《Children of the Gods (a dragon fantasy epic)》 1 - The Spires Malik stood at the edge of oblivion, bonespear outstretched like a long, menacing claw extending from his arm, and he faced the winged jackal without fear. Sweeping spires of rock jutted into the darkening heavens like fingers of giants, reaching up to blot out the sun. Malik¡¯s chest heaved with labored breaths, blood spilling from a gash in his side. But Malik had traded blood for blood. Eyes wild and bloodshot, the jackal uttered a low growl, and circled, eyes never leaving Malik¡¯s, the creature¡¯s spirit consumed by a beautiful, primal rage. All Malik Jorensein¡¯s childhood, all his training boiled down to this moment.This dance of survival that all living things faced. He took a step to the side, sending small bits of gravel plummeting through the skies to the valley below. The jackal matched the movement, hair bristling along its bony spine. Malik and the beast faced off on a small ledge, little more than a splinter, jutting out from one of the sacred floating mountains at the heart of Malik¡¯s island home. A space of ten feet at most. In this moment, that space was the entire world. Malik took one more step, his spirit focused on the beast before him, eyes focused on not slipping over the edge. The jackal took one step, pawed at the ground. ¡°I fear neither life nor death. I am a descendant of the gods¡­¡± Malik calmed his breaths, pushed back against the terror. Focusing on the magic pulse at the heart of the world. Hish. He reached for the power, drawing the very breath of the gods themselves into his spirit. Malik took a step forward, daring the beast to make its move. He thrust out with his spear, and the jackal snarled. Vicious fangs flashed, but it kept its distance, waiting, evalutating. Blood seeped from the wound in its neck. Malik had come so close to the killing blow. He could not afford to make another mistake. With drew back his weapon and threw with all the hish he could muster. Threads of energy erupted behind the spear with the force of a war bow. The winged jackal sprang. The bonespear shot through the air with lightning speed. Straight into the beast¡¯s front shoulder. The world slowed, floating hulks of rock becoming a blur. Claws lashed out, scraping Malik¡¯s calf as he launched himself upward. Malik soared over the length of the creature¡¯s body, his jump reaching past human capabilities. Her landed behind the attacking beast and spun. The jackal¡¯s injured shoulder shuddered as it turned on him from the edge of the spire. Malik reached for hish with the focus of a striking serpent. The magic force collided with the winged jackal as it fought to regain its balance at the edge of the precipice. With a howl, it fell into the skies. Malik peered over the edge of the spire. The jackal expanded its primal wings¡ªthick webs of skin lining its chest that flashed outward¡ªand slowed its fall. Jackals didn¡¯t have the power of actual flight. They could only glide. At times, catch strong gales of wind to climb short distances. It would take the beast hours to return to this height, but it would not perish. And for this, Malik was grateful. The winged jackal was a sacred beast. One of four on the Isle of Faltara. And their deaths were not a cause for celebration. But to best one today, of all days, was a great honor. Malik had passed the first true test of his Ascension. It would not be the last. With deep breaths of relief and exultation, Malik watched as the winged jackal caught a draft and veered toward another mist-cloaked spire a few hundred yards across the expanse of sky. A pair of cloaks were halfway up the massive shard of rock. Two more of the eighteen young men and women from the island clans making their Ascent this day. Malik hoped the jackal would land far below them. But not too low either. For the lowest spire was fixed to the peak at the heart of the valley below, where all their families watched and waited. Through the mists, Malik could make out faint dots in the valley below. Wind rushed through his hair and the forces of the world tugged at his chest like heavy chains, drawing him down.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. He pushed back from the edge and rose to his feet. Above him, more spires jutted into the mists, some little more than boulders, others as large as an entire village. They hovered above the peak of the Mountain of Souls as though caught in some invisible web in the sky. And today, it was Malik¡¯s task to climb them. An Ascent could be made by several paths, all required climbing at least four of the larger floating shards of rock. It was the true test of Malik¡¯s people. A test that risked everything Every year, Faltari youth plummeted to their deaths, just as his Uncle Pender had. Just as¡­ Above, he glimpsed something dark shifting with the mists. Wings perhaps. But he couldn¡¯t be sure. The thought filled with fear and exhilaration. He was nearing the summit. A peal of laughter filled the skies and jolted him from his revery. Malik spun. A crimson-cloaked figure dropped from further up the spire. The boy drew up at the last moment and landed in a crouch on the ledge, softening his landing with a flourish of hish. The boy¡¯s forearm was tattooed with a dark set of bony wings. Dark paint streaked his cheeks, signifying the Dragyr clan. ¡°And here, I thought you might actually make the kill, Jorensein,¡± Aram Tulsein said on a derisive laugh. ¡°A damn shame. Thought you might show some spine after your brother¡¯s Fall. Some things just run in the bloody family, don¡¯t they?¡± Malik swallowed all the foul things he¡¯d like to say. A boy shouts back. A man lets words glance off him like wind. The shamanic mantra came unbidden. Drilled into his brain over the past two years. Guiding him. Chastening him. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you for being a coward,¡± Aram went on. ¡°One son is a fluke. But it¡¯d really be a bloody embarrassment if our own shaman lost both his sons to the Ascent, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Malik shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve got climbing to do, Aram.¡± He brushed past the boy and reached for holds on the face of the spire. He looked up. The ledge Aram had jumped from was his next target. A dark blur sailed over his head. Aram leapt back up the entire distance in one hish-fueled maneuver, landing on the next ledge with ease. Malik loathed the boy¡¯s talent. Typical Dragyr. All half-convinced they could pull off true flight. ¡°If that ledge were ten feet higher, he¡¯d be dead.¡± Malik turned at the familiar voice. Riese Torendeil clambered over the ledge, blonde hair pulled back in a series of tight braids, one side shaved to the skin. She flashed a smile and sauntered over to him. Three claws were tattooed on her left wrist, and she wore the dark gray cloak of the Jackal clan. ¡°Figured you¡¯d try to go it alone,¡± she said, clapping him on the shoulder. They¡¯d separated on an earlier spire, and he was relieved to see her. ¡°Best hope I leave some eggs up there for you!¡± Aram shouted down from the ledge above, then, he leapt again. ¡°That bastard¡¯ll be lucky if he don¡¯t take the never-ending Fall,¡± Riese murmured. ¡°Better him than us, ey?¡± Two years ago, Malik would have voiced his assent right alongside his friend. But he knew it wouldn¡¯t be proper of a future shaman. But Riese was right. Some would die today. Most of them promising young men and women with bright futures. Just like Derrin. Malik pushed the thought aside. Focus. It might not be worth dying to be the first to reach the summit. But Malik would be damned if he¡¯d be the last. ¡°Let¡¯s climb,¡± he said. *** Joren hung back at the edge of the crowd, murmuring prayers softly. Prayers his father had taught him since his youth. Prayers he¡¯d passed down to his daughter, and both his sons. The prayers of the Faltari shamans. ¡°Spirit of life. Spirit that dwells in my own spirit and that of my ancestors. Draw near to my son. Remind him of the power that dwells within him. In all things. May he remain calm and wise. May all those who Ascend brush against the glory of the gods. Whether they rise or fall.¡± Joren stood on a boulder, and released a thin stretch of blue cloth into the wind and watched it writhe with the currents like a feathered serpent. The breath of the gods drawing his prayer up into the heavens. Half the island was gathered in Kalengal Valley at the base of the spires. All donned the colors of their clans. All but Joren, who wore the colors of all four sacred beasts: winged jackal, sabercat, feathered serpent, and dragyr. Like all shamans. Like his son would wear, should he survive the ordeal. A warm presence drew near from behind. Joren knew Madri¡¯s aura from any distance. Her fingers interlaced with his own, and her warmth seeped into his spirit, pushing back against the autumn chill. Together they gazed silently up into the mists. The floating islands of stone were little more than blurred masses in the haze. But with his true sight, Joren sensed much more. Distant spirit resonances, slowly bearing themselves higher into the skies. Rising to the task before them, as Faltari youth did every year at the solstice. Madri knew better than to ask for a report, but the same could not always be said for the other parents of the Ascending. ¡°Please,¡± whispered a young mother named Pelesa of the Saber clan. ¡°Can you sense her?¡± Pelesa had stood dutifully at the base of the boulder, anxious for news of her eldest daughter¡¯s progress. This was not the first time she¡¯d pestered the shaman. The Ascent was as much a test for parents as it was a rite for their children. First-time parents were always the worst worriers at every stage of life. Joren did not avert his gaze from the spires, but Madri released his hand. Dimly, he could sense his wife comforting the young mother. He extended his true vision higher into the mists, beyond what his eyes could see. A sudden burst of clarity jolted him. He smiled dutifully. ¡°Aram Tulsein has passed through the summit,¡± he announced. Fervor spread over the valley in a great hum. ¡°That¡¯s my boy! Aha!¡± the boy¡¯s father shouted with unabashed pride. ¡°First Ascendant! Just like his brother!¡± How a man liked Tul Eriksein became elder of the Dragyr clan, Joren would never fully understand. But First Ascendant was always met with excitement, no matter who the climber. It brought hope for all the others. The valley filled with cheers. More resonances made their way higher. ¡°Ulgar Fenrisein has reached the summit,¡± Joren said. More cheers. It was rare to see a climber from the Feathered Serpents at the front of the pack. ¡°Leesa Rimadeil.¡± Over the next ten minutes, several more sons and daughters of the island reached the summit of the final Spire. ¡°Petyr Bromsein!¡± Another elder¡¯s son, which was always a relief. ¡°Therin Magnasein¡­ Lera Pelesadeil.¡± The young mother¡¯s gasp of relief brought joy to Joren¡¯s heart. And then, at last¡ª ¡°Riese Torendeil¡­ Malik Jorensein.¡± Madri and their daughter Sura both joined him again on the boulder. As more children reached the summit, the tension in the valley pressed on Joren¡¯s spirit, anxiety quickly crowding out the joy at the successful climbs¡­ Not a single child had Fallen, but it left little peace for the Faltari gathered in the valley. For they all knew that the Ascent was the easy part. 2 - Gate of the Ancients Malik¡¯s fingers ached as he heaved himself over the final ledge to the summit. Standing atop the world, his heart raged in his chest, but his spirit soared. For hours, his existence had consisted of nothing but the sharp stone beneath his fingers. Hardly daring to consider anything but the next series of holds and maneuvers to reach the next ledge, all stringing together a harrowing path up the face of the Spires. But now¡­ ¡°God¡¯s breath!¡± Riese murmured a short distance away. Standing upon a small boulder, she gazed out beyond the Spires. Malik scrambled over to her, and stepped up. All at once, the world spread out to eternity, stretching all the way to the horizon in all directions. Beyond the spine of mountains that formed the heart of the island. Beyond the glacial walls of ice, towering forests, sweeping green plains, and winding fjords. From here, the length and breadth of the entire Isle of Faltara reached all the way to the Dornin Sea, which shimmered at the horizon. It was the same sea Malik had seen from the shore all his life. He¡¯d known it was large, but from this height, he was reminded just how magnificent it was. His island was nothing but a spearhead of rock plunged into the ocean by the gods. Malik had never felt so small. A gust of wind swept over him, rushing through shaggy strands of hair, sending shivers down his arms and spine. Malik took one long, focused inhalation, taking it all in. The grandeur of the gods. Malik let loose a cry like the howl of a wolf. Riese¡¯s voice joined his own. A chorus of pure exhilaration. The only experience that came close was the triumph of Malik¡¯s first hunt. This was freedom¡ªa world without end, without clans, without tragedies and unwanted shamanic roles¡ªhere, at the top of the world. Well, not quite the top. The zenith of the final spire was about one hundred yards across, an expanse of rocks splayed out in shards, as though an ancient beast had pounded the surface of the floating mountain with giant mallets. The spire narrowed to a razor¡¯s edge ahead, as it made one last gradual ascent to the true peak. A flat stretch about ten yards across. And there, the Gate of the Ancients rose. A bony arch of stone wide enough for three men to walk with hands outstretched. A wisp of cloud brushed up against the interior of the archway, clouds stretching and vanishing into the center as though drawn into the heart of a whirlpool. ¡°Well, don¡¯t just stand around gawking!¡± Malik grinned at the familiar voice. Yuri Alwensein clambered over the top of the peak, chest heaving. He¡¯d taken a different route. The boy was stronger than Malik and Riese combined, but he was also approaching their combined weight, and on an Ascent, even strength could become a weakness, if paired with mass. Though Yuri would have found far less trouble with a winged jackal. He¡¯d survived an encounter with a sabercat in the icy north. Malik and Riese both pulled Yuri into an embrace once he¡¯d moved away from the edge of the spire. ¡°That¡¯s supposed to be the¡­ easy part?¡± Yuri asked, glancing back at the precipice and shaking his head. ¡°Mum said it¡¯s all a matter of perspective,¡± said Riese. ¡°Sections of the Ascent challenge us all in different ways. But hey, I¡¯m glad you caught up with us for the next section.¡± ¡°Yeah¡­ uh, me too,¡± Yuri said, his raspy words turning to a cough. He stooped over, hands on knees, and took in gaping breaths. ¡°You know, it¡¯s actually better to stand straight,¡± Riese said. ¡°Gets more¡­¡± ¡°Oh, go to the Abyss, Torendeil!¡± Yuri waved her off with a paw of a hand, grinning all the while. The Ascent was a complicated endeavor. All the climbers set out at once, and might help one another at various stages¡ªthe three of them had stuck together on the first spire¡ªbut ultimately, each youth was responsible for their own Ascent, and took the path which suited their own strengths. But all three of them had found one another for the next stage of their trial, as they had so many other times in their childhood. Before Malik¡¯s fate had changed. Malik took one last glance at the horizon. The sun had drifted behind a mass of clouds, but remained high in the sky. They were making good time. When he turned back, a blue-cloaked girl from the clan of the Feathered Serpents was scrambling over the edge. ¡°We should hurry,¡± Riese said. Yuri nodded, breaths still heavy.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Riese clapped the large boy on the back with a grin. ¡°You first on the Blade¡¯s Edge?¡± Yuri huffed and motioned for her to lead. Riese Torendeil moved lithely on strong and sure limbs as she maneuvered between boulders on the uneven terrain toward the last challenge on this side of the Gate. Malik followed, and Yuri brought up the rear. When Riese reached the razor-thin span of rock known as the Blade¡¯s Edge, she paused. It was only about fifteen or twenty feet across, with a gradual rise, but the rock was too narrow to stand with both feet planted. Riese studied the Blade for all of three seconds, and stepped forward, holding her arms out for balance, gingerly twisting her lower body to accommodate each footstep, soft pulses of hish offered added stability. It was over in seconds. Riese turned around and grinned. ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Yuri said. ¡°Show off,¡± Malik said. ¡°Just go quick. It¡¯s actually not that bad. Like walking a string of stones across a creek or something.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± said Yuri, ¡°at the edge of a damn waterfall.¡± Malik was tempted to take in the height on both sides, but caught himself. It was no different than any other maneuver on this climb. One rock to the next. He drew one long inhalation and slowly released it. One step. And then another. That¡¯s all any journey is, he recited in his mind. For how much he¡¯d resented his shaman training these past two years, his father¡¯s words had provided surprising encouragement during this ordeal. He focused on the next stretch of rock, and stepped out, planting the ball of his right foot. The Blade was so narrow, he could not place his entire boot on it. Malik didn¡¯t pause. Once he was sure his foot was set, he shifted his hips slightly and brought his left foot forward. No rock crumbled or shifted. The Blade was firm beneath his feet. Perhaps even more solid than all the previous steps on the peak. He took another step. Then another. Riese was right. If not for the height, this was just walking across stones. Or the trunk of a felled tree. He¡¯d crossed such terrain countless times. Malik drew on hish, using traces of magic to steady his balance. In the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse of clouds, swelling around the edge of the peak. ¡°Almost there,¡± Riese said. Malik¡¯s focus narrowed to the next step. Two more. And Riese pulled him to the safety of the true peak. His heart thundered in his chest as he dared a look down, and found himself laughing at the absurdity. It was a four thousand foot drop on either side to the lush valley below. ¡°Well, shit, Jorensein! Look at that, you didn¡¯t die!¡± Malik turned to find Aram Tulsein emerging from the Gate of the Ancients, hands on the straps of his rucksack, a cocky grin stretching wide. Riese and Malik both scowled, until they noticed the lump in Aram¡¯s pack. Aram had found his prize on the other side of the Gate. Malik glanced back at Yuri, who was nervously examining the path across the Blade. ¡°This is bloody stupid,¡± Yuri muttered as he dropped to the ground and began the slower, but safer route, straddling the Blade with both legs, and shimmying across. ¡°Oh gods!¡± Aram groaned. ¡°Let me cross first, if you¡¯re going like that.¡± Yuri huffed. ¡°Go to the Abyss, Tulsein!¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m the one who should worry about that.¡± Aram chuckled at his own joke. ¡°We were here first,¡± Malik said. ¡°And besides, you got plenty of time.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Aram beamed proudly, pulling his rucksack a little tighter against his shoulders. ¡°First Ascent. First prize. And I¡¯ll be the first to the bottom too.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll see about that!¡± Blue-cloaked Ulgar Fenrisein emerged from the Gate, as though stepping from the other side of a waterfall. One moment, there was only the expanse of sky behind the stone archway. The next, Ulgar was walking toward them, his own pack weighed down by the precious cargo within. Aram¡¯s eyes flashed. Without another word, he sprinted toward the Blade and leapt. Though invisible to the naked eye, Malik sensed the rush of hish as the boy powered his superhuman leap over his friend¡¯s head. Yuri howled. ¡°Watch it!¡± Halfway across the Blade, he hugged the mountain fiercely. Malik and Riese both drew sharp breaths. But Aram landed safely on the other side of the Blade, turned and waved. ¡°Have fun sitting around, Ulgar!¡± And with that, Aram took off, leaping between boulders as he crossed the peak. Ulgar was tall and built, not quite stocky, but all muscle. A fisherman¡¯s son. He paused at the edge of the Blade, clapping his knee irritably. ¡°Hurry up, Yuri! Come on! Come on!¡± Yuri pulled himself forward. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about jumping over me.¡± Ulgar groaned. ¡°I wanna win. I don¡¯t have a death wish.¡± ¡°Come on, Yuri, ¡± Riese said. ¡°You¡¯re almost there.¡± Yuri did not take his eyes off the Blade in front of him, pulling in deep breaths between each maneuver. When he got close enough, Malik and Riese both reached for his hands and pulled him to the safe expanse of the true peak. ¡°Good work,¡± Malik said. ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Without a word in parting, Ulgar set off the other way across the Blade. ¡°Come on,¡± Riese said. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving.¡± The three of them crossed the strangely flat peak and stopped just outside the archway. Only from this distance could Malik detect what lay within the span of the Gate. A thin membrane, almost like water stretched the entire space. Malik could still see through to the cloudy skies on the other side, though the view was distorted. Darker. Riese reached out and brushed her hand through the expanse. They all gasped as her fingers vanished from the second knuckle, and then reappeared when she withdrew her hand. She examined her fingers closely, grinning. All in tact. ¡°Incredible!¡± ¡°What do you think it is?¡± Yuri murmured. Malik knew. With his shaman training, he could sense it. ¡°Some sort of concentration of hish. My father says the Ancients had a way of harnessing it into something physical.¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re the future shaman,¡± Yuri said with a shake of his head. Malik nodded, though as always, something about the statement sent a sinking feeling deep through his gut. Riese glanced back. A queue had formed at the Blade now as three more climbers began their crossing. ¡°Okay, enough analysis, boys. Let¡¯s go get our eggs.¡± Riese stepped into the archway. There was a brief moment when her entire body seemed to linger, like a rippled reflection in water, and then, she was gone. Malik didn¡¯t wait another second. He stepped into the Gate of the Ancients. *** Joren drew a long breath as his son¡¯s spiritual resonance vanished from his sense. It had been nearly three decades since Joren¡¯s own Ascent. He had never returned, as was custom, even for a shaman. The Ascent was a once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage. Joren released his breath, whispering one last prayer. No cloths were released this time. This was a prayer only for himself. For his last living son. As Malik entered the realm that had stolen the life of his brother. 3 - The Other Side A dark plain stretched to the horizon, walled on either side by jagged black peaks. Like the stone at the top of the spire, the rocky ground looked like it had been crushed and churned by ancient beasts. For all Malik knew, that was the best explanation. A chill ran down Malik¡¯s spine, though the air remained utterly still. But what frightened him most was the absence he felt in his spirit. ¡°Should it feel so cold?¡± Yuri asked aloud. It was not dark like the night. Though there was nothing resembling true light either. A permanent dusky grey dimness permeated the world, emanating from no visible source that Malik could tell. There was no sun, no moon or stars. ¡°It¡¯s not cold,¡± Riese said. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ another force.¡± ¡°Your senses are trying to sort out the difference,¡± Malik said. ¡°Between our world and this.¡± His father had offered few instructions about the world beyond the Gate. All his life he¡¯d heard about this place, but always in vague terms. Like tragic storms, something that changed them forever, and something they did not wish to think on any more than they must. ¡°We¡¯re in the Abyss now,¡± Malik said. ¡°There is no hish here.¡± Yuri shuddered. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± Riese asked. ¡°Go on and try accessing it,¡± Malik said. ¡°You won¡¯t find any power to draw on. Not here.¡± Riese closed her eyes and focused. Her fair skin looked strangely corpse-like in the perpetual gloaming that haunted the underworld. When Riese opened her eyes, she caught Malik¡¯s gaze and nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right, but¡­ there¡¯s something here,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t feel anything,¡± said Yuri. Malik felt nothing either, but he nodded at Riese. ¡°Another power rules this world, my father says. Don¡¯t try to access it.¡± ¡°Guys,¡± said Yuri, glancing back at the portal, about one hundred yards behind them. The archway looked just as it had in their own world. The watery center rippled as two more climbers stepped through. Riese pointed toward a worn path up a rise of dark scree. The silhouette of bony wings flashed against the starless, cloudless sky, sending shivers down Malik¡¯s spine. He had never fought the strange dragyrs that lived in both their world and dead one they¡¯d fled. ¡°Guess we know where we¡¯re headed,¡± Riese said. ¡°Should we split up?¡± Yuri asked. Malik shook his head. ¡°There will be eggs for all of us.¡± ¡°We made it this far,¡± Riese said. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not gonna fight to be the loner again,¡± Yuri said. At that, all three of them laughed, and began their final Ascent. The path wended steeply up the foothills of the dark range of mountains. Ancient steps had been formed over the steepest places. Though it was nothing like the climb up the spires, Malik¡¯s breaths grew heavy fast without hish to lighten the load, as though stones were being slowly added to his pack as he climbed. Malik glimpsed more wings in the distant sky, and a ferocious flapping echoed from somewhere above. He wished he hadn¡¯t lost his spear in the ordeal with the jackal. Yuri and Riese drew their spears at the sound of the dragyr, though the creature banked and disappeared from sight. Malik wondered if the creatures had to work harder here as well. He¡¯d only ever seen dragyrs from a great distance. He¡¯d been ready to face one at the top of the spires, but it seemed they¡¯d all retreated to their breeding grounds in the Abyss as the first climbers summited. Malik wasn¡¯t sure if it was better to face them first or not. Once the dragyr disappeared from sight, the world grew so still, Malik could hear individual stones grinding with their footfalls. At last, they reached a ledge, which led to a narrow canyon between much larger peaks. The ground was still littered with loose scree, but it was easier going on even ground. They¡¯d encountered no other climbers, though Malik knew there were several of their peers ahead of them. The canyon wended through the mountain for another hundred yards before they approached an opening. Malik longed for his connection to the heart of the world. On the island, he might have felt the resonances of the dragyrs. Or the other climbers. Here in the Abyss, all he had was his human senses. And his friends. Bonespears at the ready, Riese and Yuri crept toward the opening, treading as softly as they were able. Malik took slow, deliberate breaths. All battles are fought first in the mind, with or without magic. His father¡¯s wisdom came unbidden. For so many years, the mantras had been drilled into his mind. After his brother¡¯s death, all the more¡ªonce it was clear Malik would be the succeeding shaman of the island, whether he wanted it or not. There were times he resented the words.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. But now, they brought him courage. And focus. The canyon opened into a narrow mountain valley. Lone pillars of stone jutted into the air, the sides strangely smooth. Random blades of rock jutted upward. It was not until Malik spotted the remains of a tower, complete with balcony and arrow slits up one side, that he understood just what he was looking at. A dragyr was perched on the balcony railing, long black neck craned. The smaller kin of dragons eyed them as they approached, but remained statue-still. ¡°God¡¯s breath,¡± Yuri muttered as they neared the tower. ¡°This was a damn fortress,¡± Riese said. ¡°Like they got in the Attican Empire?¡± ¡°It was a city,¡± said Malik. The ruins filled the entire valley, reminding him of the innermost crypts on his own island. An entire ancient burial chamber that had belonged to the First Ancestors of the island. An underground lake of bones. And this was what they had fled. His father had warned him not let his mind linger on the implications of this place. ¡°There will be time after a safe Descent.¡± A sharp cry resounded in the distance. Wings flapped hard somewhere out of sight. A warrior groaned. Malik steeled himself, hand hovering at the hilt of his dagger¡ªhis last remaining weapon¡ªthough the skies above them remained clear. The dragyr perched on the central tower gazed out over the city, neck rotating. Some sort of sentinel. The creature periodically let out a piercing shriek, but remained where it stood. Watching. Even in the ruins, the remnants of ancient roads were still evident. The city was set in a grid-like pattern, branching evenly from one main thoroughfare. The main stretch of road was wide open and led to the tower in the heart of the city. They strode silently, their footfalls muffled, as though sound worked differently in this world. More cries echoed from somewhere up ahead. Flesh tearing. A weapon scraping against talons or teeth. Some Ascendant pitched in a desperate battle. Gravel grinding beneath boots. Moving fast. Malik motioned the others toward a narrow lane littered with debris. ¡°Here! Quick!¡± Riese didn¡¯t hesitate, but Yuri stared up the main road. ¡°Come on!¡± Malik hissed. Riese and Malik both latched on to large arms and pulled their friend off the main thoroughfare. Just before they retreated out of sight, Malik glimpsed a boy up near the tower, emerging from another lane. At a desperate run. Sharp cries echoed all across the ruined city. The three ducked behind an enormous chunk of crumbled building. Wings rushed somewhere overhead. The boy sprinted into view, golden cloak billowing behind him. Malik recognized him as the son of Saber clan¡¯s elder, a boy named Petyr Bromsein. A dragyr shot after him. Just before he passed out of sight, Petyr stumbled. And the creature dove. The boy¡¯s cries echoed across the city as the dragyr slashed his back with long talons. The beast failed to latch on to him, though, and shot past. Then, another dragyr shot from the other direction and swooped down for another attack. Petyr spun, mouth twisted in terror, barely managing to deflect the creature with a manic slash of his bonespear. The creature soared past, banking for another attack. Malik turned to the others. ¡°We can¡¯t leave him.¡± Riese hesitated. ¡°There may be more. This could kill our chances.¡± ¡°And he will be dead.¡± ¡°That¡¯s your father talking,¡± Yuri said. ¡°This is our Ascent, for god¡¯s sakes!¡± The first creature swooped down, talons slashing the boy¡¯s arm, ripping his shirt to threads. Malik turned from his friends, and drew his dagger. Unlike his spear it was Kirithian steel. A gift from his brother the year before he died in this place. ¡°You two do what you have to. So must I.¡± Riese sighed. ¡°Dammit. At least use a weapon fitting the task.¡± She handed him her bonespear, and pulled her pale hunting bow from her back. Yuri moaned. ¡°Maybe I should¡¯ve gone solo after all.¡± Malik took one focused breath. Even the air in this world felt different, as though he were drawing less sustenance from it. A sharp cry echoed. Riese brushed past him, nocking an arrow to her pale hunting bow. ¡°Now!¡± They sprinted from behind their cover. Riese¡¯s arrow struck the attacking creature in the wing. Just before it reached the Sabertooth boy, the dragyr veered, though it remained in flight. The next attacked. Malik leapt in front of Petyr, and jutted Riese¡¯s spear upward. Talons slashed. He thrust, and his spearhead lodged in the creature¡¯s leathery chest, wrenching the handle from his grasp. The dragyr swept upward, then, dropped. Yuri¡¯s spear pierced it through the throat, and it collapsed onto the ruined street. Petyr regained his feet in time to meet the second creature. Riese fired off a pair of arrows. One glancing off its spine, the other lodging in its shoulder, where the left wing met its body. It lurched upward, flapping furiously. The arrow crunched and went flying. Petyr ducked the attack, and the creature disappeared over a rooftop. Malik and Yuri sprinted over to the fallen dragyr. The dark winged creature was about ten feet in length, skin like a dark lizard. Eyes empty. It didn¡¯t move as they neared, and dark blood gushed over the stone. Yuri removed his spear, still in tact, from the dragyr¡¯s neck with a disgusting splucking sound. And quickly turned to the sky. But the second creature seemed to have had enough for the moment. Riese helped Petyr to his feet. Malik¡¯s spear was snapped in half, the blade lodged deep between two of the creature¡¯s ribs. It took some wrenching, and some assistance from Yuri, but he managed to free it. ¡°Sorry,¡± he said to Riese. She shrugged. ¡°Keep it.¡± Malik was left with a rudimentary axe-like weapon. With this, plus the dagger on his hip, he hoped it would be enough. He stowed the remnant weapon on his back once more and turned to Petyr. The boy¡¯s shirt was tattered, right arm dripping blood. ¡°May I?¡± he asked, gesturing to the wound. Petyr nodded, and Malik took hold of the boy¡¯s wrist, examining the extent of the damage. The wound was deep, but the flow of blood seemed to be slowing. Riese took hold of this sleeve, and Petyr instantly tensed. ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Malik said. ¡°Just don¡¯t move,¡± Riese said. Carefully, she slipped her hunting blade into the fabric of the boy¡¯s sleeve near the shoulder, gripping the shirt tightly, drawing it against the bonedagger. Jackal bone was remarkably strong, and Riese was always one to tend well to her tools. The fabric peeled away from his arm in one long cut, and Riese removed it. She grunted as she ripped into the fabric again. When she finished, she handed Malik a thin ribbon over a foot in length. Malik tied the cloth tight¡ªbut not too tight¡ªabove the wound. Riese handed him a second piece of sleeve that hadn¡¯t already been bloodied, and he wrapped the arm as best he could. Petyr flexed his hand, wincing slightly. ¡°Think I can still climb down the spires?¡± ¡°Just need to get out of this place,¡± Malik said. ¡°Your body will take it from there. Just don¡¯t start down too quick. Make sure you¡¯ve healed.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Petyr said, rising to his feet. He shifted his pack on his shoulders. Malik could make out the rotund shape of what lay inside. ¡°Guys,¡± Yuri said, eyes on the bleak skies. ¡°We need to go.¡± The Saber boy gripped Malik¡¯s wrist. ¡°Two streets back from the tower, shaman. Turn left. Go three more streets. Turn right. There¡¯s an entrance with six huge pillars. There¡¯s more of them in there. Up the stairs. Just don¡¯t look the faces in the eye.¡± A cry echoed across the dead city. ¡°Thanks,¡± Malik said. ¡°Er, what faces?¡± But Petyr was already hurrying away, staggering across shards of black stone. 4 - Temple of a Dead World The resonances of young men and women flowed in and out of Joren¡¯s awareness, as they passed through the Gate of the Ancients. Each one a distant flame in Joren¡¯s sense, winking out as they left their world, like candles in the wind. Beyond, they were invisible to the shaman¡¯s spiritual sight, until the climbers returned from that dead place, and their resonances roared back with the fervor of full life. For a moment, their spirits burned even brighter, having tasted true darkness¡ªthe absence of the breath of the gods. Every Faltari adult gathered in the valley had once walked the same path. Out of their living, breathing vibrant island world, and into the bones of a distant past. It was their rite of passage. A pilgrimage to remember where they¡¯d come, so that they might lead their people into better future. Three climbers fell during Joren¡¯s own Ascent. Two lost in the Abyss itself. One on the climb back down. The children did not always return in the same order they entered, for many reasons, that need not mean death. But when Therin Magnasein and Lera Pelesadeil returned before Petyr Bromsein, his mother refused to leave Joren¡¯s side. Madri tried to console her, but Petyr¡¯s mother clambered up the boulder and would not leave. She stood beside Joren, waiting for her shaman to deliver her son¡¯s fate. Joren opened his eyes and turned. Her greying blonde hair whipped around her face. He clasped her shoulder and smiled. ¡°Your son has returned from the Abyss.¡± ¡°Oh, thank the gods,¡± she murmured, hand leaping to cover her mouth. Joy and fear coalesced into a sob, and then, relieved laughter. Joren nodded to her. As she made her way from the boulder, he returned his focus to the Gate of the Ancients. Two more resonances followed soon after Petyr. Leesa Rimadeil. Then a pair of Feathered Serpent youths. They had followed Malik and his companions through the Gate. But they returned first. And all at once, he felt the same fear as Peter¡¯s mother. He doubted anyone would have guessed it looking at him, but Joren¡¯s heart wrung inside him, and he fought the urge to clutch his chest. He did not pray, now. For the only gods that might reside in that dark shell of a world had fallen long ago. And they¡¯d already stolen one son from him. *** Malik followed Yuri past the pillars Petyr had described, through a crumbling antechamber, and they entered a series of wide corridors. The halls in this place were vast and lined with statues. Entire walls were engraved with elaborate figures, etched in filigree. Malik was immediately struck by the light in this place. Just as it was outside, this building contained no visible light source¡ªno lanterns or torches¡ªthe same dusky light permeated these halls. Despite the convenience, the uncanniness of it left Malik with a creeping sense of dread. ¡°We need to be quick,¡± Riese said. ¡°There must be some sort of central chamber.¡± ¡°What is this place?¡± asked Yuri. ¡°I think it¡¯s a temple,¡± said Malik, his eyes settling on a towering figure on one of the walls. They were shrouded in wispy tendrils of shadow, hovering in the air before what appeared to be a great crowd. The three fanned out down the main hall, investigating smaller corridors and doorways, picking their way over fallen shards of stone. There were slits high in the towering ceilings, but Malik felt that it did not account for the strikingly consistent lighting. There are no shadows, Malik realized. He kept his half-spear out in front of him. It was so quiet, he could hear his companions breathing from halfway down the chamber. The halls bore no smell that Malik could detect either. As the shaman¡¯s son, he had journeyed through the musty burial halls beneath the Mountain of Souls. Perhaps this temple was so old, it had lost all sense of life. Though damaged, the place retained remarkable detail. Walls were carved with a precision beyond the capability of any tools found on the Isle of Faltara. Though Malik was aware that there were things his people forsook by choice. There were more advanced civilizations in distant lands, but the sheer magnificence of these ruins was made all the more apparent up close. Entire columns formed out of what appeared to be one massive stone, complex patterns etched deep. Figures¡ªhuman and full-grown dragons, along with other strange beasts he didn¡¯t recognize¡ªarrayed in lines and crowds. Ships sailing across skies. Creatures gathered around bursts of light.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! It was an ancient civilization at the peak of its might and power. The past holds many warnings, his father had taught him, or temptations, depending on your disposition. ¡°Up here,¡± Riese whispered. Malik retreated back the way he¡¯d come. Riese motioned from the end of the main corridor. Yuri caught up quickly, and they followed her to the end of another hall. The three of them formed up at a doorway about the height of two men, lined with a pair of dragon statues. Prismatic light poured out from the doorway, far brighter than anywhere else in the temple. They entered a vast circular hall with a dome towering over a dais at the center. Walkways radiated out from the dais with rows of benched seats in between. The chamber was nearly the size of a village, several thousand feet across at least, and the peak of the dome must have been two hundred feet high or more. The peak of the dome itself opened up to the grey skies beyond, an enormous window at least twenty feet across. But that was not the source of the strange multi-colored light that filled the temple. At the center of the dais, the focal point of the worship chamber was a wide bowl of shimmering stone. It was set high enough that Malik could not see what lay inside. But all three of them knew. The bowl itself bore the same shape, and glowed with a fierce effervescence. ¡°Holy shit.¡± Malik and Riese both jumped at Yuri¡¯s sharp whisper. ¡°God¡¯s breath!¡± Riese muttered. ¡°You ass.¡± The large boy laughed. ¡°Sorry. Just never imagined anything like this when my parents spoke about their Ascents.¡± Malik glanced around the chamber, but it was utterly still. No wind from the windows, not even the distant cries of dragyrs, elsewhere in the city. Riese led the way down one of the aisles, and Malik and Yuri followed. Nothing stirred as they made their way across the expansive hall. Malik marveled at how preserved the room was. Unlike the outer corridors, there was hardly any damage to the stonework. No cracked pillars, or crumbling doorways, not even any dust. Which seemed impossible with an open window to the skies. The dome itself was impeccable, painted in gold and silver. Malik felt as though a procession of worshippers might file into the hall at any moment. A circle of four steps wrapped around the circumference of the shimmering dais. The chamber echoed back the patter of each footfall as they approached. Four intricately carved pillars encircled the dais, reaching all the way up to the rim of the dome. But Malik¡¯s gaze was drawn straight to the bowl, which was even more radiant up close. The half-shell was formed of tiny colorful tiles of stone, like scales, intricately etched with the forms of dragons in flight. It was the most incredible work of art Malik had ever seen. Not that there was much on the Isle of Faltara. The bowl spanned roughly fifteen feet across, set upon a platform of white marble. Two sets of short white steps extended on either end of the shell. Immediately, Yuri began climbing one. Riese motioned for Malik to take the other. Malik nodded to her, and took the final steps of his Ascent. His heart pounded against his ribcage. He¡¯d been so focused on the logistics of the climb, he¡¯d hardly let himself picture the prize at the end. Of course, he¡¯d seen the ancient dragon eggs once a year throughout his childhood, as he witnessed the Ascension ceremonies of generations before him. But it was always from a distance. As his eyes crested the edge of the bowl, he drew a sharp breath. Within, there were at least fifty eggs the size of a human head. Each shell contained hundreds of tiny scales, like the hide of a sand serpent, and each scale contained gradient shades of blues and greens and purples and reds. The eggs shone with an otherworldly radiance that was brilliant, but never blinding. The only thing Malik could liken it to was the pearls sometimes retrieved from oysters in the tidal pools surrounding the island. Malik glanced up once to find Yuri grinning as he reached for a violet egg. Malik glanced from egg to egg before settling on an emerald one just out of reach. He hefted himself over the lip of the bowl and stretched out his fingers. The scales themselves were so fine at the surface, the ridges felt like little more than creases of skin, and though cool to the touch, Malik was overwhelmed with a sense of warmth. It was something spiritual, the way he felt when he drew on the breath of the gods back in his world. Since arriving in the Abyss, he¡¯d not felt it. But within the hallowed shell of this egg, the power of the gods remained. The egg itself weighed only a few pounds, far lighter than any stone of comparable size, though the shell felt as sturdy as the hardest stone. Yuri had already retreated back to the dais, and Riese stood across the bowl, reaching out for her own dragon egg. A dark crimson one with nearly black undertones. Malik pulled the rucksack from his shoulders, wrapped the egg in a shirt he¡¯d brought along, and stowed it inside. The moment his fingers released it, a chill coursed over him. The absence of hish once more. He eased the pack back onto his shoulders and stepped back down to the dais. As he turned around, he found Yuri staring up at one of the pillars surrounding them. He¡¯d taken little note of the pillars when they arrived. At first glance they had appeared to be more of the same designs as the rest of the temple¡ªsmooth stone etched with a lighter colored filigree. But now, there were faces engraved up and down the columns. Men and women, all sleeping or praying, eyes shut. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Riese hissed, tugging on Yuri¡¯s arm. ¡°Petyr said don¡¯t look at them, remember?¡± Yuri did not take his gaze away from a woman¡¯s face at eye level. Transfixed, he took a step toward the face. Malik couldn¡¯t help himself. He followed his friend¡¯s gaze. The woman was beautiful. So life-like. Lips full. And her eyes¡ª They fluttered. Then, spread wide. 5 - Dont Look A chill shot through him, but Malik could not look away from the woman¡¯s face. She had been rendered with unfathomable realism. Smooth skin drawn over high cheekbones and a rigid jaw. Full lips pursed as though they¡¯d just released a breath. Radiant eyes formed of intricate milky-colored stone. The faces had always been on the pillars, Malik realized, an ancient spiritual understanding washing over him. They had just not been ready to see. The woman¡¯s eyes had always been open. For this world was not dead at all. Filled with a magnificent spiritual power. Something entirely unlike the power he¡¯d known all his life. And yet, not so different from hish at all. And though he knew, dimly, that he ought not to continue looking, Malik could not bring himself to look away. As though he¡¯d fallen asleep and slipped instantly into the flow of a dream. The woman¡¯s face began to transform, grey stone permeating with color. The lighter filigree somehow expanding over the features of the woman¡¯s face, brushing over her skin like strokes of paint. Her skin turned pearlescent. A gradient of a thousand hues. Cheeks radiant. Her lips parted. Drew breath. Eyes blinked and shifted, taking in the room. Then, met Malik¡¯s gaze. A smile stretched her lips, and Malik felt warm inside. The face felt familiar, though he couldn¡¯t place it exactly. Another face shifted above her, and Malik¡¯s chest seized as his attention was drawn upward. It was the engraving of a young man with chiseled features and sad, dark eyes. Also familiar, but this time, Malik knew precisely why. Derrin Jorensein had never completed his Ascent, and now, Malik knew why. His brother¡¯s stony eyes grew wide, shifting sharply to the side. Malik followed his gaze, and an ache surged deep in his spirit. In one of the seats beyond the dais, a corpse in late stages of decay was propped up, mouth gaping in an endless scream. Malik¡¯s entire body went numb. He knew it was his brother¡¯s body, and beyond it, in seats further back in the room, he spotted more. Dozens. Hundreds. How had they not seen them when they¡¯d entered? Or smelled them? Malik¡¯s eyes drifted back to the stone visage of his brother in the pillar. Their eyes locked. Dark pupils widened over stark white eyes, staring straight through him. The pupils shifted. Darkness spread over the entire eye and then drifted away from the statued face entirely. Tendrils of shifting darkness slithered from his brother¡¯s face like spiders reaching out to envelop their prey. Malik jolted backward. His head thudded against the stone. A hand dragged him back. ¡°Come on, Malik!¡± Riese¡¯s voice. He jolted from his revery. Riese was dragging both him and Yuri back from the pillar. Malik scrambled to his feet, dread shooting through him, suddenly aware of the incredible danger. He heaved at Yuri, and the boy turned over, trembling. Malik and Riese grabbed on to Yuri¡¯s arms and pulled, and together, the three staggered off the dais, tumbled down the steps into one of the temple aisles. Webs of darkness wrapped around the pillars. The stone faces had vanished from the stone, but a lone, hovering figure clothed in slithering shadow reached toward Malik. Free of its snare, Malik understood now that it was not his brother at all. It was a malicious spirit. A wight. Riese seized his wrist and pulled, jerking his gaze away. ¡°Don¡¯t look back!¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The three sprinted down the aisle as fast as they could manage. Voices filled the temple behind them. Dozens. Hundreds. Chanting something in a foreign tongue Malik did not recognize. Impossibly, he could distinguish one distinct timbre among them. His brother¡¯s voice echoed in his skull, the same way he haunted Malik¡¯s dreams. Rage. Sorrow. Jealousy. Despair. Resentment. All the twisted emotions associated with his fallen brother surged to the surface of his mind. Derrin, his father¡¯s favorite. The next shaman. The kind and patient and steadfast one. And weak! Malik hated himself for that thought the moment it came. But it was no less true. All his elder brother¡¯s roles suddenly fell to Malik. The restless boy who, until two years ago, would never have shied away from fights with arrogant pricks like Aram Tulsein. Who was made for adventures like the Ascent in a way his brother never was. He jolted back into the moment. Pushing back against the intruding thoughts. You¡¯re made for this! You can get out of here! These were not his father¡¯s words. They were his own. This was his test. Not Derrin¡¯s. Not his father¡¯s. They¡¯d nearly reached the halfway point across the enormous chamber, where a wide aisle ringed the entire hall. They¡¯d followed the path they¡¯d come from. But Malik knew that was not the shortest path out of this temple. In the corner of his vision, he saw shadowy figures shooting from the dais. Malik pointed to another aisle, as they neared the central ring. ¡°Over there!¡± Heart racing, Malik led the way along a new path through the worship chamber. Riese was the fastest of the three and reached the door first. She heaved at the stone handle, and it groaned. Malik reached next, and pulled with all his might. It shifted again, but did not open. The first wight shot toward them, a blade of shadow formed in its wispy hand. Yuri huffed to catch them. And Malik knew his friend wasn¡¯t going to make it. Malik let go of the door and drew his brother¡¯s dagger from his belt. He ran back toward Yuri, blade raised high. Yuri¡¯s mouth gaped, confused, but he lumbered past. Malik swept dagger and met the shadow blade. There was a sharp scraping sound as their weapons met. The wight spun away and veered back for another attack. The next creature dove, and this time, Malik didn¡¯t go for the blade. He drove the dagger straight into the wight¡¯s torso. As the tip of the blade met the creature¡¯s ethereal form, a chill shot down the hilt. The dagger disintegrated in his hands. The wight vanished. Riese pulled him to his feet. Yuri had shoved the door wide enough for them to squeeze through. More wights shot across the vast haul, shrill cries echoing off the high ceilings. The three hurried out of the main temple and emerged back in the antechamber. Shrieks echoed behind them as they spilled out of the doors and hurried down the stairs onto the ruined street. Yuri tripped, tumbling down the final steps. Malik and Riese helped him back to his feet. No wights emerged from the temple. They waited, bracing for the ghastly monstrosities to pour out of the stone of the front staircase. But they did not follow. Far in the distance, a dragyr soared over the city, its back to them, and passed out of sight. A burst of laughter broke the silence. Riese covered her mouth, and then giggled again. Relief flooded over them, and all three of them laughed. Malik instinctively felt at the lump in his pack, suddenly worried his prize might have slipped out during their flight form the temple. They each had what they¡¯d come for. ¡°I don¡¯t know about you guys,¡± Yuri said. ¡°I always heard cities were beautiful from the trader¡¯s tales. But I think they were all full of shit.¡± Malik grinned. ¡°Let¡¯s get home,¡± Riese said. They hurried through the ruined streets of the dead city, and made for the Gate of the Ancients once more. *** Dark clouds poured over the mountains, shrouding the upper spires entirely in muted light, though it was still the middle of the day. Gusts of wind tore across the valley. Fewer parents asked Joren for news of their children¡¯s fates. Most retreated for the cover of the forest at the edge of the valley. Most of the climbers had begun their descent. The leader, Aram Tulsein, was already halfway down the penultimate spire. Everyone in the valley knew it. They could spot his crimson cloak even from this distance. Several more resonances were making their way down, somewhere in the clouds. So far, not a single climber had fallen. But had any been lost in the Abyss? It was still too early to tell. Madri and Surel remained close. Joren could feel the tension in their minds, fear pressing in like a spiritual weight. And the shaman felt that weight pulling against the barriers of his own mind, picking away brick by brick. He fought to focus on the resonances of the other climbers. Fought to push back the memories that encroached on his mind. It was like his family was cursed. First, his younger brother. And then, his eldest son. And now¡­ There was nothing that could be done. Madri¡¯s hand grasped his as he stood on the boulder, looking up at the Spires. He closed his eyes. His body relaxed. Tension evaporated. And all at once, relief replaced the fear. A warm and unmistakable awareness swept over his senses. Joren choked back a sob and squeezed his wife¡¯s hand back. ¡°They made it out!¡± ¡°Oh, thank the gods,¡± Madri whispered, a sob catching in her throat. Surel hugged them both. Joren opened his eyes, gazing up into the dark clouds sweeping over the spires. ¡°Be wise, my son,¡± he whispered. ¡°This is your greatest test.¡± 6 - Descent When they emerged from the Gate of the Ancients, Malik was overwhelmed with sensations. Wind howled across the peak, rushing up from the sky canyons formed between spires below. Icy rain whipped at his face, drenching his cloak in an instant. There were no other climbers in sight. Back in the Abyss, they¡¯d heard at least two other climbers fighting dragyrs in the ruined city as they fled the temple. So they weren¡¯t the last, but Malik had a feeling they were in the back of the pack. Squinting against the wind and rain, they carefully picked their way down to the Blade¡¯s Edge. Malik and Riese followed Yuri¡¯s method of straddling the narrow span of rock and shimmying across. The wind stung Malik¡¯s face as he crossed the spine of rock, and his slick hands could barely feel their grip they were so cold. He¡¯d hoped to wait back on this side of the Gate to refresh his inner store of hish after a couple of hours of depletion in the Abyss. But with a storm bearing down, they all feared getting stranded up high, if conditions turned worse. So, Malik suffered the numbness and waited for his spirit to replenish. The expanse on either side of the Blade seemed to pull at him, luring him to look out at the expanse to the valley far below. But when he glanced over once, the world below was entirely shrouded in churning clouds, and the fear dissipated. Riese pulled him up as he reached the other side of the Blade. They scrambled over boulders to the edge of the upper spire. This side was slightly lower and sheltered, and all at once, the wind stilled. Splintered rays of light peered through cracks in the sky. The rain softened to a fine mist. ¡°Maybe not so bad after all,¡± Yuri said, blowing on his hands. ¡°Weather is weird up here,¡± said Riese. ¡°It could turn back just as sudden. Whatever you do, keep moving.¡± ¡°But be safe,¡± Malik cautioned. ¡°Better to be last than dead.¡± The other two nodded, knowing that no one understood this imperative more than Malik. They peered over the side of the peak. The upper spire was manageable enough to face forward at the outset, but Malik knew it would soon fall away to veritable cliffs in sections. Malik spotted a golden cloak near the base. Maybe they weren¡¯t falling as far behind as he¡¯d feared. The dome of clouds that hovered gave the impression they were alone on an island in the infinite sky. But in reality, they were four spires away from their family, their people. And most of their peers were close. Still, the Ascent, in the end, was their own to accomplish. Riese led the way down, then Malik and Yuri. The upper section was nothing but rock, and the face of the mountains was much more stark than the lower spires, which were strung with more vines and other vegetation. Down climbing proved manageable at first, especially as Malik began fortifying his movements with hish, now that hisinner source was replenishing. With subtle surges, he pressed his fingers into the face of the mountain, strengthening his holds, while simultaneous lightening the load with threads of magic pressing up on his body from below. Halfway down the first spire, Yuri veered down an easier path to avoid a steep decline, choosing the longer path that wrapped around the other side of the spire. Malik fought to keep up with Riese, but she was the better climber to begin with, and she¡¯d been honing her skills at down climbing these past two years, while he¡¯d been torn between his training and learning the intricacies of inter-clan politics and traditions and spiritual matters with his father. He lost sight of her when the spire turned to a sheer drop, and he was forced on all fours, leading with his feet. The wind had eased up though, and Malik lost himself in the movements. This foothold, then that crack for his right hand, then this divot in the stone for his left. Another foothold. Each maneuver involved fluid coordination between his mind, body, and spirit. Sharp attention, quick decision-making, precise movements, focused magic¡ªevery piece of the process utterly vital. The ground leveled off, and Malik was relieved to see Riese¡¯s dark cloak ahead, lingering at a ledge at the base of the spire. Malik maneuvered his way to her, fingers beginning to feel the strain they¡¯d endured all day on this climb. ¡°Don¡¯t wait for me,¡± he murmured, breaths heavy. ¡°Needed to catch my strength and plot my moves before the big Leap.¡± The peak of the next spire loomed in a shroud of mists across an expanse of at least twenty feet, rising past the height of their ledge. If it had formed any other way, the Ascent would be impossible. All the remaining spires were strung together by webs of thick vines. But the only way between the uppermost spires was to jump. Malik¡¯s heartbeat quickened as he took in the skies below the precipice. This ledge had proved an easy target from the opposing peak on the Ascent. The ledge was over ten feet across. A relatively simple jump from the higher point of the opposing spire. But there was no ledge to target from this side, just the sharp sides of a levitating mountain. ¡°Save your hish to slow your fall,¡± Riese said. ¡°That¡¯s what my father said.¡± Malik drew in slow, focused breaths. The mists were thickening again, swirling around the base of the spire, making it harder to see the other side of the chasm, and the rain was picking up. ¡°The angle looks worse from up here than it really is,¡± Malik said with a nod, more to remind himself than anything. ¡°That¡¯s what my father said. Aim. Trust the forces of the world to carry you down.¡± Riese shook her head back and forth. ¡°Well, here goes nothing.¡± Blonde braids flapping behind her, she sprinted across the ledge, gaining as much speed as possible before the edge. Riese¡¯s body shot out from the island of rock, cutting through the mists. She sailed down and down toward the steep face of the second spire, before slowing suddenly, with a precise surge of magic, and grabbing on to a large rock. Her hands shifted, fingers slipped. Malik¡¯s heart seized in his chest. But Riese only dropped a few more feet before catching herself on another boulder¡¯s edge. Her laughter echoed across the expanse. Malik breathed out with relief. ¡°Thanks the gods!¡± ¡°Rock¡¯s a bit slick!¡± she shouted back. ¡°Damn rain.¡± ¡°You good?¡± Malik asked. ¡°Your father was right, slope¡¯s not bad over here. Easy enough to stand.¡± Once you make the jump, and don¡¯t slip off the edge of the world, Malik thought. He drew back, and before his mind had a chance to consider the other possible outcomes, he took off. His boots crunched¡ªthree, four, five steps¡ªand then, he leapt. Malik¡¯s stomach lurched up into his chest. The sharp wind pelted his face, laced with rain. His cloak billowed out behind him, body arced sharply downward as the rock stretched out below. His vision shifted, and so did his body, as he oriented to the opposing angle of the next floating mountain. Then, all at once, there was Riese, ducking beneath his feet. Malik sailed past her. His stomach jolted with terror. Even without hish, he¡¯d jumped too far. The rock face rolled beneath his feet. The angle of the mountain opened up, and Malik feared he would fly right over into oblivion. ¡°Use your bloody magic!¡± Riese¡¯s voice echoed somewhere behind him. And Malik reached for the power behind the world, drawing threads of hish into his body in a rush of opposing force, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He drew more, pressing his body downward. His feet hit first, glancing off the mountain, nearly sending him tumbling. Malik focused with all his spiritual might, drawing more hish, pressing his body harder into the face of the spire. And then, he drew up sharply with a final surge of magic. The tips of his fingers latched on to the edge of a sharp boulder. Pain lanced up his fingers and into his arms, but he didn¡¯t let go. His feet found purchase. His vision swam. Finally, he breathed, clutching the side of the mountain desperately. ¡°God¡¯s breath, Malik!¡± Riese¡¯s voice echoed from far above where he stood. He peered into the mists, cursing her grey cloak, but then he glimpsed her golden hair near the top of the spire. Fifty yards above him at least. ¡°Gods damn it,¡± he muttered, resisting the urge to pound the mountain itself. ¡°You okay?¡± Riese hollered, her voice echoing off the upper spire. ¡°Y-yeah. I think so.¡± Malik¡¯s fingers ached. He drew in more hish and channeled it into his hands, and numbness washed over them. He couldn¡¯t even see the ledge he¡¯d jumped from any longer. Malik tried to figure how he¡¯d managed it. Something about the angles between the two mountains. Or the mists. The entire topmost spire was nothing but a looming shadow, swallowed in thickening clouds. His eyes settled on Riese, and he calmed his breaths. The line between life and death is but a thread. But Malik had landed on the side of life once more. And for that, he must be thankful. You¡¯re made for this, he tried to remind himself. ¡°I don¡¯t think¡­ can go that way!¡± Riese shouted. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ sort of chasm. You shot over it!¡± Her words were getting caught in the wind. Shot over a chasm? Well, that would help explain why his perceptions had suddenly felt so wrong. At this angle from below, he couldn¡¯t even see it.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you further down!¡± Malik shouted up. ¡°Just stay safe!¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll be just¡­ shaman! It¡¯s you¡­bloody worried about.¡± ¡°I¡¯m good! Really. Let¡¯s see who makes it first, ey?¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s like that is¡­ I swear to¡­¡± The wind picked up, and Malik lost the rest. The rain was falling harder, but the way this spire was angled, he could actually walk for a good distance. Near the base he¡¯d have to down climb, and choose between several smaller spires that branched out. Malik moved in a near-crouch, using his hands for balance, trying to conserve his hish, and navigated his way down over sharp boulders. He couldn¡¯t shake Riese¡¯s words. It¡¯s you I¡¯m worried about. Two years ago, he felt certain she never would have said that. And yet¡­. How had he misjudged that leap so badly? It was a simple enough mistake. But the fact that Riese worried for him like some child drove him suddenly to the edge of rage. Damn you, Derrin! He hated himself for thinking it, but it was the truth. He knew Riese could have been down to the bottom by now. She¡¯d stuck close to Malik and Yuri because she feared her friends wouldn¡¯t survive without her. ¡°Be the last down,¡± his father had said the night before. ¡°There¡¯s no shame in that. We shamans don¡¯t play the same clan games.¡± Tell that to Derrin! Maybe if you¡¯d let him train properly, he would still be here. Or maybe his brother would have been lost to the Abyss no matter what, and all this was just a raveling in his mind. Triggered by that bloody spirit in the Abyss. But Malik had survived the Abyss, survived his fall. He¡¯d made it this far, and he was determined not make another costly mistake again. Storm clouds thickened around him. Rain poured steadily, though the wind had calmed once more. A faint voice echoed from the mists ahead. The ground began to even out beneath his boots, and he spotted the thick twists of vines branching out from the base of the spire. In the midst of the haze, he spotted a cloak. The golden yellow of the Sabers. No, the blue of the Feathered Serpents. Two cloaks writhed violently in the wind, out in the expanse between spires. Here at the base of the spire, the wind lashed out with torrents of rainfall. Malik had been sheltered on the other side of the spire, but as he ventured out on to the thick tangle of branches that extended to the next mass of rock, the storm came back with a vengeance. Malik crossed the remaining distance carefully, picking his way along the web of vines. As he neared, he spotted two climbers. One clung to the side of a vine as thick as a tree trunk. Another climber latched on to his arms. It wasn¡¯t until he was right upon them that he could make out who it was. Petyr Bromsein stooped on his knees, directing hish to keep himself planted as he pulled on the fallen climber¡¯s arms. The boy feet dangled over a sheer two thousand foot drop into drowning skies. When they emerged from the Gate of the Ancients, Malik was overwhelmed with sensations. Wind howled across the peak, rushing up from the sky canyons formed between spires below. Icy rain whipped at his face, drenching his cloak in an instant. There were no other climbers in sight. Back in the Abyss, they¡¯d heard at least two other climbers fighting dragyrs in the ruined city as they fled the temple. So they weren¡¯t the last, but Malik had a feeling they were in the back of the pack. Squinting against the wind and rain, they carefully picked their way down to the Blade¡¯s Edge. Malik and Riese followed Yuri¡¯s method of straddling the narrow span of rock and shimmying across. The wind stung Malik¡¯s face as he crossed the spine of rock, and his slick hands could barely feel their grip they were so cold. He¡¯d hoped to wait back on this side of the Gate to refresh his inner store of hish after a couple of hours of depletion in the Abyss. But with a storm bearing down, they all feared getting stranded up high, if conditions turned worse. So, Malik suffered the numbness and waited for his spirit to replenish. The expanse on either side of the Blade seemed to pull at him, luring him to look out at the expanse to the valley far below. But when he glanced over once, the world below was entirely shrouded in churning clouds, and the fear dissipated. Riese pulled him up as he reached the other side of the Blade. They scrambled over boulders to the edge of the upper spire. This side was slightly lower and sheltered, and all at once, the wind stilled. Splintered rays of light peered through cracks in the sky. The rain softened to a fine mist. ¡°Maybe not so bad after all,¡± Yuri said, blowing on his hands. ¡°Weather is weird up here,¡± said Riese. ¡°It could turn back just as sudden. Whatever you do, keep moving.¡± ¡°But be safe,¡± Malik cautioned. ¡°Better to be last than dead.¡± The other two nodded, knowing that no one understood this imperative more than Malik. They peered over the side of the peak. The upper spire was manageable enough to face forward at the outset, but Malik knew it would soon fall away to veritable cliffs in sections. Malik spotted a golden cloak near the base. Maybe they weren¡¯t falling as far behind as he¡¯d feared. The dome of clouds that hovered gave the impression they were alone on an island in the infinite sky. But in reality, they were four spires away from their family, their people. And most of their peers were close. Still, the Ascent, in the end, was their own to accomplish. Riese led the way down, then Malik and Yuri. The upper section was nothing but rock, and the face of the mountains was much more stark than the lower spires, which were strung with more vines and other vegetation. Down climbing proved manageable at first, especially as Malik began fortifying his movements with hish, now that hisinner source was replenishing. With subtle surges, he pressed his fingers into the face of the mountain, strengthening his holds, while simultaneous lightening the load with threads of magic pressing up on his body from below. Halfway down the first spire, Yuri veered down an easier path to avoid a steep decline, choosing the longer path that wrapped around the other side of the spire. Malik fought to keep up with Riese, but she was the better climber to begin with, and she¡¯d been honing her skills at down climbing these past two years, while he¡¯d been torn between his training and learning the intricacies of inter-clan politics and traditions and spiritual matters with his father. He lost sight of her when the spire turned to a sheer drop, and he was forced on all fours, leading with his feet. The wind had eased up though, and Malik lost himself in the movements. This foothold, then that crack for his right hand, then this divot in the stone for his left. Another foothold. Each maneuver involved fluid coordination between his mind, body, and spirit. Sharp attention, quick decision-making, precise movements, focused magic¡ªevery piece of the process utterly vital. The ground leveled off, and Malik was relieved to see Riese¡¯s dark cloak ahead, lingering at a ledge at the base of the spire. Malik maneuvered his way to her, fingers beginning to feel the strain they¡¯d endured all day on this climb. ¡°Don¡¯t wait for me,¡± he murmured, breaths heavy. ¡°Needed to catch my strength and plot my moves before the big Leap.¡± The peak of the next spire loomed in a shroud of mists across an expanse of at least twenty feet, rising past the height of their ledge. If it had formed any other way, the Ascent would be impossible. All the remaining spires were strung together by webs of thick vines. But the only way between the uppermost spires was to jump. Malik¡¯s heartbeat quickened as he took in the skies below the precipice. This ledge had proved an easy target from the opposing peak on the Ascent. The ledge was over ten feet across. A relatively simple jump from the higher point of the opposing spire. But there was no ledge to target from this side, just the sharp sides of a levitating mountain. ¡°Save your hish to slow your fall,¡± Riese said. ¡°That¡¯s what my father said.¡± Malik drew in slow, focused breaths. The mists were thickening again, swirling around the base of the spire, making it harder to see the other side of the chasm, and the rain was picking up. ¡°The angle looks worse from up here than it really is,¡± Malik said with a nod, more to remind himself than anything. ¡°That¡¯s what my father said. Aim. Trust the forces of the world to carry you down.¡± Riese shook her head back and forth. ¡°Well, here goes nothing.¡± Blonde braids flapping behind her, she sprinted across the ledge, gaining as much speed as possible before the edge. Riese¡¯s body shot out from the island of rock, cutting through the mists. She sailed down and down toward the steep face of the second spire, before slowing suddenly, with a precise surge of magic, and grabbing on to a large rock. Her hands shifted, fingers slipped. Malik¡¯s heart seized in his chest. But Riese only dropped a few more feet before catching herself on another boulder¡¯s edge. Her laughter echoed across the expanse. Malik breathed out with relief. ¡°Thanks the gods!¡± ¡°Rock¡¯s a bit slick!¡± she shouted back. ¡°Damn rain.¡± ¡°You good?¡± Malik asked. ¡°Your father was right, slope¡¯s not bad over here. Easy enough to stand.¡± Once you make the jump, and don¡¯t slip off the edge of the world, Malik thought. He drew back, and before his mind had a chance to consider the other possible outcomes, he took off. His boots crunched¡ªthree, four, five steps¡ªand then, he leapt. Malik¡¯s stomach lurched up into his chest. The sharp wind pelted his face, laced with rain. His cloak billowed out behind him, body arced sharply downward as the rock stretched out below. His vision shifted, and so did his body, as he oriented to the opposing angle of the next floating mountain. Then, all at once, there was Riese, ducking beneath his feet. Malik sailed past her. His stomach jolted with terror. Even without hish, he¡¯d jumped too far. The rock face rolled beneath his feet. The angle of the mountain opened up, and Malik feared he would fly right over into oblivion. ¡°Use your bloody magic!¡± Riese¡¯s voice echoed somewhere behind him. And Malik reached for the power behind the world, drawing threads of hish into his body in a rush of opposing force, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He drew more, pressing his body downward. His feet hit first, glancing off the mountain, nearly sending him tumbling. Malik focused with all his spiritual might, drawing more hish, pressing his body harder into the face of the spire. And then, he drew up sharply with a final surge of magic. The tips of his fingers latched on to the edge of a sharp boulder. Pain lanced up his fingers and into his arms, but he didn¡¯t let go. His feet found purchase. His vision swam. Finally, he breathed, clutching the side of the mountain desperately. ¡°God¡¯s breath, Malik!¡± Riese¡¯s voice echoed from far above where he stood. He peered into the mists, cursing her grey cloak, but then he glimpsed her golden hair near the top of the spire. Fifty yards above him at least. ¡°Gods damn it,¡± he muttered, resisting the urge to pound the mountain itself. ¡°You okay?¡± Riese hollered, her voice echoing off the upper spire. ¡°Y-yeah. I think so.¡± Malik¡¯s fingers ached. He drew in more hish and channeled it into his hands, and numbness washed over them. He couldn¡¯t even see the ledge he¡¯d jumped from any longer. Malik tried to figure how he¡¯d managed it. Something about the angles between the two mountains. Or the mists. The entire topmost spire was nothing but a looming shadow, swallowed in thickening clouds. His eyes settled on Riese, and he calmed his breaths. The line between life and death is but a thread. But Malik had landed on the side of life once more. And for that, he must be thankful. You¡¯re made for this, he tried to remind himself. ¡°I don¡¯t think¡­ can go that way!¡± Riese shouted. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ sort of chasm. You shot over it!¡± Her words were getting caught in the wind. Shot over a chasm? Well, that would help explain why his perceptions had suddenly felt so wrong. At this angle from below, he couldn¡¯t even see it. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you further down!¡± Malik shouted up. ¡°Just stay safe!¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll be just¡­ shaman! It¡¯s you¡­bloody worried about.¡± ¡°I¡¯m good! Really. Let¡¯s see who makes it first, ey?¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s like that is¡­ I swear to¡­¡± The wind picked up, and Malik lost the rest. The rain was falling harder, but the way this spire was angled, he could actually walk for a good distance. Near the base he¡¯d have to down climb, and choose between several smaller spires that branched out. Malik moved in a near-crouch, using his hands for balance, trying to conserve his hish, and navigated his way down over sharp boulders. He couldn¡¯t shake Riese¡¯s words. It¡¯s you I¡¯m worried about. Two years ago, he felt certain she never would have said that. And yet¡­. How had he misjudged that leap so badly? It was a simple enough mistake. But the fact that Riese worried for him like some child drove him suddenly to the edge of rage. Damn you, Derrin! He hated himself for thinking it, but it was the truth. He knew Riese could have been down to the bottom by now. She¡¯d stuck close to Malik and Yuri because she feared her friends wouldn¡¯t survive without her. ¡°Be the last down,¡± his father had said the night before. ¡°There¡¯s no shame in that. We shamans don¡¯t play the same clan games.¡± Tell that to Derrin! Maybe if you¡¯d let him train properly, he would still be here. Or maybe his brother would have been lost to the Abyss no matter what, and all this was just a raveling in his mind. Triggered by that bloody spirit in the Abyss. But Malik had survived the Abyss, survived his fall. He¡¯d made it this far, and he was determined not make another costly mistake again. Storm clouds thickened around him. Rain poured steadily, though the wind had calmed once more. A faint voice echoed from the mists ahead. The ground began to even out beneath his boots, and he spotted the thick twists of vines branching out from the base of the spire. In the midst of the haze, he spotted a cloak. The golden yellow of the Sabers. No, the blue of the Feathered Serpents. Two cloaks writhed violently in the wind, out in the expanse between spires. Here at the base of the spire, the wind lashed out with torrents of rainfall. Malik had been sheltered on the other side of the spire, but as he ventured out on to the thick tangle of branches that extended to the next mass of rock, the storm came back with a vengeance. Malik crossed the remaining distance carefully, picking his way along the web of vines. As he neared, he spotted two climbers. One clung to the side of a vine as thick as a tree trunk. Another climber latched on to his arms. It wasn¡¯t until he was right upon them that he could make out who it was. Petyr Bromsein stooped on his knees, directing hish to keep himself planted as he pulled on the fallen climber¡¯s arms. The boy feet dangled over a sheer two thousand foot drop into drowning skies. 7 - Crossing His entire body on high alert, Malik grabbed a thin length of vine and supported himself as he made his way across the vine bridge to the other climbers. Riese had to be close behind him, but the base of this spire branched off to three smaller spires¡ªthree different possible descents¡ªand he knew the chances she¡¯d cross here on this side were small. This fell to him. Malik pushed back against all awareness of the precipitous fall on either side of him, the harsh elements waging war all around. His world became nothing but each precise movement. Each section of vine, ensuring each hold was firm before he moved farther. It wasn¡¯t until he was feet away that Malik recognized who it was hanging from the edge of the vine bridge by his fingertips¡ªUlgar Fenrisein. The Feathered Serpent boy had been hot on Aram¡¯s heels back at the peak. ¡°Just bloody pull me up!¡± Ulgar¡¯s voice had gone hoarse. How long was he here before Petyr reached him? Malik¡¯s gut wrenched as he inched closer, now on all fours. Petyr shifted suddenly, letting go of Ulgar with one hand. His other barely managing to keep his own body in place. Ulgar croaked. ¡°Don¡¯t let go, don¡¯t let go!¡± Malik crawled closer, the wind whipping his body so strongly that each movement was a labor. He matched Petyr¡¯s stance, wedging his feet firmly into the crease between two massive vines, enhancing the hold with an opposing force of hish. He reached out into the sky, nothing but vines and magic keeping him from plummeting to the valley below. ¡°Gods! Hurry!¡± Ulgar lashed out with his free hand, nearly grasping the vine, but missing. Petyr roared with the added strain of the sudden movement. Malik tried to grab Ulgar, but he was just out of reach. Petyr groaned as he fought to hold on to the other hand, without slipping himself. Malik reached again, but still, couldn¡¯t reach Ulgar¡¯s other hand. ¡°Try swinging one more time,¡± Malik shouted into the howling wind. ¡°Wait until we¡¯re ready this time! Petyr, on my mark, you pull back as hard as you can. Ulgar, reach up. Focus any hish you¡¯ve got left on that one move. ¡°I-I¡¯ll try!¡± ¡°Okay, one, two, THREE!¡± Petyr heaved his body back with a scream. Malik could feel the surge of magic beside him. Ulgar groaned as he reached, though it was clear he had drained his hish long before. But Petyr had just enough strength to bring Ulgar in reach. Malik stretched out as far as he dared, latched on to Ulgar¡¯s free hand, and pulled. Ulgar grabbed the top of the vine bridge with both hands, and screamed as he tried to drag himself up, while Petyr and Malik pulled him by the shoulders to safety. Chest heaving, Ulgar rolled on his back and emitted something between a laugh and a sob. The wind sent the entire branch swinging, and Malik could barely see the spire he¡¯d come from. But away from the edge, the movement was not treacherous. ¡°Good work,¡± Malik said, patting Petyr on the back. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°I was just about to cross,¡± said Petyr, ¡°when the wind picked up. I heard a cry out here. Found Ulgar hanging by his fingers.¡± ¡°My leg,¡± said Ulgar. ¡°Drained my hish trying to heal it enough to make the crossing. Slipped. Used what little was left just to keep holding on.¡± Malik looked down. Ulgar¡¯s pants were tattered and bloody. He pulled the pant leg up, and Malik grimaced. Bone protruded from Ulgar¡¯s shin. Blood smeared all over, thick rivulets still forming at the wound. ¡°God¡¯s breath! You tried to walk on that?¡± Ulgar chuckled. ¡°Well, it was easier with my spear, but that¡¯s gone now.¡± He glanced out into the skies below. ¡°Was trying to keep up with that prick, Aram Tulsein.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t do that to¡­¡± Malik ventured. ¡°Nah, jumped too far on the Leap. Used too much hish, and landed in a small chasm in the rock.¡± Malik shuddered how close he¡¯d come to a similar injury. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong,¡± Ulgar said. ¡°Aram saw it happen. I was right behind him, and he was all too happy to leave me behind. But nah, this was my own damn fault.¡± A gust of wind rushed up from the expanse, sending the web of vines shaking violently. Malik latched on tight to his hand holds, his stomach twisting as the forces of the world pulled at his body. Thick clouds had completely enveloped the chasm between spires. ¡°We gotta get off this thing!¡± Malik shouted. ¡°Do you think we can make¡­¡± Petyr¡¯s idea drifted off with the next jarring gust. Rain pelted at Malik¡¯s face and hands, cold as winter seas. He could barely feel his own body, and his fingers felt raw and swollen. ¡°No way we can cross until this storm passes,¡± Malik said, his voice growing hoarse from so much shouting. ¡°Not with his leg like that. We¡¯re only ten yards out. Maybe twenty. Closer to go back.¡± ¡°Go back?¡± Petyr asked, incredulous. ¡°You wanna wait this squall out here or in the shelter of a spire?¡± Ulgar nodded tremulously. ¡°I¡¯m with you, shaman. Already pushed myself too bloody hard.¡± Petyr looked back at the looming shadow in the mists ahead, contemplating for a moment. Then, he grabbed on to Ulgar¡¯s arm, and he and Malik helped the Serpent boy to his feet. Each step was an ordeal all its own. Rain fell in sheets, biting at Malik¡¯s face, drenching his eyes, so he was forced to squint. The enormous vines that formed the bridge swayed in the incessant wind. Malik gripped Ulgar around the back, his shoulder wedged under the large boy¡¯s armpit to help take the weight off his bad leg. Malik steadied their passage as best he could, with threads of hish binding them to the shifting ground. If it were only himself, maybe he might have managed to steady the vines some. But Ulgar was completely drained, and more than once, Malik felt Petyr¡¯s strength fading in the fiercer gales. The descent was the most treacherous part, even without a damn storm. Malik focused his magic on all three of them, pressing them into the slick ground. It felt like walking on waves, but like waves, there was a rhythm to it. With focus, he recognized the swells of air. They took a few steps, paused, took a few more. Each time, a gust sent the vines swinging, and Malik drew on the power behind the world. The energy of the gods themselves that coursed through all their creation. He could feel his strength waning as he channeled the magic. Slowly, it seeped from his spirit, and he feared he might drain himself too quickly. The spire was but a mass of shadows in the mists ahead. There was a jolt as they stepped down, and they stood on the rocky ledge at last.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Ulgar staggered forward and collapsed. Malik and Petyr stooped down and helped him scramble to the back of the ledge. They propped him up in a seated position. It was uncanny how someone so large and muscular could seem so frail. Ulgar shivered as he drew his blue cloak around himself. ¡°You done enough,¡± Ulgar said, voice raspy, eyes barely open. ¡°Didn¡¯t have to stop. But I¡¯d be dead if you didn¡¯t.¡± Malik nodded. Petyr glanced back out at the vines, and then, back at Malik. The wind had died down, now that they were no longer out in the middle of a wind tunnel. ¡°Malik saved us both today,¡± Petyr said. ¡°I¡¯d be dead back in the Abyss. Guess I had to return the favor.¡± ¡°You should go, both of you,¡± Ulgar said. ¡°Think the storm¡¯s passing already. I¡¯ll ride it out up here till I can heal myself proper.¡± Petyr and Malik both gazed back the way they¡¯d come. The vines still shifted, but it appeared to be more mild from here. The long trunks creaked, but held firm and steady. It was extraordinary. Out in the chasm, Malik had feared the vines might wrench out of the base of the spire. But here, they felt as fixed as the mountains themselves. Malik focused on the resonance of the air. The wind whistled out in the chasm between spires. The mass of vines swayed, but the walls of rock around the ledge created the illusion of a much milder storm. Probably the only reason any of them had ventured out to begin with. It had been calm here before he left, Malik recalled, but the true resonance felt just as violent now as when they were out in the middle. This ledge was a deceptive shelter from the true ferocity of the storm. Made even easier to believe by the thick mists, and Malik¡¯s own longing for the safety of the valley below. In his spirit, Malik knew the conditions were likely even worse further out in the chasm. They¡¯d only made it a quarter of the way across at best. ¡°I don¡¯t think we should leave,¡± Malik said. Petyr¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°What? We can¡¯t stay here!¡± ¡°This ledge is sheltered. I don¡¯t think the storm is passing yet.¡± Petyr huffed. ¡°It¡¯s growing dark soon. You want to be stranded up here all night? What about jackals and the cold? That could kill us just as easy.¡± Malik glanced up. It was difficult to tell the time in the storm. He tried to think back. He would have guessed it was early afternoon when he exited the Abyss. How much time had passed? An hour? Two? Nature is full of illusions, his father had taught him. Fear would have us believe every perception. Wisdom lies in discerning what is real. His father usually spoke this when Malik was angry or frustrated. As usual, his father spoke more truth than Malik wished to admit. It was too bad time did not give off a spiritual resonance. Malik retraced his descent thus far. It had taken him four hours to make his initialclimb. Most descents went faster, barring hindrances, like jackal attacks and inclement weather. They were about halfway down. It couldn¡¯t be close to dusk yet. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s that late,¡± Malik said. ¡°Let¡¯s wait it out a while. You need to recover your strength, anyway.¡± Petyr cursed softly to himself. He paced the ledge. Walked out to the edge of the natural bridge, where the vines drove themselves deep into the base of the spire like the trunks of ancient citadel trees. The Saber boy peered into the mists. ¡°Gods damn it,¡± Petyr muttered and strode back. *** The three boys huddled together, rain drenching their cloaks. Despite the shelter from the wind, the frigid air still cut straight through skin to bone. Malik shook with violent shivers, managing to scarf down a strip of salted venison. It was so cold the very act of biting into the leathery meat was agonizing. Malik could feel his joints stiffening, muscles tightening, mind turning inward, withdrawing from the hopeless reality engulfing him. He¡¯d hoped to replenish his strength, but he was forced to focus hish on his own body temperature. Mists thickened, as though a great shroud were being drawn tighter and tighter around them. Was it growing darker beyond their nook in the rock? Malik couldn¡¯t tell. But he knew it would only get colder. The Ascent always took place at the autumn solstice. Usually the Isle of Faltara remained temperate for a few more weeks, even in the mountains, but still, a storm this time of year could bring worse conditions than wind and rain. Ulgar had resigned himself to his fate. Of the three of them, he remained the calmest. He filled his flagon with rain water sluicing from the rocks above. He sipped and chewed on venison and nuts, focused what little hish he could muster into keeping his body from freezing. Ulgar had accepted his fate. Petyr began to pace the ledge again, running his hands up and down his arms ferociously. The Sabers were hardened by the harsh life at the north of the island. They always performed well in the Ascension. And Petyr was an elder¡¯s son. He paused and examined the vines and the storm, and resumed his pacing. More time passed. The mists held fast. The vine bridge remained steady. The wind was a distant rush beyond their nook at the base of the spire. Petyr returned from his pacing and blew warm breath on his hands. Malik reached for the boy¡¯s resonance. He felt Petyr¡¯s unease, as his father had taught him over the past two years. A shaman must understand his people more than any other. When Petyr spoke, it was no surprise to Malik. ¡°I c-can¡¯t sit around here any l-longer.¡± Malik nodded. The Saber boy had been wrestling with the decision ever since Malik had convinced him to stay. Doubting Malik¡¯s wisdom even more than Malik himself did. Had he sentenced them to die here on this ledge? ¡°Are y-you c-coming?¡± Petyr asked, stepping closer to the vines. Malik hesitated. He looked over at Ulgar, but the boy was not paying them much mind. He was focused on his own survival, not wasting energy on anything else. ¡°I¡¯ll come check the conditions,¡± Malik said. He strode over to Ulgar. Malik stooped down and met his gaze, and Ulgar jolted, as though he¡¯d forgotten he wasn¡¯t already alone. Malik¡¯s insides churned with guilt, but he knew he had to consider his own descent. ¡°I¡¯m going out to check things on the bridge,¡± Malik said, clasping Ulgar¡¯s shoulder. ¡°If it¡¯s bad, I¡¯ll come back. If I don¡¯t return, then the storm is letting up out there.¡± Ulgar nodded absently. ¡°I t-told you. D-don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯m here all n-night either way.¡± The boy closed his eyes and drew traces of hish around his limbs like an ethereal blanket. Malik turned and joined Petyr. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± With the aid of magic, Malik¡¯s limbs loosened. He was exhausted, but his feet felt strong, and his balance remained firm. His well of magic was low, but his father had taught him to control it better than most youths on the island. To let it slowly seep through him. Petyr strode forward with fierce determination, and Malik struggled to keep up. Malik gripped the side of one vine for support and let it guide him forward. Ten yards out, Malik had to climb up, as the vines tangled. The wind grew stronger after that, but it was manageable. Even through the mists, Malik could see at least ten feet in front of him. He forced himself to focus only on the vines, quickly plotting each placement of his hands and feet. They reached the spot where Ulgar had slipped. The wind picked up, howling somewhere in the chasm above. The vines swayed steadily over the expanse, but Malik never doubted his stability.Perhaps he¡¯d read the storm¡¯s resonance wrong after all. ¡°You see?¡± Petyr said, glancing back as they neared another tangle of vines where they would have to climb once more. ¡°Storm¡¯s letting up! I think the mists were worse back there.¡± Once he¡¯d ensured a firm hold, Malik allowed a glance outward. In the distance, he glimpsed the twisting shadows of the other natural bridges to the other two spires, somewhere out in the mist and sky. Petyr was right. It was clearing. Malik reached the base of the tangle of vines, each as thick around as the trunks of hundred year old trees. Three, maybe four of the vines all converged in this spot. Somewhere beneath the mass of growth, Malik suspected there were tiny fragments of floating boulders, as there were between the lower spires. It was the only explanation for how this natural bridge might have formed. Petyr clambered up and over the tangled mass of vines quickly. The boy grinned from the top. He motioned for Malik to follow, and turned to carry on, disappearing from sight. Malik lodged his fingers deep into a crease between vines and heaved himself over one vine, then the next. All at once, the howling wind filled his ears, and he was thrown into the bridge. ¡°Malik!¡± Petyr¡¯s voice was barely audible over the tumult. ¡°Your magic!¡± Malik shouted. ¡°Don¡¯t use it up all at¡ª¡± The vines swayed, wind rushing over them like the furious shrieks of Akari, grim-god of death and chaos. Malik felt as though legions of wights were snatching out with invisible hands, trying to send him up and over this wall of vines into nothingness. Malik dug in his fingers and drew hish into his body, pressing himself into the vines. Somewhere in the turbulence, Malik thought he heard Petyr¡¯s voice. But it was drowned out by the onslaught of wind. Malik closed his eyes to the storm and focused. Despite the violent gusts, the vines remained relatively steady. Creaking and groaning and swaying, but strong like the mightiest of trees. Slowly, the swaying eased, until the wind was once more a distant drone above. Tentatively, Malik released his magic, and loosened his grip. He clawed his way further up the wall, peeking up and over the top. Petyr was sprawled out a few yards ahead of him, clinging to the vines for dear life. He lifted his head and smiled, dark hair drifting in the wind. Mists engulfed the bridge once more. At the top of the tangle, the wind was stronger, and Malik could not bring himself to climb over the top, to leave the shelter of the tangle of vines. His whole body trembled. Petyr staggered to his feet, grinning madly. He gestured toward the shadows ahead. ¡°Nearly there. I thought I saw¡ª¡± A gale ripped through the chasm like a feathered serpent, rushing and writhing, colliding with Petyr¡¯s body and sending him sprawling out. Malik reached out with hish, but it was too late. The boy didn¡¯t even cry out. He vanished like vapor. 8 - Move Through A raging pang tore at Joren¡¯s being, as though the gods themselves were pouring his spirit out over hot coals, then drawing him up and plunging him into an icy sea. He collapsed to his knees at the edge of the clearing. Somewhere, hands clutched at his arms. Somewhere, wind howled, and rain poured from menacing clouds. Joren felt nothing except the hollow ache of death, enveloping him, slowly wringing his essence from the inside out. In one mighty onslaught of nature, three souls were ripped from the Spires at once. Joren did not know how long he knelt there. The line between the temporal and the eternal blurred. Moments. Hours. Days. All were one. A glimpse of the Great Truth of existence that was all too easy to forget during the banalities of village life on the island¡ªeven for a shaman. A reminder that all their striving¡ªwhether for moments or a lifetime¡ªwere drops in the eternal ocean. And they all would soon be drawn back to sea. When Joren opened his eyes, he could already see the mists beginning to dissipate around the lower spires, and he wondered if his spirit had slipped out of his body for a time. Rare, but not unheard of, for a shaman in such sacred moments. He found Madri¡¯s hand and gripped it tightly, steadying his spirit with the strength of hers. And then, his daughter¡¯s, who also knelt beside him, her warm hand on his shoulder. ¡°Malik?¡± Madri whispered, her voice trembling. God¡¯ s breath! She¡¯d thought that the reason for his collapse, and he¡¯d left his family fearing for gods knew how long. ¡°No¡­ our son lives.¡± Joren squeezed his wife¡¯s hand, and she clutched her chest with the other, relief washing over her. Joren staggered to his feet, and for the first time since the Ascent began, he withdrew his spiritual gaze from the Spires. Three souls lost. Three spirits he must tend. Three families he must guide through mourning. It had been over twenty years since his own Ascent, since he¡¯d become a man and taken on the duties of a shaman. Over the years, many of his duties had grown second-nature, even difficult ones. But the moment of death was one that never grew an easier. *** Even after the winds truly let up, Malik did not move for what felt like an hour at least. He rode out the last gale in the minimal shelter provided by the tangle of vines, somewhere in the middle of the expanse between spires. That little nook was the only reason he hadn¡¯t joined Petyr in his Final Descent. It was only happenstance that the gust that had taken the Saber elder¡¯s son had come moments before Malik followed Petyr out into the more exposed section of the bridge. Malik¡¯s spirit ached with a ferocious anguish he¡¯d never known before. Not even after Derrin¡¯s death. For that had been a distant thing, before he¡¯d begun the path of the shaman. Before he¡¯d learned to sense the resonance of spirits in his own. His brother¡¯s death had occurred somewhere beyond his reality, while he waited with all the others in the valley below. But this¡­ Malik kept casting out for the boy¡¯s resonance. Clinging to the hope that by some chance, some rare interference of the gods, the Saber boy had landed on one of the other bridges. Or been carried to the next spire. But he knew in his spirit, Petyr was gone. Snatched up by the spirits of death that had filled that foul storm. It took all the courage Malik had in him to force himself out of his shelter, and climb over the top of the wall of vines. Wisps of mists still hung in the chasm, but the wind was gone completely. Barely a breeze remained. The sun began to pierce through the veil of clouds, which had turned to shades of white and light grey. Malik ventured further along the vines, pressing his feet firmly with threads of hish, until he reached the spot where he¡¯d last seen Petyr. It was so cold. So empty. As though the warmth of the boy¡¯s resonance had never been there at all. Malik gazed out into the mists below, where the great green sprawl of Kalengal Valley came into view.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Somewhere down there, a boy¡¯s body was shattered and broken. A boy he had helped in the Abyss, only to escort him to his death on this bridge. Malik never should have come out here. They should have stayed with Ulgar on that ledge. Surely, if he¡¯d tried, he could have convinced Petyr to stay. There was no way to know. All Malik knew was he should have tried. The mists dissipated further. The next spire shifted into focus, the true distance becoming clear for the first time. They¡¯d been well more than halfway across the bridge, only twenty yards from the spire. Malik felt the warmth of the sun on his back, and still, he was frozen in place. Malik hated this feeling. Of bearing the last moments of another. We all share in this life on the island, his father had taught him. The unique role of the shaman is to share in death as well. But Malik didn¡¯t want it. His father was made for this. He could walk right up to a mourning mother, unfazed, but Malik could not bear death for his own kin, let alone for someone else. It was not just Petyr¡¯s death that tore at his spirit, but his uncle¡¯s, his brother¡¯s. Every damn youth who¡¯d fallen to their deaths from these spires. And for what? ¡°Oh, thank the gods!¡± Malik didn¡¯t turn at the voice. It felt like something from a dream. ¡°Shit, brother, you¡¯re nearly across! What are you doing?¡± Another voice. Familiar. A thick calloused hand clasped his shoulder from behind, and he turned. Yuri Alwensein engulfed him in a hug, his warmth enveloping Malik like a fur blanket. Riese pushed Yuri out of the way and hugged Malik too. The fog began to lift from his mind, stirred by new confusion. ¡°How¡­ where?¡± Cold tears streaked down his cheeks. He¡¯d assumed Riese was far ahead of him by now. And Yuri¡­ Malik had been so focused on his own plight with Petyr and Ulgar, he hadn¡¯t even considered¡­ ¡°Found a little cave at the base of that canyon,¡± Riese said. ¡°Spotted Yuri coming down. He was hollering about a storm coming from the other side. So we holed up.¡± ¡°Why in the Abyss did you come out here?¡± Ulgar¡¯s voice. Malik turned now. The boy clambered up and over the tangle of vines, shoving his spear over, and Yuri helped him up. Ulgar¡¯s leg was still torn up, but it looked much better. Once on the broad branch of vine, he used Yuri¡¯s bonespear for support. The vine bridge barely swayed now, only with their movements. This final section was wide enough for two to walk abreast. The mists thinned further, and Malik could make out the colors of dusk spreading across the skies, beyond the rim of mountains that encircled the sacred valley of the Faltari. ¡°Where¡¯s Petyr?¡± Ulgar asked. ¡°Already across?¡± He looked up and down the next spire for signs of a cloak. Malik shook his head. ¡°That last gale,¡± he managed. ¡°H-he¡¯s¡­ gone.¡± Speaking the words sent tremors through him. Riese kept close, her hand on his shoulder. ¡°God¡¯s breath,¡± Ulgar muttered. ¡°I should¡¯ve¡­ I was pretty out of it till your friends came along. Healed me up enough to get moving again.¡± Malik looked to Yuri and Riese. Riese shrugged. ¡°Shamans aren¡¯t the only ones who help people, you know.¡± ¡°Look,¡± said Yuri, ¡°if it¡¯s all the same to you guys, let¡¯s get off this swinging bridge of death. Er¡ªshit¡­ you know what I mean.¡± Riese patted Malik on the arm. ¡°He¡¯s right. Let¡¯s go.¡± *** It was astonishing how quickly they finished the crossing. No violent gusts of wind. No rain or fog. Even Ulgar, staggering on his spear-crutch, made the final stretch look easy. Petyr had come so close. Soon, they were on the face of the penultimate spire. It was steep, but pocked with regular ledges where they could pause. They all did their best to help Ulgar over the difficult sections. Far above, Malik heard the sharp cries of dragyrs circling the upper spires. All the climbers must have left their nesting grounds in the Abyss. The colors of dusk turned to deep greys and swaths of indigo. At the base of the Mountain of Souls, from which the Spires rose, Malik could see the crowds gathering to greet the final climbers. Though they were still a fair distance from the bottom. They made the final crossing¡ªa sequence of leaps between small floating boulders, like a disjointed staircase. Malik and Yuri took Ulgar¡¯s arms and tried their best to cushion the falls with pulses of hish. Last, a man-made bridge of wood and rope, and they stood safely at the top of the Mountain of Souls. The remaining descent required careful maneuvering near the peak, before the angle grew gradual and easy. They followed a well-trod path into the forest. Dusk morphed into peaceful night as they descended into familiar trees near the base of the mountain. As he neared the end, he focused deeply on the act of drawing in hish, strengthening his body and spirit as best he could to finish with honor. Malik¡¯s body was tired, but it was his spirit that needed rejuvenation most. He kept picturing Petyr smiling back at him, that final moment before being torn from the face of the world. You cannot ignore darkness. The only way to move past is to move through. All these shaman mantras instilled in his mind had never felt more like nonsense. The four kept close, always on the lookout for jackals or other beasts, but the forest was silent, save for the soft crunch of their leather boots on the sodden ground. Walls of trees went on and on in every direction, and then, all at once, they opened up, and Malik, Riese, Yuri, and Ulgar emerged in the open plains of Kalengal Valley. They crossed a stream and crested a small hill. The crowds cheered as they neared. All their people gathered in one place, surrounding them. Hands brushed against Malik¡¯s shoulders, patted his back, congratulating him, asking about the color of his dragon egg. The egg, Malik mused. He¡¯d hardly thought about it since the storm had come. Malik kept his hands on the straps of his rucksack, wishing he could disappear, fly past them all like the wights in the Abyss, and be alone. ¡°Malik!¡± His mother¡¯s warm voice cut through the noise of the crowd. Malik looked up, and she ran to him, arms outstretched, and pulled him in to her soft embrace, and he began to sob into her shoulder. His sister joined them, usually all bright green eyes and mischievous smile, but now, it was mostly relief. ¡°Gods are good,¡± his mother whispered. ¡°Gods are good.¡± Malik looked up to find his father watching the three of them. Tears streaked his cheeks. Malik released his mother and sister, and his father embraced him. Malik could not remember an embrace like that from his father before, certainly not in front of all their people. Joren¡¯s calming spiritual resonance flooded over him, his hand clasped the side of his head, and looked in his eyes with tearful pride. ¡°You are a man now, my son.¡± 9 - Dusk of Battle A battle could shift tides in an instant¡ªthat was the incredible, horrific beauty of it in Lady Captain Urla Pelasius¡¯s mind. Life and death stretched along an invisible thread, weaving across the entire battlefield, through every warrior, every beast, every razor-sharp edge. The difference was a matter of inches and moments. One moment, Urla¡¯s axe was wedged in the crevasse of a Sigan warrior¡¯s dark-haired skull. One moment, fire rained down from violent skies and consumed entire companies of warriors. Smoke rushed into the heavens, and blood gushed from a writhing furor of blades and shields, and the deathblows found between them. The next moment, horns blared, and cheers swept across the battlefield. The next warrior Urla faced dropped his weapon to the ground and lay prostrate on the blood-soaked ground before her. Her two-handed battle axe hovered mid-air, casting a gruesome shadow over the whimpering man. The entire field became a furor of clattering weapons and ringing shields. The rain of fire ceased, and the mighty Dragonmounts of Attica soared over the plains, gargantuan wings blocking the sun before settling on the hills at the edge of the battlefield. Three fates stretched the bloody plains¡ªthe fallen, the defeated, and the victors¡ªthreads woven before the war had begun. It was the Fjuriin Path they all trod, whether they believed it or not. Lady Captain Pelasius had stayed her course, that was all, the gory evidence spread all around her. To her left, Urla had dealt one fate, the man¡¯s innards coating the ground in goops of flesh and bone. Now, for the fortunate Sigan heathen kneeling before her, she dealt another fate. Urla lowered her axe, though she did not stow it on her back immediately. The surrender itself had likely happened several minutes ago. Somewhere behind her, comrades in arms closer to Lord General Raithe had survived, where here they had fallen, crimson cloaks twisted around their mutilated bodies. Somewhere ahead, the battle still raged for a few moments longer. But Urla bore no regret in her heart for any man or woman she¡¯d slain on this field. It was their path, and it was the heathen price of ancient rebellion finally paid in full. The prostrate warrior shifted at her feet, and Urla tightened her grip on the leather-wrapped handle of her axe. ¡°On your face!¡± she barked. ¡°P-please, I will not resist. I have family. Please.¡± All it took was one word, and even warriors could be reduced to pant-pissing cowards. The Sigan man planted his face deeper in the blood and upturned earth, wedged between the bodies of fallen soldiers. My son lost his father for this? Urla thought bitterly. She¡¯d been tempted to let her axe fall. She knew plenty of her comrades had surely done so. But she was Lady Captain now. And besides, the battlefury was already waning, and the ache of buried sorrow seeped back to the surface. Keivan¡¯s death will be avenged by much better blood than yours, she thought. The Sigan nobles and high-ranking officers would be tried and executed, replaced with imperial loyalists. The rest of this heathen force would march home in shackles and shame. Nothing to show for their years of independence, but a host of orphans and half-starved lowborns. After a bloody civil war half a century ago, Siga had managed a tumultuous independence, like many nation-states at the outskirts of the empire during the decline. But under the Emperor Athanasius, the tide had finally turned, and a new path lay before the Attican Empire. Kalkesh and Ytan had fallen first, and now, Siga would be grafted back into the mighty tree of Attica. A tree that had weathered droughts and storms, and was now poised to spread the blood-soaked world once more, and bend thousands more soldiers to such a groveling state. The Sigan man still simpered pathetically at Urla¡¯s feet, not daring to look anywhere but the mud. A series of runners dispersed shackles and chains across the battlefield. Prison carts descended the hills, steel cages rattling, and picked their way amongst the throng. A slow process, due to the sheer mass of corpses littering the ground. Urla knelt on the Sigan warrior¡¯s back. He groaned at the weight and the sharp edge of a glowing runemarked greave piercing through his cloak. ¡°Quit crying, swine,¡± she said, patting his cheek. ¡°You¡¯ll live.¡± A scrawny Attican squire handed Urla shackles. She seized the Sigan warrior¡¯s wrists and shackled them, and jerked the man to his feet. He wore only leathern armor, except for a chest plate made of bronze. It was remarkable their little kingdom had lasted as long as it had, in truth. Urla shoved the man forward, the rest of her company quickly following her lead. Most of the flames had dwindled to smoldering grass across the trodden plains, except for the splintered remains of an Elyan runeship, a quarter-mile to the west. The flying galleon had nearly swayed the battle in the Sigans¡¯ favor. Broadsides from the skies were a rare and terrifying thing to behold. Hundreds of Attican warriors had been killed, but the Dragonmounts had done their duty in the end. Dragonflight could not be matched by any human invention, magic or no, that was what Keivan had always told her. May you enjoy your rest in the halls of Myrath until I join you, husband, she thought coldly. Keivan was one week from a very different fate. The loss was still fresh, and the full reality of her husband¡¯s death had yet to truly set in. Urla did not think it would until she returned home to her son, alone. A thick hand clapped her shoulder from behind with a laugh. Urla didn¡¯t flinch. She¡¯d seen her comrade coming in the corner of her vision. ¡°Final tally, twenty-three, Captain!¡± Roak said with a chortle. The young Sergeant looked like a mossy blond boulder. All thick muscles and curly hair, from his beard to his toes, Urla was loathe to know. There was little privacy in a battle company, even for one of the shield maidens of Attica. ¡°Roak, if you were counting, you weren¡¯t lost in the fury,¡± said Lieutenant Caliphus, shoving his own prisoner in the mud. ¡°Bloody shame.¡± Roak chuckled. ¡°Is it truly the fury if you just stand there hacking away at the same heathen the whole damn time?¡± Caliphus glowered. He was ten years younger than Urla, and younger than most of the Bloody Company. But unlike most of them, he was an academy boy from a decent family. The men liked to razz him over being a soft noble¡¯s son, and he fell for it more times than not. ¡°Too many kills to count,¡± Caliphus said. ¡°Hey, I thought you said it didn¡¯t matter!¡± ¡°Help me out here, Lady Captain!¡± Caliphus said. Urla smirked and shook her head. ¡°Only kill I ever marked was my very first. Twenty years ago.¡± ¡°Heh, first kill, that¡¯s all you marked today too Lieutenant,¡± Roak laughed. Caliphus shoved him in the shoulder, but he laughed along. Roak hurried forward, but Caliphus remained close by Urla¡¯s side. ¡°So¡­ how many was it actually, then?¡± Urla asked.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Twenty-two,¡± Caliphus said, shoving his prisoner forward. The heathen stumbled over his own feet. ¡°I¡¯d happily make it a tie, however!¡± The Sigan warrior shriveled at the words, and hurried forward. He did not trip again. *** The dusk of battle was Urla¡¯s least favorite hour, when the gruesome throes of fate were exchanged for a strange and raucous amalgamation of screams and frivolity. Of course, she¡¯d had her own part in the looting of defeated kingdoms before¡ªshaming and mutilating and enslaving¡ªbut over the years, it had grown less appealing. For years, Urla tried to suppress her displeasure at the post-battle ritual, for she knew it was the mother in her, and something deep within felt sure this was weakness festering. Eventually, she could not deny it. If becoming a mother had changed her, then, so be it. Her own child would never be left so vulnerable. Still, Urla could not shake the knowledge that her son¡¯s fate had been mere chance blessing from the All Mother. How easily little Ruan might have been Sigan, born on the other side of a war he had no say in. And when the Attican Empire quashed that rebellion and subjugated its citizens once more, as was their right, it could just as easily have been her own son orphaned or starved or... worse. So, once her duties were fulfilled on the battlefield, Urla retreated to the outskirts of the war camp while the warriors of the Bloody Company subjugated the Sigan heathens in the name of the empire, and the Dragon Emperor Athanasius himself. The Sigan capital of Leone was nothing like the great Attican cities of stone, where the history of the empire was etched in every temple and square. Here, everything was made of bamboo rods and thatched together by little more than twine. If the legions felt so inclined, the entire city could be razed by morning¡ªit surely wouldn¡¯t be the first time Leone had suffered such a fate. A proper civilized city could be built in its place, but that was not the Attican way. Yes, they conquered, but vassal states still maintained remnants of their culture. Sure, the Attican conquerors erected temples to the true All Mother and All Father, and over time, monks would bring many more converts to the Fjuriin Path. But theirs was an empire built on land, not superstitious rites or culture. So long as the Sigans paid proper tribute to the emperor, they could carry on their lives much as they had before. It made the matter of rebellion all the more baffling to Urla. Surely, life in Siga had been worse during their liberation. But then, she had been raised in the Path, and for that, she thanked the true gods. Urla walked the edge of the battlefield, where the sounds of spoils were diminished. Clouds hovered overhead, forming a sort of glowing dome over the valley. Most of the pyres had dwindled. Heathen soldiers were all huddled in prison carts, kept warm by the fires that had incinerated their fallen comrades. Along the hillsides, the silhouettes of dragons loomed against the cloudy backdrop, wings drawn back like dark sails. A faint golden luminescence caught Urla¡¯s eye near the center of the field, and she ventured over. As she neared, Urla noticed several brown-cloaked alchemists shuffling around, picking through splinters of wood, the source of the strange glow. The remains of the runeship, Urla realized, her curiosity piqued. It was little more than a heap of splinters. Urla could make out what she thought might be a section of mast jutting out of the wreckage, and a section of taffrail, perhaps, but little else. She drew closer. The browncloaks hefted a few select pieces of wood into a wagon, for study Urla presumed, the rest they cast aside into a large pile of charred lumber to be destroyed. The runeship was a terrifying marvel. Urla¡¯s own armor, like most highborn officers, was reinforced with runes¡ªthey made it possible to survive a single axe blow to the chest, though, rarely two¡ªbut to fly an entire ship with magic? That was a sorcery beyond anything in Attica. Though Urla knew little of magic. It was a force of the Other, according to the Fjuriin Path, and bore risks far greater than dragons, if practiced by the wrong hands. Worlds had fallen before from such power. This runeship was a bad omen. The power of a nation that did not believe in the same restraint towards sorcery. The Elyans were meddling in Attican affairs, and that was cause for worry. But if the secrets of their magic ships could be unraveled¡­ The browncloaks shot Urla an aggravated look, but carried on about their work. Runes on the salvaged boards continued to glow, despite the decimation of the ship itself. Urla peered into the cart for a closer look. It was as though the boards had been etched with liquid magic, like metal in a forge poured into intricate shapes. The runes themselves came from no language Urla had encountered in all her campaigns, their shape somehow both sharp and fluid. ¡°I guess I shouldn¡¯t be surprised to find you out here lingering on the battlefield,¡± said a familiar voice. ¡°Kraal ni Mira.¡± Consul General Campos strode toward her from the darkness, his crimson cloak billowing out behind him in the soft evening breeze. She saluted him with a raised right fist before answering. ¡°Soldiers live for spoils,¡± Urla said. ¡°Warriors fight for glory. You taught me that.¡± Campos had been Lord Captain of her first company, many years ago, and taught her much of what it meant to be a warrior. ¡°I did,¡± Campos said with a grin. ¡°But who said there¡¯s no glory to be found in spoils?¡± Urla shook her head. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t see you partaking either.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a consul.¡± Urla rolled her eyes. ¡°Well, there you have it.¡± ¡°But I am sure the men of your Bloody Company are relieved you let them choose their own glory.¡± Urla smiled. ¡°That would make me a poor bloody mother.¡± Kraal ni mira. The name had come from the moment she proved her mettle in the training camps. Back as a young officer recruit¡ªfar more green than Caliphus. There were few women in the legions, and hardly any female officers, and more than one cocky grunt had tested her. But when one bastard tried to have his way with her after a drunken fest, Urla nearly severed his hand clean off. The bastard was a fellow noble¡¯s heir, and took the incident up the chain of command. Urla denied it. Naturally, it was a much worse offense to maim one of her fellow soldiers than what the man had attempted. ¡°What would you have me do?¡± Lord Captain Campos had demanded of her before the tribunal. ¡°How else do you explain the blood on your uniform?¡± Urla had shrugged sheepishly. ¡°It¡¯s my¡­ time of the month.¡± And the name was born. The Bloody Mother. The maimed man was discharged. The legions had no use for a one-handed man, noble or not. Urla, meanwhile, earned her respect and her place among the legions. From that day forward, there was neither male nor female amongst her comrades, only soldiers. Twenty years later, Urla was one of the few lady captains, and her company of a hundred would follow her into the pits of Skrala itself. ¡°The Bloody Mother.¡± Campos laughed, clapped her on the shoulder. ¡°That bastard had it coming, I¡¯ll tell you.¡± She smiled. ¡°You have many times.¡± ¡°We all liked your boldness, just¡ª¡± ¡°Just needed an excuse not to send me packing,¡± Urla said. They laughed. Campos followed her gaze as the alchemists continued their work on the remains of the runeship. ¡°A marvel, isn¡¯t it?¡± the general said, surveying the diminishing heap that had once been a ship of terrifying magnificence. ¡°I¡¯m glad there was only one.¡± ¡°The Flying Armada is a legend, isn¡¯t it?¡± asked Urla. ¡°If the Elyans can build one ship? Why not a fleet?¡± ¡°They might ask the same of our dragons.¡± ¡°Aye, and we all make damn sure we keep that shrouded in mystery, don¡¯t we?¡± Urla knew he was fishing for information, as usual. Being wed to a Dragonmount, many assumed she knew all the secrets of the order, but her husband had taken oaths long before they¡¯d met, and Urla knew little more than most other members of the legions why there were so few dragons in the world. Urla shrugged. ¡°Mysteries are mysteries for a reason, sir.¡± Campos turned to one of the alchemists. ¡°Will you be able to unravel this monstrosity¡¯s mysteries, Lord Sorcerer?¡± The bald man scowled and set a glowing scrap of wood in the wagon. ¡°I¡¯m not at liberty to say, sir.¡± Campos chortled. ¡°Good man, good man. Carry on, then!¡± He waved the alchemist away and grabbed Urla by the elbow. ¡°Walk with me, will you? I think you¡¯re putting them on edge.¡± ¡°Me?¡± Urla laughed. ¡°You¡¯re the one asking questions.¡± ¡°Then, permit me the joy of your company, Kraal ni Mira.¡± Urla nodded. ¡°Of course, sir.¡± They strode in silence, weaving amongst the pyres dotting the battle-churned landscape. ¡°Your company fought with honor,¡± General Campos said. ¡°Throughout this campaign. You lead them well.¡± ¡°I learned to follow orders well, that¡¯s all.¡± ¡°There were some who feared you¡¯d let grief rule you today.¡± Urla huffed. If hers and her husband¡¯s fates had been reversed, she knew he would have received no such doubts. ¡°I was not one of them, Lady Captain. I knew you¡¯d fulfill your duty, beyond the highest expectations. As you have since the day that bastard lost his bloody hand.¡± She smiled. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± ¡°After this, though¡­¡± ¡°I have no intention of retiring, sir. My duty is written in blood, just like my father¡¯s and his before him.¡± ¡°I hear your son shows much promise at the academy. How old is he now?¡± ¡°Eighteen. He¡¯s already passed the Mountain and the Desert trials. Though he longs for the Sky like his father.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a damned shame Keivan¡¯s mount was lost with him,¡± Campos said softly. ¡°Voltari should have been your son¡¯s mount, and his heir¡¯s after him. So rare a tragedy.¡± Urla bit her lip. It felt like a betrayal, but that was the news she dreaded sharing with her son the most, even more than the death of his father. Ruan had trained all his youth believing he would be Dragonmount. He¡¯d ridden Voltari on half a hundred occasions, and he possessed rare skill in flight. Urla had insisted no word be sent about the tragedy. She could not bear the thought of anyone else breaking such unspeakable news to him. General Campos brushed her shoulder in a patronly fashion, and Urla turned to him. He¡¯d been a friend of her father¡¯s, and after his death, Campos was as close a thing to a father as she had left. ¡°There may be another way for your son to attempt a Sky trial.¡± ¡°Only a couple of dragons are hatched each year. I don¡¯t know as much as you think about their origins, but I know the chances that my son would be granted one is unfathomable. I have a better chance at becoming Lady General.¡± Campos smiled down at her. ¡°Some might have said the same about your chances at being captain too. Or even making it out of the training camps. But in my experience, it¡¯s always a combination of who you are and who you know. Your son is one of the most promising young novices in the capital, and you are more well-connected than you may realize.¡± ¡°What are you saying, sir?¡± ¡°There¡¯s someone I¡¯d like you and Ruan to meet when we return to Attica. Assuming, of course, that you¡¯re interested.¡± ¡°You think you can get my family another dragon?¡± Campos walked off, calling over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll send word after the Victor¡¯s March.¡± 10 - Victors The streets of Attica thrummed with the booming exultation of victory. Crimson banners streamed from every rooftop and balcony, from the Rue ni Hana at the outskirts of the city, all the way to the Imperial Square at the base of the palace grounds. Thousands of soldiers marched along the Attican Way, trumpets blaring, crowds roaring, soldiers pausing at intervals to pound out a victor¡¯s beat on the cobbled stone with their boots and spear shafts, ending with a furious chant that thundered across the city, echoing off the hillsides beyond. ¡°The streets will flow like rivers,¡± the legions shouted. ¡°No more will our empire fade. Athanasius will take his bounty. Attica! Attica, rise from your grave!¡± Urla shouted with all the rest, her own company positioned near the middle of the procession. It was remarkable to look upon the main thoroughfare of the city and consider how much had changed in her lifetime. Athanasius was the fourth emperor to rule since Urla was born. Many in the world had thought that Attica was in its twilight years in her childhood. A once-mighty nation clinging to a tradition of power more than anything actual. More and more of the outer kingdoms ruled and united by Aran the Conqueror in the Golden Age had withdrawn. Great sprawls of land once regions of the greatest empire in the world were grafted in by lesser kingdoms at the outer limits of Attica¡¯s influence. Peoples once called Attican were known by other names. Old kingdoms were reborn, new ones formed. And Attica dwindled like a wave turning back to sea. Even internally, Attica was a fractured empire when Urla came into the world. Most of its armies split amongst the three great Dragon Lords, the imperial force barely larger than the highest lord¡¯s standing army. The high lords vied for power in a vicious cycle of war and upheaval and assassinations, mixed with famines and plagues and other disasters that heaped on the turbulence. Attica was spread too thin, ruled by too many lords, united by weak and foolish emperors. Praust the Second had been barely a puppet, so Urla¡¯s father had told little Urla after he was assassinated. Emperor Erastlan, a fool. And he died just a few years later. But the Good Emperor Vitruvian had done two things unexpected. Two things that forced the high lords to pull their heads out of their own asses for long enough to repair some of the fractures. First, Vitruvian deemed the allotment of dragons be based on a lottery. For years, the lesser lords had been swayed by shifting loyalties, that often changed overnight, as they attempted to woo their way to merit a dragon egg, and the promise it might hold for their houses. But as soon as all dragon eggs belonged to the empire, rather than a few high lords, political maneuvering required a majority and had to include the approval of the emperor himself. Second, and most astonishing, Vitruvian refused to name an heir from his own bloodline. Instead, he chose to name an heir based on merit and character, regardless of the greatness of house. Athanasius came from the lesser House Octiva, his own kingdom spanning less than half of a percent of the empire. House Octiva had no historic squabbles with the Dragon Lords, and Athanasius was charismatic and cunning. Any who doubted him were quickly won over after he quashed the Rhodan Rebellion, involving the brief secession of one of the oldest and greatest dragon houses Attica had ever known. But Athanasius followed up this victory on the Attican interior with two more on the exterior, conquering the small kingdoms of Kalkesh and Ytan.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The Fjuriin Path meant something again. For the first time in a century, Attica was growing rather than receding. The Sigan victory in the eastern border was just one more step toward the Path of Eternal Greatness. Though Urla was filled with sorrow, buried deep in her spirit over the loss of her husband and her son¡¯s rightful dragon, their deaths had been a worthy sacrifice. And with the possibility of another dragon lingering in her mind, Urla could not help but march proudly, bellowing alongside the members of her company. This was their path. The legions marched over a series of bridges leading up to the palace, pausing before the great temples of Valyr and Marha¡ªthe true All Father and All Mother. Blood ran down the steps leading up to the pillared entrance of Marha¡¯s temple. The life of the greatest Sigan generals spilled as a sacrifice that would be spread upon fields outside the city, blessing the body of the All Mother, where all Atticans made their home. Urla counted herself blessed that her company had been given the honor of the Victor¡¯s March. Half the legions remained in Siga, to ensure proper transition of power. A quarter of those soldiers left behind would likely be garrisoned there for two years. Urla knew she had Consul General Campos to thank for her marching orders. The Imperial Square stretched a quarter mile in all directions, formed of brilliant alabaster stone tiles. Each fitted so carefully, and maintained so dutifully, that the war chariots leading the procession did not rattle. Chariots were unreasonable on the shattered terrain in the East, but in Attica City, all generals rode them. In the old wars of the Golden Age, it was said legions of chariots fought in battles on the very plains where crops were now sown to sustain the empire. Chariots circled the square ahead before stopping at the great steps of the pyramidal fortress that was the Emperor¡¯s palace. The legions formed up in regiments of five hundred, with a hundred soldiers to each company. The edges of the square were lined with the chariots of the lords of Attica. She spotted her husband¡¯s banner, a blue tower with a dragon perched at its zenith, and her heart rushed. The banner rose above her son¡¯s chariot. Even from this distance, she recognized his stance, one hand tucked at his side, resting on the hilt of his sword. Urla¡¯s company¡ªall bearing her house¡¯s sigil upon their chests¡ªformed up beside her. For a moment, the square was silent. Ten thousand soldiers stood to attention at the base of the pyramid. A hundred thousand citizens filled the streets surrounding them. And yet, it was as silent as the forests behind Urla¡¯s childhood home. All at once, like an eruption, cheers rumbled across the square. Every soldier looked upward as the first dragon soared overhead, swooping down from azure skies. Soldiers pounded their fists on their armored chests, and more dragons followed. Twenty foot wings fanned across the sky like dark sails. Seven dragons in total, belonging to the high lords and the Dragon Emperor Athanasius himself. They swooped down for another pass, while another chorus of ¡°Attica, Rise from your Grave¡± erupted amongst the troops and carried into the streets. One by one, the lords perched upon landing pads set into the sides of the pyramid, while Athanasius¡¯s pale white dragon drew back its wings and set down upon the vast dais at the top of the stairs, midway up the pyramid¡¯s face. He raised a gleaming sword into the air, and the city cheered. Soldiers pounded their boots and spear shafts, the sound rising to near-deafening heights. Urla stomped her feet with all her might, a rush of furious patriotism erupting in her heart. The Emperor lowered his sword, and the crowd went silent as their great leader descended his white dragon. Urla stole a glance at the western edge of the square, where her son stood at the front of his father¡¯s chariot. Dark brown hair reached his shoulders and caught the breeze. Ruan¡¯s bronze skin shone, though his face remained expressionless. She wondered what news had already reached him. His father was a lesser lord, so it was not strange his dragon did not fly during the Victor¡¯s March. Ruan glanced her direction, and her heart shuddered inside her chest. She could not hold back a grimace as his sad eyes glistened, meeting her gaze. There was no searching there. He already knows. Urla knew it deep in her spirit. Her son turned away. The crowd erupted once more as Emperor Athanasius raised his hands from the dais. Using a runemarked horn, his voice filled the square with what was surely a rousing speech of triumph and glory. But Urla heard little of it. 11 - Invitation The festivities lasted only a day in the city, then most of the imperial troops marched on to the estates of their lord houses, where celebrations would continue. Keivan¡¯s cousins and uncles all led companies the same as Urla, and all their troops made their livelihoods on Keivan Pelasius¡¯s lands¡ªa two day journey from the capital across the southern plains of Attica Proper. It was not until moments before dinner on the first night, that Urla finally found her son. In truth, after seeing his face during the Victor¡¯s March, she¡¯d needed the time to prepare herself, and in all the festivities and marching, there had been little privacy. Expression stoic as ever, young Ruan greeted Urla with a salute, for they were surrounded by a bustling mass of soldiers and servants, unloading gear, setting up camp, ferrying messages. ¡°Join me for wine before dinner?¡± Urla asked, motioning toward the enormous tent that had been erected. Two dozen poles of socha and thick furls of Kirithian cloth would provide her more space than she¡¯d had in months, though she longed for the vast halls of home. Ruan hesitated, but caught himself. ¡°Of course, Lady Captain.¡± So formal. Gods, he was only a boy when we left, Urla thought. He still addressed me as mother. Now, he¡¯s a man grown. Eighteen. Urla gestured to the tent entrance, and he followed her inside. A flurry of servants engulfed them both. Once Urla had fielded questions from Pisarre, the chief of their family¡¯s staff, about dinner and preparations for the larger festivities when they reached the Sapphire Tower of Castle Pesasius. As she spoke, Ruan stepped aside, and a pair of servants removed the leather fastenings on her steel cuirass and eased the runemarked armor off. After two years at the edge of the empire, and a three month campaign, it was a blessed relief. Today had demanded only ceremonial garb, so the process was quicker than battle armor. Urla wore only a cream-colored tunic beneath, which was drenched with sweat from riding in the early autumn sun. Ruan turned his back as the female servants stripped her and dabbed her naked body with damp cloths and perfumes before dressing her in a sleeveless violet gown made of Kirithian silk. Urla was rarely one for excess, and the entire process was finished in only a few minutes. When she turned, Ruan remained in his formal academy uniform, a tight fitting crimson tunic beneath standard leathern armor, with bronze fastenings, and pauldrons decorated with a small bronze dragon head on each shoulder. A blue sash for his father¡¯s house¡ªnow, his house¡ªwas draped over his chest. And a bronze and leather belt with a gladius sheathed at his hip. All just like her husband had worn in his own academy days. So regal. So¡­ Under normal circumstances, mother and son might have taken their wine at the edge of the camp and watched the sunset, but tonight, much as Urla was tired of the walls of tents, it would be improper to speak in public, considering what they must discuss. Chairs were brought to the center of her tent, wine was poured into bronze chalices, and then, at last, they were alone. Ruan stood beside his chair, waiting for her to be seated first, but Urla merely gazed at her son, looking him up and down, truly, for the first time in two years. His dark hair was tied back now. Specks of stubble showed on his upper lip. His brown eyes were full of secrets. It was a Fjuriin tenet to remain composed, to master one¡¯s passions. To accept fate, and remain committed to one¡¯s path. But it was necessary to be true amongst a devoted few. This was the traditional role of Attican mothers since the Golden Age, even Lady Captains. Urla had been her son¡¯s confidante once. But now¡­ she could sense the walls he¡¯d built up during his time at the academy. ¡°There¡¯s no need to say I¡¯ve grown,¡± Ruan said plainly. ¡°I already know full well.¡± Urla smirked, and Ruan let the crease of a smile slip at the edges of his mouth. ¡°Ah, there it is,¡± she said, and his smile grew. ¡°Yes, even soldiers are allowed a grin from time to time. Now, are you too old to embrace your mother?¡± Ruan hesitated, glancing around. ¡°You don¡¯t have to, if you don¡¯t¡ª¡± Before Urla could finish, Ruan crossed the space between them and pulled her tight. He was taller than her now. The top of her head only reached the base of his ear, and she was tall for an Attican woman. Gods, he must have grown half a foot these past two years. Ruan clutched her back, a slight tremble in his fingers. She kissed him briefly on the cheek and pulled back. She¡¯d ordered the servants not to disturb them, but she knew he was on edge about appearances, having just become a proper Fjuriin man. ¡°When did you hear?¡± she whispered, taking her seat. ¡°Cedro, another boy at the academy, he lost his father in the same battle. The messenger talked about a dragonfall. I knew it was Voltari from description alone. I told no one, though.¡± Urla took a long drink from her chalice, draining the cup. Blessedly, the servants had left a carafe, and she refilled it. The warmth in her stomach dulled the tide of grief that threatened to swell up in her. ¡°I hoped to be the one to break the news.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Ruan sat straight and rigid in his chair. ¡°Truth be told, I¡¯m glad for the time to mourn on my own. Or today¡¯s Victor¡¯s March might have been far less sweet.¡± Urla nodded. She¡¯d wanted to be the one to comfort him, but perhaps she¡¯d needed him more than he¡¯d needed her. ¡°Only one dragon fell. Who was this Cedro¡¯s father?¡± ¡°A low lord from the isles. Lucian Varro. His son is one my bunkmates at Dawncrest.¡± Urla cursed to herself. The Varros were barely lords at all. In her own youth, before the Good Emperor Vitruvian¡¯s reign, such a lord would never have bunked with a Pelasius. And she might have still broken the news herself. But then, before Vitruvian, she might never have married a Dragonmount either. Ruan remained composed, though she noted how he bit the inside of his lower lip in the interim. ¡°What are you thinking?¡± she asked. He sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve had three weeks to consider all this means.¡± ¡°You¡¯re Lord Pelasius now.¡± ¡°Not just that.¡± Urla shuddered to mention it. Suddenly fearing it was all wishful thinking. What if Campos was wrong? What if he couldn¡¯t do what he said he might? But the arrangements were already made, and if there was even the slightest chance Ruan might still become Dragonmount, she had to take it. ¡°We¡¯re dining with the Consul General tonight,¡± she said. Ruan frowned. ¡°Tonight of all nights should be a family dinner. Uncle Adrius has an elaborate feast prepared.¡± Urla nodded. ¡°Campos is like a father to me, Ruan. He is one of the highest lords in the land.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t even have a dragon.¡± ¡°By choice. He serves on Athanasius¡¯s council, just as his father served Vitruvian and Erastlan before him. We should be honored to dine with him.¡± Ruan straightened at her words and nodded, but his voice remained rigid. ¡°Of course, mother.¡± ¡°He has an invitation that I think will be of great interest to you.¡± *** Ruan¡¯s eyes went wide, the corners on the verge of tearing up at Campos¡¯s words. ¡°You¡¯re serious, Consul General? Mother, surely this is a joke.¡± Urla¡¯s stomach churned, desperately hoping the same. They sat at the head of Campos¡¯s table, the customary honor usually reserved for members of a lord¡¯s own bloodline, though Campos had no wife or children. A few nieces and nephews had joined them during the meal, but left to join their own families as soon as the meal was done. Servants cleaned up the long wooden tables, while the three of them spoke softly. ¡°No joke, Ruan,¡± Campos said. ¡°I would never trivialize something so sacred as a dragonbond.¡± ¡°But my father was the first Pelasius to become Dragonmount. The chances of another lottery are abysmally low.¡± ¡°Your father was one of the first to win a bond under Vitruvian¡¯s rule. But there are ways.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be middle of the line at best for a chance to bond,¡± Ruan said. ¡°You¡¯re right. If you wait until the lottery, you will be middle line at best. Each egg will have a chance to be bonded with half a hundred lordlings before it might reach you. Impossible? Who can say? Dragonbonds are a mystery. I¡¯ve seen two fall to the same house in the same year, by chance. There are many houses, even great ones, who¡¯ve yet to form a bond. But your blood runs deep, long before the Dragon Lords. There were Pelasius riders during Aron the Conqueror¡¯s reign.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± Urla briefly brushed his shoulder. ¡°Speak plainly, General. For my father¡¯s sake.¡± A handsome servant with fair Valucian skin refilled their glasses. He wore a maroon vest and tight brown breeches, and had seen twenty summers at best. Campos pulled him close and whispered something in his ear, then winked and waved the young man away. ¡°Thank you, Baro.¡± The servant barked an order in Valucian, and the other servants quickly left the room. In the distance, Urla heard the strumming of lyres and the beat of dancing drums. She recognized it as an old melody dating back just after the Crossing, in the lively style of the Old Continent. Baro stood at the entrance to the tent, arms crossed. Urla thought she had seen him before, though Campos had kept other young men close as long as she¡¯d known him. Clearly, Baro was special, to be so trusted. When it was clear their conversation was private, Campos spoke. ¡°Since your father married your mother, I¡¯ve often teased her about finding out the origins of dragon eggs.¡± ¡°It¡¯s knowledge entrusted only to the Emperor, and the old Dragon Lords,¡± said Ruan. ¡°You¡¯re right, but also to others who¡¯ve no stake in the matter.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Urla asked. ¡°You¡¯ve always known? You¡¯ve been pestering me since I married Keivan.¡± Campos chuckled and shrugged. ¡°Guilty. I was curious how much is known by families such as yours. Ancient lineage and such. Though, in truth, knowing you, you¡¯d not have let on to a fool like me, even if you¡¯d known.¡± Urla fought a smile. ¡°So, you know where the eggs actually come from?¡± Ruan asked. ¡°I¡¯ve been entrusted with delivering them for the lottery for the past several years. But this year, our gracious Emperor has requested I bring more¡­ assurances. Ruan, I¡¯d like you and your mother to join me in safely delivering the eggs from their present hiding place. In the process, you¡¯ll be the first potential mount to come in contact with this year¡¯s selection. And should you so happen to bond with one of them before the lottery, well, what¡¯s done would be done, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°There¡¯s no breaking a bond,¡± Ruan said, eyes alight. ¡°Only death.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± said Campos. ¡°When do we set sail?¡± Urla asked. ¡°Tonight.¡± ¡°Before the celebrations?¡± Urla asked. ¡°It¡¯ll be a week of preparations. You¡¯ll slip away, to mourn your husband¡¯s death in private. We¡¯ll be back before First Feast.¡± ¡°Wait, there and back in less than a week,¡± said Ruan. ¡°Where are we sailing?¡± Campos grinned. ¡°Ah, well, we won¡¯t be traveling by ship. At least most of the way.¡± ¡°What?¡± said Urla. ¡°I told you, there was someone I wanted you to meet,¡± said Campos, his grin growing wide and mischievous. ¡°Out with it, General,¡± Urla said. ¡°Er, with respect.¡± ¡°Ha! Yes, I enjoy the game a bit too much, I know. But can you really fault a man for enjoying himself? Baro, bring in our guest, would you?¡± The Valucian man nodded, and slipped past the entrance into another part of the tent. He emerged moments later, bowed to the general, and then spoke, ¡°I present Lady Knight Meripha Salyr.¡± An immense woman with dark brown skin strode into the room, bedecked in runemarked armor even finer than Urla¡¯s own. Each plate shimmering like polished silver. The shield of her helmet remained closed, but her dark eyes shone. Dark hair flowed from behind the helmet in several tight braids. Despite the thick armor, her movements were silent and lithe, an impossibility made possible only through magic. Ruan¡¯s mouth gaped. He glanced from his mother to General Campos to the knight. ¡°A Knight of Caadron?¡± Besides the alchemists, the knights were the only other order entrusted with the ways of magic in the empire. This woman was one seven who walked the Path of the Gods. The Lady Knight stopped in front of them and dipped her head in reverence. ¡°You summoned, Lord General?¡± ¡°Take us to the palace,¡± he said. ¡°Of course, Consul General,¡± she said, inflection-less. The Lady Knight drew an enormous broadsword from her back, the long blade shimmering with ethereal radiance. An emerald gemstone glowed in the pommel. Urla had never seen a godblade this close. The gem shone with a ferocious luminescence as the Lady Knight swung the blade in a swift arc, forming a shimmering ring of light. Mists plumed around her, as though she¡¯d just plunged a forged blade in water. When the mists settled, the ring of light remained, and within it was what Urla could only describe as a window in the air itself. All around was Lord General Campos¡¯s tent, but within the ring of light, was an immaculate palatial hall, lined with towering marble pillars, etched with gold filigree. Urla¡¯s breath caught. ¡°Who are we going to meet?¡± Campos shrugged. ¡°We mustn¡¯t keep the Dragon Emperor waiting.¡± 12 - Fate of the Fallen After one day of recovery for the surviving climbers, the Festival began at full dark the day after the Ascension. At the top of a hill near the base of the Spires, three pyres illuminated Kalengal Valley in a raging light. Malik and all the other surviving climbers lined up in front of the pyres, while the four Faltari clans looked on. Three youths had fallen this year, all during the storm. In that way, it was an ordinary Ascent, but somehow, this truth offered Malik no comfort tonight. His father raised his hands, standing in front of the newly-christened young men and women of Faltara. Fifteen survivors in all. The entire valley fell silent. With hish to amplify his voice, Joren addressed all the Faltari people, as he did every year. ¡°Long ago, our ancestors made the most difficult decision anyone can make. To leave their world of their ancestors behind and create a new life. To trust the signs of the gods, even though their destination was uncharted, even though no one before had crossed through this Gate.¡± Joren gestured up at the Spires, shadows hovering behind him. ¡°Our ancestors did not know what they would find on the other side. But they knew the survival of our very people depended on their courageous hearts and adventurous spirits. The world had grown evil, and rather than power or wealth, our people led the way. They forged a new path, and chose a peaceful existence on an unknown island in a strange world. ¡°It is true ours is no easy existence. Faltara is harsh and breathtaking land. Crops do not come without toil. Winters are long and cruel. We share this land with ancient predators, and at times, we face conflicts within. That same corruption that lingers from the world we left behind. ¡°But the gods were wise, and they bestowed wisdom upon our ancestors. The four clans were formed to strike a balance amongst our people. Four chieftains, representing four aspects of the same Faltari heritage. All of you possess your own gifts, as does each of your clans. But each one of us comes to maturity the same way. Ever since the Crossing, it has always been so. Each Ascent begins alone, but like the clans themselves, many discover how hard it is to survive without the aid of your kin.¡± Malik couldn¡¯t help but glance over at Aram Tulsein. The tall boy rolled his eyes at the shaman¡¯s words. Malik could imagine what the cocky young man was muttering. Aram was the First Ascendant, and he had done it all on his own. Though, of course, that was untrue. Aram had been trained by members of his clan, like everyone else. But such balanced thinking was beyond someone like Aram. ¡°Our survival depends on the sacrifice of us all,¡± Joren went on. ¡°It is a lesson that can cost a life just as easily in the Spires, as anywhere else on the island. We endure nothing alone. We Faltari face all things as one people in the end. That goes for celebration, but also for mourning.¡± A lump formed in Malik¡¯s throat. An ache in his chest. For what seemed the thousandth time in a day, he pictured Petyr¡¯s smile. There. And then simply¡ªgone. ¡°Fifteen of you have survived the same dangerous Ascent we all have faced, bringing back relics from a lost world. You¡¯ve gazed at the bones of our past. Glimpsed the fate of the fallen who¡¯ve come before. A civilization that choked the very life out of our ancestors. And eventually, out of their own existence. Even the very dragons that brought that civilization to its prominence can no longer exist there. And so we journey, once a year. To remember. To face the bitter spirits of our past.¡± Writhing shadows sifted through his vision, picturing Derrin. The corpses that filled that temple. The faces on the pillars. ¡°You have endured. You have seen our past. Now, may you lead us forward along the path the gods have set before us.¡± Malik¡¯s father paused and held up a cloth of all four colors, representing those who¡¯d returned. Both now, and always.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Joren released it into the wind, and it writhed through the air, aided by a hint of hish, before settling in some child¡¯s hands in the midst of the crowd¡ªa special blessing. There was a brief exultation. Then, Joren produced three black cloths. ¡°Three of our own did not return to us, a hard and necessary sacrifice. But one we never take lightly. We Faltari are no strangers to death or hardship. We do not fear it. These three Ascended with honor, and they fell, as we all shall fall, one day. May they prepare the way for us in the life to come, just as they have done in this. Tonight, they feast in the halls of Urshalla, with the gods themselves. Having fought bravely in this life.¡± Joren released the black cloths into the wind one at a time. Strips of fabric darted across the gathering and fell amongst them. Somewhere in the crowd, other children snatched up each of the cloths, and would deliver them solemnly to each mother of the fallen. The entire valley fell silent once more. Crowds parted, forming one aisle. Kin of one of the fallen strode through the crowd, carrying a stretcher made of dark cloth and bone-white tree limbs. A shrouded body lay upon the first stretcher. As they neared, Malik recognized Petyr¡¯s elder brother, Davar, and his father, Elder Dannsein, head of the Saber clan. They and other family members carried the stretcher, while his mother walked before them, sprinkling the white and purple petals of high mountain ruleas. The sight sent shivers through him. Last year, it had been Malik carrying that stretcher. His mother and sister casting the flowers. Torches ignited across the crowd, a sea of dancing flames and dimly-lit faces, and a soft chorus ushered up from the crowd. ¡°Elesa volonai. Menassa elonai¡­¡± ¡°Utlesa sheshonash. Alesa renonash¡­¡± An ancient prayer in a tongue from the fallen world, so Malik¡¯s father said. According to Joren, its truest meaning was a reason for contention, but for the people of Faltara, it was a cry for unity and collective sorrow. The other two fallen climbers were carried to the base of the hill at the center of the gathering. Every man, woman, and child in the valley lifted up their voices. Malik did not join them at first, though he knew the words better than any mantra in his own tongue. He looked out at his people, and then, up into the darkness where the shadows of the spires loomed. ¡°Elesa volonai. Menassa elonai¡­¡± ¡°Utlesa sheshonash. Alesa renonash¡­¡± The gods move through us. For we are their children. From them, we were begotten. To them, we shall return. Malik had sung the words over the fallen every year. Until they were to be sung over the spirit of his brother. He had not been able to bring himself to sing over his Derrin¡¯s body and only mouthed the words. He¡¯d intended to do the same now, but then, his gaze settled on Petyr¡¯s mother. Tears streaked her cheeks, and she beat her palm against her chest with each line, chanting with all the sincerity in her spirit. Elder Dannsein kept one hand at his wife¡¯s shoulder, and began to pound his chest too. And then, their other son joined. Releasing Petyr¡¯s spirit from this place. To join the Great Breath of the gods. The foreign words overwhelmed him with a spiritual sense beyond anything Malik could explain. For the past two years, he had felt so alone in his sorrow. So alone in his despair over a shifted fate and uncertain future and a brother he¡¯d butted heads with, but had always loved. In this throng, surrounded by the voices of his people, all this turmoil drifted into the heavens like their voices. As the third body was laid to rest at the base of the hill, Malik lifted up his voice to join with his people. ¡°Elesa volonai. Menassa elonai¡­¡± ¡°Utlesa sheshonash. Alesa renonash¡­¡± The entire song, Malik¡¯s father kept his hands raised. As the last line faded, slipping up into the misty night, Joren dropped his hands and turned to the surviving climbers. His eyes settled on Malik, and he nodded. Malik stepped forward as they had rehearsed. Riese, Yuri, and Ulgar joined him, and they were accompanied by Lera Pelesadeil, who came from Petyr¡¯s same clan. The other survivors formed up into two more groups. Five for each fallen climber. Malik and the others knelt at Petyr¡¯s side and bowed their heads. There was no sound but their breaths, and the shh-shh-ing of trees in the breeze. Bodies were not always found. Malik did not know whether these shrouds contained the remains of Petyr at all. That was a matter for Petyr¡¯s family, and them alone. From such a height, Malik knew Petyr¡¯s body would be hardly recognizable. Yet, the stretcher bore a human form wrapped in layers of white cloth, not a pile of crumpled bones. Derrin had been lost to the Abyss, and yet, his stretcher had looked similar. The lie had enraged Malik before, but seeing it now, he understood the words his father had spoken countless times. Our rituals matter, not because they are the fullness of what¡¯s true, but because they point to truth. Malik raised his head and stood. Each of the five greeted the members of Petyr¡¯s family with an embrace. Then, they gathered once more around the stretcher. Malik looked over at his companions. Lera trembled with silent sobs. Riese bit her lip. Yuri remained expressionless. Ulgar nodded to Malik, a lone tear trickling down the sharp features of his face. Malik nodded to them. They stooped down and lifted the stretcher. It was heavy, but manageable, and together, they strode back up the hill, raised the stretcher above their heads, and heaved Petyr Bromsein¡¯s remains into the central pyre. Flames rushed into the heavens. 13 - Your Own Way ¡°You did well today, son.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve said that¡­¡± Malik followed his father deeper through the crypt tunnels that weaved beneath the base of the Kalengal Spires known by the Faltari as the Mountain of Souls. The tunnels themselves were woven with magical threads that glowed with an icy luminescence. All through the mountain, the caverns were lined, allowing just enough light to navigate without the aid of a torch. From the front entrance at the center of the valley, the cavern walls were also lined with narrow internment shelves, carved straight into the stone. This far down, most of the shelves remained empty. Further back up the tunnels, each box-like shelf contained a clay jar with the ashes of Faltari ancestors. Each shelf was decorated with items important to the deceased, and the jars themselves told their stories in a series of pictographic inscriptions. There was no rhyme or reason to the order of the shelves. Shamans chose the location at random, usually with the intent of separating each deceased person from their ancestors. In death, there are no families, no clans, Malik had been taught. This is the final reminder. And so, Faltari families were not laid to rest together as in other corners of the world. For similar reasons, the shamans held no clan identities, which was why Malik had not been marked by a fresh tattoo of jackal claws the night before the Ascent. A shaman¡¯s true and ultimate allegiance was only to the gods. None but the elders and the shamans visited these crypts, except to prepare the internment shelf on the day of burial. Up the tunnel, Malik could hear the murmurings of Petyr¡¯s family. They were the last family in the crypts, and Joren had elected to give them space, as he usually did. The crypts glowed brighter the deeper they descended into the heart of the spires. ¡°I mean it, son,¡± Joren said, pausing to turn to him. Malik glanced away. His father¡¯s face was painted. Dark wells of ink splotched around his eyes. Slashes of blue graced his cheeks and the shaved sides of his head. It was ceremonial custom for a shaman, but Malik had always hated looking into those dark wells ever since he was a child. Next year, his face would be thus painted as well. And all the years after, and somehow, everything about this ceremony felt like an immense weight. As though his destiny were closing in around him, pressing down like the mountain above, walls collapsing and crushing him under the pressure. His father¡¯s hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his own thoughts. ¡°Even death is a lesson, Malik.¡± ¡°Everything¡¯s a lesson to you,¡± he murmured. ¡°Nothing more than an excuse to me. To soften the blow from the exact result we should expect for sending our youth up the Spires every year. These deaths are a curse we bring on ourselves. Not a lesson.¡± His father scowled, the whites of his eyes feeling spectre-like against the dark rings decorating his face. Joren sighed. ¡°Come.¡± They descended further into the mountain. Malik knew where they were going, and the dread creeped in as they neared. The burial tunnels wended down, growing brighter and brighter before reaching a door made of stone, etched in ancient runes. A language from that dead world, just like the dirge their people sang. Joren uttered words in the ancient tongue as he pressed his right palm against the stone. ¡°Melana esso tanai.¡± Joren issued a soft pulse of hish as he uttered the spell. The stone groaned, and Joren pressed firmly with both palms. The door shifted open, grinding against the floor of the chamber. A flood of brilliant light ushered forth, so bright, it took Malik several moments, even with the aid of hish, to adjust his vision. The floor of theroom beyond was blanketed with threads of magic, drawing from the heart of the mountain toward the center of the room, where a coalescence of magic formed in a pool of ethereal mists. Malik could feel the warm presence of spirit resonances all around the chamber.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. All the caverns behind were frigid, but here, Malik quickly grew flushed in his cloak. Joren led the way across the chamber, removing his thick shaman¡¯s cloak, and then his shirt. His father¡¯s back was covered in paint¡ªsymbols of the clans, runic incantations, transcriptions of tales. There was much he had yet to learn about all the rites that surrounded the Festival of the Ascension. Next year. Malik removed his own cloak, and together, father and son stood at the edge of the pool. ¡°You¡¯re right, son,¡± Joren said. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°Of course we ask for this. We choose to send our young up the Spires. We choose to send them to a dead world. What it means to us is also a choice.¡± ¡°It feels like nothing more than a needless sacrifice. Like the heathens from that dead world slaughtering their children in great wars.¡± ¡°It is a sacrifice, but it is also a lesson. Because that is the perspective our people chose long ago.¡± ¡°Even Derrin,¡± Malik said. ¡°Even his death was a lesson?¡± Joren gestured toward the pool. ¡°Why don¡¯t you find out, son?¡± Malik crossed his arms, a lump in his chest. He hadn¡¯t been here since Derrin died. He knew what his father wanted of him, but he was not sure he could do it. ¡°He¡¯s waited a long time,¡± Joren said. ¡°I haven¡¯t pressed you. Everyone must face loss in their own way. But you¡¯re hurting, son. And I think he may offer you some comfort.¡± ¡°You and I both know it might not even be him.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve visited your brother on two occasions. Whether it is his spirit, or a manifestation of my own¡­ it is no less sacred.¡± Malik released his clenched fists and took a long breath. His spirit was in turmoil. He knew his father was right, and yet, even that very truth was shrouded in anger and frustration, and Malik didn¡¯t know why. He drew another long inhalation and slowly released it, attempting to release the tension in his body as best he could. Joren patted his shoulder. And Malik removed his fur-lined boots and stepped into the ethereal pool. It was wet. Warm. A pool fed from deep in the heart of the mountain. But it was much more than water. A rush of light surged through the mists. Magic swirled around him, filled with resonances of ancestral spirits. The subtle vibrations of hish that he¡¯d learned to recognize hummed with a soft and steady cadence. Like waves beating the shore or the crackle of fire. Despite the fact that all of them were dead, Malik was struck by the realization that all these spirits were at peace. No anger or bitterness surged in this place. Striving is the stuff of life, he thought. What awaits is peace. His father had taught him these words when his grandmother passed from the world. He had emphasized them again when Derrin fell. No one knows what awaits, Malik thought. But in the warm presence of the resonances surrounding him, the thought drifted away. His body relaxed, and then, all at once. The mists parted around him, forming a space in their midst. And one resonance drew close. Malik recognized that vibrant spiritual thrum immediately. A face appeared from the mists, formed of visible manifestations of the breath of the gods. Derrin beamed at him, his face like a dim reflection of the remarkable young man he¡¯d been in life. ¡°I think your Ascent may have been even more exciting than mine, little brother.¡± Malik tensed at the voice, reminding himself that this might not be Derrin¡¯s resonance at all. Spirits were mysterious, even devious, as he¡¯d seen in the Abyss. But it sounded just like him. Felt just like him. Malik couldn¡¯t hold back a smile. ¡°I¡¯d have taken a boring Ascent, I think.¡± ¡°Ah, but that wouldn¡¯t have made for a very good story. You did well, Mal. I¡¯m beyond proud. We all are.¡± ¡°All?¡± said Malik. Derrin¡¯s smile widened. Malik shrugged, knowing he¡¯d get no straight answers from spectres. ¡°You did all you could,¡± Derrin said. ¡°There is never shame in that.¡± ¡°Even when it¡¯s not enough?¡± ¡°No amount of striving is ever enough. It takes death to understand the beauty in that.¡± Malik huffed. ¡°You sound like father.¡± ¡°I did train with him for many years.¡± Malik looked away, suddenly jolted back to the turmoil surging inside him. ¡°I know why you haven¡¯t come down here,¡± Derrin said. ¡°I can¡¯t say I blame you. I put you in a bit of a¡­ precarious situation. Dying and everything.¡± Malik couldn¡¯t help himself. It was so like Derrin to make a joke, even about his own death. The mists swirled with the mirth of their laughter. ¡°I know it¡¯s been hard on you,¡± said Derrin. ¡°You were never supposed to be shaman. And then, you were. But you showed your mettle today, little brother. The way you helped Petyr in the Abyss. Ulgar on the bridge of vines.¡± ¡°You could see all that?¡± ¡°Resonances,¡± said Derrin. ¡°You can see us in the Abyss? Even father can¡¯t do that.¡± ¡°Father is still striving. Much wisdom comes with death. It is no tragedy.¡± Malik grimaced, shifting his feet and stirring up the mists. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be like me, you know,¡± said Derrin. ¡°Or like father. You¡¯ll find your own way to serve our people.¡± The words washed over Malik. Mists swirled and slowly evaporated, and he could feel Derrin¡¯s resonance slipping away, joining the throng of others in the crypts. Leaving a lingering ache of absence. Malik didn¡¯t move for some time. His brother had struck at the core of his anger and frustration, and yet, Malik had lived as a shaman for the past year, and he did not see how his brother could be right. Malik longed for the Jackal claws etched into his forearms, just like Riese and Yuri. He longed for more than prayers and healings and tending to the dead. The Ascent itself had dredged this awareness back to the surface. The thrill of the climb, battles with jackals and dragyrs, fleeing from wights of the Abyss. Even the storm itself, though terrifying, had been exhilarating. His one and only adventure was done. And now¡­ Joren¡¯s hand clasped his shoulder. ¡°Petyr¡¯s family has finished their burial preparations. I think they would find comfort with you making the final rites.¡± Malik took a long breath, a part of him wanting to refuse. But just as he had during his Ascent, he knew he must be more.