Grandmaster Cariocecus had a genuine-looking smile, the type that touches the eyes.

    Grandmaster Cariocecus is also, an adult. He tells our class what to do. He smiles too much. Naturally, I want to hate him. And yet, I can''t. The future is still young, though.

    Even with sticks, we are clumsy. I''m good with spear and polearm, but swords are just not my thing. I can understand archery and honing the body being a required curriculum. Yet I will never understand the point of us learning how to use close-range weapons. No one is mad enough to strike a Wraith at such a short distance. Besides, most of us will adorn ourselves in gray or violet. Can''t they just teach us more of the stuff we can actually use?

    We spend hours in a cold shallowish channel, about neck deep, slashing through the water with steel rods, roughly the length of an average sword. This cold channel connects to its much larger counterpart: the wide river-channel bordering Academy''s main courtyard. Everyone calls it ''''the Channel,'''' or ''''the Eastern Channel,'''' but I prefer my designation better.

    ''''A sword does not need to cut to know it is sharp. Sadly, my lambs, all of you are as sharp as those sticks,'''' grandmaster says. If I ram this stick through your eyeball you''d be surprised at how sharp it can be. I''m tired and cold. If my mom was here she''d make me some nice camellia tea with a smidgen of miner''s honey from high southern leas.

    I''m starting to sound like an old person.

    It must be past midday now as the Blade Grandmaster declares our misery is over.

    The drenched, blue, woolen tunic that clings to my body is an iron weight. I move to throw the steel rod at a nearby pile and search for some linen towels¡ªall the while I exaggerate my breathing and even pretend to stumble a bit upon exiting the water.

    In mere moments after she left the cold water, Janna Erdene, pale, skinny, and usually a quiet girl, drops on the ground like a log. There is a bit of shouting as we begin to group near her.

    Grandmaster Cariocecus did give us a few breaks, but those were few and far between.

    Two caretakers assigned to watch over us are already amidst of wrapping Janna in two blankets as Grandmaster Cariocecus approaches.

    ''''Class dismissed! Scatter.'''' His smile is gone now.

    Our group slowly disperses, save for Janna''s two closest friends who linger, only leaving after the grandmaster almost pushes them away.

    With well-practiced ease, the two caretakers place the unconscious girl on a simple stonewood lectica. Nearby, there is a cart attached to a lion-sized ram that will take her to the Healing Hall. Familiar''s name is Nibbles the Ram. I need to find the person responsible for naming the Academy''s many crystalborn and punch them in the gut.

    Hebe''s palm is marred by blisters. I''ve never had any, but it can''t be pleasant. The tender flesh had small pockets where the top layer of skin has almost peeled away.

    I untie one of the linen ribbons holding my hair back. My thick three-strand braid unravels a bit.

    ''''Give me your hand,'''' I tell Hebe.

    She waves her hand at me. ''''The cloth will get dirty.''''

    I almost roll my eyes. ''''I have dozens. Give.'''' I point at her palm. In no time, I wrap the strip of cloth securely around her left palm.

    ''''Do you think she will be fine?'''' Hebe looks in the direction Janna was carried away.

    I have no idea. ''''Yes,'''' I reassure her. ''''Come. Let''s go inside to dry up.''''

    ***

    Screaming echoed throughout the colossal chamber.

    Dozens of babies are in perfect sync, forming a most dreadful harmony.

    It is the third week of Lapul. Seventhday. The sixth month''s second half is reserved for exams, however, since I devour books with the same relish a fat priest might gobble an offering left on the altar, they are irrelevant; not worthy of pondering.

    During the three days of the festival honoring Acrona, students, and one unfortunate Breaker, are required to bless the little ones. Thankfully, tomorrow and the day after that, someone else will go through this ordeal.

    A thick and lingering smell of incense spreads around me, only to be quickly swallowed by the Great Chamber''s cavernous space.

    I feel as though someone shoved a dozen black roses up my nose.

    Adults get to drink and dance and I get to do this.

    Seven of us¡ªthree girls, three boys, and one young man¡ªstand in front of the giant statue of the Second Daughter as the mothers keep moving down the line. Apparently, one fledgling''s or even one Breaker''s blessing is not enough.

    My thumb, index, and middle finger join at the brow of the small screeching demon. ''''May the Allmother always guard you and may her two daughters favor you.'''' I will probably dream of that utterance. A few hours ago a priestess delicately reproached me for my lack of enthusiasm.

    A lot of our time is wasted simply waiting for the new batch of mothers carrying their little ear-grating miseries.

    Perhaps Screech is not that bad. That is what I decided to call that tiny-horned piglet that wakes Hebe and other girls up every morning(even though our classes are long-finished).

    I place three fingers on my forehead and then my heart, after which I ''''elegantly'''' outstretch my arms and make those same three fingers of both hands point upwards. Of course, all this is done in tandem with a pious bow of the head; making wavy red strands flood my vision.

    Thereafter, I prepare to repeat the mindnumbing process for the I-do-not-wish-to-know time.

    To the Acrona''s left-hand side, dozens of strides away from the colossal statue, there is an intricately carved water chronos. It has the height of several men and portrays time quite clearly. I''m reasonably certain it is designed to make the classes last longer. During days of classes, the moment after a nearly full hour of lecturing has passed, one of the attendants near it would wave their handbell causing a chain reaction from dozens of others possessing the same blessed tool.

    I make an effort not to glance at the chronos too much.

 Chapter 10 Paterniel

    The third month of Emer was always reserved for festivities honoring Theia, goddess of light and war. Emer''s third week has its fourth, fifth, and sixth day marked by celebrations and sacred processions that crowd the streets; the accompanying sounds of aulos and drums spread throughout Vantium. Hymns honoring the First Daughter are sung by choirs of younglings, or more often those kindred with silky voices.

    The balmy spring brings a sense of vigor upon the world. The air is pleasantly mild. Purple gardens of Vantium are in full bloom.

    More than a couple of decently sized Crimsons get sacrificed as an offering at many of Theia''s temples. It is a practice I find wasteful, however, I cannot deny the deep need of my sentient creations toward believing in the divine. Perhaps that is the curse of intelligence.

    I never had an interest in watching skirmishes. Days always flew with my volumes or while sketching designs for potential new buildings. Most of the kindred rarely see me and the games are an excellent way to remedy that.

    Once a year I watch the games together with my creations. I have often found the spectacles tedious to watch, but Maeve assures me my appearances improve the public mood, lifting the kindred''s spirits.

    Supposedly, my mere presence uplifts the soul or ''''divine spark,'''' as the clergy enjoys stating. Human rulers used religion for thousands of years to pacify the population, stemming uprisings, and to justify their claim to power. I have no crown, yet sometimes I feel its weight.

    In the distance southwest from us, green archlight pleasantly shines¡ªa mere radiant orb of verdant during daytime.

    Thrown in the northeastern outskirts of Vantium, Ardorium is an arena that can take over a hundred thousand kindred, with those possessing the best vision being seated further away. This number is deceptive and varies greatly depending on the size of my creations. Some seats resemble endless rows of giant steps but most are smaller.

    There are zones in the arena with a series of ascending rectangular-like platforms¡ªsomewhat similar to the jumping stones hugging the sides of the many granite hills or tall buildings within the city¡ªmade to accommodate Winged or bulkier four-legged kindred. Those seating areas are often only half full, and mostly with those lacking either wings or four legs.

    At the middle of Ardorium''s long side is a pulvinar. A place where nothing and everything sits. A place where images of Allmother, Theia, and Acrona are flaunted upon ornate chairs.

    The coliseum has no awnings at all.

    Today seems a moderately poor showing with what I was told is around eighty thousand. Almost all present here today are sentient.

    The floor of the arena is covered with pale brown sand.

    The crowd is screaming and spurring for the performance to continue.

    Chained at the center of Ardorium is the main attraction.

    Steropes, a giant with rock-like plating for skin, has his hands spread like the wings of an eagle. His wrists are bound in thick iron chains. Two elephants, with chains wrapped about their chests, are pulling, trying to tear Steropes'' arms off.

    He laughs. A rich, deep sound, somehow easily heard over that of the crowd.

    Pulling against the big animals, against their combined might, and moving his large palms closer and closer, Steropes makes a single clap. Thud echoes across the spectators, scaring a distant flock of white birds in the upper parts of Ardorium.

    Steropes bites his chains off, the iron pieces scattering upon the sand, and waves at the endless thousands of kindred around him. Roars and applause of spectators wash over the giant.

    He bows in my direction and leaves the arena shortly after.

    The elephants are taken away to rest; the sand leveled, and the arena cleared.

    Soon, the hidden sun is about to reach its zenith.

    The announcer strides across the arena. After looking up, he almost stumbles, fleeing back the way he came like the sky is about to fall onto him.

    A pale fleeting shadow bursts across the entire arena.

    There are murmurs and shouts. I immediately send orders with my mind for the greatsword Pentacore to be brought to me and for Vantium''s garrison to descend upon Ardorium. I prepare to take control over all unsentient crystalborn I can see.

    For some reason, there is no screeching or roaring from above. I find it hard to believe that a Winged Wr---

    It''s him! I gaze up laughing and immediately counter all my previous commands.

    A winged tiger the size of a bigger Winged Wraith spirals downward slowly.

    Whirling columns of sand are thrown at the awestruck crowds. Some of the kindred are screaming and running away from the arena. Nearby guards try to calm them, and even my thoughts are thrown here and there, proclaiming the beast to be one of us.

    Sand is blasted over almost half the Ardorium''s floor as Dreadhorn lands.

    The arena became much smaller. The intrepid beast has forelegs that are taller than me.

    Tiger''s mildly curved horns are spiral-shaped, long, and with several twists. The two dark brown horns are thick at the base, and, as they taper to a sharp point, a series of annulations are found along their length, giving them a ribbed texture.

    His black stare is directed toward me. The beast makes many of his kindred uneasy with his mere presence. Dreadhorn soon sits, refusing to move. I haven''t seen him over thirty years.

    I jump from near my high seat, forming a long arch. Soon landing deep inside the arena.

    There was immense pressure from the Council for me to dominate Dreadhorn''s mind: for Wraith hunts or our behemoth battles. Maeve even wanted me to force my will onto the giant tiger, making it her mount. Void''s chains, even I wanted for the crystalborn to become one of my personal Winged. But I couldn''t make myself to force it. The creature was unlike most other kindred, it instinctively wishes to soar and be left alone. For over a century, there were few occasions where I would receive a report describing how a Winged Wraith was found mutilated by something. Dreadhorn probably sensed them to be a threat.

    The army could use him, his claws are swords that would rake the behemoth-hide; on the Hunt, deadly hunting squads would favor his presence; his jaws, as if made to rip any Wraith''s throat out. Goddess, he is a squad.

    I must be blind.

    Kali jumps from the tiger''s tall back, landing next to me. ''''About a year ago you mentioned how you missed the great beast. He was west of Akti by the time I tracked it down.'''' Kali''s hair, a disheveled mess of strands from jostling the winds, falls across the left side of her face.

    I was certain I would never see the tiger again. It must''ve taken her months to locate him.

    Kali''s consummate grasp of logistics, tactics, and strategy lowered our losses against behemoths¡ªthose vacuous wretches¡ªby a considerable margin. Lamentably, her beautiful mind is clad with cold steel, making this gesture much more appreciated.

    I smile and embrace her.

    She seems confused, and only after two or three quick heartbeats of hesitation returns the embrace.

    But the wild crystalborn never let anyone straddle it but me. How did she---

    ''''There is no saddle,'''' I note.

    ''''I did fall a couple of times.'''' For some reason, I find that very difficult to imagine.

    ''''And he came back for you?'''' I stare at the giant tiger''s black eyes for a moment. Bathed in pure black, his pupils are unseen. In their place, two dull reflections of the sky above glisten like sparks of white light. My outstretched hand runs across the short prickling hair of Dreadhorn''s snout bridge.

    ''''Yes,'''' Kali says. ''''The very first encounter was a little rough but it remembered me and I showed him a drawing of you. He is clever.''''

    It took almost an hour to level the scattered sands of the arena¡ªallowing the duels to resume.

    My mind uplifted, I no longer found watching the skirmishes, as well as a religious ceremony, and other events that followed Dreadhorn''s departure to be as tiresome as before.

    The announcer raises his arms to quiet the audience down to a few whispers and grunts. ''''Today we will be witnessing something unseen before!'''' I thought we already have. Dardanus is tall and covered with a mane of coarse, black hair; he has gray-green eyes that seem to shine like oil lamps. Glittering sharp tusks protrude at the corners of his mouth. Dardanus has quite a voice: loud but not hoarse. ''''General herself wishes to test one of you in the arena!''''

    Kali enters the arena, advancing toward the center. She holds two large swords.

    The air throughout the space obtains a newfangled aura of confusion, excited shrieks, roars, and murmurs.

    Again, Dardanus raises his arms in a quieting gesture. ''''Theia be honored!''''

    He looks at Kali, standing next to him. ''''General.'''' He bows slightly and leaves, slowly this time.

    Amusing, she never fights in the arena for fear she might harm one of her fellow kindred.

    If she challenges Nakon I wonder how she would deal with the giant''s dominance of the winds. He could easily make it a draw by flying away, although, knowing Nakon that is not happening. They might damage the arena. And if Steropes is the lucky winner we might need a new one entirely by the end of the day.

    For the first time, I am glad Max is not in the city. He might have jumped into the arena to face her.

    Despite the deep respect I have for my crystalborn, many of whose courage is unquestionable, I''m still surprised at everyone''s eagerness to be picked by her. I''m fairly certain some kindred would rather face a Wraith than have a friendly bout with Kali. Howbeit, it is possibly a once-a-century opportunity.

    She scouts out the audience, searching to find her match.

    I focus my gaze on Kali, and a hint of a smirk tugs at my lips. The blaze of her eyes is clear to me even at this distance. This battlefield is too small for her.

    My eyes focus on hers even more. I see them in such detail as though she were standing close enough for me to feel her breath on my skin.

    Kali''s eyes are the purple of Xanadian valleys and are of similar coloration to my Genesis thunderbolts.

    If the skirmish goes too far, I might be forced to stop the fight.

    The fight itself won''t take long. Many continue to cheer for her to pick them. I have to admire that.

    An oversized scythe is Kali''s main and favorite weapon. But she spends the nights practicing with swords, daggers, longbow; well...anything sharp, really.

    I hope she doesn''t hurt---

    Suddenly, everyone is unsettlingly quiet.

    Kali is pointing the long weapon at me. Tens of thousands of eyes mix into one kaleidoscopic gaze directed toward my seat.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    One of Kali''s claymores continues to aim in my direction. ''''I challenge Maker.''''

    It takes me a few breaths to truly grasp those words.

    Strangely, most of my attention is not on her blade or words, but the silence holding the stadium. My creations, beasts of scale and fur, human-shaped kindred in their untold thousands, all are dazed and quiet to such an extent that even my ears hear nothing save for the mild wind.

    The arena''s onlookers do not know how to react¡ªmany waiting to see my own.

    I throw a reassuring soft smile across the arena, get up from my high carved seat, and move a little forward.

    Jumping from a great height onto Ardorium''s center, I make a mild scattering of sand upon landing. I straight up and wave to all the crystalborn around me, an action which seems to make them ecstatic. At the same time, my thoughts rush toward Kali as I turn to look at her. ''''What are you doing?''''

    ''''I know you are bored. Dance with me.'''' She shrugs, seemingly content with her showiness. I believe there is even a tiny smile hiding on those lips.

    I don''t like this, even if these are all just theatrics we could still accidentally hurt one of the kindred. Despite the vast space and the arena pit being so deep.

    Since Kali already selected two claymores forged of hepatizon, she tosses me one.

    Tens of thousands are cheering their cores out. I release a long sigh.

    I clumsily catch it by the blade and move my right hand to grab the handle. The metal which possesses an alluring dark purplish patina is second in strength only to aurichalcum. It probably took some kindred craftsman considerable effort to make these blades from notoriously difficult-to-work-with ore, and I sense they will be needlessly damaged if the two of us use them.

    The handle of my sword is made of oak, wrapped with polished and lacquered rawhide, and then bound in strips of silk. Handguard is shaped into a shortbow shape.

    Like the rest of the weapons used in Ardorium, and as is the way in many another arena, these swords are not sharpened. A battle-ready hepatizon blade could easily cut most crystalborn or even alamarium armor.

    In the end, all that is now irrelevant since even sharpened bloodsteel itself would break against Kali''s skin. Waves upon headland.

    Her face is sculptural, flawlessly smooth. Well-defined jawline and a delicate nose make for a pleasing look. She is beautiful.

    Kissing her hips, Kali''s long hair was a mess when she landed in the arena. Sleeked back now, it frames an appealing brow, noble and free from blemishes¡ªlike the rest of her.

    Kali has the physique of a tall human female. This is where most similarities stop. Despite looking firm and slender, her body is significantly heavier than a human one of her stature would be. Kali''s bones and muscles are much denser than almost all humanoid kindred. Considering how difficult it is to pierce her skin, the aurichalcum cuirass she is so fond of wearing is a hindrance more than a boost.

    Looking pristine and unused¡ªhallmarks of aurichalcum¡ªthe cuirass glistens in the pale sun. Patches and swirls the color of Void and blood, eternally wrestling for dominance.

    Trumpets declare the start of our duel. At first, we stand and stare at each other.

    For a few heartbeats, an ocean of stillness envelops the arena.

    Kali carelessly shatters it, advancing toward me with the speed of a diving Winged.

    For centuries, the movement of even the fastest of warriors would seem slow and predictable to my eyes, hers is anything but.

    She slashes and thrusts at my body with coolness and precision. No. Not coolness. More akin to fire than anything cold. Her blade is a whirlwind of blurry purple, a tempest of hepatizon sent by Theia herself. Bold movements make her pristine white hair trail her, the ends splaying like a wild mane the color of untouched snow.

    Ebb never being a known term, Kali pushes unrelentingly onward.

    We move as one, our bodies a blur of blinding speed. Possessing perfect simultaneity, our swords unceasingly clash in a chaos of clangs.

    After hundreds of rapid clashes, she breaks my sword.

    Even after my many encouragements for the scholars to have an open debate on various topics, they would continue to lionize me and not speak freely.

    While most sentient crystalborn would rarely even try to argue my decisions, she would often openly challenge me, many times irrationally and with no true purpose.

    Fitting, perhaps. Her orders are never demurred, making her comparable to me in this regard.

    Kali''s strength has made her arrogant. With a flash of movement, I grab her claymore by the blade and make a fist.

    Shards of metal scatter, and a few end up deflected against my neck and her arms.

    She releases her broken claymore, allowing it to fall.

    My left hand closes before connecting to her chin.

    Kali''s head jerks to the side as the force of the blow sends the light caramel sand of the arena jostling outwards. It should''ve catapulted her across the floor, instead, her purple eyes shining with hints of anger seems to be the main result of my effort.

    With celerity, impossibly almost rivaling mine, before her broken sword fell upon the sand, she uses the sliver of time while I was exposed, to counterattack to its full effect.

    I am transformed into a blue arrow after Kali kicks me in the stomach. My body tears the air, until finally shattering the arena wall in clouds of dust and stone.

    As I stand up, my dark blue hair is painted gray, together with most of me. Indigo satin vest and black breeches tattered, torn to rags almost.

    I have had enough.

    With no holding back, my full fury of movement is unleashed.

    In a single jump, spanning almost half the arena, I''m upon her. Attacking with no respite. My cascade of punches and kicks force her on the defensive.

    Constantly I try to flank her until, finally, I manage to grab Kali''s ankle and smash her across the arena floor, like wielding a club.

    Impacts from her body create miniature craters.

    Again and again, I triturate her body, making large chrysanthemum-shaped plumes of sand.

    Again and again, Kali''s perfectly white hair trails her blurry pale-purple face.

    ''''Yield!'''' There is no response, she probably closed her mind to my intrusion.

    A few leather straps of her dark red cuirass are finally torn. The armor becomes half removed as I continue to slam her to the ground.

    While I move her body like a whip in preparation for another sand-eating, she swiftly tears the last of the straps and throws, not even slightly dented, bloodsteel cuirass away. Kali''s body coils as she grabs my right wrist with both hands. Her movement: a haze even to my eyes.

    She squeezes.

    Something is wrong.

    I frantically punch her hard¡ªmany times¡ªinto her face and abdomen, just to make her let go. Honey-thick dark purple, almost black blood is slowly flowing out of her mouth and nose¡ªgradually turning to shiny dust.

    I throw a haymaker into her right cheek.

    My following blows strike her body with tremendous force, each one could easily kill a Caledonian lion, an animal whose shoulder-height rivals my own.

    She refuses to let go.

    ''''Let go! Let go! Let go!'''' Like the punches, my racing thoughts are ignored.

    She grips harder yet.

    There is a loud crack.

    I scream. More out of shock and anger than pain.

    Kali immediately lets me go and collapses to the ground, exhausted.

    Instinctively, I make a single jump, many dozens of armspans away from her, all the way near the other side of the arena.

    No one makes a sound. The entire Ardorium holds its breath.

    Some distance above and to my left, I can easily discern the gentle buzzing sound made by the delicate wings of a dark blue insect, seemingly lost above the arena. Resembling a jumble of thin fragile sticks, it can''t fly for very long. The insect is roughly headed southwest, toward the green Archcrystal.

    I stare at the black bands of distant clouds, cutting across the mostly gray. So peaceful.

    Although my howling was short, none of my crystalborn ever heard or saw me like this. My right arm, despite looking strong and untouched, limps to the side.

    Kali is lying on the floor with her head tilted towards me. Her hair and face are dirty, and there is a decent amount of shiny dust as well as sand plastered all over her face and body. Most of her garments are half destroyed. ''''Are you well?'''' she asks, her thoughts invading my mind.

    There is no creature, no being or metal that could pierce my skin or truly hurt me. And yet I believe she just created a small hairline fracture inside my right arm.

    Snow from the Crown of the World''s highest peaks is unceasingly being injected deep into my wrist. The unpleasant feeling pulsates up the arm.

    Never; not even humans managed to physically hurt me like this.

    I regard the quiet tens of thousands of kindred. ''''General yet again earns her title. I yield!'''' my voice carries well in the arena.

    The smile that graces my lips is only partially forced. Strangely, I feel pride.

    Slowly, I move toward her to help her up, and yet again she insists on continuing to surprise me.

    Kali gets up.

    My crystalborn seem to be in a state of confusion. There will be no strife, I must eviscerate any hint of it.

    Suddenly, with my left hand, I grab her wrist and lift it. ''''Kali Invicta!''''

    At first void-silence reigns; but then roars, shouts, screeches, howls, hisses, chirruping, humming, and every resonance between, quell the previously lonely sounds of our gasping. A deluge of ear-pulverizing pandemonium washes over Kali and me in reminiscence of an event, decades prior.

    ***

    My arm healed quickly, during the last few days.

    This garden''s center has a large natural tree with a thick trunk and purple leaves. A distant circular stone walkway, slightly raised and with no railing, encircles the oak, marking the border of the garden within it.

    Growing below my shoulder height, small trees had their violet crowns decorated with yellow gems. Row upon row of short nectarine trees spreads to my left, surrounded by patches of purple grass and mostly black and red flowers. The abundantly sweet nectarine has a stunning yellow color.

    Thrown all around me are tall narrow hills of pure granite rock, with dens, caves, and homes carved into them. Between many of the small cliffs, waterfalls peacefully cascade, creating a large wide staircase, with pools on each landing.

    The garden is a patch of order among this beautiful chaos of scattered purple, black, and red shrubs randomly jutting from the vertical landscape.

    Regrettably or not, unlike most creatures of the world, my creations don''t need water for sustenance, but, of course, it has other uses¡ªand I poetically equate the sound of rushing water with the heartbeat of nature.

    Silently, I hop from the walkway into the garden.

    In the shadows I see him. Four horns, feral eyes. A demon-looking creature. Head taller than me, he walks on two legs. Large bat-like wings burst out his back. Yellow-eyes keeps his long thigh-thick tail carefully coiled behind. The tail narrows towards the end. The full extended length of it almost matches that of his tall stature.

    He''s mowing down hundreds of souls with each scythe stroke; and is also quite fond of writing songs in addition to gardening, which occupies him now.

    Large sways of purple grass are being sliced, making the intensely sweet and sharp smell of fresh-cropped grass imbue the garden with its delightful aroma.

    Aillen at first, with his back to me, doesn''t perceive my approach. ''''Maker.'''' He stops slicing immediately upon noticing me and bows slightly.

    I regard the luscious, well-kept garden. ''''It grows well.''''

    Aillen looks down at me with pale yellow eyes. He puts his scythe blade down, resting his right hand on the handle; black claws mirror the grass-cutting tool''s curvature. ''''Sometimes too well.'''' His voice is thunderous but pleasant. A distant rumble of a forgotten summer squall.

    If I don''t focus hard enough, my hearing can detect insects walking¡ªan ability that can be annoyingly distracting to manage while reading. Conversing with him requires me to significantly deaden my little curse-blessing, dampening many sounds like the rushing water, chirping of tiny pale red blushes, nearby crakler''s click-clacking, the wind rustling the purple leaves.

    ''''If left to just a few days of neglect, chaos claims all,'''' Aillen notes.

    Considering his large form, I was always surprised at how he managed to tend the delicate plants with such...purple touch. Kali pressured him not a small number of times to join the army or the hunting squads. Aillen''s resistance to those overtures is even more impressive than his gardening skills.

    Sometimes he would ask me to describe what individual flowers smelled like. Senses of smell and taste, the things I take for granted, were always a source of fascination for my creations. I would try to be poetic and say, ''''The scent of flowers is like a subtle most pleasant tickling of the nose.''''

    ''''How are you?'''' I ask. My eyes narrow slightly at the sudden, fleeting discomfort. Despite being fully recovered, a certain sharp and crisp ache passes through my right arm for a heartbeat or two. It makes me think of her. Kali mended in less than two days, however, even if her hand suddenly fell off I doubt the stubborn general would complain to me about it.

    Aillen did not seem to have noticed my discomfort. ''''I fare well, if only Jeju was banished from the garden for all eternity I would be sublime.''''

    That brings a short-lived chuckle out of me, and a slight ache in my cheeks at the almost-forgotten motion. Jeju is a sweet six-legged dog with no tail and a screeching bark who sadly doesn''t share the same respect for plants that Aillen has. The cute ball of spite always manages to escape his yard enclosure, cutting the path of any passersby and demanding attention. As much as my yellow-eyed friend would hate to admit it, he loves Jeju, we all do.

    I gaze at him, all stoic and serious now. ''''I may have a task for you.''''

    ''''Anything, Maker.''''

    ***

    Born out of uncut Emerald that was extracted from a mighty Wraith, the sapling will grow higher than even the highest sky-tree. For this reason, a suitable location is needed.

    A dark blue specter trailing behind, my hair whips in the high winds.

    Me riding Toranos, my griffin, my wings; and together with Aillen, him using his large wings of a bat, we soar across the sky.

    Aillen assured me the location is ideal.

    Planting of this sapling demands careful consideration.

    Crystalborn trees, as well as other plant life born of Genesis, cannot be used as a resource for making chairs, tables, or woodworking, nor can they be used as firewood. They simply turn to crystal dust when cut.

    My creations would find it vile, but many crystalborn trees produce fruit that can be plucked and is often quite edible, although bland in taste.

    Even human-made artificial trees had strong roots, connecting them deeply to the soil, allowing these plants to use resources from the ground. Ultimately giving birth to seedless fruit. Of course, akin to my animate creations, artificial trees need sunlight for sustenance.

    Light is the food and water of all kindred. They would often gaze at the pale sun or Archcrystal with fascination and desire in their eyes. Winged would spread their wings when sunbathing to absorb more light this way.

    Insects tend to avoid and are unable to penetrate the strong bark of my trees; they may walk over it and consume the fruit but the special bark remains undamaged. Not even fire can consume a crystalborn tree.

    Plain stretching below us is a level expanse of soil with no end. Tall purple grass and wildflowers dominate these lands.

    We descend slowly.

    There is a stream near the planting spot, running through a meadow.

    Gently, the griffin lands.

    In no time at all I throw myself at the task before me.

    From behind the saddle, I remove the few ropes and take the wrapped sapling.

    Using my bare hands I make a hole in the ground near the landing spot.

    ''''Maker,'''' Aillen begins, ''''may I speak openly?''''

    I turn to regard him. ''''Yes.''''

    ''''There are many who say the General will be removed from the Council or how she should be banished from the city. Some are torn between the love of you and respect all have for the General. Why did you fight Kindred Kali?''''

    I smile for a moment. ''''As you probably know, it is difficult to say no to the General. Even for me. The fight started a playful thing, only at the end did things became...slightly more serious. She wanted to fight me so I fought her. That is that. No one is getting removed or banished, Aillen.''''

    He nods. Soon, my four-horned friend changes the topic and speaks of plants and how the landscape will be reformed by my crystalborn. Aillen talks of poetry and politely asks for full access to my library.

    After patting the soil around the stem I stand up. ''''No, old friend. Knowledge locked there is a heavy and dangerous thing. Ask for a thousand gardens, a palace, ask for even some human-written books that may interest you but don''t ask me that.'''' I throw my stare at the horizon. ''''You may think I do not trust you. It is not about trust. Once an exception is made, floodgate slowly opens.''''

    I look at the dying pale sun and then back at the young tree.

    The sapling will grow to become a god among its peers.

 Chapter 11 Anaya

    Dreamless nights are so cold.

    My legions grow in number and yet I have never felt more alone.

    --------------------------------------------------------------------------

    Year three

    Third year at the Academy is done for me. I finished the last of my exams in the first half of Taz.

    Exams involving physical efforts were trivial, but the dutiful daughter that I am I heeded my mother''s advice and did not stand out. Well, almost. During one exam we were throwing discus and spears and I accidentally threw a spear just a little too far. Grandmaster Vidar and his apprentice concluded that winds allowed the spear to fly an additional distance. There is no need to mention that to Mom.

    The three of us are in the Great Library. Michael found a secluded area. One of the upper reading alcoves, so we could allow ourselves the luxury of whispers. There is a bee''s nest worth of such reading nooks and niches on multiple levels. A few borrowed Cobalts and Ambers placed upon a cozy stonewood table throw their blue and yellow lights over our youthful faces and green coats. There is a protruding reading slab of stone in the room that we used to place our satchels, emptied iron lanterns, and some books. I was surprised to see the hollowed-out small room having a table and three chairs inside.

    Even up here, the pleasant smell of parchment and bound leather is felt. Sometimes a faint smell of people too, mostly grown-ups from down below¡ªnot very pleasant, though.

    Hebe and Michael both did mostly well in our giant cave-prison. Hebe has a good head on her shoulders but needs help with the physical aspect of our studies. Earlier today we worked out in the gymnasium outside on the ground level. A few older students nearing their manhood also practiced there and were not so subtle in wanting to help her do proper stances with spear and sword. Dark-red cloaked guards of the Academy stationed there were slightly troubled at the sight but mostly kept their grievances to themselves.

    Michael glides through the physical aspects of the curriculum and I''m fairly certain he has no problems with grasping many useless philosophical concepts and other drudging theoretical knowledge we are taught here, but nevertheless often wishes to study and compare notes.

    The Academy lapsed their ridiculous restrictions somewhat, at least when it came to boys'' hair. Michael''s fringe-up haircut pleasingly complimented his deep-set brown eyes and handsome face. His brown hair is cut in an orderly fashion: short on the sides and back with a slightly longer fringe on top, combed to the side. Not a single strand is out of place. He even has a wisp of a beard on his face, barely noticeable, but there.

    Oh! I almost forgot. I did a little bit of research¡ªyou know: a book or two...ah, a dozen or two, really¡ªabout Vorzas, reading wherever they are mentioned or hinted at. Most stories vary wildly but a common thread does exist. If you are blessed with Genesis you cannot be a Vorza. It was a relief to learn this, but there were no mentions about...well, what in the almighty Aegis is wrong with me.

    I managed to steal three sweet apples, red and fat, from the Hall¡ªthe lofty cavern where all the students eat. I''m pretty sure the apples were reserved for Black Breakers or maybe grandmasters, I don''t know. Naturally, I gave two of the delights to my friends. Michael just sighed while taking it while Hebe gave me a worried look. Both of them said their gratitude and pocketed my spoils into their dark green linen coats without much debate. Although, ever since I started biting it with loud crunches Hebe is looking at the tasty red ball as if the fruit might scream its presence. I cannot deny they are feeding us well; however, I''m close to having nightmares about vegetable pottages, rice, or the many tasteless and often gray artificial vegetables they keep thrusting down our throats.

    A few stonewood wax tablets, cute notebook-like things, were on the table, next to the glowing crystals. Both Hebe and Michael had a book in front of them. Her golden stylus was snuggled over her book''s gutter; his, in his right hand, twiddled this way and that between his fingers.

    ''''I dare you can''t wait to go home,'''' Hebe says while throwing an occasional glance at my now almost half-eaten apple.

    ''''You are going home, Ann? You didn''t say anything.'''' Michael seems nearly offended. Hebe throws a small smirk at him.

    I gently tap my mouth with my sleeve. ''''Yes, tomorrow. It was hardly worth a note. I''ll be spending most of the time in the saddle of a Winged, going there and back.'''' All that talk and promise about how we will be visiting our families once every forty days was worth Void''s arse. Oh, in the beginning they allowed it, but already during the end of the first and throughout the second year, it was frowned upon to ask to leave home more than once every three months, which is about the last time I saw my parents.

    Michael looks downcast, sort of like me upon seeing tasteless boiled meat in the Hall. He''s been out of sorts for a while now. I don''t want to prod. Uh. Fine. I do want to prod. But only out of concern. It annoys me to see him like this; and, I have no book in front of me so reading faces is all I have right now.

    I look at him. ''''What''s wrong?''''

    ''''What?'''' he seems confused.

    ''''You look like me while eating boiled meat, or, at least, how I feel while eating it.''''

    ''''Yes...same look.'''' Hebe nods slightly. She looks at me. ''''Although, your eyebrows get more gloomy.''''

    What does she mean by that?

    She continues. ''''Yeah. Like that.''''

    I roll my eyes. ''''Michael, what''s wrong?''''

    ''''Yeah, Grandpa. Tell us who died on this day.'''' Hebe makes a sad expression with her lips, but her dark-green eyes are smiling.

    He gives her a cold stare. ''''I...possibly gambled away all my hex on a chariot race.''''

    ''''Hah!'''' Shit, I need to lower my voice. ''''You fool,'''' I tell him nicely.

    Hebe picks up her golden stylus and points it at Michael while glancing back at her book to read something. ''''Serves you right...you fool.''''

    Michael begins mockingly, ''''Please stop with the outpouring of support. It is too much.''''

    Hebe continues to read her book. ''''We are helping you. By making you feel worse there''s less chance you''ll be so stupid again.''''

    ''''Red faction won three times in a row prior to my race,'''' Michael states frustratingly.

    I almost ignore him. ''''You wish to make money gambling? Open a gambling house. That''s just how it goes.''''

    Michael smiles at me. Dark mahogany eyes regard me playfully. ''''I don''t think a pilferer should be giving me advice.''''

    I smirk while casually throwing the nibbled apple at him. He catches it easily.

    Hebe raises her thin golden eyebrows at both of us. ''''Even up here the The Whip might hear us.''''

    Suddenly an image of Vice Keeper Sabina smashing my fingers with her stick comes to mind. Worse, Michael and Hebe might lose their library privileges.

    I place my hand on her shoulder. ''''You''re right. I''m sorry,'''' I whisper. I look at Michael. ''''Not my fault our friend is so fond of wasting his riches.''''

    Michael throws back the partly-eaten apple, throws it hard at my shoulder. Instinctively, I catch it. His eyes widen for a moment, but then he seems disgusted at himself. The look of disgust is quickly gone and he becomes serious again. He clears his throat silently. ''''I''m sorry. I''m sorry, Ann,'''' Michael whispers. ''''I should go. Should...need to practice the sword...'''' He stands up, beginning to gather all his stuff.

    It takes me a moment to realize with a fright that most people wouldn''t be able to catch that. He threw the apple in actual anger. I get up and move toward him. ''''Michael, I was only teasing. Please sta---''''

    ''''I have to go,'''' he interrupts. ''''I have to go. Bye.''''

    He picks up his satchel and lantern, and leaves.

    I look at Hebe. ''''You said nothing!'''' I whisper.

    Hebe simply shrugs. ''''I''d just call him a fool.''''

    I move to follow him.

    ''''Let him be alone. Let it go. You''ll only make it worse.''''

    Her words bind my legs. ''''I can get him some hex.''''

    ''''You---'''' she interrupts herself. ''''Ann, are you even listening? That would only make him feel worse. Let it go.''''

    She is right. I slouch my shoulders and move to sit next to Hebe.

    It is strange. Sometimes Hebe is like an older sister I never had and sometimes I seem the older one.

    I plunge my head onto her shoulder. ''''Stop rolling your eyes.''''

    ''''I was not.''''

    ''''And stop smiling.''''

    She laughs loudly.

    I raise my head, putting my hand over her mouth. ''''Stop it.''''

    Her mouth produces a ridiculous sound and I laugh with her.

    ''''I apologize deeply for interrupting.'''' Vice Keeper Sabina Sabinus regards us from the entrance. Approaching our table silently and death-like, special pads cover her feet. She looks at us both imperiously and then smashes the partly devoured apple on the table with her thin stonewood stick. A tiny chunk of the apple flies into my hair.

    Quietly, so quietly that even I was barely able to hear, The Whip says, ''''Fingers or exile.''''

    ***

    The white-gray two-story house with a flat roof looks as if it has gotten much smaller.

    Our yard is outlined by rows of dark purple anemone flowers.

    A clay flowerpot of purplish-red blooms was placed on my room''s window. One of my favorite flowers is fuchsia.

    The glorious red light of Sol washes over me. I spread my arms at the sky. Yes. So pretty. I avert my gaze away from the small red sun.

    I remove the straps and dismount.

    My arrival is announced by Leyla''s loud barking. Father sometimes calls her ''''Void''s Spawn,'''' since she likes to bark at night. About a year or so they got her to chase rats. She looks like a black sausage with legs. I like to pinch her cheeks.

    The dog''s barking turns to high-pitched whining as she reaches me. Leyla jumps about my feet, her tail a blur of motion. I rapidly pat her tummy with the tips of my slightly sore fingers.

    My mother is outside not long after the two-legged creature landed in our yard. My father follows closely behind, striding out briskly.

    Almost every time I visit, Mom trims my hair. Not today, though. Hebe is...decent at it but the scissors they gave us are simply subpar to my mother''s hepatizon ones. And also, Mom says I shouldn''t let other girls cut it. She can be smothering sometimes...and all the times.

    I tried letting Hebe work on my blunt bangs, and it was a disaster. Only Mom knows how to smoothly shorten my hair.

    My home is on the southern moss called Capitolinus Moss. Its affable location shortened my travel time. A bit.

    The large raven that has brought me home before midday is an exceptionally fast Grey-made transport familiar, but it still took some time to reach my moss. For the first two years, when my visitations were more frequent, I was flown here by the assigned Academy soldier who controlled the selected mount with simple commands. This time there was no escort, and I had frustratingly no options for controlling the feathery beast. Grizzled Grey Breaker at the Academy that made it imprinted a command onto the Winged''s mind, and since the beast had learned where my home was, it flew me here on its own. There are no reins to speak of.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    What''s even more impressive is that it will start to flap its large wings and croak annoyingly at the exact time of my purported departure. How the damned thing knows to measure the almost exact time passed is a mystery I was unable to solve.

    I''m allowed but a few measly hours with my parents before having to return, given that, I''m sure, the Academy would crumble to stony dust without me. They seem, and blessedly sound much the same as always. Alamarium-breastplate-tight hugs exchanged, we move inside the house.

    The space is familiar and welcoming, yet feels smaller every time I come back.

    I take off my pink woolen hat and tuck it into my sleeve. I didn''t need the hat, cold rarely bothers me, yet I wear it from time to time. Next, I unclasp my lion fibula and remove the red cloak, revealing Academy''s phoenix insignia gracing my sleeves, just below my shoulder level.

    It is strange how even after a few years without sleeping in my bed¡ªadmittedly most of such night time was spent lying down awake or lying on the roof¡ªthere is still a strong yearning for me to stay with them.

    Their¡ªour, I should say¡ªkitchen is a pottery gathering of jugs, brown pots of all sizes, jars, plates, and soup bowls; fresh vegetables in the corner, a three-handspan wide stonewood cutting board, iron pan, and other...kitchen things. Woven baskets are filled with seedless and next to tasteless artificial Violet-made vegetables of mostly dark purple and black variety. There are a few ordinary periwinkle and violaceous lettuces as well as misty-gray leafed maroon radishes thrown in.

    About a dozen or so oranges filled a bowl to the right of the small oven of gray-white stone. Each orange was no bigger than a child''s fist and had a pleasant smell and sweetness. At the lip of the oven, Mother left some shreds of orange rind, the kitchen air was rich with their aroma.

    Near the oven, the kitchen had a white-gray marble basin for cutlery, bowls, plates, and such. The basin was built into the counter¡ªa bronze spigot was above, on the wall. A clean brush and white cloth within easy reach, like always.

    Rich red linen valance decorated the kitchen window that was placed high up on the wall.

    Much of the earthenware is currently on the stonewood kitchen table, overflowing with goodies made in my honor.

    Despite my best efforts against it, my mom always has to make a small banquet for each of my comings here. The table has a bowl of rice, boiled eggs, some cloud-gray artificial oval-shaped vegetables I don''t recognize, bran bread, wheat porridge with onions and beans to add flavor, and there are even some dried natural vegetables. The round bread is cut across four times, giving eight easily tearable pieces.

    And to top it all off, a forearm-tall glass pitcher filled almost to the brim with sweet diluted grape juice alongside some cinnamon.

    Mortarium, possibly Mom''s favorite kitchen tool, is filled with a spread made of white cheese with ground garlic and thyme mixed in, linseed oil drizzled on top. The mortarium has a small opening near the top to allow the outflow of liquids¡ªexquisitely made to portray the mouth of a lion.

    Worst of all, they''ve slaughtered and plucked one of the egg-laying chickens from near the outside shed. Like a crown jewel, placed on a platter in the middle of the table, the roasted and basted chicken is served with sapa. The honey-based sauce has a rich syrupy dark amber color to it. I told my mother many times to not treat me like I''m a visiting senator. My every word bounces off her as if I''m speaking to a wall. To. A. Wall.

    I do not wish to think how much hex all this had cost them. Before, we had some arguments about it, and aurichalcum-precious time was spent arguing.

    Still there. On one end of the kitchen table, I can see a small groove that I carved years back.

    For some time, the sounds of eating is all that can be heard. In the Hall, on the rare days when they serve roasted meats, the canteen gets unusually quiet. Everyone just gobbles their food and no one really talks. I''ve read that that''s how you know if an inn serves good food or stale garbage. When mouths prefer to chew rather than do gossip.

    My mother can''t seem to stop staring at the right side of my face. I can feel her ogling eyes on my cheek. Out of all days it had to be now.

    A few reddish spots ravage my cheek. Yesterday, without thinking I scratched one of them and felt the sharp kiss of a wasp.

    But the worst thing is she can''t seem to shut up about it. ''''You need to dip clean cloth with spirits and rub it. Then put some cream. I could try and send you some chamomile cream with castor oil.''''

    ''''It will pass!'''' I exclaim angrily. She always has to find a flaw to nag about. Her cold eyes glare at me, no doubt planning the next criticism.

    Father clears his throat. ''''So, how are your studies going, overall?'''' It was a stupid question, but a welcome distraction I suppose. He knows the physical side of my studies can''t be a bother, and I also already mentioned to them that cerebral obstacles are an easy slice, not a problem at all.

    Especially considering I can rarely fall asleep and therefore have near endless time to study. A problem, if I can call it that, that has somehow gotten worse over the last few days. ''''Well,'''' I look at my mother, ''''I''m thinking about improving my grades in running, spear and discus throwing, wrestling, and every other useless thing we are taught there!'''' I slightly raised my voice after every few words.

    Ow!

    She clipped me on the head with her knuckles. ''''Do not speak to me like that, girl.'''' Her glower still manages to get to me and I look away.

    My father releases a heavy sigh. ''''They are feeding you well. Every time we see each other you are taller.'''' During the time of plenty, in the first year, when my visitations were more numerous, Father lost some weight and gained shadows below the eyes. I''m glad to see this has gradually changed, due to what I have no doubt were vigorous efforts from my mom to make him eat more. He knows my pain.

    ''''Are you sure?'''' My mom examines me with more scrutiny than any grandmaster ever could. ''''She seems a little pale.'''' Perhaps the Academy''s decision to reduce student visits home has some merit to it. ''''Do they truly feed you well? You must take some supplies with you. I have stored---''''

    I move my cheek away from her left hand and try to talk calmly. ''''Mom, I''ve told you many times, they feed us as if...as if we were portly priests of Acrona.'''' In the temples of the Second Daughter, many worshipers often leave offerings of food, and those well-off even give some wine at her altar. These offerings mysteriously disappear by the next day.

    She claps me on the head again. If she hits me one more time I will break the kitchen table. ''''Do not blasphemy, Anaya.'''' Mom gets up to prepare my emergency supplies so I don''t starve to death, and as I blaze at her and prepare to follow, Father wishes to bring peace to the realm.

    He suddenly gets up. ''''Anna come, I wish to show you something.''''

    His workshop is much as I remember, tidy and clean. He once told me, ''''If you work in a mess you will produce a mess.''''

    Mom always berated how I should be as tidy as him. Every single time she entered my room there would be some complaint concerning its alleged, as she would put it, ''''topsy-turvy'''' state. I''m really not that messy.

    His warm brown eyes study my face intently, a wistful gaze heightens the tiny wrinkles around them.

    Some see crystalcrafters as greedy knaves. Father is no such thing. He always treated people the way they treat him. Anyone wanting to call my father deceitful or greedy should look at their own reflection first.

    On the table in the corner, there is a white woolen cloth covering something.

    He slowly removes it, and the painstaking details of his work leave me speechless. ''''I know the Academy wouldn''t allow you to bring it with you. I wished to gift this to you for your fifteenth spring, but near the end of Garn, it was nowhere near finished. With you rarely coming home this is a rare opportunity to give it to you. Consider it a massively delayed birthday present.''''

    I can''t stop gawping at the rearing horse carved out of Crimson. The crystal he made this from must have been the size of a fist. The destrier''s mane and tail have just now stopped dancing in the wind. The plinth is made to look into swirling clouds.

    He even charged the crystal recently, the vortexing red light inside making it as if the horse has a blood flow. As I look more closely I notice that he even managed to vividly portray the rearing horse''s contracted muscles.

    I have to look away and blink away the red haze in my eyes.

    ''''Do you like it?'''' Father asks.

    ''''It is one of the most beautiful things I ever saw. Father, you have outdone yourself.'''' I move to embrace him.

    ''''I don''t want you to go, Anna,'''' he whispers sadly.

    I can smell the faintest hints from Mom''s attar of roses on him. It is often overpowering on her and some must have gotten on him somehow. ''''I''m well. Academy takes good care of us.''''

    With great reluctance he lets me go. ''''It will always wait for you in your room. I will feed it light every few days.'''' He places his hands on my shoulders, looking deeply into my eyes. ''''I don''t care if Theia herself strikes down The Breaker Academy,'''' he whispers, ''''you come back to us, girl.'''' He regards the small shining sculpture that might at any moment come to life. ''''Whatever happens, its shine will always wait for you.''''

    Before we move to leave he pulls out a stonewood merels board from the top shelf, above his cutting and polishing tools. ''''Time for a game?''''

    ''''We have time for one,'''' I say.

    We play a little further from the piece of art he made for me, standing next to his main work table.

    The board has emblematic inlays of triquetra dominating the surface with a matrix of twenty-four evenly spaced and roundly carved dents for the pieces.

    It is a simple game. We each get nine of the pieces and place them in empty spots with a satisfying click. I always let the old man go first although I don''t even know why we bother playing since the outcome is so often the same. It makes me sad how our movement is rushed as if the board might burst into flames at any moment.

    In the beginning, he beat me every time but it is pointless now.

    At regular intervals, black and white pieces are removed from the board while each of us constantly tries to get three in a row. We have both mastered the game and this one, like most others, ends in a draw.

    ''''You could''ve let me win.''''

    ''''If I''ve always let you win then you wouldn''t have become so good at it. Let us go before your mother accuses me of stealing you all to myself.''''

    My time to go is soon and we move into the kitchen where my mom has prepared a moss-worth of supplies. Will all that fit into the old satchel she made for me? The giant raven outside surely won''t appreciate the extra weight.

    ''''Stay here, Anna. I wish to speak to your father.'''' That probably means I''m going to be the topic.

    I simply nod and sit at the kitchen table, pretending I can''t hear them while they move to conspire in the next room.

    ''''...she gets her dirty tongue and impulse towards blasphemy from you, John.''''

    ''''You were eavesdropping.''''

    ''''And you were scaring her. Like she is going off to some war.''''

    ''''You heard what they say of that place. They treat children as recruits, future soldiers to be sent Void knows where.''''

    For a moment Mom pauses. ''''Must you always speak like that? Despite your best efforts, we are exalted by all our neighbors because of the honor of our daughter attending the Academy.''''

    ''''Fuck blessings and honors. A child should grow up with its parents.''''

    He lowers his voice even more. ''''Her posture is different and she even moves differently.''''

    ''''Oh Goddess, her back is finally straighter, after all those books you fed her gave her a hunch. How simply abominable.'''' Even in whisper, my mother''s voice is sharp like a blade of hepatizon.

    Strange, I keep forgetting: I don''t have to listen to them squabbling.

    I quickly rip out the remaining chicken drumstick and go to the door. I open them quietly. Of course you''re here, my little rat. Leaning over, I give Leyla the drumstick. She takes it gently and then scampers away to some hidden spot.

    Soon my satchel will be overflowing with linen-wrapped food, soon the raven will call for me.

    I slam the back of my head against the now closed door, exhale deeply, and slide slowly down to crouch here for a bit.

    Just for a bit.

    ***

    Autumn wind punches my face as these pathetic excuses for plants sway about me.

    Secret Garden, what a stupidly stupid name. Everyone knows of it, anyone can see it.

    They sent me to this ugly garden, supposedly ''''fresh air,'''' the few older women caretakers proclaimed, ''''will do me good.''''

    The Academy has an outside garden mostly made of artificial plants.

    Familiar plants look rather different from natural plants. Sometimes the tree trunks have a dull sheen of black to their surface. Diagonally flowing bands form ugly, slanting tree trunks whose roots occasionally burst from the ground.

    A drunk coiling snake whose head explodes into a dense foliage of dark red, purple, or black.

    The trees here are not that high, and some are very leafy; their trunks have vines of rich purple foliage. The leafy type of natural trees have their branches half-bare, and seem barren and sickly when compared to the lush crystalborn trees. Sculptures, granite benches, and a few simple swings of rope attached to thick tree branches are all thrown about the space seemingly at random.

    The garden''s sculptures are small, often below my hip level in height. They remind me a little of the giant human-like statues at the center of Applecherry Plaza, their wings here also plastered with gold. An annoying smirk was carved for all time into most of their marble faces.

    There are everlasting purples of tamarisk and juniper and terebinth.

    To my upper right, a dancer was swaying its delicate purple strands to the high winds. The useless-looking fluffy plant actually has some practical use. Best bows are made from the dancer''s purple-black stem.

    A cluster of pale pink lilies is framed by the flowing lines of black boxwood shrubs¡ªbloodred bush grows wild above.

    I suppose the garden has some macabre appeal to it. Despite this place not being too high up, it still took me some effort to get here.

    Far below and away from the garden, the green statue of khar-nogoon rose starkly against the pale red sandstone landscape around it. The mountainous facade soared ridiculously high, making the statue resemble a green petrified eyelash.

    Barely a week passed since I last saw my parents, and yet I miss them dearly. Sometimes I even miss my mother''s suffocating nature, although, granted, those moments are exceptionally rare.

    Due to being ''''blessed'''' I will never be a mother and yet I must still go through this. Caretaker Vitellia assured me this is normal.

    Third day like this.

    Cramps are coming in neverending surges. How is this possible, I''m stronger than other girls, stronger than anyone, I can''t be hurting like this.

    I lean forward and try not to think of the pain. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

    Hebe came to offer words of comfort but was wise enough not to linger much and to let me be alone. I assume she cleverly warned Michael not to come near me. Am I dying? Why does it feel like I''m dying?

    ''''I presume it would be stupid to ask how are you, Anna.'''' Aleera managed to sneak up on me. I must be worse than I thought. As usual, the brown-robed priestess has her shawl and gloves, although it is a little more understandable attire during the second half of the year.

    ''''Yes.'''' I bend over again and inhale through my nose and exhale quickly through my mouth.

    Aleera sits on a bench next to me. Glancing at my stomach she says plainly, ''''It is a part of life.''''

    ''''Well...life is mocking me then. We are told it is a sign of fertility. What a farce! I didn''t choose this pain or this cursed place. What forced future am I to have?''''

    She touches my hand reassuringly. After a long pause, she says, ''''It is not about who you are now, it is about who you can become. You will never be a mother in the traditional sense, true; however,'''' she throws a look southwards, sadness and longing shroud her eyes, ''''your crystalborn will be an extension of you that serves the city.'''' She regards me again with a faint smile. ''''Also, I assume you''ve been through the blessings ceremony whereby you could probably see or hear some small curses of motherhood.''''

    That brings a short-lived smile out of me. Some of her words are wrapped in thick layers of wool. My hearing manipulation is wavering together with my focus. I''d much rather be alone.

    ''''Somehow, I hoped this would not come to pass,'''' I say.

    ''''Hope is a-a-a fool man''s game. Do not hope, make it so. With time you will find herbs that work best for you,'''' Aleera states.

    Aleera pulls a small green vial out of her right pocket and gives it to me. ''''Rub this on your belly three to four times a day. Some women claim it does wonders.''''

    ''''What is it?'''' My head feels like one of the anvils of the Academy''s Forge.

    ''''Chamomile oil. Your mother will probably know where to buy more.''''

    ''''I won''t be seeing her for months at least.''''

    ''''Write a letter and tell her to procure you some thyme or oolong tea.'''' She becomes thoughtful for a moment. ''''Sadly the gray plants grow in the Wastes and can be expensive but since some faithful leave an offering of thyme in Acrona''s temple, which eventually gets cleared or thrown away, I will send you some of those. Nonetheless, write to her. A daughter needs her mother at times such as these.'''' She gets up to leave.

    ''''Thank you.'''' My voice is meek.

    Aleera lovingly taps my shoulder. ''''I will come back around ten days from now, and can deliver it for you.'''' She wistfully regards the garden one last time and starts ambling away. ''''Rest now Anna, preferably in a bed and not a windy garden. Farewell, girl.''''

    ''''Bye,'''' is all I manage to croak. Before I can ask her why is she helping me, another ripple of stomach pain gets my full attention.

    A distant thought nags at the mind, and I feel like I''ve failed to grasp some important understanding.

 Chapter 12

    Kali was created out of a giant purple crystal, extracted from a now long-forgotten behemoth. It is not something usually done. Most often such crystals are painstakingly cut, and multiple kindred are born at the same time.

    Diligent as ever, Maker''s scholars tended to write down the names, dates, and even Maker''s own words soon upon creation of each new life through the Genesis process. She has read once how, around the time of her own birth(about a century ago), Maker almost lamented making Kali, saying, ''''I took too much, I took too much.''''

    What he meant by those words he would not say, not to her, not to anyone.

    Did he regret creating her? Did he not love her, the way he does all other crystalborn? Even when not roaming the Western Equiya¡ªTheia knows where¡ªMaker is here near her, but not really here. Often locked away deep inside his library, a world of paper and bound leather.

    Behemoths came from the ocean(a world-sea of perpetual turmoil). Naturally, Kali created and implemented a forewarning system whereby almost the entire coast of Dontium was watched for the appearance of these gigantic beasts. She wanted the system to remain active always, but Maker, as ever, had to argue against her wishes. His reasoning was sound. Behemothic attacks happened roughly once every eight years, and there was no reason, therefore, to maintain it indefinitely. The strain on resources, he argued, would simply be too great. Of course, to the chagrin of many kindred close to Maker, she challenged him on the issue until he agreed for a third of the Western Equiya''s coast to be constantly monitored at any time. If the sometimes-inconsistent eight-year pattern were to dramatically change, the army best be prepared.

    After the skirmish in the Ardorium Arena, Kali feared Maker might find her actions discourteous¡ªa trait Maker often found to be the most execrable one. But she noticed no change, Maker always was and continued to be kind to her.

    She understood not why, but this lack of change made Kali angry.

    Not much for carousals¡ªmainly consisting of hugging, kissing, loud laughter, and dancing¡ªKali preferred to hone her ''''path of the blade.'''' This is how she called it(a descriptor she never uttered). Her own personal quest of achieving true perfection in the matter of bladesmanship.

    She mastered the scythe utterly, decades ago, and other weapons are but her plaything now.

    Despite this, Kali pondered that true perfection is unattainable; nevertheless, it was not about the ending but the journey itself, the passionate questing for that unobtainable.

    Maker would sometimes disappear for weeks or even months, and it would befall on Kali, a great burden, to be his will; an imperatrix of Dontium. The supreme commander of all the legions and keeper of peace. Kali often disliked bureaucracy involving the running of the Five Cities and the myriad towns and small settlements, but it could not be helped. Maker did not ask, he expected her to perform her duty flawlessly.

    Am I just a seneschal unto his eyes? Kali thought.

    An avid reader of all works history, Kali sometimes wondered how humans so adequately managed the undertaking of running their kingdoms and empires. They seem to have been primitive and weak¡ªmillions of mouths always in need of food and water(a logistical nightmare, that must have been).

    And yet, Maker admired them. Their achievements at least. Oh, he would never admit this, of course, but she knew Maker, she knew him better than most, even knew the name the humans have bestowed upon him. Despite the obliteration he did to humankind, he admired their civilizational achievements, passionately using those as a platform for the world-realm of kindred.

    Quietly, Kali herself did her own research and learned that Scholar Magnus of Vantium the Seventh and Scholar Nikolaos of Vantium were some of the most knowledgeable experts when it came to humans, and more importantly they were known not to gossip. She indeed hoped this reconnoitering will go largely unremarked.

    Scholar Nikolaos is acknowledged to be reclusive, living somewhere southward. Beyond the Xanadu mountain range.

    This left her with Scholar Magnus. A preferable choice, perhaps.

    Scholar Magnus is somewhat of an artificer, known for making custom-made tools and ingenious devices to measure time. Both for himself and other kindred.

    Kali could have easily summoned the scholar to her imposing chateau, at any time of her choosing. However, this might not have produced the desired outcome. He might have felt intimidated, becoming less verbose. By coming to him, to his study, Kali did Kindred Magnus a great honor; and, one may feel more talkative if surrounded by a known setting.

    ''''I understand I have the basic shape of a human female but there are some...major differences?'''' Kali asks tentatively.

    Sometimes, like now, her clear purple eyes had an intimidating edge to them.

    Once, Kali overheard one of the kindred describe how the mere act of conversing with Kali made them feel small, as if regarded by the eyes of a bird of prey. She had the respect of all, veneration of most, admiration of some, but never love. Not truly. Not the way Maker had. He was beloved by all. Possessor of that quasi-filial love burning in the eyes of millions; beast and man-shaped, sentient and not.

    Kali knew all this and tried to relax her sitting posture, and even smile a little.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ''''Yes, human females had protrusions at the end of their breasts, while yours have smooth skin. Even males of the species had these,'''' Scholar Magnus says.

    Bipedal crystalborn with large tails, and Scholar Magnus of Vantium certainly included himself in such a group, would with annoying regularity find themselves being bothered by little discomforts while sitting in a chair.

    As he sits, his tail hangs down just below the backrest. It dangles behind the scholar. Often unnoticed and found within the numerous of Vantium Core''s superb structures, there are many chairs whose backrests have a gap, an opening well-suited for tails of each and every variety.

    Scholar Magnus is a green-scaled lizard-like creature. He has thick black tapering horns, a fat tail, four clever, slender fingers on each hand, and three fat feet fingers. All fingers end in little pointy black claws. His bottom teeth are sticking out the bottom sides of his lizard-like mouth.

    ''''And among others,'''' Scholar Magnus goes on, ''''the major difference between us and humans is we of course lack the ability to have young. Since with us having smooth skin between our legs, we lack the necessary tools to make progeny.'''' He notices Kali slightly narrowing her eyes and interprets it as displeasure. ''''Obviously, not all is bleak. We show no signs of aging. For example, a human female having your age would look a gray and shriveled thing, like a prune if you will, while your face stays smoother than that aurichalcum armor,'''' he says while pointing at her chest¡ªthe wraithskin leathery straps of her cuirass looking nearly new.

    ''''We are,'''' he continues, ''''created by Maker himself and therefore far superior to what humans were. While you could easily reach four hundred years or more, the average human would consider itself fortunate to live roughly a quarter of that. Ha-Ha! I could imagine them giving many chests of hex just to live a mere decade or two longer.''''

    ''''Hex?'''' Kali asks.

    ''''Yes. It''s what they called six-sided crystal chips used as money. The chips were about several times smaller than your palm¡ªjust red crystals cut into hexagonal shapes.''''

    ''''Money?'''' Kali gently dances her graceful fingers across her neck, side to side. ''''Ah yes, I''ve read of these things in the Palace. One group would give sheep, timber, or metals in exchange for more weapons from some other tribe or kingdom.'''' Perhaps unaccustomed to using the words aloud, Kali pronounced ''''money'''' and ''''kingdom'''' with a slightly lower inflection that the scaly crystalborn found amusing but said nothing of it.

    ''''That was bartering. The basic exchange in their early history. Very primitive, but not really money. Much later they standardized the medium of exchange into alamarium coins or whatever was considered precious for the age. Hex just became the last form money took before their extinction.''''

    This is good he likes to talk, it will make things easier, Kali thought.

    ''''Tell me more of humans,'''' Kali asserts.

    ''''Like sheep, they had to sleep each night. Other than once or twice per forty days, we are free of such animalistic need. Maker himself is probably able to not sleep for years¡ªwere he to choose so. And humans also needed to consume solid substances and water, and many foul colorful liquids of squashed fruit, almost each day. How vile. Vile!"

    This reminded Kali of the few times she watched Maker with fascination as he was ingesting some liquids. "I have seen Maker drink some red liquid. Wine, he called it."

    This took the scholar aback. "Yes... Well, far be it from me to ponder on the nature of Maker''s existence; however, Maker is a perfect being. He is beyond what any human was and even beyond what we are. He is able to experience life through his divine lens, seeing and feeling things beyond our comprehension."

    ''''And humans had the ability to join the way animals do?'''' Kali asks, returning to the topic of her desire.

    Scholar Magnus becomes thoughtful for a moment. He scratches the top of his snout. ''''In a way, yes. They were primitive, messy beings. Where we are smooth and strong like stone, humans had a procreation organ. Males had theirs on the outside, and females had theirs protected, on the inside.''''

    ''''Like two opposites? Blade and shield. Different, but with common purpose. Or is my reasoning wrong?''''

    ''''More like two pieces of a puzzle. They fit together, and eventually, seven months or so after the union, a small human version of the joined adults is produced.''''

    ''''General,'''' Scholar Magnus proceeds anew, voice unsure, hesitant, ''''may I ask a personal question?''''

    ''''Yes,'''' Kali replies tersely.

    ''''You''ve mentioned the Palace. It is said the Maker gave you an entire section of the library to use at your pleasure. Is this true?''''

    Kali was slightly mystified by the question. She saw nothing personal about it. ''''It is. A too large of a space for my liking, but only a small segment of the overall library.''''

    ''''Ah. I see. I see.''''

    ''''Maker is different from us but similar?''''

    Her poised voice plucks the scholar away from his musing, snapping him back to attention. He hesitates a little but then relaxes. This is not something he would talk about. There are some subjects most kindred simply avoided giving voice to or that are not even considered. However, bearing in mind who he is speaking to, there was no reason to be coy. ''''Yes, he is much like us but different. For centuries Maker has had the outward shape and appearance of a human male body at peak youth and physical prowess¡ªa perfect, well-thewed form locked in the prime of life. Like you, Maker is seven feet tall, which is--- was, was the average for a human male. Human females in general tended to have around six and a half feet but this is not set in stone, and sources vary. He even has the lower protrusion of a human male.''''

    ''''Like those a sacrificial bull has?'''' Kali asks. ''''One useless and one used for yellow water to pass.'''' Specially-chosen, and the result of centuries-worth of selective breeding, the bulls slaughtered in First Daughter''s name are magnificent beasts. Each releasing a torrent of blood upon the kiss of the priest''s blade.

    ''''Yes. Although, the useless-looking protrusion is where the seed of the animal is stored.''''

    ''''What would be Maker''s main distinctions from a human then?'''' Kali probes.

    Scholar Magnus taps the tip of his smallest claw against his biggest pointed tooth¡ªjutting from his lower jaw, just below his left yellow eye. ''''Of course, there are the notable differences in skin and hair color. Humans always came in just a few skin color variants, and none pale blue. Also, they all had a peculiar whiteness on their eyes, not unlike a scared horse might exhibit. Possibly the biggest difference would be that Maker is the most powerful Genesis wielder that ever existed. And of course, he is physically strong.'''' He pauses briefly¡ªagain as if gripped by some minor discomfort. ''''Stronger than even you.''''

    This made Kali remember how Maker, decades prior, held a behemoth''s mouth open¡ªseemingly without too much difficulty. She thought how foolish it was of her to follow him into the wretched beast''s maw, how stupid. I would do it again, Kali thought.

    Kali did not believe in half-measures. When she commits, she commits. ''''So, in the end, Maker could, in theory, join with the body resembling that of a human female, as animals join.''''

    Silence grips Scholar Magnus of Vantium hard. He pauses, much longer this time and, after regarding her for a few moments more, says, ''''Kindred Kali, where are you going with all this?''''

 Chapter 13 Anaya

    Voraciously I consume the books of war, always war. Half of mankind''s history is written with red. Such volumes of carnage and logistics taught me that on parchment all plans are good; but as soon as the battle starts, throw all your planning into the fire. You will get some warmth that way, at the very least.

    Regardless, this truth I know; were my soldiery in need of food and water they would perish. My retribution the same.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------

    Year four

    The first half of the day is often reserved for tempering the body. Sandy courtyard enveloped by a marble peristyle, this gymnasium is located on top of a small mesa¡ªthe rock formation strangely reminds me of home. Maybe because of its shape. Can''t say, really.

    My back is turned to the gargantuan warm reddish facade: the awe-inducing carved triquetra; the triangular tympanum and its vortex of countless naked human forms emerging from nothingness; the long frieze, with its savage scenes of war; the mighty pillars, forming a monumental portico; the two blackest banners of nanilu and the bursting violet and iron gray phoenix emblazoned upon them, always gently flapping in the high winds. The face of the Academy is now effortlessly summoned by my mind''s eye.

    I throw a glance to my right. Northward is the faint red dot of Sol. So close and so far. Scores of craklers noisily fly away from this rocky sea, going skyward, and then who knows where.

    The girl I''m to wrestle with is strong. We had a small competition, and Tomoe and I came on top. Other eleven girl students sit in the sand around us. The boys, occupying the other side of the gymnasium, didn''t earn their break yet, but many steal risky glances at our incoming little bout.

    Like the rest of the students up here, Tomoe and I are dressed in the fine, blue, strong, double-stitched woolen tunics that end above the knees and are a nice graspable surface for when you want to throw someone across the sands of a gymnasium.

    As the Grandmaster of Physical Education signals the start, our bodies grapple. Grandmaster Maximon doesn''t comment during the matches themselves, but after they end he always has a copious amount of criticism.

    Grandmaster Vidar is in charge of early years students. Can''t say I miss the brown-bearded bastard. A few more years with him and I''d have the legs of a horse. Hmmm...maybe not a bad thing. Could I outrun one?

    Ah, yes. Pulling hair, a punch between legs, or throwing sand in the eyes will get you to lose immediately¡ªwith the possible addition of sleeping in the dungeon for a few nights.

    She is overly aggressive and without pause. She tries to trip me by placing her leg behind my left knee.

    Tomoe is incredible but it is pointless. Or it would be, were I to choose so.

    I make it a close match.

    After a short span(about the time it takes me to read three pages of a book) of continuous strain, she is near collapse; and I make a deliberate effort to slouch and breathe deeply through my mouth.

    In some stories my mother used to read to me, what now seems half a century ago, the hero would fight for days before showing the slightest signs of exertion. I might not understand what is wrong with me(You know...I''m using the word very, very loosely, mind you¡ªnothing wrong with being strong and fast), but overall, those stories are a complete nonsense. A necessary exaggeration. I know I''m no hero or some such. Which is good, their tales often being tragic and all. Because in the end, a hero is loved and accepted by the people. Again, nonsense. People will always be afraid of what they don''t understand, such is life. The unknown is the dark; the unknown is something to be feared. Were I to reveal myself I would be chained or killed. And mother and father? What would happen to them? Parents of a demon daughter. Isolated. Eviscerated from all people. Thrown to beg for bread somewhere. Can''t have that.

    Suddenly I relax all my muscles, and that was all she needed. With some of her last bursts of strength, Tomoe throws me down and feeds me sand.

    My right arm becomes twisted with her on top.

    ''''I yield.'''' I spit sand as my sand-filled eye burns with tears.

    Tomoe gets up slowly and offers her hand. ''''Well fought, Red.'''' Her stance seems shaky.

    I firmly grab her wrist and let her half lift me up. ''''Thank you.''''

    ''''You know, you are much heavier than you look,'''' Tomoe states quietly.

    I raise my left eyebrow at that.

    A while back, soon after my mother told me I was ''''spindly'''' and how I needed to eat more, I asked Hebe about it and she told me I am sinewy of body. What''s more, in the shower cavern, we wash each other''s backs, and more than once Hebe pointed out how mine are well-defined and as if made of smooth stone. So...I guess I am...skinny, lithe, and portly?

    The rest of the girls seem to be in quiet contemplation. I expected them to jeer or make some comments but they are strangely quiet instead. A few of the boys paused in their exertions and clapped to Tomoe''s victory. Their overseer gives them a clap of his own; his thin stonewood stick hard at work, all the while throwing colorful curses involving the students'' family members.

    One tall boy with blue eyes is looking at me for a few heartbeats, almost unfazed by the blows falling across his back and by the impressive profanities.

    I move to a nearby barrel and scoop some water with my palm, removing the sand out of my flaming eye.

    ''''Now, can any of you tell me which mistakes you spotted?'''' Grandmaster Maximon regards the class, all the girls standing now.

    ''''Tomoe spent most of her energy at the beginning and was too aggressive, while Anaya hesitated too much,'''' Lana says. She has bright yellow hair and pale brown eyes and a void for a heart. She might have my mother''s name but sadly that is all they share.

    ''''Not bad, Furia. If you applied some of that sharp mind during your matches perhaps you wouldn''t be commenting now.'''' Some girls suppress a chuckle at that. He then turns his gaze on Tomoe. ''''You must learn to use your strength patiently and strategically.''''

    Grandmaster Maximon redirects his gaze somewhere into the distance and behind the group of students. ''''Sadly I firmly believe not even the Supreme Goddess could teach young people the value of patience. How does water carve through rock?'''' he asks. I assume himself. ''''Drop by drop.'''' I assumed correctly. ''''Patience is worth one''s weight in bloodsteel. Of course, youths will always lack it.''''

    Her arms crossed, Janna Erdene, the pale and quiet girl that fainted during our second year, simply rolls her eyes. A few other girls do the same.

    He then turns to face me. For a blink or two, he leers quite south from where my eyes are. ''''Hesitation is the mother of failure. As they say. Bolormaa you keep reaching the edge of glory but it always slips out of your embrace. You need to garner more confidence.''''

    I nod in acknowledgment. ''''Yes, Grandmaster.''''

    ''''Tomoe Hanabira,'''' the old man looks at her again, ''''a piglet will be sent to your family. Good work.'''' And then to the rest of us, ''''That is all for today. Dismissed.''''

    There were days when we would be lectured more than sculpting our bodies. Gymnasiums are also a place where we would listen to endless preachings of the grandmasters and were often encouraged to question or even debate their words. The most mundane topics would be discussed. It was unusual to talk about art and philosophy in a place meant for physical strain.

    Soon is our time to go back inside the cliff and wash with the cold kisses of the shower cavern, and then off to other classes deep inside.

    ''''Why not win?'''' Gabriel, that dark-blue-eyed boy that stared, approaches me.

    Gabriel is one year older than me, and despite him being tall I''m almost the same height. And even though him being recently clean-shaven his cheeks are already bewhiskered, forming a dense stubble. I focus my eyes away from his cheeks and onto his close-cropped hair, blacker than the forgottenmost of corners the Great Library has. I know he mostly prefers it longer.

    ''''Ah yes, just win. If only I could''ve thought of that.'''' My wry expression seems to have left him annoyingly unfazed. I wipe some more sand from my neck.

    ''''You hold back. Many girls and even some boys look up to you, some even try to copy your movement, but you don''t seem to notice or care. Don''t hold back.''''

    ''''You don''t know what you are talking about.''''

    ''''Your breathing became perfectly normal once everyone stopped paying attention to you. Only now it''s slightly faster because of me.''''

    I scoff at his arrogance. ''''You think too highly of yourself.''''

    Gabriel''s unbroken gaze is creating freezing tingles throughout my guts. His eyes remind me of my first day at the Academy. The same deep blue I saw on the ceiling frescoes of the large entrance corridor Aleera and I walked through. The blue some stories claim the sky once was made of. ''''What I mean is, you pretend to be exhausted. Goddess, there is not even a little sweat on you, only a bit of water.''''

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    ''''Perhaps you should mind your own troubles and not bother me.'''' I keep my voice low as my hard stare spears through him.

    ''''I meant no offense.'''' His smile is sad and somehow charming. As he moves to leave there are slight cracks in his confidence. ''''In the end, I only wanted an excuse to talk to you, that is all.''''

    After a few strides Gabriel throws one last dark-Cobalt glance and is met with my slightly confused glare.

    Walking away, he says, ''''Don''t forget to continue with the heavy-breathing act, by the by.''''

    ''''Wh---'''' words are difficult to grasp, and I find none. Not a heartbeat passes, and Gabriel is gone.

    To the Void with you, Horatius.

    ***

    This is bad. I wish she said anything. Scream at me! Anything but this silence. Her russet eyes blaze through the back of my skull and I keep looking to the side. Miserably, I keep trying to calm my breathing. Her large rectangular office, which now feels minute, has not many decorations but the books on both long sides. Flanking me on either side, their countless spines form a giant vise whose robust leathery jaws compress my body. A vividly painted marble bust of Teshub Lartia, the Academy''s first chairman, in one corner.

    Her office is plenty spacious and yet, at this very moment, suffocating. Outlining the longer sides of it are floor-to-ceiling high bookcases that have their shelves stacked with books and red and black cylindrical containers that encase the many scrolls.

    About its corner, her desk has one half-an-arm-high stack of parchment. Three thinly-wrought shafts made of bone are in the middle of the desk, with a half-full, small, closed red jar for ink next to them¡ªthe jar is entirely made of carved Crimson. Her leather chair is probably far more comfortable than my straw bed.

    Tattoos cover her skin. Strange lines, Genesis symbols, triangles, squares, circles, and the like, all cover her body, even most of her neck is enveloped by them.

    ''''Tell me. If a boy were caught sneaking away from near the girls'' dormitory chamber, what would be done to him?'''' Finally, after an oblivion of time had passed, she speaks.

    ''''Expulsion.'''' I swallow hard, briefly meeting Chairwoman Zaria''s regard. I wipe my sweaty palms over my breeches, which somehow makes it worse. My bespoke, pleated, dark-green, linen breeches presently feel incomplete; I''m without my boots or even sandals¡ªthey were too loud so I left them behind. To add to my trouble, her dogs took my red woolen cloak and the bronze, ring-shaped fibula I''m very fond of.

    ''''No. First, he would be whipped. Then, dressed in full white, the boy would march between all the Academy and his family out the door, forbidden to ever step foot in here on pain of death.'''' Her tone is cold and precise. I find it hard to imagine her ever losing that annoying intangible grace of someone who is in full control over everything.

    The purest black night that envelops her upper body, the Chairwoman''s high collar coat reminds me of the luxurious silk that embraces many of the Great Library''s books. But it is not silk. It is the enduring cloth the Academy''s banners are made of, the cloth worn by Breakers themselves. Nanilu. I have not seen or heard of anyone other than her possessing a garment quite like it.

    I focus my eyes. The ruler of this wretched place wears an intricate pendant crafted in the shape of the Academy''s phoenix. The pendant, its chain also, is masterfully smithed of metal I do not recognize¡ªpale gray and with striking wavy lines of purple-gray and shadowy-black. Like the sandstone''s considerable layers, these lines also possess hues of infinite variety. My eyes find no flaw; the pendant is immaculate.

    I stare at her stonewood desk and notice the gorgeous white-yellowish maple wood inlay. My mind wishes to escape this room and most of all her gaze.

    ''''So, why should you be treated any differently?''''

    Because you desperately need Breakers. Because not so long ago classes had forty or more students on average. I believe if I uttered those words Chairwoman would start whipping me right now in this room. ''''I...I will have no leftover subjects to transfer. Never had any. I was always exemplary---''''

    ''''''Was.'' That is the key word right now.'''' With sleek precise movements, she pulls out a small brown vial from the bottom of her desk. Slowly, she gets up and walks toward me.

    My mind becomes a blank wax tablet. I wish to speak but words elude.

    ''''Made by Grandmaster Meadowsweet herself. Hopefully the potency is still good,'''' she mutters the last part almost to herself. ''''Drink it all half an hour before.'''' She then outstretches her arm. Instinctively I raise my hand and take the vial, not fully understanding. Before I can ask her meaning she starts to shout, ''''Guards!''''

    Two brutes, each armed with a spear, enter the room.

    Chairwoman Zaria chains my eyes to hers ironclad-strong, holding them tightly and with as much emotion an eagle might have for a dormouse. ''''Student Bolormaa is to be flogged sixteen times. Her entire class is obliged to be in attendance. No grandmasters. I want the main chamber to be empty and ready by the first light tomorrow. Do not take any of her possessions.'''' Unmoved in any way, she simply nods toward the door. ''''Go.''''

    ''''Yes, ma''am.'''' The bearded brute on her left utters like a good dog and soon they grab me on both sides.

    ''''Or,'''' she lifts her arm, stopping the guards, ''''if you tell me the name of the boy you were meeting we can reduce it to eight strikes.''''

    At first, I do not speak for a few long breaths and simply stare at her. ''''I got lost in the night,'''' I break the silence with a numb voice.

    ''''Take her.'''' There is voidice around the edges of the Chairwoman''s voice. One of the first times I''ve noticed even a flicker of emotions from her.

    I could easily run. They stand no chance of stopping me. But she mentioned no expulsion. Dazed I get up, allowing her minions to guide me away¡ªpresumably to some pit in the deepest parts of the Academy.

    One last time I turn to look at her. There is not a flicker of emotion in those dark eyes. My grip threatens to crush the vial.

    ***

    The pale blue light of Cobalts wrestles with the flickering light coming from the scores of torches. All the light amplified by the neverending fat ring of polished bronze at the base of the oversized dome, and brightened further by the immense shining blue crystal at the dome''s apex. The largest chamber of the Academy mostly features torches during times of festivals or for some special occasion. Well, I feel honored indeed.

    The space of the Great Chamber overflows into nine half-domes of golden mosaics and vast resplendent frescoes. Despite being beholden to the main dome, the nine stewards are each an empyreal realm unto itself.

    The faces of my classmates appear bloodless. Some of them look as if they might be next. I stare them all in the eye as if I were a grandmaster about to give some useless lecture. Hebe seems about to cry and Michael is not that far off. My eyes don''t linger on them nearly as much as on the rest of the audience; all the while I give an impression that all this is just like a walk through the Secret Garden, though the truth couldn''t be more opposite. I am scared.

    My strength never protected me from pain. Early on I knew I could see and hear far better than any person I know. Sadly, like with everything in life, there is always a price. A little bit of pleasure costs a Void of pain.

    Food would often have too intense flavor and I would sometimes eat one meal a day¡ªif I was even hungry. And even water sometimes had an unpleasant taste. A tiny bit of salt overpowers the entire dish for me. My nose was always more than grateful for the Academy''s adherence to cleanliness. Not so much so during hours in a gymnasium or while running through the bustling city full of sweaty people. If familiars could shit I''d probably run away from Lodestar to live with Wraiths.

    And of course, there is touch. My father had a special tool in his workshop. The tool had a sturdy stonewood handle and a pretty, needle-like tip made entirely out of Cobalt. When I was eight I played with it, and to make it even more pretty I left the thing in the daylight to charge. I don''t remember how the shiny blue tip ended up on top of my middle finger. There was barely any blood, barely anything as it pierced through my skin. An insect could probably survive such a pathetic excuse for a wound. My screams were heard by many of our neighbors. At first, Mom thought I was dying while I was squirming in her arms, resembling a crystalborn that became feral after the loss of its master. It didn''t last long, but that initial misery, those first fractions of time, was one of the worst moments of pain I''ve ever felt in my life; other small injuries, although rare, are unavoidable but none came close. After that Father always locked his workroom.

    A few years back, during our gymnasium spear fight when Zuri slammed my fingers again and again, that really did hurt. My fingers and lips can be very sensitive; and overall, my body handles hurt poorly. I heal fast but the pain; I''m fairly certain most people do not taste pain the way I do.

    Nevertheless, an intensified sense of touch can have its special little pleasures.

    I drank Chairwoman''s vial of mercy. It tasted bitter; that''s how you know something is good medicine when it tastes like trash.

    Only two guards are present. In the distance above, a cloaked figure is standing on one of the many balconies. I focus my eyes. His stance and long white beard give him away. Archmaster Pinarius. The cavern queen''s devoted advisor. When the Chairwoman is reporting to the Senate or visiting one of the temporary outposts in the Wastes, Pinarius takes the reins.

    I''m slightly surprised at how quickly the Academy erected my little stage. That is what this all is: a performance to serve as an example. I did not choose to be here, I did not choose to be forced from home and raised in these grimeworthy caves.

    My chest is wrapped in cloth strips of white linen, and my hair is split in two.

    Exposing my nape, the wavy strands are tied and falling over my shoulders in front of me, and making two heavy and wide red cascades whose ends caress the hip level. I must look ridiculous.

    I turn around. As my arms are lifted and naked ankles chained, I look at the frozen face of Acrona¡ªthe black stone and its weakly-glowing blue lines, uncaring and cold.

    ''''Every generation has its troublemakers,'''' Amina Zaria''s voice dominates this area of the Great Chamber. In her right hand there is a thick rod of stonewood. ''''This is only done as a last resort. It is the most primitive way for the Academy to educate you. Nonetheless, it will be a valuable lesson.

    ''''Anneal your bones. Those that insist on looking away will join Student Bolormaa.''''

    It''s so nice to know I am still a student. One must find little comforts in life during times such as these.

    One. The sound her stonewood rod makes is a revolting thud and I inhale quickly as my body contorts. I wish to escape my body. Two. My legs tremble. Three.

    Smack. Smack. Smack.

    Acrona''s cunt!

    She is not holding back. The pauses she makes between each swing threaten to become worse than the pain itself.

    There is a disgusting crunch in my mouth. Only after a few short breaths, I realize sickeningly: a tiny piece of my back tooth just chipped off. Like a bug had just flown in my mouth I spit it out.

    ''''It is my fault, I forced her to come.'''' Shut up! Gabriel steps out, his voice sounding strange, sickly almost.

    ''''Get back in line, Horatius.'''' The Chairwoman''s voice is as cold as ever. Guards move towards Gabriel. I turn sideways to see him and shake my head. My hair obstructs most of my vision. I can only hope he noticed. I breathe a small shaky sigh of relief as the guards move back to the sides of the podium.

    Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.

    I will not scream. That stick will break before my body does. She can do no permanent damage to me¡ªat least that is what I convince myself as my vision becomes blurry and I inanely start to wonder if perhaps that bitter vial was another form of punishment.

    As I am to embrace the blessed Void there are sounds of a scuffle breaking the beginnings of my slumber. Someone is being beaten up.

    ''''To the Guts with him!'''' commands my tormentor, hints of rage in her voice. I couldn''t remember when was the last time, if ever, I heard her shout quite like that.

    ''''Stupid boy,'''' she utters it like a curse.

    ''''...The boy has lost his damned mind. Broke my nose...''''

    ''''...Leave the helmet. Can''t say I blame the bastard. Have you not seen that unblemished red fig...''''

    ''''...I''ve seen better...''''

    ''''...Heard the bitch got plowed by half her class...''''

    ''''...Unblemished no more, then...''''

    Only after a deep breath or five does my mind wake up a little. Gabriel is being taken to the deepest cells the Academy has.

    Without thinking, my face turns bestial and I start to pull at my chains; the stonewood beam above groans its protest in tandem with my growl. Chains holding my ankles are being taught, close to breaking.

    I hear whispers from my classmates.

    ''''The whore is strong,'''' Lana Furia hisses.

    My mother''s terrified face invades the mind. I just let go and pretend that that was the last bit of my strength. There wasn''t really too much need for pretending as I am now mostly being held upright by my shackled wrists.

    Where am I? Another blow lands. Eruption of pain reverberates through me as the feeling of dull fire spreads under my skin. I get a ghastly image of my back as tenderized meat.

    STOP HITTING ME!

    The remorseless sound of the clubbing abrades the mind. The rest of the smashes were spent with me dazing in and out of wakefulness.

    Moments after someone unbinds my arms, I collapse onto the floor. And as the two large oxen-like guards lift me up by the shoulders, the tiniest of smiles that no one will ever see emerges on my face. Ignited by the sweet memory of the taste of him.

    His lips were worth it.

 Chapter 14

    The idea had come to him when he noticed one of the kindred having holes in its ears. Once the earrings were removed, the skin healed around the pierced place. Usually, most kindred, if hurt, had their wounds heal with no scarring.

    This is like creating a gap, Scholar Magnus thought.

    He had placed wooden posts of equal height about the well-lit room, to be used as reference points. Hanging horizontally in the air, the mighty blade was tightly clamped at the sides, area close to its climax free, a slide system of metal tracks above.

    Long iron chains descended from the ceiling and were attached to the clamps whose sturdy handles allowed for satisfactory control over the suspended archblade.

    He had practiced the procedure twenty times, using the whole apparatus on a wooden frame packed with sand. The frame had been of rough humanoid shape and in dimensions that tried to mimic Kali''s statuesque body.

    He had even trimmed his black claws in the hopes of improving his fingertip precision and sensitivity; removing any potential hindrance to this procedure.

    In another age, the Archcrystal shards were forged into blades of power. Their imperviousness legendary. Their sharpness eternal.

    Trilex. The blade made of such a remnant unbreakable, the blade Genesis-forged from a shard of god-crystal.

    Forged long ago out of the Blue Archcrystal''s shard, Trilex was an archblade that had been, one could imagine, worth an imperial province or two.

    Despite what some forgotten, human-written codex¡ªor half a dozen of them¡ªmight have claimed, archblades were not always glowing with their mild, celestial light.

    Their glow once eternal, these weaponized shards, these remains of the hallowed Archcrystal could not be fed by the sun''s radiance, and could only shine when specially-shaped, ordinary crystals were put inside the handle.

    There were only a few or so archblades in the world¡ªswords of various shapes, maybe a spear, and a few daggers. All closely guarded.

    Even Maker did not know how to make an Archcrystal blade. This knowledge was lost, and he only possessed a few of these human era''s most malevolent remains.

    The arcane knowledge of how to make more archblades became lost with the downfall of humans. Many secrets taken by the Void. And perhaps Maker is not too keen on researching about such vicious things that may undo even him, Magnus thought.

    Despite being unenhanced and not glowing¡ªthe relating gold- and silver-filled manuscripts he had pored over often portrayed archblades in full radiant splendor¡ªthe hanging sword was regardless visually appealing to Magnus. Unnervingly so. Its color was velvet-blue, rich and deep, and its surface a flawless expanse, divine and dreadful.

    He had marked the depth of the intended cavity with a silk ribbon glued to the long blade''s side: no point in trying to wrap the fabric around an allcuting blade. At almost seven feet, the blade itself was nearly Kindred Kali''s height¡ªobviously far more than enough to create the cavity¡ªand was about two times wider than a man''s wrist at the crossguard, the archblade tapering gently toward the tip.

    He needed to be careful not to lose his hand or fingers. Not to mention I could easily maim her.

    The procedure was not easy, she was among the strongest of crystalborn, close in might to even Maker himself. But unlike him she can be cut, although with great difficulty. To his astonishment, the unenhanced Archcrystal blade was experiencing just that. Struggling, having great difficulty in piercing her flesh. He wanted to avoid using it while augmented and enhanced; there were risks involved when employing an object of such unimaginable power. Even the greatsword Pentacore, Maker''s own blade, was forever left in its dormant state.

    He grabbed the bottom part of the archblade''s handle, unscrewed the pommel, and pulled out a gold case¡ªits indentations specially-crafted to house the twelve-faced shapes. The blade''s pommel was well-wrought, proudly displaying the shape of an eagle''s head.

    He then moved to a nearby table and opened an artisanal, small, wooden, lacquerware chest placed there.

    Right after taking one of the interesting-looking shapes out, his thumb rolled the shape across his three sylphlike fingers, his hand feeling the many edges.

    There were less than a dozen crystalcrafters with the knowledge and skill needed to create these pentagon-dice-shaped common-crystals. And those few kindred will only make them with great reluctance, only if Maker himself commands it, Magnus thought.

    Demanding great skill and patience, it was difficult to carve an ordinary crystal into a pentagonal dodecahedron shape. In addition, with its twelve matching faces and thirty edges, this shape had to be exactly the correct size so as to fit into the casing''s indentations flawlessly. Each of the twelve faces had one delicately-etched Genesis symbol upon it. The etching shallow.

    When he needed blood for the Genesis process, Maker had used an archblade dagger, one of the few things in existence that could cut him, to bleed himself. And after the small, common crystals in the dagger''s hilt became spent they cracked and turned to crystal dust. In either of its two forms, an archblade was sharper than even the sharpest of bloodsteel swords, but only when enhanced could it, with effort, cut Maker.

    For a moment, Magnus felt weak at the knees. An image of Maker, bleeding, disconcerting his mind.

    As the scholar was inserting them, the yellow-crystal pentagon dice fitted the gilded case so snugly that their corresponding edges appeared as though fused with the case seamlessly, inlaid-like and clean of any interstices. Only the dice''s etched faces betraying their presence. Each of the three pentagonal dodecahedrons was locked into place with a nice, crisp click-clack sound¡ªthe simple mechanism of the golden casing embracing the top edges. A flawless union.

    The chains clinked gently as Magnus inserted the gold casing back into the handle, and screwed the eagle-pommel back into position.

    After screwing the pommel he watched the light dance inside the archblade, now transformed into something vile, something unspeakable. A weapon that can kill Maker, Magnus thought. He suppressed a shudder. This is the time for steady fingers and a cold head.

    The blade''s surface was a glow of molten fire. A power, a divine claymore made by fallen gods and glowing with a dancing, swirling, evershifting, soft, golden light¡ªthe glow mild, that of ember.

    The yellow light danced inside the blade. The pale glow was alive with the colors of liquid gold and orange and molten bronze, all overflowing each other.

    The archblade resembled a fantastical narrow window into an expanse of glowing yellow-orange mist, trapped inside the blade. Endlessly, the mist was swirling, coiling, reappearing, and then disappearing again into nothingness. The mist''s illumination was an ember''s dying glimmer eternally reborn, aroused again and again by a gentle breeze''s whisperings.

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    How visually appealing...for an abomination, he thought.

    The cuts were made now almost with no resistance.

    A weapon known to cut through steel as if it were air was meeting some resistance against Kali''s flesh. Fascinating! Scholar Magnus thought, enthralled momentarily. Ironically, this slight resistance helped him with the procedure: giving him a sense of bearing.

    As the blade was doing its work, there was no gushing of blood, the flow was slow and it slowly turned into shiny dust, her blood thick like honey or even thicker, dark purple, black almost.

    It had taken months of research and preparation to get to this point. The blood that flowed from her was viscous and there was not too much of it, but still, he knew he must not waste time. After the procedure''s bloody part is finished, she must be exposed to the pale sun and archlight, hastening the healing process. He still wondered how was she able to bring him the archblade. She might have a powerful position, and influence to match; nonetheless, those weapons were rare beyond rare and guarded at all times with large fervor¡ªselected warriors, alamarium-strong and capable, adamant at keeping the weapons safe.

    Undoubtedly, he had done plenty research about human anatomy. The capital''s main library was second to none¡ªthat was or is¡ªand almost every topic was covered quite voluminously, if one were willing to put in the time to search for the information.

    She remunerated the scholar more than handsomely for his help and for his discretion.

    He had asked her if it were possible for him to get a Wraith-crystal just for himself. It would give him copious amounts of material for study and research. Considering the magnitude of his reward, he was fine with waiting for a few years.

    In less than two months Kali had brought him a beautiful, large Viridian. Not wanting to risk any of the kindred, she had undertaken upon the Hunt alone, with no hunting squads, and drudgingly tracked down the giant beast and slew it.

    In truth, he would have helped her either way. This procedure was one of the most challenging tasks in all his hundred and twenty years. It had required a lot of reading and problem-solving. A treat for a scholar of inquisitive nature. And the procedure was proving itself a most fascinating thing. How often do I get to see beneath the skin of my kin? A kin perfect, to boot.

    The procedure was continuing to prove itself difficult. There was thick blood and, as the blood slowly dried, shiny dust came out of her¡ªthe blade doing its flesh-slicing work.

    He had warned her many times, had told her about the risks, and was secretly much relieved after she disregarded them all with great nonchalance. He had some theories regarding why comparatively only a few kindred possessed abnormal strength. This procedure will likely provide little, but what might prove to be an Archcrystal-precious type of knowledge.

    Even before that first time they spoke at length, he knew of Kali''s renown for being strong, and not just physically so. And yet that will of hers, stronger than katadron, the blue-veined glowing rock, had still managed to surprise him¡ªjust like these yet-unfolding findings do so now. He made a mental note about the force required to pierce Kali''s skin. Later he will test the sword on different materials, both in its enhanced and unenhanced form. Sadly, such revelations can never be published, for obvious reasons¡ªthe main one involving Maeve, his head, and a wall. Using an archblade, on top of that enhanced, butchering the Behemoth Slayer to make her more human-like, Scholar Magnus thought. Yes. Maeve would kill me.

    A sense of dread quickly washed over his green-scaled body. He had heard stories about how Maeve preferred to use her bare hands always, even while hunting for Wraiths.

    He needed to be careful, oh so very much so. Were Kindred Kali to perish during this procedure(a possibility not negligible), not only would all crystalborn lose a great leader and warrior, but also Maker would kill Scholar Magnus or, if not, then unleash Maeve, his merciless assassin, his spymaster, upon the unfortunate scholar. She would rip my head off. In a quite possibly most literal sense, Magnus thought. He looked at Kali: her mind sailing the Void-realm, her body secured onto the wooden sleeping platform whose shape matched that of her body, her splayed limbs. Then he looked at Kali''s priceless aurichalcum cuirass placed at the room''s far side. No...Maker would do it, Maker would kill me.

    The dark blood continued to slowly ooze out of her, steadily drying, turning to shiny dust. It was necessary to cut away some of Kali''s very flesh, it too gradually turning to crystal dust, sparkling like the white sands of an untouched oceanfront beach.

    This procedure was not painful, for the scholar had found a way of taking away the pain. He had utilized a platinum diadem that held a dozen small pink, oval-shaped crystals. Resting upon her head, the diadem put Kali into a comatose-like state, she felt no pain. Tiny glyphs, as well as plain-looking geometrical symbols, were etched around each pink-glowing crystal.

    In order to stop the wound from sealing he began inserting a long, cylindrical, aurichalcum rod between her legs, so that her body would heal around that shape.

    Long ago, an aurichalcum¡ªor bloodsteel: a sobriquet that humans generally favored using when talking about this most extraordinary of metals¡ªrod such as this could buy one a decently-sized manor: according to what Magnus had read of humans. Around the time of their downfall the metal became even more rare. Most of the mines had been located in the lands of Arcadia, lands that formed the middle of Equiya, lands unreachable now. Maker had said that those lands are dead now, a thousand seas of nothing but mostly head- and fist-sized rocks, and many scree-clad mountains.

    After a very difficult insertion, this wrist-thick, two-foot-long, stronger-than-steel cylindrical rod gradually narrowed until it unexpectedly became almost flattened at around where it projected out of her body. Out of the few inches of this very tight, narrowing end part only a modicum of the metal was actually protruding outside of her. His ultimate intention was for her to end up possessing a graceful outward appearance not dissimilar to that of a human female''s crevice.

    As it heals, her body will put incredible pressure on the aurichalcum rod, slightly deforming the metal in places, and making the interior of her cavity into developing undulations.

    How to get it out? Now that was the question that required some pondering and some more pondering. Magnus knew that everything had a weakness. Even the god-like Maker, perfect and mighty that he is, and yet he too had a bane. The bloodsteel''s came in the form of a vile acidic concoction capable of breaking it down.

    ***

    After a day or so had passed, after she had healed around the rod and in a chamber of coated-glass walls(her naked form hidden from anyone''s gaze), he now carefully used a dark substance, the acidic concoction, to slowly corrode the precious metal¡ªdestroying such riches that an average human could spend its entire life toiling and still not be able to obtain them.

    Throughout the whole long procedure and its difficult stages, Kali has been in a state of deep sleep¡ªthe gleaming diadem never leaving its purchase. As it is true now, during the use of the special acidic concoction, so it must be true in the days ahead, during which she must continue to slumber deeply, else her mind would become drenched in torment. For despite being fully healed in the flesh, she would feel a great pain, as the cold ache of the procedure''s passing rends its verglas-lacquered claws across the insides of her belly.

    Part by painstaking part, pieces of the now rusted and degraded metal, as well as shiny dust and the dry acid residue, are removed from her, unable to harm her near-invulnerable skin but still slow-going to remove.

    Following the hours of this meticulous phase, the last and tiniest remnants of metal and dry acid residue and dust are all washed away out of her with copious amounts of water, rapidly injected into the cavity using a custom-made, bellows-looking device of Scholar Magnus'' making.

    If he rejects her, this will all be for naught. Although...doubtful. From old paintings, manuscripts, frescoes, sculptures, and such, Magnus knew, he knew Kali''s facial symmetry was superior to that of any human woman. Kali''s entire skin was flawless, body taut and strong-looking, torso long and graceful, each curve in the right place and firm. All the features that the human poets favored greatly. Although...Maker is as close to a human as I am to an ant. He has no equal. He sighed. How foolish of you to ponder on what a deity might do, Magnus chided himself.

    I should do what Nikolaos did, he thought. The idea of leaving magnificent Vantium, the largest city, the center of the world, was not an appealing one to Magnus. He pondered on leaving the city not long after ensuring Kali is fully recovered and awake. If word gets out of how he secretly used an archblade, a human-made weapon, their safeguard against Maker, well, Magnus'' popularity might be on a slight decline. I should leave for at least a few months, that dark-purple brat could easily overreact and kill me.

    Scholar Magnus straightened and looked upon the final result of his considerable efforts. Where once was pristine pale purple skin, now stood a perfect vertical line, a clean scar-like presence. A presence Kindred Kali will have for the rest of her long days.

    What have I done?

 Glossary

    It has been brought to my attention that my work can sometimes be ''''exhausting'''' to read :(. Here are some strange definitions for strange words. Pls ask me if something is unclear, I enjoy interacting with readers( all five of you :P ). Also, this would help me with hunting down loopholes, if there are any.

    Let us begin:

    -kindred -this word can, I admit, be very confusing. It can mean ''''brothers and sisters'''' but it can also mean ''''a race of beings made by Paterniel.'''' It depends from context.

    -Gravity of the planet is about 30 percent weaker than that of earth. This allows for bigger structures to be built and it is easier for the winged creatures to fly or, sometimes, characters to jump high. Lower gravity impacts the ecosystem, makes trees able to grow taller, humans are taller, insects are often elongated-like...

    -Upheaval -event whose consequences are ongoing, the world is covered by clouds and there are ruptures across the continent with rivers of lava, the ocean is in constant turmoil, fist-sized rocks fall once a year.

    The planet is close to the galactic center and before Upheaval characters would see the sky that was overflowing with stars, so much so that night time was almost like during the fool moon on our world.

    There is no moon.

    -Equiya -name of the planet and also name of the huge continent

    -Alldora -ocean surrounding the continent

    Note that this list will probably evolve over time.

    The air is very rich with oxygen, Ann sort of ambiguously said this.

    Also note that this is the first book in the ''''The last cycle'''' series. It serves as an introduction for the world and characters, and it''s sort of ''''building the stage,'''' that''s why action can be lacking. I need to build the stage before I can burn it.

    Ann is human. She has two human parents. I did not mislead you about this.

    At one point humans were about 90 000 in number. These humans survived plagues and the extermination that Paterniel did to humanity, they were the strongest. This is why the current humans, descendants of those 90k, are often ''''goodlooking,'''' tall, and have less chance of getting sick.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Neither of Ann''s parents has red hair, but she has their blood. I''ve hinted why her hair is red. It should be obvious why her eyes are bright green. She curses a lot because before the Academy she was often kept inside the house and would hear her father curse as he was working, shaping crystals.

    Ann doesn''t know this, not really, but she becomes stronger as she ages. In theory, she can live for centuries.

    -divine spark -it just means soul.

    -Void -hell.

    -Empyrean -paradise, heaven.

    -grandmaster -professor essentially.

    -katadron -incredibly strong rock with glowing lines that--and characters don''t know this--grows crystals. This happens in the soil, often under large temperature and pressure, and very, very slowly.

    I will never resurrect a character. If you die in my story you are dead.

    Idk, what else, I''m sure there are more ''''strange'''' words, so feel free to ask for explanation, I do love explaining things :)

    Gold is an abundant metal in the crust of Equiya.

    There is a microorganism-like creature in the ocean that boosts the oxygen levels in the atmosphere. I won''t go into spoilers, but the creature has a strange inteligence, like a hive mind, it is many but one.

    I do not really consider my novel to be dystopian because the human government(the senate) is semi-competent. Now that''s true fantasy, when a human government is not completely incompetent.

    For half a year there is spring, autumn takes the other half.

    -A year has 360 days,there are 9 months.

    -Each month has 40 days.

    -Each week has 10 days.

    -Week days are : Firstday, Secondday, Thirdday...until Tenthday.

    -Month 1-Garn, Month 2-Ameth, Month 3-Emer, Month 4-Carnel, Month 5-Sardon, Month 6-Lapul, Month 7-Taz, Month 8-Citar, Month 9-Helioixi

    Day starts at six in the morning and ends at six in the afternoon. Day lasts 12 hours and night also 12. This is true throughout the year.

    -bloodsteel -the strongest of metals, sometimes called aurichalcum.

    Ann''s memoir''s are one big mega-spoiler. The Ann that wrote the memoirs is a completely different Ann, much older and filled with hate.

    -stonewood ----this just means ''''wood'''' but the characters say ''''stonewood'''' for ''''flesh'''' of ordinary trees that grow in the Wastes. The tree species of the Wastes are still oak, redwood and so on, but they are changed by the thin and long mycelial-like network that helped them develop the ability to protect themselves against rock rain.

    -These oaks and redwoods and such trees that grow in Wastes have ''''flesh'''' that is very strong and they are all similar to each other visually(here I mean their insides, stuff underneath the bark), and in general all of their ''''flesh'''' can be referred to as ''''stonewood.''''

    -stonebark tree ----general term for all trees that grow in Wastes, differentiating them from trees in the Valley(place inside the giant canyon where humans live)

    -There are trees inside the canyon that are just ordinary trees, like the ones in Western Equiya.

    I didn''t want to force events and add mindless action just for the short-term payoff, my characters sound like a person of their world would, and I''m aiming for high-detailed characters and world building. I write for myself, for the reader in me, and the annoying bastard wants everything explained.

 Chapter 15 Anaya

    The enemy seems to have developed into a civilization; ruling this world like some king of old. The rare reports I have been getting speak of cities and structures that defy reason. If I fight with honor I will lose. I know this. It must be quick. It must be brutal; I cannot win a prolonged war.

    -------------------------------------------------------------------

    Year five

    We are flying eastward from the Academy. In general, I think the Wastes live up to their name¡ªfew days outside the canyon limits and I''m worldly as fuck. Our city, much of the canyon even, and the high purple pasturelands outlining it all, are more lush than most of the lands I have seen so far; far below. I don''t know...trees, although sometimes taller than the tallest of buildings, were often farther apart, plains often seemed patchy, and, I don''t know...it''s just not very dense, I guess. Well...up until now.

    Days ago, the ventifact-dotted scenery we saw in the early stages of our journey was followed by a lacustrine one, where thousands of lakes looked like giant mirrors. Soon afterwhich we spent two nights at an outpost¡ªringed by a high-walled stockade and well-manned by Lodestar soldiers¡ªfor us and the beasties to rest, and for our expedition to restock on some water and food¡ªour saddlebags now fat with hard cheese and salted meat¡ªand for our scouts to meet us, debriefing about their work.

    Hours ago, the vista was that of purple and dark-red moorlands, with their rare gullies and ravines.

    Now, rolling hills and rocky narrow ridges cut through the landscape, separating valleys whose gorgeous gowns are made of neverending rows and patches of purple and red and black wildflowers. The colors often seem somehow new to my eyes, the shades different from anything back in our canyon home.

    My winged mount has a nice comfy saddle that secures me with thick belts made of full-grain leather. Wrapped around my waist, the leather belt embraces multiple straps that join the saddle. Of course, this reduces the risk of me seriously testing how strong my bones really are. Falling from this height? I''d be just a small red splatter lost in the landscape, of that I have no doubt.

    The front part of the saddle also has a horn and two handgrips at the sides. Couple that with all the straps, and there is an option for doing some fancy aerial maneuvers. I''m not testing that either.

    My mount is a giant hare with large, white, dove-like wings and a long fluffy tail. His name is Thumper. I''m loving the name!

    The hare itself is pure white like the clouds of a rainless day.

    The Breaker who creates a familiar has mind power over their creation. Nevertheless, a winged or ground crystalborn mount can be trained¡ªwith the supervision of the Breaker that made it¡ªso that it can be used by other people; the familiar obeying some simple commands¡ªyou pull on the reins once to stop, hold the reins taut to descend, pull left to go left, patting with both heels makes you move forward, and so on. These are taught over a short period with familiar trainers together with the creator of the crystalborn. A familiar can even be imprinted by its creator to execute a task repeatedly or to listen to another human loyally.

    I look down and my heart quickens.

    Over the last few years, my eyesight has become better and better, and my headaches more scarce and less intense. From this height, almost halfway to the clouds themselves, I''m sometimes able to spot rat-sized wildlife. Can''t discern any insects, though. Should practice more.

    The ground overall was surprisingly sort of even. I have expected to see an Alldora of indentations pockmarking the landscape, you know, from rock rain hammering...well...everything.

    I lift my chin against the wind, the corners of my lips tugging upward. Is this how eagles feel? This air is wonderful. There is a bit less of it than on ground level, though.

    The feeling of the pale sun will always be welcome to my skin. Even more than Sol, the sun always gives a nice invigorating feeling, warm beneath my skin, warm all through me.

    Like the rest of the soaring aloft students, I wear knee-high, reddish-brown, leather boots and tight-fitting breeches paired with, of course, long-sleeved shirt of good stock wool(my pointy triquetra pendant underneath), and a long, dark-red, linen coat emblazoned with phoenix insignia at its sides. Five exquisitely-embroidered fiery feathers around each phoenix insignia denote my academy year. The special issue coats are supposed to help with camouflage, but I just think it''s a welcome change from those boring dark-green ones we always wear. And although my thighs would disagree, my current garments are more comfy than gymnasium tunic and the accompanying cord belt that often cuts into my bowels.

    Five Black Breakers are assigned to protect us, with no less than seven winged warbeasts, scattered all about¡ªmany of them having talons and fangs and all. It is rare for a Black Breaker to have all three of their familiars be the Winged type.

    Fifth-year students cutting through the air with me are Katerina Marius, the always-laughing one; Janna Erdene, the quiet one; and Melina Maximus, the leader of the group.

    And Hebe Idunn, the my-best-friend one.

    The five of us are flying in a tight formation on docile-looking, Grey Breaker-made, avian crystalborn¡ªthe grandmaster of the wild, Glindor Cheshire, leading the formation, riding a beautiful, winged horse. Its wings ink-black like the rest of it.

    Four of the warbeasts guarding us are widely spread further to the front and the remaining three are further behind, all three with black-clothed riders on. In addition, there are nine small but fast-flying familiars mounted by spear-armed Academy soldiers that serve as scouts. They disappeared from the horizon some while back, but since they approximately know our speed and destination they can locate us easily. Some of them probably already landed, waiting for us.

    The Wastes, the lands forming Eastern Equiya¡ªthe term often favored by the cartography and bearing grandmaster¡ªare huge. The chances of some random Wraith crossing our path are almost nothing. I guess the keyword here is almost. I''ve tried explaining that to Father, the last time I saw him, but he just kept cursing the Academy and cursing the Chairwoman''s leadership. Mom was silent, too silent. She didn''t mention it, but she knows. I saw it in her eyes, I saw it in the way she looked at me, she knows about my...flogging; and from his voice and his moderate-level of curses, I knew Father doesn''t. She didn''t speak of it to Father¡ªsomething for which I''m grateful to her very much. Ah yes, Leyla, my parents'' sausage-dog, is now mostly inside their home. Looking chunky as if...as if, well, as if I was feeding her, visiting each and every day. Allmother, I wish that were true.

    I did not envy the Academy quartermaster''s job. He handled all the supplies for this expedition. Tent gear, dried meats, as well as other tasty goodies, wound dressings, barrels of salt and of ale, spare clothing, some stationery items, some Cobalts for illumination, various potions(that can make your mind sharper or blissfully dull), linseed oil, additional arrows and spears, a lot of fat ropes, and suchlike.

    That logistical stuff is already at our destination. Flown there in advance by over three dozen transport familiars.

    Speaking of which, our destination is in sight: an ancient forest.

    Skywald.

    Ahead of us, the spectacular image takes my breath away. Redwoods are looming in their thousands¡ªtheir special stony bark is still many weeks from starting to develop.

    We land within a glade, setting up camp.

    ''''Reeeeeeeee!''''

    Not long after I left him to make my tent, Thumper screams for me. I move toward him and the cluster of other crystalborn mounts nearby, petting his side and calming him when I arrive. ''''Calm now. Calm.''''

    ''''He really likes you,'''' Hebe says after arriving to stand next to me.

    ''''Yeah...'''' I say affirmingly. ''''Sometimes he does that.''''

    ''''Get back to work,'''' one of the Academy''s guards barks in our direction.

    Hebe snickers and turns away.

    Before long we''re back at helping with making our new glade settlement.

    As I''m finishing pitching my tent, Katerina, Janna, and Melina begin giggling about something, diverting their gaze away from me the moment I look at them. What''s that about?

    Ah!

    A high-pitched sound lances my ears, Grandmaster Cheshire whistling. ''''Fifth-years!'''' He waves for us to join him, and then as we do so beckons us to sit around the empty fire pit smack in the center of the camp.

    Following the burial of my ears, he puts a bit of tinder near a small notch of a flat piece of dry wood in front of him and a spindle stick thing on top¡ªall the while speaking of patience, how to do it properly, and rubbing his hands to rotate the spindle. From time to time, he spits on his palms, continuing to spin the spindle. It takes a thousand years, but a small bit of smoke appears as ember forms, which he then carefully puts on a tinder bundle. He blows at the bottom, giving more life to the fire.

    Grandmaster Cheshire nestles the flame onto the ground, looking at his five students. ''''Put only the smallest of pieces gently on top. Good. Now we will just slowly keep adding the bigger sticks, and that is that.

    ''''Now, when on Harvesting, or hunting near an outpost, if it happens that you get separated from your group and lost, do not panic. You will not be abandoned. Most important thing is that you do not start randomly flying all over the place on your Winged. Do so, and you will never be found.

    ''''You will make smoke. A lot of it. Burn sage, mugwort, dry leaves and grass, thyme, whatever will give you smoke, a lot of it.

    ''''I will not do so now, the bugs might leave us alone, but then so would this fine air.'''' He spreads his arms at the camp.

    Creepy-crawlies never bothered me. I don''t even remember when was the last time I got bitten or stung.

    Next, the grandmaster rummages through his sack. ''''Where did I leave the damn thing?'''' He stands up and makes a tsk sound. ''''Stay nearby, I''ll join you shortly.'''' He then moves toward our camp''s storage area.

    ''''Ann, we need...to talk about something.'''' Hebe nods to the side, slowly leading me a bit away from the camp.

    Yellow gem among a pile of coal, Hebe''s hair often made her stand out from the usually dark-haired crowd. At eighteen, her womanly features, now evident, were never missed by any of the boys and men alike. Framed by long thin eyebrows, her almond, always-seem-to-be-smiling, dark-green eyes contrasted her pale skin quite pleasingly. Her straight nose and bottom-heavy lips both looked as though crafted by some master sculptor, further adding to her seraphic face. More than once have I overheard boy students from our class proclaiming her to be the most...beautiful of all our classmates. The actual crude expressions they''ve often used to express this sentiment were anything but beautiful and often made me blush.

    ''''Yes?'''' I ask after we moved an outside-of-earshot distance from the camp.

    ''''This is not easy to say.'''' Her body language is strange and she has difficulty holding my gaze.

    ''''Hebe you know you can tell me anything,'''' I assure, the tiny smile I give her: real.

    ''''I know, I know.'''' She pauses as if to gather her courage. ''''Ann...at night, you can be...loud.''''

    ''''Are you saying I snore?'''' This is a little embarrassing, yes, but Hebe''s reaction is a bit much.

    ''''No, you don''t. It''s just that...'''' She makes another long pause.

    She is annoyingly hesitant. I''ve lost patience. ''''Just say it how you mean it, Hebe. What?''''

    She lowers her voice even further, ''''At night, back in the dorm you gasp and moan...sometimes very loudly.'''' She raises her tawny eyebrows for a moment.

    It takes me a quick heartbeat or two before I fully understand. No...I was...no. Allmother, I wish for the ground to swallow me at right this moment. Fuck!Shit!Fuck!

    For some time I don''t know what to say to her. I clear my throat and try not to scream from embarrassment. ''''Thank you for telling me.'''' I turn to leave.

    She moves her arm toward me. ''''Ann, wait. It''s really nothing. Most girls do it too; although...more quietly.''''

    ''''I know. I just wish to be alone now.'''' And find a cliff to jump off.

    My precious moments of solitude are eviscerated by a loud noise that cuts my ears, the grandmaster''s whistling grabbing my attention.

    He waves for the students to join him¡ªnot that far from the fresh fire he made.

    As we stand clustered around him, gigantic trees walling us all from the world, Cheshire explains the sunstone, how to use it.

    The grandmaster of the wild is young, especially when compared to most of the other grandmasters. His hair is long and shaggy with wispy bangs falling over his brown eyes. In a gymnasium a few days ago, he taught all fifth-years some bow. Said I should focus on spear. I''m decently proficient with bow...

    ''''Find the sun, Mistress Bolormaa.'''' He hands me the sunstone.

    The special transparent crystal is devoid of any light within it. It looks like a slanted brick with charcoal mark on top. I point the thing at the brightest part of the horizon.

    Looking up through the bottom, I see two dots. I then move the navigational tool along the horizon until the two dots appear equal in brightness, making the front of the crystal point toward the hidden sun.

    The grandmaster nods. ''''Good, Mistress Bolormaa. Pass it along to your classmates.''''

    ''''She''s really good at that,'''' Janna says, and Kat and Mel laugh.

    Long before the dropped sunstone even touches the ground, and before I can stop myself, my fist hammers once into the corner of her mouth. She falls to the ground like a felled tree.

    NO!

    Janna screams and wails, spitting blood and bits of teeth, clutching her face. ''''She broke my theeth! She broke my theeth!''''

    Her two friends first stand like statues and then crouch and huddle around her.

    The grandmaster yanks me away to the side. ''''Leave for your tent and stay there,'''' his voice a command.

    Without saying a word, I comply, the previous red haze clearing from my mind.

    He then goes to Janna. Soon he and a guard begin helping her to her tent. I can''t help myself and keep throwing my eyes behind every few steps. Hands shake, can''t breathe. I could''ve killed her...

    Hebe joins me, following me to my tent. ''''It''s her fault,'''' she whispers. ''''She''s often quiet, but knows heavy words.''''

    ''''I...punched her too hard,'''' I say, my voice weak, falling apart. ''''I could''ve killed her, Hebe.''''

    There is no fear in Hebe''s eyes, only understanding, only compassion. Shouldn''t she be afraid of me? They should all be afraid of me. I''m sick! ''''She''s not made of parchment, Ann. Grandmaster Cheshire will fix her.'''' She is silent for a moment. ''''And if you did nothing she or other girls would keep making such comments.''''

    ''''They will always make such comments.'''' I stop walking, my body shaking, and then I hug her tightly, tears rolling down my cheeks. ''''What is wrong with me? I''m sick. I''m evil. I could''ve killed her.''''

    She holds me tight, her chin on my shoulder. ''''Ann, what are you saying? Doesn''t matter,''''¡ªshe shakes her head¡ª''''I''ve known you for years. You''re good, Ann. You''re good. You''re the best.''''

    Two hours later, having abandoned the glade, our group moves through Skywald itself, redwoods looming wherever I look.

    A few voices wanted to send me home, but the grandmaster argued we all stick together. Almost all my rations were given to Janna, which is no punishment at all, but I obviously couldn''t say that no matter how much I wanted. I could''ve killed her.

    A big area around the corner of her lips is so purple...She got some potions for the pain and swelling. They''ve helped, and she even smiled a few times since taking them.

    Walking slowly through the forest, our formation is elongated, Janna and her two friends are ahead, avoiding me, keeping their distance.

    The grandmaster stops, beckoning us to the side. He really likes to talk with his hands. Our group of five students, as well as a few mostly female soldiers shadowing us, stops for a moment, soon following the young and unkempt form of Grandmaster Cheshire to a charming brook.

    Shit. I''m slightly startled by a purple frog the size of my head that just stares at me while I refill my only-partly-empty waterskin.

    I focus my hearing about me. I can hear the birds, I can hear the insects¡ªscores of species. They sing quietly. Chirping, trilling, and warbling; squeaking, buzzing, and whirring. We are in a primeval city of feral chattings and gargantuan wooden buildings.

    Upon the trunks of many redwoods, my eyes see the smooth, larva-made holes¡ªfrass around them.

    Some of the unfortunate trees have hundreds of these holes.

    I did a bit of reading before coming here. Supposedly, insect larvae are very nutritious, but I really, really hope the grandmaster won''t go that far with our teachings. Gorging on stonewood for weeks can hardly make you delicious. And on the nature book''s illustrations they looked so ugh.

    Cheshire makes a clicking sound, pushes his open hand in a forward gesture, continuing our death-quiet forest trek.

    Despite the day still being youngish, the world around us has a twilight glow. Far, far above, the forest canopy is purple, the clouds a recent dream.

    I inhale the crisp air slowly, the forest''s aroma wonderful. The scents are of wet earth, fresh rain, and of sweet resin¡ªall the scents honeyed with hidden wildflowers.

    We pass mud smears that stain the bottom of a nearby redwood.

    Grandmaster stops. Points down. His voice a faint wind. ''''Big hoof prints, long stride. A while ago we passed trunks with savage gouges near the ground. The forest speaks a volume, listen with your eyes. What do you hear?'''' he asks the five students.

    Melina crouches down. ''''The animal was running, the tracks are fresh.''''

    I move my fingers through blades of tall, purple grass, firm and flexible. Ow! You little shit. A dark-purple praying mantis struck my finger for no reason.

    The grandmaster nods, seemingly content with her answer. Then he leads us onward again.

    Rubbing my finger, I lift my chin and focus my hearing upward. The ground level is silent, for the winds seem to like dwelling within the canopy kingdom best. All these rustling whispers are unlike anything I''ve heard back home¡ªthe winds'' mumblings are calming and a tinge unnerving at the same time.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    In the distance, I hear one feather-shaped leaf falling. Its flight a distant sigh, its gentle landing a whisper only I can hear.

    Spring or no spring, my eyes see the fallen black-purple and reddish-brown leaves. They are sort of feather-shaped; lost among the violet ferns that often carpet the forest.

    I drown my fingers in this velvety sea, my sweeping touch disturbing the violet fronds. Almost like touching mist.

    Startled, we hasten toward a screeching, distant sound that makes my bones weep.

    Ahead, the grandmaster of the wild waves his hand slowly, up and down. ''''Slow your haste. Patient hunter doesn''t starve. Watch your step.''''

    Eventually our group breaks into a clearing up ahead, and the scene quickens my heart, my breath.

    Fuck me. A dire boar.

    Its crimson eyes: dread-inducing, its white-gray fur: magnificent, its tusks: death.

    The boar''s screams infect the forest, bouncing off tree trunks whose width is often greater than the entire width of my parents'' house.

    The dreadful screeching subsides as I reduce my hearing.

    The wild animal is formidable.

    More than a dozen five-foot-long arrows are lodged deep inside the screeching dire boar''s flesh, the animal''s formerly white sides now stained with dark red. The boar''s stridulous screams are claws that rend my ears. They are without pause.

    My heart aches.

    The white boar with crimson eyes, the beast that we hunted is now trapped, held by fat ropes attached to five powerful warbeast Winged¡ªtheir claws tearing the earth, wings furled, muscles tensed. All five crystalborn have Black Breakers for riders and no reins but the will of their nanilu-clad masters.

    The everpresent red-cloaked Academy soldiers armed with spears significantly taller than them are nearby. I might not see their helmet-covered faces but they are tense. The way they hold their spears, the way their shoulders are set, the way they breathe; their unease is palpable.

    Janna Erdene is chosen to slit the boar''s throat.

    The weapon given to her is a large knife of cold steel, single-edged, curved, the blade''s cruel face wider at the top half. My eyes see the recent-sharpening scratches along the blade''s edge. The blade is sharp indeed, can make it quick, end the beast''s suffering, but Janna''s eyes and body are dread-chained.

    Her hand is shaking, she won''t make it quick.

    ''''I can''th. I can''th. I can''th,'''' Janna pleads.

    ''''Stop embarrassing yourself, girl!'''' one of the guards yells at Janna. ''''The grandmaster does you a great honor. Be done with it!''''

    Honor... All I see is an animal in agony and a friend scared, a classmate whom I bruised¡ªmaimed¡ªso heavily.

    ''''It would show no mercy to you or your classmates. Do what has to be done,'''' the young grandmaster pressures, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

    ''''Just do it, Jay!'''' one of her close friends, Melina, standing well behind, yells at Janna.

    Janna''s watery eyes turn toward Melina. ''''I don''t wanth to. Please...'''' A defeated look overtakes her face. She sniffles once and looks back at the screeching boar.

    Janna''s trembling hand rises, about to try and slit the restrained animal''s throat.

    Barely does a blink pass when I move in, taking the big knife from her.

    I grab one of its tusks with my left hand, wrenching the boar''s head a bit upward and to the side, exposing its large throat more, and I slash¡ªmy hand strong, my slit true. Rich arterial blood erupts all over my face and chest.

    Moments later, the smell of shit spreads everywhere and it takes all I am not to dry-heave.

    The screaming is no more.

    I spit blood to the side and then look at the grandmaster. ''''Before Academy I''ve helped Mom with slaughtering chickens in our courtyard.'''' I look Janna in the eye, all the color from most of her face long gone. ''''I''m used to blood.'''' This felt different, though. Much more blood. So much more...

    I look at the great beast.

    We will use everything. The boar''s hide for leathers; the meat will be dried, smoked, and cured; tusks will become handles for knives and awls or shaped into daggers and spear tips; bones will become strigils and cutters and needles and hairpins. Everything except the blood that drenches the soil. The blood is lost.

    ***

    We are outside, standing in front of the Blade Grandmaster Cariocecus. The burning clouds of pale yellow warm my body.

    Oval-shaped structure in a landscape of sandstone rock, the Academy''s arena is all white limestone. Stone gleaming, structure remarkable.

    The arena''s white facade has three levels of arches and statues.

    Inside, rising concentric rings form the seating area, and below us is a small realm of underground chambers and corridors.

    The small arena can hold about thirty thousand spectators. Nemea''s Track, the stadium of Lodestar, can hold about seven times that.

    My hair is a thick braid with heavy bangs and two long, red tendrils that frame my face. Today, Hebe, Tomoe, Zuri, and most other girls have it tied behind.

    ''''In the beginning many of you were hesitant and clumsy and weak, but now...less so.'''' Cariocecus blinks once and then smiles. ''''Some, I dare say, have turned their favorite weapons into almost a third hand, an extension of your very bodies.'''' The always-smiling fuck looks at Zuri for a moment and then...at...me.

    His face becomes a bit more serious. ''''You are each required to pick one weapon, a weapon of choice to master even more than any other. Archery will always be a required curriculum for all of you, and thus the weapon you pick must be a hand-to-hand one. Many of you have, in a way, already done so but this makes it official and it will heavily impact your final grade.''''

    Those students who graduate with the best overall grades will receive the biggest chambers, better food, as well as other perks, and are sometimes even able to choose their posting to be within the Valley itself or, if they are crazy or unlucky, they can choose the Wastes and the temporary outpost they are sent to there, and some can become grandmasters themselves or work for the Academy as instructors. Not the worst life.

    ''''I know,'''' he continues, ''''my praises were often scarce, but my words were always true. And so I shall speak now.

    ''''You are training to become warriors but it is more than that. Since you are so very precious you will fight monsters from a distance using bow and arrow and your familiars¡ªobviously I''m talking here about those who have an affinity toward the Black. And obviously, Gray Breakers also have their place.

    ''''Mastery of a blade will give all of your minds focus and discipline. Some of you will end up commanding warbeasts with a mere thought, but how can you do that if you cannot even control yourselves? Often, if the body is weak, mind is weak.

    ''''So, each of you is to choose a weapon to specialize in. If you''re lucky and get clad in black, that weapon will be a big part of your battle kit that you bring with you for Harvesting. Each of you has at least some elementary knowledge of the spear, sword, and bow,'''' he looks at me for a moment and smiles almost mockingly.

    You accidentally break one slightly expensive bow and apparently that''s the end of the fucking---

    ''''Among other things of blade,'''' the grandmaster of smiling and all things blade continues. ''''But it takes a lifetime to truly master even one weapon.''''

    He points to the weapon racks. ''''Do I need to tell you a third time? Go!'''' The grandmaster''s hands wave in our direction as though slapping at some annoying specks of dust that just invaded his space.

    There are ten rich weapon racks lining the side of the arena. I move toward the one around the middle.

    Within the Eastern Cliff''s red depths is the Armory. A place where the Academy has large stockpiles of weapons for students to practice with, for the Breakers to carry, for the soldiers to use¡ªenough blades for Theia herself to salivate over. The small profanation slightly tugs the corners of my lips upward. And although richly stacked, these racks are just a small taste of that opulence.

    Hebe picked daggers, Michael a longsword, Gabriel a spear, thick-shafted. The long shaft is stonewood, the spearhead gleaming hepatizon. Wonder if the spear matches his spear.

    Most of our classmates chose swords and spears¡ªsteel sharp, alamarium striking, hepatizon powerful.

    Double-bladed polearm is my weapon of choice. Blades are gray alamarium, shaft is greenish-brown stonewood. There is a halberd blade at each end of the shaft whose height is about that of my own. The weapon screams attack. Nevertheless, you can use the long shaft for blocking.

    For years this particular weapon type has been the one I''ve practiced with the most.

    ''''Ruptura!'''' Cariocecus roars.

    A group of over a hundred people enters the arena, scattering across the seating areas. Many are old men and women, soldiers, grandmasters, some are scarred, or without limb.

    ''''Triumph of cripples,'''' Lana Furia whispers.

    I look at her. She notices me and is unable to hold my eyes for long. She''s afraid of me...I don''t want anyone to fear me, but it can, I admit, sometimes, feel real good.

    The grandmaster''s eyes are laced with respect as he regards the arena''s newest arrivals.

    He turns to us. ''''Students! Raise your blades high and hold. Your chosen weapon''s master will join you soon.''''

    We comply, our arms rising for the sky.

    ''''Testudo!'''' he yells, his voice heard by the entire arena.

    From all over the arena, about a quarter of that initial group which entered advances toward the twenty-five of us¡ªour soon-to-be instructors.

    You gotta be fucking kidding me.

    ''''Holy ancestors, Red. I see you''re still drowning in your ridiculously long hair.''''¡ªIt''s tied!¡ª''''Or should I call you Boar Slayer, Teeth Smasher...Ironback Ann...hmmm. We''ll stick with Red,'''' Grandmaster Vidar says.

    ''''Double-bladed polearm is your main weapon,'''' I say dumbly.

    His brows jump. ''''I always knew you had a sharp mind, Red.''''

    Vidar scratches his beard¡ªthe thing has more twists and turns than the Ariadne Garden. I notice more than several long silver lines among mostly brown strands. ''''I approve your weapon of choice, Red. Everything else...'''' He looks me up and down, sighing with clear disapproval, his eyes soaked with mocking pity. ''''Well, we have a lot of work.''''

    I openly stare at the scars carving his left hand, but he doesn''t seem to notice.

    Vidar crosses his arms. ''''Heard you ripped a boar''s tusk out and shoved it right into his eye,'''' he says jovially.

    ''''That''s not---''''

    He cuts me off. ''''You know, when you were five, seven times shorter, you always looked at me like you wanna kill me. Always knew you were a killer. You''re fucked up, Red.''''

    ''''Grandmaster---''''

    He points a finger at me. ''''And we''re gonna use that barbaric rage you have to mold you into a...slightly more civilized barbarian.''''

    I think he is talking with himself at this point.

    He seems all thoughtful for a moment. ''''Will begin with running, of course. Footwork first. You move rigidly like a rock, or like an unusually fast turtle made of rock...or a...well, you lack flow. Honestly, I''d prefer to have gotten stuck teaching your man, now there''s a warrior,'''' he looks toward Gabriel. ''''Unlike you he wins all his wrestling matches. All. Of. Them.'''' he whispers mockingly. ''''But, such is life.

    ''''It''s bladecraft time, Red.''''

    ***

    Classroom: deep inside a cliff, subject: semiotics, me: bored.

    The classroom has a semicircular seating arrangement, with students scattered up and down its ample space. The pale blue light of the many crystals shines generously, bringing a slice of day into this big den.

    My long legs are heavy and sore from the past few weeks of running the Academy''s main courtyard and the rocky landscape in front of the facade that the sick bearded bastard is making me do. On top of that, sometimes he makes me wear a special tunic whose pouches are filled with wet sand¡ªmakes running so much more fun. Apart from that first day in the arena, so far he didn''t teach me on how to swing my chosen blade even once. What the fuck?

    I release a long, long sigh.

    Sometimes it feels as though our entire fifth year is going to be wasted on writing these arcane symbols on sheets of papyrus and wax tablets. Michael said¡ªduring those rare times we talk¡ªthat they will never teach us all the Genesis symbols. Supposedly those secrets are known to only a few and are covetously guarded.

    Wrist-painfully, twenty-five of us are writing today''s most popular Genesis symbol: a small circle with an arrow moving away from it, downward¡ªdiagonally to the left. The symbol means night.

    In the past half an hour, I already wrote that one, one simple shape many times, across several sheets of papyrus, again and again.

    I release another deep sigh. This is some mind-numbing shit. Why do I need to know this? Genesis symbols are already carved in the stone floor of the Creation Chamber, also known as Telesterion. I accidentally overheard some fully-fledged Breakers talk about it.

    Since many things regarding that room are shrouded in secrecy, I couldn''t really talk about what I overheard to anyone. Not even Hebe. It would get her in trouble.

    Grandmaster of semiotics strides through the classroom. ''''Lower your styluses and quills we''re done with symbols for today.''''

    Thank the Allmother and her daughters.

    Grandmaster Bellas takes time to look each of us in the eye. ''''What we speak of today stays in this classroom, else you will be expelled and your parents left destitute. Are my words clear?''''

    We all nod and utter our affirmations.

    ''''You can ask anything regarding Genesis, or things relating to it. I will not hold back and will answer to the best of my abilities.'''' He is very old, over seventy my guess, has a short beard, hair and beard are Thumper-white, his fingers: roots of an ancient tree.

    The quiet that takes the classroom is otherworldly, not one student speaks.

    The grandmaster raises his brows. ''''Well, do not all break the silence simultaneously.'''' He smiles. ''''Speak, children.''''

    ''''What is Genesis, really?'''' Zuri asks. She sits closer to the lecture floor, lower and to the left of me. ''''All the sources are vague.''''

    I''m surprised she would ask such a thing. One year older than me, Zuri is shrewder than almost anyone I know, and also stronger than most other girls in our class. Blade Grandmaster Cariocecus would often task her with helping her fellow students, instructing them spear, sword, and bow in particular.

    Grandmaster''s smile is genuine as he regards Zuri. ''''Genesis spreads everywhere, through and around the world. Forever an unseen and untouched thing, but there it is nonetheless. Those that are blessed with it can channel it, harness its awesome might to bring life upon the world.''''

    The previously clear and unlined brown skin of Zuri''s forehead furrows, her long fingers drumming across her closed wax tablet. She doesn''t seem very happy with that answer.

    Michael twiddles his golden stylus between his nimble fingers. ''''What would happen to someone standing inside a creation circle during Genesis?''''

    ''''Their flesh would become torn apart,'''' the grandmaster answers.

    Never stand in a creation circle. Got it.

    ''''Cute rhymes, cute rhymes, cute rhymes,'''' Hebe whispers toward Michael, leaning in his direction. She sometimes says that when Michael gets or says something gloomy.

    His dark brown eyes just narrow at her in response. At sixteen, Michael is among the youngest of boy students in our class and yet he wins most of his wrestling bouts. From time to time, a girl student from one of the lower years would randomly approach me to ask about him, often wearing the most witless of smiles while doing so. And Tomoe often looks in his direction. She thinks no one noticed.

    ''''Will we be able to influence the shape or form of the resulting crystalborn?'''' The girl with ravishing midnight-black hair is Ariana Cassian, one of the tallest girls among all the fifth-years, her limbs long and elegant like the four neverending waterways of Lodestar; Lana Furia sits by her side.

    ''''No,'''' Grandmaster Bellas answers. ''''There was no Breaker ever who could do such a thing.''''

    ''''Was the Blue Demon able to do it?'''' Peter, the biggest student in our class, asks. Peter is the type that likes to get under your skin, but is not cruel, annoying more than anything else really. He sits some distance to the right of me and next to Gabriel.

    The grandmaster is silent for a while. ''''The Blue Demon was an abomination. Not a Breaker. And no. Chronicles say that even he was unable to do such a thing.''''

    ''''What does the word paterniel mean?'''' I ask. The legends I''ve read rarely used the words like blue demon when referring to this Lord of Ultimate Evil.

    The old grandmaster stares at me for some time, a cobweb''s pattern of wrinkles spreading across his face. ''''It is an old word from a dead tongue. It means father of all.''''

    I smile sweetly. ''''Is it true he could create human-like creatures? And...also creatures capable of reason.''''

    I get a few chuckles for that. Gabriel, sitting far to my right, smiles in my direction. I smile back, focusing my eyes on his perfect lips, on his---

    ''''Hilarious, Mistress Bolormaa. I see you have been reading many things outside the required curriculum.'''' He clears his throat. ''''Now, some chronicles do claim such things. Others...'''' He pauses for some time, regarding the entire class. ''''That mankind created him.''''

    Disbelieving murmurs consume the class.

    Those words could get him in trouble. Everyone knows Allmother created the Blue Demon from Void''s foul essence to punish mankind.

    ''''Quiet! Quiet,'''' he calms the class and then looks at me coldly. ''''Unless one wishes to call Guts their new home or worse, upset the clergy, they should abstain from looking into such tall tales.''''

    The Senate has made the burning of books a capital offense. Most of the ones in the Great Library have the status of something like holy relics. Nevertheless, certain topics are indeed avoided by most, and I know some books are hidden from the students, hidden from everyone except the Academy leadership.

    Imagine what concealed tall tales this old man has read.

    Peter points at me, then at Gabriel, his palm humping his left hand.

    ''''Eat my ass!'''' I yell in his direction.

    ''''I would but then Gabe would kill me.'''' He gives me a wry smile. ''''Wonder how many tongues already tasted such delectable treat.'''' He says that last part quietly, but easily heard by all; more than a few of my classmates snickering in my direction.

    I rise, my face is fire. ''''Say that again, cunt!''''

    ''''Enough!'''' grandmaster yells. ''''Sit down, Bolormaa.''''

    Peter stands up slowly, his huge frame rising¡ªwell over seven feet of him. Peter is a head taller than me, his shoulders much wider, his upper arms almost the thickness of my thighs, and yet my mind sees only a tiny nuisance. No threat at all. A corner of his mouth rises. ''''Anytime, Red.''''

    I see nothing but his disgusting smile, hear nothing but my rampaging heart¡ªthe previous snickering of my classmates still fresh, still echoing.

    I take a step toward Peter when Hebe grabs my arm, stopping me.

    She squeezes my wrist tightly. ''''Ann, what the fuck?''''

    I pause. Her voice and eyes soon bind me to my seat again.

    Gabriel does something similar to Peter, his hand on Peter''s shoulder, his calm blue eyes focused on that huge bag of rocks. It is not long until Peter too sits down.

    Peter looks at the grandmaster. ''''We were only playing around.'''' He smiles sheepishly, but his eyes are wolf.

    ''''You are to be adults soon, some of you already are. Sadly, I see now this is but in number only. Guards! Guards!''''

    No more than ten heartbeats pass when a tall red-cloaked figure enters the classroom. A sinewy woman holding just a spear and wearing the light thorax armor. ''''Yes?''''

    ''''Student Bolormaa volunteered to work at the pigsty for the next two days.'''' The grandmaster points at me.

    Seriously?

    ''''That is not right, she didn''t do anything,'''' Hebe says in my defense, the grandmaster ignoring her.

    The woman looks toward me, bronze helmet obscuring most of her face.

    She ends up standing next to my sitting form. ''''You can come with me, upright, or on your back. Either way, you''re coming with me,'''' the guard says, her voice cold and neutral.

    As I get up, about to leave, I look at Hebe. ''''Please take care of my stuff.''''

    She throws me a sweet, sad smile. ''''You know it, Ann.'''' Her fingers brush mine as I move toward the exit.

    ''''Peter challenged her first,'''' Zuri says to the grandmaster.

    ''''Oh, for him I have a far worse punishment.'''' He turns to look at Peter whose eyes throw daggers at Zuri. ''''You are to write ten pages of blood phoenix symbol. Its flowing lines will entertain you for a bit.''''

    Walking outside the classroom, I make an effort to not look at Peter. Knowing if I do so, I will be slightly tempted to snap his neck.

    His disgruntled groans prompt a smirk from my face.

    ***

    This is not so bad. His office is smaller than the Chairwoman''s, but it has all the trappings his position brings. Placed at its end, facing the door, is a large, well-made, stonewood desk with a carved protome of a phoenix jumping out toward you as you sit in front of the desk''s occupant. It doesn''t feel as cold as her office, it almost feels...homey. A plush woolen rug spreads across most of the room, its colors rich reds and dark greens, and there is golden braiding at the edges. Embroidered dark-blue cushions are scattered across upholstered furniture. Decorating the space are tapestries that depict rich purple fields with people in strange clothing standing within this purple lushness.

    ''''I know you are very perceptive. But also very stubborn, irascible, and imprudent,'''' the Archmaster says. ''''Despite the shame you have brought upon yourself by going to the boys'' dormitory, many in your class continue looking up to you. True is true, you are not lazy. You spend a lot of time doing bladecraft in gymnasiums and studying in the Great Library. However, you are inclined to anger and are not very sociable.''''

    I''m starting to think that some of the guards and caretakers do a lot more than just guarding and caretaking. He probably knows when was the last time I went to take a shit. It was twenty days ago. Well, he wouldn''t know that, though. Four days ago I pretended to take a shit¡ªit was just a long pissing session really.

    I''m taller than most girls in my class. Couple that with long red hair, and it is easy to track my comings and goings.

    Speaking of shit, yesterday evening I finished with my pigsty punishment. Showered three times since then, spent entire hyacinth-scented soap rubbing myself all over. The stench of my unjust punishment is carved into my sensitive, little nose for all time.

    My hair received so much vigorous scrubbing I thought I''d lose a thousand strands, but strangely I saw not one fall out.

    He releases a long sigh. ''''I have read of a certain moth, large-winged and pretty, that is irresistibly drawn to honey. It flies towards a bee''s nest, seeing no danger. It lands on the nest and begins gorging itself with honey. As he is being stung to death the moth continues to feed on the sweetness until it finally drops onto the ground like a leaf.

    ''''The Horatius boy. Stay away from him. Lest he be stung. Since his seed is barren and he is obviously unable to produce sons, his parents essentially disowned him. Were you to be expelled, you have parents of good means. Yes, you would live in dishonor, but would not starve. In the very end, he has nothing but the Academy.''''

    They''re reading students'' letters! Gabriel told no one about his cruel family, no one but me. He doesn''t like to talk about it. Sometimes he writes home, only rarely is there a reply. And this old man knows.

    This fucking place.

    I lean back into my chair. ''''I see.'''' I create a small, hopefully reassuring, smile.

    ''''Listen to me carefully, girl,'''' he whispers, his voice anger. ''''That day Gabriel tried to save you from the righteous punishment of Amina''s...Chairwoman''s hand, he didn''t move to strike at the guards, he tried to attack the Chairwoman herself. Only barely had I managed to convince her his focus was the Crimson Guard¡ªbad enough in itself.

    ''''Gabriel is an excellent-grade student, through and through.

    ''''Unlike you, he is calm, calculated, charismatic. All the boys see him as their natural leader, expelling him would be disastrous for the morale of many students and might even birth disorder and reason for more punishments. What I say to you next: it is not a threat, it is a fact. Were he to ever repeat any of the sort, I will whip him myself to the bone, girl. Foolishness of youth can only be tolerated so much. Your body, your gift, all belong to the state and the Faith. Stay away from him.''''

    No, old man. My body is my own. I don''t give a fuck about my Genesis gift. And Gabriel? He is mine.

    What''s more, Gabriel paid too much already. On my flogging day, it took two large guards, armed and armored, to knock him out. He had spent seven days in a dungeon where the guards hit him, showing no mercy even early on that first day while he was unconscious. I assume the wretches had their pride wounded and they''ve made it show all over his body. Around the time he was about to be released, I volunteered to work at the Healing Hall for a month, gave a fat sack of hex to the praefectus medicus to get myself assigned there. More than once have I changed Gabriel''s bandages and emptied his chamber pot; gave him a massage or two or three¡ªthe slow kneading of his many muscles was necessary for hastening the healing process, of course. What were we talking about?

    Ah, yes...

    I give him a sad, tiny smile. ''''Of course, Archmaster.'''' I look down and to the side, all defeated-like. ''''I know it is probably for the best.''''

    He narrows his eyes for a moment or two, acquiescence settling onto his face. ''''Now, in a different vein, you will inform your classmates, there will be no lectures held over the next few days. The Academy is declaring three days of mourning.

    ''''Senator Icarus Sextus died. Fell out of a window.''''

    ''''Fell out of a window?'''' I ask.

    ''''Yes. It seems he got drunk one night and fell out of his villa''s highest window.''''

    ''''I''ve never heard of him.''''

    Archmaster Pinarius strokes his long white beard, his old eyes neutral. ''''He was said to be a great orator. Senator Sextus was a prominent proponent of the spreading faction.''''

    ''''Spreading faction?'''' I instinctively focus my hearing on him. This will slightly increase the sound of his voice. Sometimes I can''t control it, especially when reading. Very annoying thing when I''m in the Great Library and there are people nearby.

    His fat silver-gray brows furrow. ''''Perhaps if you spent less time ogling Gabriel or reading about unsavory topics, you''d know such basic things. They believe we need to have at least one permanent outpost in the Wastes.''''

    That sounds ridiculous. I pause for a bit, moving my head a little up and to the side, unsure if I should give words to my thoughts. ''''That sounds ridiculous. A permanent one?''''

    He narrows his eyes. Probably debating with himself how much to tell me. ''''Well, it...has been an idea growing in popularity within the Senate. Especially in recent decades.''''

    He is probably telling me all that is common knowledge. Well, not to me. Politics never really interested me. I know little. I remember Father sometimes commenting on who are the newly elected consuls. And another such political memory that hits my mind now is of him talking about books and how they are protected. I was eight or nine, so those memories are a bit hazy.

    I lean forward, intrigued. ''''How would the outpost be protected from rock rain? And the soil outside the canyon is often not that fertile. Would the outpost always need supplies to be sent from here?'''' I look to the side at the purple tapestry adorning the wall. ''''Maybe a squad of Violet Breakers could help with self-reliance. Preferably, such an outpost should be located within a cave system and near a river.'''' My eyes jump back to his. ''''Wouldn''t a single, powerful-enough Wraith, destroy it completely, though? Like it always happened during previous centuries when such an idea was implemented.'''' I look up for a moment. ''''Hmmm...it can be done. What is the Senate''s opinion on maximum capacity the canyon can handle?''''

    He blinks. ''''Those are not issues that should concern a student''s mind, and especially not the mind of a girl of common birth. Heed my earlier words greatly, and what''s more, try not to assault the other half of your class. You can leave now.''''

 Chapter 16 Paterniel Part 1

    ''''My husband can have his thousand whores; it matters not, for each night I ride a god. He hurts most wonderfully. My Pat...''''

    Empress Valeria to one of her maids, over five centuries ago

    ''''Forming of undersea legions is possible,'''' Kali asserts. She sits close and to my right. ''''They wouldn''t need to slay the foul beast, just try to blind it before it hits solid ground. Or at least delay the behemoth''s progress.''''

    Steropes looks toward Kali. His voice guttural, his skin a rocky texture. Kali''s frame seems almost a child next to him, yet she is about twice his strength and much faster. ''''No disrespect to the General but Alldora is endless. To patrol the coastal regions and beyond, a rotation system would be needed, and we would need to employ hundreds of thousands of kindred, all armed and trained. And by the time they all converge in significant numbers, the beast will already be long upon us. It is impossible.''''

    She looks at me. Black velvet ribbon spirals down her long, always slicked-back hair, a divine white striped by bands of night. She is different somehow. ''''Anything is possible...Just a question of will and resources.''''

    The riding breeches of crimson silk velvet she wears are a pleasing match to her bloodsteel cuirass.

    I nod at her. ''''True. But such soldiers would need to be sentient, capable of breathing underwater, and willing to spend much of their lives patrolling Alldora. Even if I tripled the rate of my Genesis wielding, it would still take many years for such a system to become operational.''''

    ''''Well, keep it under consideration, at least.'''' She speaks to me in a tone and a way of familiarity that makes other members of the Council tense. They hate it. Their reaction almost makes me laugh.

    ''''You know I will.'''' My eyes linger on hers. ''''And I somehow doubt you will allow for it to slip my mind.''''

    The corners of her mouth rise at the words that only her mind has heard.

    Sitting down the table of polished, black granite, and next to Steropes, Alexander of Vantium the Sixth, the head priest of Vantium, crosses his arms. ''''Over the past decades, our losses to behemoth-kind have been...acceptable.''''

    Kali leans forward, looks at him in the way I feel about such a statement. No loss will ever be acceptable.

    The priest looks to the side, suddenly very uncomfortable in his seat. He respects me deeply, but he fears her utterly.

    Max, sitting on my left and alone at that side of the table, looks at the other Council members, saves the priest from melting into his chair. ''''There was a petition from Akti. They wish to make a large statue of Maker''s likeness.''''

    Kali smirks, a rare thing to see, although frequent of late.

    I look at her a moment longer. ''''Glad to see you amused,'''' my thoughts wash through her.

    I look at Max. ''''No.'''' The corner of my lips rises. ''''Although...for the services to the Realm, both military and bureaucratic, I wish one to be made in Behemoth Slayer''s likeness. And send word that the statue''s height shall symbolize their love of me.''''

    ''''What?'''' Kali asks, smirk gone. ''''No, I don''t want one.''''

    I turn to face Max. ''''Such is my will. Max, I want you personally on it.''''

    He nods, his dip pen with the handle of Wraith-bone sliding across white paper; dark blue hand hard at work.

    Kali narrows her eyes at Max. ''''No. Max, If you do so I might accept one of those challenges.''''

    After learning about Kali''s and my little skirmish, Max challenged Kali to a duel...about five or six times, I hear. Maybe he wants to die. Of course, she refused. Rare are those blessed with even the fraction of might that dwells within Kali.

    Max smiles, red eyes glazed with joy. ''''It is settled then. And stone?''''

    ''''Max---'''' Kali begins.

    I look at her, interrupting. ''''Only the best, fine, pure-white marble. To be painted the color of pale purple for skin and purple Wraith crystals to be used for the eyes. The image will depict her wearing a thin, bespoke, silk dress¡ªwhite. The hair and the dress are not to be painted, of course, let the marble shine.''''

    She leans back, says nothing, arms crossed, resigns herself to the terrible fate of being immortalized in stone.

    Alexander is uncomfortable. ''''Creator, forgive my boldness, but I must speak.''''

    The head priest of Vantium has a human-like body with the head of a goat with long horns.

    There are more than a few of his ilk that would see me apotheosized, worshiped like a living god. Such notions I find ridiculous. I have ordered Maeve to quell them, preferably peacefully. From time to time, secret cults would appear in towns far from here where I would be worshiped.

    Religions give birth to strife. One is tolerable. Two or more, in the end, mean burnt cities and an Alldora of crystal dust. I will have none of it.

    I have given no true temporal power to the clergy.

    ''''Despite our successes in hunting for Wraiths,'''' the head priest continues, ''''half of which must be due to the efforts of the General and Maeve,''''¡ªeveryone at the table chuckles in agreement¡ª''''the general population, although vast, is close to stagnation. Quarter of the day working is not enough for our miners to extract the crystals efficiently. The current ones should be made to work two times longer. And more kindred should---''''

    ''''Certain topics are not debatable,'''' I say, my words strong. There is some merit to his reasoning but sentient and far more unsentient miners already toil in harsh conditions so that the number of kindred may rise, and so that Vantium, a beast insatiable, can have its fill of crystal light. Excluding a behemoth, Wraiths often yield the heaviest and biggest of crystals and also of the highest quality, however, it is mining that gives the greatest numbers.

    Steropes looks to his right. ''''Maybe if some crystals weren''t sacrificed to placate the goddesses we would have more.''''

    The head priest simply glares at him.

    Max sighs deeply. ''''We''ve been receiving multiple reports from the south. Maeve exterminated all Wraiths and their spawn that dwelled around Carcassona.''''

    ''''Behind the skirt of the goddess,'''' Steropes rumbles.

    ''''We believe,'''' Max continues, ''''there will be no Wraith sightings there for a few months, at least.''''

    My best scholars, lost to the countryside, my intelligence chief, chasing demons. Is there no one dependable?

    Kali leans toward Steropes in a half whisper, ''''She is as vicious as she is fair. I taught her daggers myself but she insists on going without. My sweet Maeve.''''

    Asked and answered.

    Steropes laughs, a distant thunder thing. ''''Maeve is Maeve. A youngling still.'''' While sitting in the Council meetings, Steropes occupies a special chair carved from granite. Located a little down the table, the chair looks like an oversized throne, simple in design but grand. Even the rare, stonewood chairs break from the weight of him.

    A youngling...Were Maeve a human, her children would be nearing adulthood. And yet, perhaps, Steropes speaks some truth. Admittedly, she is capable of wisdom or two.

    Max looks down, and his mood seemingly following his gaze. He is much fond of Maeve. His hand drawing a concept for a gauntlet on a side piece of paper. He has a large collection of plate armor, many pieces made by himself.

    Rising from the top of an inselberg rock formation, the building where the Council meetings are always held is a huge tower-like structure. The Bastion''s gown of glass is coated with a special substance that allows the light in, but from the outside, it seems as though the light is hitting many blurry mirrors. My scholars unceasingly build upon the knowledge of the past.

    Bastion''s largest room, the rotunda, is located at the apex of the structure. The main dome''s ceiling is smooth and painted with colorful frescoes. Its center has a large oculus situated directly below the Green Archcrystal. At night a beam of emerald light creates a giant spectral column. Located below the rotunda, and overlooking the Silver Lake, is the Council Chamber.

    After two hours of talking governance and familiarities the chamber slowly empties.

    After all left she stays. Probably wishing to sway me into expanding the army or to articulate about its endless logistical needs. Another ten thousand hepatizon pauldrons perhaps?

    She looks at the five guards in the room. ''''Leave us,'''' her voice a poised, regal thing; commanding, yet mellifluous.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Immediately they obey. Each of the five is bigger and wider than her, resplendent in their full armor of alamarium, yet they are ants in her presence. After a small bow they leave the chamber. Of course, their role is more than simply ceremonial. They listen and they learn. One day at least one of the five will sit at the Council table.

    Our fighting in the arena was not received well by the kindred. The fight itself was a chaotic thing, and although I was...never in danger of being hurt, many still hold quiet discontent.

    She and I have spoken of this.

    I barely convinced her to come to the gala last night and interact with her kindred in a grand setting that does not involve fighting or battle.

    Other of her kindred wore ermine coats and intricate doublets and vividly yellow pelisses and dusky red and green dresses¡ªoften trimmed with pure white miniver; the whole affair was a jumble of silks, brocades, and damask attire.

    And while everyone was in their finest of silks and brocades she wore her bloodsteel curias. When I gifted it to her I expected it would be kept in Chambord, her black-gray roofed castle-palace, serving as a sort of centerpiece decoration. Notably because she has no need of armor, not even the one forged from aurichalcum. Yet she wears it devotedly. I could not even begin to imagine her in a froth of pink silk, although her slender frame is finely suited for any attire, formal or not.

    I have sent her white and black dresses of best silk. She never wore them. She possesses many such regal habiliments¡ªenough to make a human empress of old crimson with envy. Many a raiment she has is of such fine quality it is almost worthy of her graceful lines.

    She has also been given two saber-like, aurichalcum swords of exceptional craftsmanship. Those gifts she had been using when occasionally hunting for Wraiths or practicing in her own gymnasium. Sometimes she hunts them alone and I would scold her for not using hunting squads. There is no Wraith that can kill Kali, but they are often devious creatures and she could end up being hurt.

    My largess toward her is well-known but never commented. Officially, all the lavish gifts are bestowed upon her due to her service to our realm. In reality, about a third of them are bestowed because I...favor her greatly. Her and no other.

    Despite her attire at the gala, she was the naked sun surrounded by a thousand dots of candlelight.

    If there are other kindred present we would often express our disagreements mentally. And especially since I wished to avoid further discord.

    We moved away from everyone, ending up behind a giant column.

    The loud music and the dancing and the chatter of others were irrelevant. I have always mindspoken to her the most. ''''You fused me to a wall of the arena.'''' My voice was an anger echoing through her mind.

    She crossed her arms. ''''You once held behemoth''s maws wide open and you fuss about such a trivial thing.''''

    ''''I am not the problem. Many see you with rising fear in their eyes and I will tolerate none of it. Talk to your kindred. Mingle.''''

    ''''No.'''' She smirked.

    ''''You will stay and you will smile.''''

    She had left the gala after that.

    Only later did she briefly came back, told me to meet her after the event but I was still sour at her tone and did not wish to talk to her further.

    At this moment, sitting there to my right, she seems anxious. Hides it well.

    A few times already she stared at me and then avoided meeting my gaze. She is strange today.

    Were there not such vile things as behemoths inhabiting this sublime world we would probably build another city, maybe one closer to the coast. We are, in some way, forced to gradually expand The Five Cities instead, Vantium particularly.

    No.

    My mind stops as the thought hits: Without a behemoth-crystal she would not be here.

    My eyes glide across her cheek.

    She''s worth more than a thousand cities.

    My reverie is broken when I notice Kali''s hand on mine.

    ''''I waited for you,'''' she tells me, her fingers sliding over mine, her inspecting gaze on my hand.

    At first my mind does not comprehend what my eyes see. I do not retrieve my hand back. She does, when she stands up, her armor clacking a little.

    She walks behind my chair, embraces me. She never displays such affections.

    ...She sees me...I never knew.

    ''''Be with me like humans used to join together,'''' she whispers.

    The world''s heartbeat stops, and silence holds me for some time, my eyes forward, my thumb gently caressing her palm.

    The truth hurts. And it hurts having to explain this cruel fate, how our union will never be physically possible. ''''Kali---''''

    ''''I had a special procedure done,'''' she cuts me off. She tells me about it, about a daring scholar and a sword of death.

    She moves a little away from me. I stand up, following her quick.

    I cup her cheek, my eyes on hers. ''''You could have died.''''

    ''''I can be replaced, the army could continue---''''

    ''''I could not!''''¡ªI lower my voice¡ª''''continue,'''' my lips almost touching hers. The view outside, bursting through the Council Chamber''s glass wall, is spectacular. The Silver Lake, the granite hills, structures of gleaming white stone rising, patches of rich violet grass thrown in. It is pathetic. This is my first thought when comparing the view to those eyes; to those lips.

    ''''You''ve always known to put the best kindred in all the right positions. With time---''''

    I kiss her rough, I kiss her strong.

    My arm coils around her waist.

    It took decades, but I have learned to manipulate even my senses of taste, smell, and touch. I can feel every minute note of honey, every nuance of roasted meat. My lips almost pulsate pleasantly at the barest touch of her own¡ªa pleasure I amplify to my liking. Her lips make everything, every delicacy I have ever tasted in my long life, comparable to only ashes.

    Her long white hair lusters like pure silk. I plunge my fingers into this perfect cascade, pushing the back of her head, pushing her harder against my lips.

    For half a heartbeat her scent glazes through me. My blood is ice. My flesh and blood were never human nor do I have the needs or weaknesses of one. Nevertheless, I care for her, want her in every way. For there is an ember of my creators in me, some human spark lost in a thunderstorm of whatever I am. I hold to this speck and my body responds, the last thawing remnants of ice-blood giving way to a boiling cauldron inside my lower torso.

    I run my fingers through her hair gentle, then pull it rough, her exposed neck my delight.

    She rips up my silk satin, black-and-crimson vest, destroying it completely. Not a moment passes and her lips are jumping all across my chest.

    We kiss. Her hands exploring me, mine tearing apart the thick straps of her chest armor¡ªto her mild annoyance. She is strong, barely even moving when I rend them like paper.

    She smirks, removing the strips of cloth holding back her pristine white hair, the color of the fairest marble. ''''Did you really have to tear my straps...again?''''

    I remember the arena, her body slicing through the air to slam into the sand. ''''Yes.'''' I taste her neck, and despite my sense of smell being beyond that of any animal, a fool, only now I realize her scent is the attar of amaranth. It intertwines beautifully with her...natural scent, the rose and chamomile soap that she is so fond of using¡ªmost kindred tend to use a scentless one.

    I inhale slowly. No verdant gardens lost, or forgotten meadows of the lush spring green, compare.

    We kiss again and she removes some of her garments.

    I guide her onto the table.

    She lies there with her gaze upon mine, unsure what to do.

    Slowly, I spread her legs, and pull her closer.

    I destroy her gambeson. Her breath quick, her eyes lost in mine.

    I undo her strophium, exposing her. The long band of white silk is meant to provide support, to give shape. She does not need the garment, her firmness is undiminished; her skin a swath of pale purple perfection.

    Unbound by the limitations of human flesh, her beauty is evernew.

    I pause for a moment. Enthralled. She is the forgotten naked sun that I bask in.

    ''''Is something wrong? Are you disappointed?'''' she asks.

    I chuckle, kissing slowly her breasts and belly and everywhere. I scrape my teeth across her naked shoulder, a thing perfect, fragile-looking, gentle, smooth. Like the shoulder of a human female, yet it is steel. ''''So strange to hear...you, so...bizarre.''''

    She runs her fingers through my hair. ''''What...?''''

    ''''You, sounding unconfident. It is unusual.''''

    ''''I''m sorry about the arena.''''

    I kiss her belly, my hands exploring a virgin pale purple sea of smooth perfect skin. Her prepossessing abdomen is long like that of a human female at prime age but with no navel¡ªall is taut contours and smooth shadows¡ªan armor luscious, regal and sublime, made of pure muscle and lavender skin. As my fingers caress this sculpted perfection, Kali''s breathing intensifies further.

    ''''Are you even listening to me?''''

    ''''You brought,''''¡ªI kiss her hip¡ª''''Dreadhorn to me. I am grateful for that. And after the fight, I was proud of you that day. I always am.'''' I kiss her graceful fingers.

    Ever since we fought in the arena, each time I perform Genesis agony takes my wrist. I healed fully, I healed quickly, and yet during Genesis it feels as though something colder than ice is carving its path through my wrist. A great pain that even my mind cannot stop or dull. She will never know. I will never tell her this, nor anyone else. I will accept the pain, but not her self-blame.

    ''''He is born of behemoth-crystal like me, isn''t he?'''' she asks.

    My kisses stop. ''''Does it matter?''''

    She scratches her delicate-looking, perfect little nose. ''''I don''t know. I''m nervous.''''

    ''''Were...were you ever kissed or touched like this before?''''

    ''''No. I never cared of such things.''''

    I suspected that. You always preferred to be alone. I keep my thoughts to myself.

    ''''Going from not caring...to this,'''' she inhales deliciously when I gently move my finger between her legs, over the line stolen from Empyrean, ''''is not a small leap.'''' I move up and kiss her neck.

    ''''I care of you. I want you. I always did.''''

    I move my lips until they are just above hers, hairsbreadth distance between, infinity of distance, and they linger there for a heartbeat, for an eternity. I kiss her hard, I kiss her long.

    I kiss her neck. ''''Your scent is the first days of spring.''''

    Kali smiles, a tiny play of lips. ''''I don''t know what that means.''''

    ''''Imagine a pleasant, internal tickling of the nose.''''

    ''''I tickle your nose?''''

    I laugh a little, moving lower, kissing her honeydew breasts. ''''You tickle my everything.'''' My long midnight-blue hair cascades across my back and shoulders, spreading across her upper body: an expanse of flawless lavender skin.

    Kali slams her forehead into my face. Dazing me significantly.

    I grab her throat and pin her onto the large table. ''''What in the Void, Kali?''''

    ''''I thought...'''' She now seems more dazed than I was moments ago. ''''One old human manuscript said that when a high noble female is to be with a male she should show physical resistance to maintain her virtue.''''

    A deep breath escapes my nostrils. I release her throat and gently move my fingers across her cheek. ''''You are not a high-noble female.'''' My bright green eyes gaze into her purple ones. ''''You are beyond that.'''' I kiss her neck, her cheek. I kiss her just below the throat and then lower. ''''A female unrivaled.''''

    ''''I know it looks vile, like some deep scar.''''

    I ignore her words, get down, and then I start kissing her...scar, then slowly licking her new womanhood. My eyebrows rise and eyes flare when a sweet, velvety, and just a touch of salty taste hits my palate.

    I lift my head, savoring the taste of her. ''''Honey butter?''''

    ''''I''ve pushed half a jar of the creamy thing into me. Some really bizarre human tomes claimed it can help with a union when a male and female human are joining. I can wash in the lake if you don''t like it.''''

    ''''I do like it.'''' My lips land back between her legs. ''''You are,'''' I kiss her there, ''''exceptional.'''' My tongue roughly parts her strong lips. Her spine arches, each vertebra a voussoir constructing the elegant arch.

    She screams.

    I stop.

    ''''Why did you stop?'''' she whispers, lowering her toned back.

    I say nothing and continue using my tongue for a far higher purpose than making words. The many small inhales she makes are the sounds sweetest, feeding the fervor of my tongue. I devour her womanhood as though it were the sweetest peach.

    For six or eight or I-do-not-know-or-care-how-many hours I eat her perfect womanly passageway.

    I have often feasted at this table, but never has the tenderloin been so mouthwatering.

    Bare-chested I move to stand a little away from her.

    I tear my black, loose-fitting breeches away¡ªthe cotton ripping with a sharp, intense sound.

    Kali inhales quickly. ''''How did you do that? Can you grow your arms like that?''''

    My eyebrows furrow. ''''I am not a tree, Kali.''''

    ''''Yet you just grew a bough. Can you use it as a weapon?''''

    ''''It...is not a tool meant for destruction.''''

    She looks up, back to holding my eyes. ''''I don''t know what to do,'''' she susurrates.

    I approach her, my length extending across her belly¡ªher body trembles for a moment, the look of fascination on her face. After raising her chin to make her focus on my eyes, I roughly move my thumb across her lips. ''''You have already done too much...my Theia.''''

    She smiles a little. ''''Why are we whispering?''''

    I laugh mildly in response. ''''I do not know.''''

    ---

 Chapter 16 Paterniel Part 2

    ---

    When I begin to push in she screams, limbs twisting, chest bursting with action.

    I continue the impaling, without pause but slow, barely a third of me inside. ''''Look at me. Kali, look at me. You are incredible. You are doing great.''''

    She nods. Were they able to, her eyes would probably well with tears.

    Her foot slams at my stomach. I push it away. Quickly I push the rest of myself inside.

    Her scream is of such magnitude that my mind instinctively dulls the sound. The few afterscreams she releases form a chasm across my chest.

    Her entire body is shaking.

    I lace my fingers with hers, tell her to focus on my eyes, to look up¡ªher grip terrifying, my hands under boulders.

    She laughs a few times¡ªtries to¡ªthrough heavy, interrupted breaths. ''''Do...it,'''' she whispers, her throat slightly raw.

    With great control and only looking at the blackest black that is her pupil, I move backward and then forward.

    Forgotten gods...the crush is incredible.

    My scholars are exceptional.

    She can take almost all of me.

    This is my first time of my own will; to my mind, she is my first.

    She spreads her arms and I see a shadow of pain in her eyes. She tries to hide it¡ªand she hides it well¡ªbut her own body betrays her. Nothing escapes my eyes. With great reluctance I move back; very, very slowly beginning to remove myself from her. I am ashamed and terrified at the huge amount of willpower it took for me to do this.

    ''''Don''t leave me, please,'''' she begs.

    ''''You are in great pain,'''' I say.

    ''''It is nothing,'''' she says with a slight smile. ''''Stay with me I''m well.'''' She puts herself against me tight, her lips exploring my jaw. ''''You...are so warm...you feel like the sun,'''' her voice the shadow of a whisper that she knew would not escape my ears.

    I remember that even though at this moment she seems fragile, she is steel. My behemoth killer. My Kali.

    She leans the side of her head on my chest. After being quiet for a while she says, ''''Others think I do not tire¡ªever.''''

    My hand slides down her back and then lower. ''''I have poured much weight on you, but only because I knew you could take all the responsibilities. You have always made me proud.'''' Her body might heal quick from toil but the mind takes more time. ''''I am often tired.''''

    She lifts her head, looks at me as if not believing my words.

    ''''But not today, my Kali.'''' Our eyes locked, I gently push her body onto the table and then lunge.

    She wanted to scream but stopped herself. Nods instead.

    Slowly I slide backward and then with great speed deep inside again, both my hands on sculpted breasts.

    She is smooth, soft. I have almost expected her skin to feel like scared metal or chipped stone.

    Her breasts are firm-looking yet supple-feeling to my kneading hands, a smooth perfection of pale purple skin.

    ''''Such fascination''''¡ªshe pants when I push deep, stretching her innermost cranny, pushing her undulating walls immensely¡ª''''for those useless things. Although rarely...they can hamper balance. Ugly things.''''

    I look into her eyes, pushing myself deep. ''''Perfect things.'''' I pull back slow. ''''Beautiful things.'''' My voice confident, all words said cold and true.

    She moans; sounding like in pain, her arms spread as though she knows not what to do with them, my movement slow and gentle as if she is glass.

    She might be a being of incredible strength, but this union favors my body, my plate overflowing with honey, while hers is the bitter part, she endures much of the discomfort. My breathing is slow; hers is not¡ªmy circumference sliding, pushing through her, stretching her immensely.

    A human male would be too weak to join with Kali. Her steel gate can only be broken open by me.

    Suddenly her hands reach to clasp my head and our lips wrestle. I am certain she has very sensitive lips, and I use this to ease much of her discomfort, tasting and biting her gently.

    She does indeed.

    The pale sunlight shines through Bastion''s special glass. And high above us is an emerald sun, an orb bathed in splendorous, green light. The Archcrystal of Vantium levitates unseen. Its city-wide wings of radiant light wait patiently for the night to unfurl.

    I kiss her fingers. ''''Beautiful,'''' I whisper. From her unending dance with blades, her hands should be patches of roughness, but she heals so well that they are smooth and soft and gleaming. A hint of camellia oil she uses to polish her blades on them. A scent faint and floral, barely noticeable.

    I think of that day in the arena, the way she moved, the way she looked at me. ''''One day you will dance with me,'''' I tell her, plunging my length inside, making her toes writhe and white soles wrinkle.

    ''''You know...I don''t dance.''''

    ''''You will with me.''''

    I thrust myself deeper inside her until I reach an impasse. The pressure of her across my length is rock-crushing. All words are pathetic, unable to even begin to describe the god-like feeling.

    Her breathing is strenuous, her gorgeous eyes are pain and want, she smiles then snarls, revealing teeth whiter than any paper, her fingers gliding across my stomach.

    ''''We have to stop, you are in great discomfort.''''

    ''''Behind the knee,'''' she pleads.

    ''''What?'''' I ask.

    ''''Touch me there while kissing my palm.''''

    I do it without hesitation and the result is more than encouraging. She moans. Her discomfort seems diminished somewhat and I seek to eradicate it fully; a great vivaciousness possesses my fingers that caress her behind the knee.

    ''''So good,'''' she whispers low, the words almost unheard by even my ears.

    Her lips, her neck, and her fingertips should all be regions most receptive to touch. And apparently¡ªshe releases many pleasure-filled exclamations¡ªbehind the knee as well.

    ''''Are you going to kiss it again?'''' she whispers.

    ''''I will. But now I want you this way.''''

    She twirls my hair, a dark-blue shroud falling across my back, some of it mixes with her strands of shimmering white. ''''Could it...stop a steel blade.'''' Her other hand raking my abdomen, talons of an eagle¡ªthe force more than enough to rend through Wraith-hide. I am in great pain, and she knows it¡ªchanging the force and direction of her hand so I cannot properly dull it. She smiles, her brows jumping a little¡ªeyes narrowed slightly from the relentless stretching I give her.

    I plunge myself inside her slowly, kissing the spot between her breasts. Her unblemished skin is the horizon-purple of summer days long gone, when a new dawn is about to be born. The huge pain of her slender, powerful fingers mixes with pure delight enveloping most of my length. ''''Yes,'''' I whisper.

    She stops the raking and glides her fingers gently across the same spot, looks down. ''''You are strong,'''' she smiles as though I passed some test, looks back at me, eyes edged with pain and want.

    ''''How did---'''' ''''Am I---'''' we both go at the same time.

    ''''You go first,'''' I say.

    ''''Am I hurting you?'''' Kali asks.

    ''''What?'''' I whisper gently.

    ''''You make many small sounds of pain.''''

    ''''They mean the opposite of pain.''''

    Her brows furrow charmingly, the face she makes innocent-like for a moment. ''''What did you want to say?''''

    ''''How did you know I would not reject you?'''' I ask; my lower half battering her steel gate unceasingly.

    ''''I did not know you would not reject me,'''' she tries to mimic the depth and calm of my voice; her smile the biggest one yet, her perfect teeth gleaming. Soon her jiggling face becomes serious again, only a small smirk remaining. ''''I just know what I want.''''

    I relish her neck.

    She washed her hair with rose water, her scent sweet, early-spring-like. A scent she will never be able to smell. And yet she has used it. For me. Carved her body. For me.

    Jumped into a gaping maw, for me.

    I look deep into her faultless eyes.

    Long ago¡ªfor a moment I groan loudly with sweet exertion, the pressure of her exhilarating¡ªthere was a human poet who said If you are unwilling to break the rules for your woman she will not stay yours for long. I do not break rules. I make them.

    I kiss her neck. ''''Trilex is yours,'''' I whisper into her ear.

    ''''I don''t want it.'''' She dances her hand across my chest.

    I thrust myself almost fully into her, grunting. ''''Tell me what you want, and it is yours,'''' my thoughts echo in her mind.

    She smiles, kisses me roughly, clumsily...heavenly, says nothing in reply.

    ''''We should...stop, you are in great pain,'''' I kiss her cheek.

    Her fingers rake across my back. ''''A pain I want,'''' she whispers. ''''Don''t stop, just...slow; for now at least.'''' She nods a few times, her leg trembles slightly.

    The eagerness of my swaying hips is reined in, my thrusts more steady, slower.

    She moans. ''''Yes. You''re so good to me. You''re so good to me.'''' She then kisses my palm and thumb, her perfect eyes locked to mine.

    Allmother''s wrath! I throb once, a few drops of me escaping.

    For centuries, my body was dominated by my mind utterly. It threatens treason today.

    She bites hard at my shoulder, making me grunt in pain.

    She then slides her fingers across my cheek. ''''If I had your shoulders I''d rule the world.''''

    I chuckle. Soon I am quiet for a few moments. ''''They are not much wide.''''

    ''''You mock me.''''

    I stop and lock myself inside her, my face above hers, and I whisper: ''''And to whom do the mighty legions kneel, whose call do they answer? Who is this fierce queen whose guidance all seek?''''

    ''''I am but feared.''''

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ''''No. Respected.''''

    ''''I''d prefer love.''''

    My mouth ravages her neck, and only after she moans do I continue my thrusts.

    ''''Why don''t you trust me?'''' she whispers.

    ''''You know I do.''''

    ''''Where do you disappear to when leaving the city?''''

    My slow-piercing motion continues. ''''I travel to mountains and...valleys.''''

    ''''For months?'''' her eyes narrow, and she releases a small, sweet exhale. We had this conversation many times, although in far less pleasurable circumstances.

    ''''Sometimes solitude can be good for the mind.''''

    ''''Your teeth can pulverize bone,'''' she whispers.

    ''''What?'''' I ask.

    ''''I''ve seen you consume the roasted flesh and bones of a boar. Bite my wrist until you draw blood.'''' Her breathing is heavy, as though she had been running the whole of twenty or more days.

    I look to the side, hesitant.

    ''''I will heal.'''' She puts her hand on my cheek, holding my eyes. ''''Please.''''

    Unbreaking eye contact, I bite hard into her wrist until barely I manage to draw some blood.

    She screams. I start to move away, to remove myself from her, and she punches the side of my face with enough force to easily kill a human and grabs me, kissing, feeling the dab of her crystallizing blood on my lips. ''''Don''t leave me, Paterniel. Please,'''' she begs between small kisses, her arms around me.

    I return the embrace full-heart. ''''I will not.''''

    ''''Do I taste good?'''' she whispers eagerly.

    I take her arm and gently kiss the wound, her palm, her fingers. Holding her eyes I whisper, ''''Yes. Beautiful.''''

    ''''Better than animal flesh?''''

    My dark blue eyebrows jump slightly at that. I throw a small smile at her. ''''Far better.''''

    A sense of relief seems to wash over her and she smiles.

    I gently kiss her breasts.

    Her smooth skin is a lovely scent, reminding me of the wildflowers of Everbloom Garden. It is a sweet scent, subtle, barely noticeable one; increasing my want for her.

    I slowly move my hand over the back of her thigh and then lower, I do not bother to use my supersensitive sense of smell to try and amplify each note of her intoxicating scent. After all, one must not give in to captiousness when faced with¡ªupon her backside my hand finds a granite-firm purchase, clutching¡ªperfection.

    Her thoughts whisper through my mind. ''''You want to move faster. I can tell. You want to free yourself, like you did in the arena. Do it! Show me how much you want me. Move inside me faster. Or is this your peak?'''' She says that last part teasingly.

    Without saying anything, I move inside her fast, battering her with superhuman speed, my violent impacts felt by her whole body, down to the last inch of her.

    She plunges her plum nails into my right inner wrist, growling and nodding when I take her even faster.

    I do not hold back.

    She screams and then grinds her teeth¡ªall the while her eyes locked with mine. Her breathing heavy. She nods, her eyes pleading. ''''Faster!''''

    My bestial tempo is without pause. The sound of skin on skin reaches a tempo, a speed that would make a young buck rabbit mad with envy.

    The entire end section of the granite table breaks. Irrelevant.

    Our union is unbroken, our bodies on the floor.

    ''''Don''t stop! Don''t stop!'''' her screaming¡ªpleading¡ªthoughts echo through my mind.

    I do not stop.

    She moans continuously, her body consumed by agony and rapture.

    We pulverize chunks of black granite.

    After an hour or so her limbs shake and I kiss her, sliding my long tongue along hers.

    Our brows join, pushing hard against each other, the pressure immense¡ªmy frenzy of lunges never stopping. ''''You are mine.''''

    Her breathing heavy. ''''Yes. I am yours. Yes...Yes...Yes...''''

    ''''Whose slit is that?'''' Our brows still locked.

    ''''It''s yours!!'''' she screams.

    I kiss her neck. ''''I have always loved you,'''' I whisper. ''''In my own, distant way. Always.''''

    She looks at me for a heartbeat, her perfect eyes a thing unreadable, and kisses suddenly with a fire of a thousand stars¡ªher tongue exploring each nook of my mouth.

    She looks at me again, her hand on my cheek, regret in her eyes. ''''We''ve lost so much time.''''

    ''''No,'''' I tell her true. ''''Eternity is ours. This world is ours.'''' I kiss her palm, lower my head, and savor her lower lip.

    Her violet lips a delicacy. Nectar divine.

    My hands lock onto her upper arms. ''''Grab your heels and pull them back.''''

    Her eyes focused on mine she does so, taking almost all of me¡ªthe force of my impacts creating tremors running through her powerful body.

    She looks at my lips, a puzzled look on her.

    ''''What?'''' I ask.

    ''''You could run to Parthios without losing...a breath, and now you seem to lose a few.''''

    I smile, looking downward. ''''The exertion is as great as it is sweet¡ªyou feel incredible.''''

    She smirks. ''''Sweet also means good for tongue. Yes?'''' Her smile mirrors my own.

    ''''Yes.''''

    I push her knees toward her chest. The area around her slit is dark purple, raw-looking, tender, enticing¡ªmy battering stopping any healing.

    A few drops of her blood are smeared across my girth, a tiny tear spreading from the upper end of her slit.

    With great reluctance I begin to remove myself from her. Surprisingly, my hardness falters not. Not even a little.

    ''''Don''t leave me.'''' She hugs me tight. My muscles in a pleasing vice of her limbs. Her pleading voice binds more than even the incredible might of her arms¡ªand this terrifies me utterly. Confirming what I perhaps always knew. That I would burn a world, for her. Centuries of work undone, for her. What have you done to me?

    It takes an eternity, but I find my eloquence. ''''You are in great discomfort.'''' My cheek finds hers.

    ''''Yes...and no. It hurts rapturously. Don''t leave me.''''

    I do not.

    Our union remains and I push myself until I am almost fully inside her.

    ''''You keep looking at my throat. Why not take what you can easily have? Why do you hate me? You never loved me.'''' She grins, her brows a playful thing, her eyes challenging me.

    Her words are untrue and we both know it, yet they give sustenance to my anger nonetheless. I grab her throat and I squeeze. A powerful, bone-crushing thing.

    Her unmoving lips hold a tiny smile, increasing my desire for her beyond all reason, her eyes savage hooks impaling my very soul. ''''Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.'''' Her words in perfect tempo with my fast lunges, her entire body oscillating, shaking with each powerful impact.

    I look into her eyes, focusing on her pupil.

    In another life you would give me sons and daughters to inherit this world. The failure is mine. It continues to be. The thoughts I dare not share.

    She closes her eyes, whimpers low; her long, gossamer eyelashes further enflaming my desire. I caress her cheek, the tip of my thumb skimming the pearl-white threads.

    Her high cheekbones are akin to mine, although less angular and more rounded, giving her a most pleasing, refined look¡ªgentle, slightly fragile even, very much at odds with what she is capable of.

    Some scholars¡ªshe moans when my girth spears through her in a savage thrust¡ª...estimated, with more fear than enthusiasm, that she is four-fifths of my strength and nine-tenths of my speed. Given how she was easily¡ªmy big fingers rend into her breasts¡ªable to obtain an archblade, enhanced, she is about the only being capable of ending me. A foolish thought. She would die for me. And were she to ever wish for my demise then I would most certainly deserve it.

    I put the side of my hand into her mouth. ''''Bite as hard as you would like, it will ease the pain.''''

    Her jaw carves at my palm, her exhale sweet. She looks at my verve of pure iron, at what I do to her. ''''Is this better than drawing lines on a piece of paper in your precious, pretty...library.''''

    My bone-crushing movement ceases not. ''''Yes.''''

    She looks up at me, mouth still full, still clenching. ''''I like the way you hurt.''''

    I kiss her palm; mind steeping in pleasure. ''''My...Kali.''''

    Despite our exertion immense, there is not a drop of sweat on our joined bodies. It is a human trait, yet I would not mind tasting her in such a way as well.

    After a time I remove my hand to hold hers.

    ''''What are you...thinking?'''' she asks.

    My man-limb greedy for her, the back-and-forth movement without pause. ''''About how delicious you are.''''

    She grins in that way of hers, making me want to take her harder.

    And I do. The speed of my plunges is merciless.

    Holding onto me, she screams¡ªher upper body arching.

    ''''FASTER!'''' her scream a command.

    Fire. Pure fire is injected into me and I do what I thought impossible. I move even faster.

    The rapid clatter of flesh against flesh, of skin against skin, is a cadence otherworldly¡ªour bodies far beyond the limitations of humans, of beasts...

    Inside her is scorching hot and I relish the feeling.

    ''''Strong is the blade that cuts through storm, stronger yet the one that lingers indomitable, so the storm may cut itself. Strong is the blade that...''''

    She repeats the quotation many times, as if in a trance¡ªall the while my impacts continue, fast and powerful.

    My heart stops when her limbs go limp and eyes close.

    I stop moving. ''''No! Kali...''''

    She opens her eyes, her fist slamming into the side of my face, an anvil dropped from the sky. ''''Again, you stop.''''

    I nod and slowly pick up the pace, my iron-hardness remained throughout.

    I take her hand. ''''Tell me to stop,'''' my voice pleading, almost.

    Her voice strained, my girth pushing, widening her far beyond comfort, ''''If I could...take a huge blade of death in me, I can take one of life as well.''''

    ''''Tell. Me. T---''''

    ''''Shut up and fuck me.''''

    No one ever speaks to me like this. No one.

    Before I can stop myself my palm lands on her cheek, the strong slap heard loud across the room.

    She laughs off something that would kill many of her kindred, and I curse the cause, not the joyful sound.

    I grab her mouth roughly, putting my thumb inside. It suits her ill to speak as though a mere foul-mouthed human. Rudeness is beneath her.

    She looks down for a moment. ''''You act anger yet your ardor falters not.''''

    Her beautiful eyes are pain and pleasure and everything in between. For the whole of the next hour I am lost in them, saying not a word, allowing my blade of life to do all the...talking.

    She tries to smirk. ''''I can read you easy. Now I know what you truly want: To see me on my knees. And I will but only if you order it so.'''' She licks my thumb, and the way she does it...

    No!

    I lock my body, pause my movement, most of my length lingering inside her¡ªthe feel of her fracturing my willpower.

    Her fingers dance with mine. ''''Is everything well?''''

    I kiss her shoulder, smiling. ''''Yes and no. Do not move.''''

    I exhale slow.

    Shortly after the pause, my eyes hold hers and I nod, she does the same, a smirk on her.

    A rampage of lower-body movement is unleashed.

    She screams¡ªmakes ear-splitting sounds of agony and sweet sounds of pleasure. ''''Look what you''re doing to me. Look what you''re doing to me,'''' her voice supplicating, strange.

    It is days into our union, they pass unnoticed. Like a bird over one of Vantium''s distant gray-black spires spreading the outskirts.

    Her hands on the glass wall, mine holding her hips¡ªher sinewy back stretching before me, delicious shadows weaving across the spread of taut muscle.

    Her beautiful white hair is uncustomarily untied, messy, falling everywhere.

    Beautiful.

    The veiled setting sun bathes our bodies with much-needed sustenance.

    She looks upon the gorgeous panorama of our city stretching before us, suddenly starts laughing through gritted teeth, ''''You can speed up! I won''t break your precious glass.''''

    I grab her hair and pull hard; her wish granted utterly.

    My lips on her ear. ''''You knew. You saw the way I have always looked at you. I always treated you as an equal. You knew that I want you. Even when I did not, you knew.'''' I pull even harder, making her growl in pain; the stretch immense, she feels me now more than ever. ''''You knew. Ice is all you have given. No more. You will talk to me, truly talk.''''

    Without waiting for reply I drop her hair and take her hips. I move my lower body in a slaughter of motion against her backside.

    ''''Allmother take me!'''' she screams, then laughs. ''''Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.''''

    Her cries remind me of those early ones when I first joined her¡ªher honey-and-caramel scent increasing my hunger for her.

    The feral moans she releases are a sound delicious, and I want my fill. I hold her hips and I feast. And in that one moment I hate her. I hate what she does to me. I hate how much I want her, that I always wanted her. I hate how she made me weak, a slave to desire.

    A syrupy golden-yellow liquid drips out of her, the heat of our union causing honey butter to liquify.

    A distant screaming breaks my trance. ''''...Slow! Slow! It burns! Maker!''''

    I pause. ''''Forgive me...'''' my breathing heavy. ''''Forgive me.'''' My hand glides across her lower back.

    ''''Well...I didn''t...say...stop...''''

    I chuckle; and only after some time do I build up my speed.

    Hours pass, days pass. I say nothing, she says nothing. Our bodies'' movements are words enough, gasps and thrusts intonations clear.

    Her clenching hands destroy much of the granite chair when I take her from behind near the room''s middle. And when her screams make me hesitant in motion, she curses me, using words she never does, words that hurt. Anger. I allow it to consume me and I do to her what she did to pure granite.

    ''''You never loved me! Only your buildings! Human puppet! Slave!'''' she screams each word.

    She is under my impenetrable skin, melting the last frost. My blood seethes.

    I grab her strong hair, and even though knowing exactly what she is doing, I pull hard. Thousands of needles stab at her head when it snaps backward, and I do not care. I am merciless.

    She laughs, a thing pushed through the pain, and then she screams, begs me to not slow my demonic tempo.

    ''''Damn you.''''

    ''''Yes, Maker!'''' she shouts the words again and again.

    The chair is gone.

    After several weeks of our rampaging union have passed, chairs are obliterated, their remains everywhere, precious artifacts in the room are destroyed, ancient human relics decorating the room destroyed, among which a display case housing a very ancient and very priceless circlet of electrum, worn by some forgotten noblewoman during the Age of Fire.

    It is as though a behemoth decided to walk straight through this chamber.

    With mindspeak, quite some days ago and through the glass wall, I had ordered for us not to be disturbed by anyone. Most of my creations would not be able to comprehend this union and officially: Kali and I are having a friendly wrestling bout and are debating about important¡ªI violently thrust myself deeper into her, her loud moan my pleasure¡ªmatters. Technically, not a lie.

    Only two of us exist.

    There are dark chambers of my mind where my thirst for her is of a far different kind from what a human male might possess. Stronger, greater. I let it engulf me.

    For many days I have her mind, her body, and her soul. I have her in every way possible.

    Hers seems a need great yet a thing largely unbeknownst to me.

    I put my cheek roughly against hers. ''''My Kali.''''

    She laughs, a sound short and gentle, fingers spearing at my skin, the pain blissful. ''''You''re so strong.''''

    I lift my head to look at her. ''''We are gods of this world.'''' It is such a human thing to say, I know, yet it is the truth.

    She smiles, her limbs upon me. ''''So I have a god inside me then?'''' she whispers.

    ''''Do gods not reside in Empyrean?''''

    Kali laughs, soon clenching her teeth when I push inside her, stretching her internal walls vigorously. ''''So warm,'''' she whispers.

    Despite the amaranth; like all her many kindred she cannot smell or taste, however, Kali''s sense of touch is superior to that of any human. Her lips should possess the purest concentration of this gift. I use this again and again to make our union more gratifying. We devour one another as our mouths discover a purpose far beyond eloquence. And even though not being able to taste me, she certainly tried, eagerly returning all the special kisses¡ªthe order executed obediently and with great enthusiasm.

    Kali moves with more confidence with each passing day.

    The floor, the walls, my arms.

    Any surface will suffice. And even, as I stood, my man-limb bearing the full weight of her body.

    On the fortieth day, after endless positions we are back at our first one¡ªher lying on the floor among the remnants of the shattered table me on top. Her arms embrace me. She holds me strongly, my face above hers and her legs hold me, clamp me, pushing me until I am almost fully inside her. I cannot free myself¡ªat this moment her strength impossibly rivals mine.

    Her perfect eyes are my cosmos.

    She is everything.

    ''''I love you, Pat,'''' she says it in such a way and with such absolute and beautiful certainty that all control is lost.

    No...

    My body contorts, command over it I have none, mind drowning in such pleasure that I roar. The sound something primitive, below human even.

    Like a starving snake coiling around some innocent cony, my body tightens its hold on her so powerfully that even she feels the heavy crushing effect.

    My essence begins releasing into her core.

    She holds me tightly with her legs and hands; I cannot stop the flow and for the next three hours I pulsate inside her, my lifeblood spilling out of her. I was holding back a river since the days-beyond-recall and only now does its flow washes over me, the tension unleashed.

    Only after I am spent does she let go, eyes closing, her depleted limbs falling splayed on four sides.

    I collapse next to her, darkness taking me.