Pirin sat on the upper platform of the Featherflight with Nomad and Gray. Using the ship’s stove, he’d condensed the catacomb elixirs into a syrup, and after a few days of sailing, now only had three cups of vibrant blue liquid. It retained the same overall strength, only condensed into a more useful form.

  It was a chilly day in early autumn, and the sun had just climbed above the fluffy clouds on the horizon. They passed over the northern forests of Aerdia, floating high above streams and creeks, above orange and yellow trees. The mountains weren’t anywhere to be seen yet, but with the sails entirely unfurled and the wind at their stern, the journey passed quickly.

  To the north, over the sloped white envelope of the Featherflight’s bow, rose a shroud of smog. It stained the sky a pale yellow. No Man’s Land was approaching.

  “The advancement to Wildflame doesn’t require you to hit a certain threshold of core strength,” said Nomad. “Don’t worry about integrating the Essence into your own spiritual base—I reckon that’s become a habit now. Just focus on how it moves, and how it illuminates your central channel. Before you can open your Inner Gates, you must first picture them in your mind.”

  This isn’t going to hurt, is it? Gray asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Pirin whispered back. He turned to Nomad and said loudly, “Will it be any different for me? Now that I’m an Embercore?”

  “I can’t say. No Embercore has ever made it as far as you have.”

  Pirin nodded slowly. “Sir…I’ve been wondering about some things. When I defeated the wizard in Vel Aerdeil…it felt easy. Almost too easy.”

  “It would have, yes.” Nomad picked up one of the cups and swirled it around, then set it back down on the wood of the observation platform. “This past year, you’ve been approaching from behind, working as hard as any wizard I’ve ever seen, and catching up quickly. Then…surpassing. There was nothing special about that Blaze you fought. You weren’t a stage behind, you weren’t behind in foundation timbers.”

  “I’ve been lucky, then,” Pirin muttered.

  “Luck?”

  “I mean, I have a powerful bloodline talent. I learned swordsmanship from a tutor, essentially. I stumbled into the apprenticeship of a former Unbound Lord, and—”

  “Pirin,” Nomad said, leaning forward and gripping his shoulders. “Don’t talk like that. Think: what does your bloodline talent truly afford you?”

  “The ability to see memories of the past, and to look into the memories of others.”

  “You’re telling me that you did no work of your own to learn the Shattered Palm, or how about on your predictive technique? Which, mind you, you didn’t even need to defeat that Blaze. You’re telling me that you did no work to earn my gaze? That was the entire point of my challenge to you on Dulfer’s Reach.”

  Pirin swallowed. “I…I guess.”

  “Now, you have more work to do. You clearly still have something to prove to yourself, so open your Inner Gates and find out what it is.”

  He reached out and picked up a cup of syrup, then downed it. It fizzed and popped as it trickled down his throat, and it felt cold as ice, and at the same time, like liquid fire. When it passed, it left nothing but a stain on the nearby Essence channels—which faded in time, too, when the syrup finally flowed into his stomach.

  Before even thinking about cycling the elixir or integrating it, he took up the next two cups and downed them, leaving a lump of thick, blue liquid in his stomach. It was bitter and earthy, and with each breath, he still tasted a grass-like after-flavour.

  With a shudder, he tucked those thoughts away, and focussed on his spiritual system and channels.

  His core and timbers still appeared in his mind as balls of condensed, swirling embers, but instead of red flame, he now envisioned blue power seeping through the cracks. It flowed into his channels and rushed around his body, lighting his channels.

  With his will, he directed it toward his spine, and the central, wide channel that ran from his core up to the base of his neck.

  “I can’t observe what you’re doing anymore,” said Nomad. “But I feel the strength of your spirit radiating the same as a mortal man would. Push the power through your Center-Rhun channel—as much Essence as you can—and pay attention to where it slows and stalls. You’ll only notice with a truly large burst of Essence.”

  Pirin guided as much of the new, unfiltered, un-integrated Essence from the elixir as he could into his spine, channel, then blasted it upward to the base of his neck.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  His spine tingled, and his legs twitched. His arms wanted to spasm, but he held them in place. Spit gathered in his mouth, and though he couldn’t say he registered pain…he didn’t really register anything. It was uncomfortable because there was nothing.

  Gray squawked and fluttered, then let out a confused song. Even without his mask on, Pirin now shared a bond with her, and she shared in his sensations. “Sorry, Gray,” he whispered, trying to keep a brave face. “It’ll be over soon.”

  For a moment, he feared he’d accidentally paralyzed himself, but the numbness passed, and the Essence flowed through his Center-Rhun channel as a trickle once more.

  “Your face contorted,” Nomad said. “I reckon you didn’t achieve what you wanted.”

  “Not…yet.” Pirin had focussed too closely on the sensation of numbness instead of the Inner Gates. “Sorry, Gray, but we’ve gotta try again. One more time.”

  Any…anything for power. Anything! Hah! I can take it! I can keep taking it. Her eyes still had vertical slits—like the dragon wraith—instead of the standard beady black voids he was used to seeing.

  “...Right.”

  He sucked in a breath and pushed his Essence through other, smaller channels, guiding it back to his core.

  Then he thrust it up again, pushing through his central channel. This time, he focussed deeply on the light and the blue energy.

  It sprouted up through his central channel like lightning in reverse. First, it slowed a few inches above the core, funnelling through a dark, invisible blockage in the channel. If Pirin hadn’t known what to look for, it probably would’ve struck him as a constriction or half-open valve of some sort.

  But, as it passed through, tiny filaments of spiritual energy spread into the dark material of the blockage. They illuminated it a shade of cracked blue, just like his Embercore, before slipping out and racing up the channel.

  That was the blockage. Just above was a ring of pure light, awaiting an opening. Pirin couldn’t force it to budge. Nothing he did made the ring expand, nothing made it shrink. It just stayed lit as long as the Essence passed through it.

  So that was what Nomad had meant about illuminating them.

  When the Essence passed, the ring faded again into darkness, and the ashy debris dimmed into the depth of his mind.

  But now that he’d illuminated it, it lingered in his conscience.

  The Essence passed through six more gates, illuminating them in sequence and bringing his attention to them. All six lingered in his conscience.

  He opened his eyes and shook away from the numbness, then turned to Nomad. “I’ve used that channel before. Why hasn’t it done that? It hasn’t even made me numb before, let alone illuminated the gates.”

  “That’s the power of fresh Essence from an elixir,” Nomad explained. “It hasn’t yet been integrated into your spirit, so it feels foreign. It’s fresh and strong, and it hasn’t yet merged, so it almost burns your channels.”

  “So, I need the revelations to open them, then? How…exactly do I do that?”

  “The revelations all take a deeper understanding of yourself,” Nomad explained. “You can’t force them, but you can meditate on them, bring yourself closer. Much like your advancement from Catch to Flare, speaking the revelation aloud will help you trigger it and open the gate—if it’s the correct revelation.”

  “And if not?”

  “It just won’t work.” He folded his legs beneath himself, sitting cross-legged, and reached up to pat Gray’s head. She leaned into the scratches like a cat. “The first revelation is your Spirit Revelation. It’ll open the two bottom gates.”

  “What do I need to understand?”

  “When I was learning, many decades ago, they gave me three questions. What, how, and why—for each of the respective revelations. I reckon they’ve changed it now in the big Dominion academies, but the point is the same. You must know what you want to accomplish, how you’re going to do it, and why.”

  Pirin rubbed his forehead. “So, first one, I need to know what I want to accomplish?” He scratched the side of his head.

  “Indeed. Most wizards travelled to their homeland, or a place with great significance to them growing up. Your formative years and your experiences are important for answering those questions. Thankfully, we’re sailing north.”

  “I wasn’t born in Sirdia,” Pirin said. “I know that much. I was born on Kerstel, far removed from the happenings of the world, sheltered but lost.”

  Nomad clicked his tongue. “That…will complicate matters.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I say you rest. You took in a great deal of elixir, which you now need to process, and you still need to recover Essence from your extensive use when we took Vel Aerdeil.”

  “I will. Gray, if you want, fly back to the cargo hold. I’ll meet you there.”

  On my way! She jumped off the edge of the platform, then fluttered down and around and swooped up into the cargo hold.

  “Thanks, Nomad,” Pirin said, then descended from the platform. He climbed down through the airship’s main body, past the gasbags and axial catwalk, where the extra Sirdian soldiers and weavlings had set up hammocks, then climbed down to the crew quarters, where Brealtod and Alyus stood. They were mending a rope that had snapped in the high winds of the previous night.

  “Brealtod?” Pirin asked. “Can I pick your brain about dragons again?”

  The dragonfolk first mate hissed in affirmation.

  “What makes dragons…want control? Why do they take over things? Why bother with treasure troves of gold, or ancient halls?”

  Brealtod hissed a few times again, and Pirin translated in his head: “It is their nature.”

  “But the Khirdian elves had contracted the dragon wraith Gray is currently bound to…and they convinced it to guard their cavern. It had to have a reason to do that, right?”

  “Dragons are stubborn but loyal. Same in many ways, it seems to your gnatsnapper,” Brealtod said with hisses (and Pirin translated). “It is possible that they made a soul contract with it, or simply left the hall abandoned, knowing a nearby powerful wraith would take it over. It occupied your gnatsnapper out of desperation, but now, it cannot leave. It has a broken soul, and its mind doesn’t function as mine or yours—rather, it is just obeying its conquering nature.”

  Pirin shut his eyes. He couldn’t convince the dragon to leave rationally. No, Gray had held it back before with her own strength, but now, it was taking over. He needed to convince Gray’s full consciousness to wake up and come out.