Bitterness is a creeping vine, tightening its hold until it strangles its host like a gallows rope. Anger, the brilliant fire, burns the vine away, freeing the branch—but at a cost. In its wake, anger leaves only scorched remains and ruin. Bitterness is a poison best avoided, for the remedy is no true cure.
– The Luminous Treatise, Vol III
Aslavain: Seventeen Days After the Summer Solstice
Lotem stirred to the familiar, distant hum of the Sulphen’s voice in his mind.
[Skill Obtained: Quick to Anger]
Another skill? So soon? [Quick to Anger]. Lotem frowned. Is that supposed to be helpful? Sure, it would complement [My Wrath Is My Armor], exactly the kind of thing Krinka would want. But was it worth the price? Was anger something he wanted more of?
Maybe it was just the frustration bleeding through. Three days of staring into the blood-red flame while Krinka droned on about the atrocities committed by the Tul—the Sack of Calcara, the Siege of Tulvar, the Battle of the Blue Fort. Each one a stain on the Empire’s honor. And each one etched deeper into Lotem’s mind.
“You’re awake?” Krinka’s voice was eager, cutting through Lotem’s thoughts. “A new skill?”
“[Quick to Anger],” Lotem muttered, a sigh slipping out before he could stop it.
“Excellent! Just what we needed.”
“But… you’re sure I can control it, right? I don’t want to be snapping at everything.”
“Well… not exactly,” Krinka admitted, his gaze shifting away. “I was aiming for something like [Control Anger] or [Store Anger]. But [Quick to Anger] is still useful,” he added quickly. “It makes sure you can tap into your anger when you need it. And we’ll get you one of those other skills soon, don’t worry.”
The door creaked open, and Casselia’s voice cut through the quiet. “Time to reconvene.” Lotem and Krinka filed into the hallway, where Lotem took a seat beside Hadrian. The Kiel man looked lost in thought until he caught sight of Lotem, his face brightening immediately.
“Lotem—oh, and Sylva, too,” Hadrian greeted as she settled beside them. Behind her, the naga slithered over to join Casselia and Krinka’s whispered conversation. “So, how’d your training go?”
“I feel thoroughly confused about what right and wrong even mean.” Sylva said with a grin at odds with her words. She looked like she had loved every moment of her training. Easy enough when you aren’t staring into frustrating fire.
Lotem could still feel the pulsing anger that had grown over the course of days watching the red flame. At first, he had expected the flame to simply overwhelm his emotions, forcing frustration upon him. He hadn’t expected the Luminaries fire to be so… genuine. It hadn’t felt as though frustration, and then anger, had been forced upon him. If anything, the fire had merely encouraged his existing emotions out from hiding.
The [Shamans] had always said that his anger liked to burrow deep, building warrens far beneath the surface until a flood forced the emotion to come racing out. Lotem couldn’t understand how else it was supposed to be. How could he go about his every day tasks without suppressing the roiling anger, fear, and sense of injustice that had persisted since his brothers death.
“I get that,” Lotem said, shaking his head. “I just got [Quick to Anger].”
“Nice!” Hadrian said with enthusiasm, while Sylva shot him a sidelong glance that Lotem couldn’t quite read.
“You don’t think that’s a problem?” Lotem asked, frowning.
“Why would it be?” Hadrian met Lotem’s gaze, his expression turning serious. “Do you think anger is… bad, Lotem?”
“Isn’t it?” Lotem asked, confused. Anger brought destruction—it left behind regret, pain, and grief. How could it not be bad?
“The Luminaries teach that no emotion is inherently bad,” Hadrian said, his voice taking on a serious, almost rehearsed tone. “Blaming your actions on your emotions means misunderstanding who’s in control. Emotions don’t rule you any more than your hands or feet do. They show us how we see the world. They’re tools—not our masters.”
But what if I can’t control my emotions? What if they’re the ones in control?
“The Sect taught something similar,” Sylva chimed in. “Anger comes from injustice. Without it, who would ever push for change? Anger fights against stagnation—it stands up for what’s right.” She raised an eyebrow at Lotem. “Don’t you believe you can tell right from wrong?”
“How can anyone be sure?”
“Lotem, I just spent three days locked in debates with Alsarana about ethics and morality. I know I can judge right from wrong. It’s a skill, like any other.”
Casselia cut in, drawing their attention. “For the last three days of your initial training, it’s tradition for you to take control of your development. We’re mentors, yes, but it’s your journey to lead. Krinka, Alsarana, and I will help if needed—but only if you ask.”
“Can the little birds fly when they’re thrown from the nest?” Alsarana hissed, his tone dripping with amusement.
“Spare me the bird metaphors,” Krinka muttered with a shudder.
“Krinka, Als, and I need to talk.” Casselia said before she beckoned the others toward a side chamber. “We’ll be back soon.” Just before disappearing through the door, she called back, “Use your time wisely.”
“We need a detailed plan for the battle in three days,” Sylva said as soon as the door to the side chamber clicked shut, assuming control.
“Do you really think we can plan for whatever those three throw at us? What chance do we have? We’ve barely scratched them.”
“I’ve stabbed Drakar with a knife seventeen times.” Hadrian’s voice was casual, but Lotem and Sylva turned to him, incredulous.
“Explain,” Sylva demanded, narrowing her eyes.
“Since Alsarana and Casselia helped me figure out my affinity, things have gotten easier. I got [Moth’s Grace] and have been using throwing knives lately. They don’t do much to Drakar—Numen are scary motherfuckers, excuse my language.”
“Fair enough,” Lotem shrugged. “Morvan’s the same size, and he’s covered in thick armor. What am I supposed to do against that?” His frustration bubbled up as he growled under his breath. “He’s killed Sabel eleven times now.” And I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.
“Hadrian,” Sylva asked, her voice thoughtful, “do you think you could hit Seraphis with your knives? They should be able to get through her scales.”
“Probably,” Hadrian said with a casual shrug. “I’m sure I could hit her. Lotem, do you need some combat training?”
Lotem bristled at the question. Does he think I can’t protect her?
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” Hadrian quickly added. “But let me ask you this: have you ever had formal combat training?”
“I haven’t either,” Sylva chimed in. “There’s no shame in it.”
“No,” Lotem mumbled.
“Then let me teach you.” Hadrian gave Lotem a thoughtful look, as if piecing together a solution. “Too bad we don’t have any fog—that would make this easier.”
“I can probably make some fog,” Sylva offered. “We have water, and it’ll be good practice for me.” Hadrian’s face lit up at her words.
“That’s awesome! That would be perfect. Thanks, Sylva.”
“What are you going to teach me?” Lotem asked, watching as Sylva slipped into one of the side rooms.
“I’ll show you a kata my Pa taught me when he began my training—it’s great for dealing with weaker opponents.”
“What’s a kata?” Lotem asked, confused.
“It’s a series of movements to train your body. Watch.”
Hadrian stepped forward, twisting sharply as his foot snapped out in a sideways kick, his body spinning in a smooth half-circle. The Fog Robe draped around him, the gray mist curling like smoke as he moved through a fluid series of kicks, punches, and throws. Each movement was deliberate, slower than Lotem expected, but controlled with perfect precision. After half a minute, Hadrian came to a stop, smiling.
“Sorry, I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”
“You expect me to move like that?” Lotem asked, his doubt evident in his voice.
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Hadrian chuckled. “That one’s my favorite—it’s the first kata my Pa taught me, reminds me of him. But here’s the one that I think will work for you.”
Hadrian shifted into a much slower, grounded kata, his feet planted firmly as he moved through each motion with deliberate precision. Lotem watched closely—it seemed simple enough, something he could manage. As Hadrian moved, he spoke calmly, explaining the purpose behind each movement, as if repeating the same lessons he’d learned long ago.
Hadrian encouraged Lotem to mirror his movements, guiding him through the beginning steps. Lotem fumbled at first, but with Hadrian’s patient corrections, his form gradually improved. They worked in silence until a soft gray fog began to seep into the chamber, spilling out from the room Sylva had entered. Hadrian paused, his face lighting up as Sylva reappeared. Without thinking, he rushed over and swept her into a hug.
Lotem couldn’t help but smile as Sylva froze, her arms stiff at her sides, clearly unsure how to respond. When Hadrian finally let go, she stood there for a second, stunned, before her expression hardened into a scowl.
“Thank you so much!” Hadrian said, his sincerity so overwhelming it seemed to melt the edge off Sylva’s growing irritation.
“I don’t like being touched,” Sylva muttered, still glaring. Who doesn’t like hugs? Lotem wondered, bemused. Must be a Silkborn thing, he decided.
“Got it, sorry about that,” Hadrian said, his face flushing with embarrassment. “But this is going to be perfect!”
Standing in the center of the chamber, Hadrian gestured for them to watch closely. “Try to follow the fog,” he instructed. He began the same kata he had been teaching Lotem, but this time, as he moved, the fog thickened and swirled around him. Each slow, steady movement seemed to pull the mist along with him, like a living thing responding to his will.
Lotem stared in awe as Hadrian seemed to command the fog with every motion. Each punch sent a ripple of gray mist rolling outward, and every dodge pulled the fog back toward him, filling the empty space. With the Fog Robe draped around him, Hadrian vanished into the swirling mist, his form becoming one with the pulsing fog. It was hard to believe these were the same movements Lotem had just been practicing.
Hadrian gradually slowed, his movements coming to a halt. The Fog Robe settled gently against his skin, no longer shrouding him in mist. Lotem was starting to understand why Fog Robes were so highly prized across the empire. But when he glanced at Sylva, he realized her longing far surpassed his own. She looked like she was ready to rip the robe off Hadrian’s back.
“See?” Hadrian said, grinning. “When your movements are precise enough, the fog follows you. It guides your next step.”
Lotem hadn’t noticed that at all. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what Hadrian meant, but he decided to trust him. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the starting position for the kata. Hadrian smiled and began guiding him through the motions once more.
“Alsarana, your thoughts?” Casselia asked as the door to the small chamber closed behind her. She hoped the children would make good use of their time alone—they had little enough of it as it was. For now, she needed to debrief with Alsarana and Krinka to plan their next steps.
“I haven’t had this much fun in centuries,” Alsarana said proudly. “At first, I thought Rovan Khal picked Hadrian for some underhanded reason, but… no. The Immortal must have seen the lad’s potential and wasn’t about to let it slip away. I can’t blame him—Hadrian fights better than anyone his age has a right to. He is also more obedient than a hound. Perfect for us to shape.”
Alsarana straightened, his excitement growing. “In any other group, Sylva would be all that anyone could talk about. As we debated, I could almost feel the Sulphen weighing her arguments.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to make us train with the Justicars, are you?”
“What a wonderful idea, Als,” she said sweetly. “I wasn’t certain before, but if you’re recommending the Justicars… well, who am I to deny you that honor?”
“Cass,” he whined, “you know how much I hate their Veil of Ignorance. Even I lose my sense of fun when they use those skills.”
“Justice is blind,” Krinka said with a sly smile.
Alsarana turned sharply toward the scholar, his massive form seeming to crowd the chamber. “Don’t make me summon every bird in the region when we leave,” he threatened.
“Gentleman,” she said firmly, “now is not the time.” She turned to the naga. “Als, the Justicars teach conviction better than anyone but the priesthoods and we are going to Ylfenhold regardless. We can’t pass up the opportunity for the girl.” Krinka cleared his throat and she turned to regard him.
“I still think we’re wasting her potential by training her as a [Thaumaturge]. Marquis of Bone aside, I’ve never trained anyone with a better intuition for sympathy. Maybe it’s her skill carrying the load, but still.” He met her gaze firmly. “Cass, I taught her six of the fundamental principles in three days, and within another three days of applied practice, the woman can perform sympathetic magic using a thaumaturgic framework. We haven’t gotten to any Tier One or Tier Two spells, but I am sure she will pick those up quick enough. Expertise in cantrips leads to expertise in magic.”
“Which principles did you decide to teach her?” Casselia asked, curiosity in her tone. The Sulphen wasn’t so simple as to be explained with just a few categories. There were dozens of what scholars called the ‘Fundamental Principles of the Sulphen’; Krinka had simply chosen a handful of his favorites to begin his lessons. His student would eventually discover his deception and, in doing so, break free from limitations imposed only by their own mind.
Krinka looked reluctant to share. Did he teach her the easiest principles, knowing they were on a tight deadline?
“Obfuscation, Manifestation, Transference, Absorption, Binding, and Severance.”
“You started her with Binding and Severance?” Casselia asked, quicker than intended. She had never seen Krinka introduce the cornerstones of imperial power so early to a candidate. He had entirely skipped over the mathematical principles every student typically began with: Addition, Subtraction, Multiplication, and Division. No, his list was full of abstract principles tied to the phenomenological manifestations of the Sulphen. Even Alsarana looked uncertain after hearing Krinka’s choices.
“She handled Transference well enough,” Krinka muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor beneath his dangling feet. He glanced up at her briefly before looking back at the stone. A hint of pride crept into his voice. “She managed to learn Binding in less than a day.”
She sighed. She had given Krinka free rein to teach as he saw fit—Sulphen knew he was insufferable when she tried to micro-manage. Still, the principles he’d chosen were more advanced than she expected. If Sylva had truly mastered what Krinka claimed, Hadrian wasn’t the only one with potential. Alsarana’s hood flared open, his excitement palpable.
“With not one but two prodigies, we should be out of this shrine in just a few days. It’s only the Bal holding us back. So, how do you plan to fix him?”
“Als, how many skills do each of the candidates have?” she asked primly, certain the naga would know the answer.
“Hadrian and Sylva both have three,” he said, pausing for a moment’s hesitation. “Lotem has seven. But—” he quickly added, “you know that’s not a fair metric. The boy is Numen, or close enough to it. [Lesser Strength]? Practically guaranteed. [Natural Enemy]? Probably useless. And the companion’s bond? Every Beastmaster variant has that skill.”
She nodded. Excuses, all of them, but reasonable enough. The Sulphen’s power had never truly depended on the sheer number of skills or classes; a single rare, high-quality skill was worth far more than a handful of common ones.
“And the other skills?” she asked with a sigh. “A Numen Bloodline skill? [My Companions Carry My Blessings]? [My Wrath is My Armor]?” She turned to Krinka. “What are the rarities of those?”
“A Numen Bloodline skill is rare mainly because few candidates have a viable Bloodline to enhance; it’s officially categorized as uncommon. The companion skill is a rare subtype of companion enhancements, with maybe a few dozen citizens in the Empire possessing it at any given time. The Wrath skill is uncommon, but nothing extraordinary.”
“Thank you, Krinka,” she said, shifting her gaze to Alsarana. “Lotem has as many uncommon and rare skills as the others, even though he’s been placed in possibly the worst environment for his growth. He’s from the Zherenkhan—likely never spent time away from the great plains. How do you think he feels in these cramped, deliberately aggravating chambers?”
“So, the Justicars…” Alsarana said, steering the conversation back to the topic at hand. Casselia understood his hesitation about Lotem, though it didn’t excuse rushed judgment. Alsarana had always struggled with mentoring weaker candidates. As long as the Bal man developed as she hoped, it wouldn’t be a long-term issue—just something to keep an eye on, she decided.
Alsarana hesitated for a moment, clearly sensing the undercurrent of her thoughts and choosing to avoid her wrath. She hadn’t had to remind them why she led in centuries—and she was grateful for it. The last time, the damage had been severe enough that she had to waste time dealing with local leaders and their endless bureaucratic paperwork.
“You want them to mentor Sylva? Is my ethical tutelage no longer up to your standards, oh great Crownless?” It wasn’t, though she wasn’t about to admit that outright.
“You offer a different kind of training, Alsarana.” Namely, the art of bending one’s ethics to justify whatever was necessary—not that she saw it as a flaw. In fact, Alsarana’s ability to provide compelling ethical reasoning for their actions had been invaluable over the years. She was always impressed by how much smoother things went with local officials when you could justify your actions.
It wasn’t that they didn’t have a set code of ethics; Casselia would be the first to explain how flawed that idea was. No, their ethics shifted to fit whatever actions were necessary to achieve their goals. They were members of the Mandate of Empire, an organization as old as the Sul Empire, dedicated to ensuring the Tul-Tul-Tar would never return. As far as she was concerned, anything done in pursuit of that goal was ethical.
“No one justifies extinction better than you, and we both know the Justicars wouldn’t get it right,” Krinka said with a knowing smile, echoing her thoughts.
She cleared her throat, reasserting control over the conversation. Krinka and Alsarana quickly turned their attention to her.
“Sylva will need training with the Justicars, that much is true, though I don’t intend to cut your training with her short, Als. We need her morals to be… flexible, for what’s to come.”
“And Dornogor?” Krinka asked. “You still haven’t explained what forced us to begin this misadventure in the first place. We knew Tir Na Nog was a risk, but we had them travel to Dornogor regardless. Why?”
“Dornogor is the most prominent of the shrines hosting their primary contest at the first convergence of the twin moons,” she said calmly, before answering Krinka’s questioning look. “Dornogor is supposed to have three different rare beasts available for candidates to bond. My sources indicate that a Karkadann, Amarok, and”—she hesitated—“a Wyvern are rewards this year.”
That caught Alsarana’s attention, just as she knew it would. The Empire hadn’t had access to a living, unbonded Wyvern in centuries. The Serpentine Monarchs guarded their rare egg clutches with the fervor one would expect from the descendants of dragons. Krinka’s voice was the first to break the silence.
“How? How did Dornogor get access to a Wyvern egg?”
“One of the nomadic tribes that venerates the Maw of Vorithan raided the Eternal City of Kivuli and escaped with an entire clutch. They sold three of the eggs to the Empire.”
She still wasn’t sure how the Scaled Dominion had allowed such a failure. When she was last in the Empire, such a lapse would have been unthinkable. But after more than two centuries, she was no longer sure which of her assumptions about the Scaled Dominion were accurate.
“You want Lotem to bond with a Wyvern?” Alsarana asked, his voice almost hesitant. Not much could rattle the [Harbinger of Extinction], but the direct ire of the Serpentine Monarchs? Even Casselia trod carefully when the Dominion was involved. The Sul Empire had control over eight eternal cities, the Dominion had control over nineteen. Even the Brood only had six eternal cities, their grand hives. No one wanted conflict with the Dominion, not since the unifications following the Beast Wars. .
“Cass,” Krinka said, his brow creased so deeply she wondered if the skin could draw any tighter. “Hadrian intends to form a shrine in the West, in Brood territory, and Lotem plans to fight the Tul in the East. Both of those goals will create plenty of enemies, not to mention the ones we already have within the Empire. Do we really want to add the Dominion to the list?”
She sighed. This was exactly why she hadn’t shared her plan with them sooner—she knew they wouldn’t like anything that drew the Dominion’s attention.
“Truth be told, I wasn’t sure either after learning of the group’s goals. If the Brood turn their attention from the remaining Beast Kings in the south, it could spark a war I’m not sure we could win. The Kiel holdings have been stable since the century following the Beast Wars, and neither the Empire nor the Brood want that to change. If Hadrian succeeds, if a shrine is formed beyond the Spine, that peace may disappear like fog on the wind.”
“Then why—” Krinka began.
“[My Companions Carry My Blessings],” she said quietly, naming Lotem’s skill. She knew they would understand. If anything, she was surprised they hadn’t already put it together.
“A Wyvern with a Numen Bloodline skill?” Krinka asked, excitement creeping into his tone. “Cass, has there ever been a Wyvern with a Numen Bloodline skill?”
“Krinka, if you don’t know of one, why would I?” she replied with a gentle smile. She was the architect behind how their mentees developed into their best selves, but Krinka had always been the source of the knowledge that guided her hand.
“I don’t want to be a spoilsport,” Alsarana began reluctantly, his tail flicking anxiously behind him, “and I certainly don’t want to discourage the formation of powerful enemies for the group—you both know how much I value a good enemy to toughen up the young. But won’t the Wyvern invite assassination or worse? Powerful enemies are only useful when you’re strong enough to stop them. Otherwise, it’s just suicide with extra steps.”
He paused, as though hoping they might answer his halfhearted question. But there was no need, and he knew it. Of course, they were inviting assassination attempts from the Dominion if they acquired the Wyvern. In theory, they could handle anything sent after them by the point word would reach the Dominion. And by then they should have Imperial protectors on hand to prevent any undue attacks. Not that such protection had stopped the Dion assassins from killing the Marquis of Bone or the Brood assassins from taking down the last group of Kiel candidates they mentored who tried to expand the Empire.
“You can’t be relying on the protection of the Empire again, Cass,” Alsarana said harshly into the silence that followed. “It keeps getting us killed, getting our mentees killed, and for what? The Dominion won’t stand for it, and even if the Empire’s protection is different this time, we’ll have to leave the Empire for our training. We must.”
“Cass, you know I hate to say this, but I agree with Als on this. The Karkadann is uncontroversial, rare, and would benefit immensely from Lotem’s skills. Karkadanns are guardians, Cass—you could hardly find a better fit for Lotem.”
“We can discuss it further once we reach Dornogor; until then, it’s just wishful thinking,” she said firmly before shifting back to the immediate matter at hand. “Krinka, what skills should we be targeting for each of the candidates as they finish their preliminary training and, if we’re lucky, escape this trial?”
Sylva spent the first hours of their training watching Hadrian teach Lotem the kata. She had never seen movements like the ones he performed in the fog-filled chamber. Each motion was as precise as the strokes of her stylus or the practiced dance of her fingers, honed by years of shaping forms. It was breathtaking.
As Hadrian moved, his robe melded with the fog, obscuring his motions as the mist swirled around him. Sylva could almost feel that silk woven through her own body, letting her vanish into the haze. The robe stirred a pang of avarice she struggled to suppress.
Krinka had mentioned, however briefly, that a strand of the robe woven into her pupil would let her see and weave the Sulphen. She’d been tempted to demand a piece of it from Hadrian, but realizing they needed a specialist to fuse the silk into her flesh held her tongue. Besides, she wasn’t sure how Hadrian would react.
Though he maintained a pleasant demeanor, Sylva had come to understand how important the robe was to Hadrian. She glanced at her own emerald robe, a mark of her status as the best Sect candidate this year, and her mind drifting, wondered how the Elders would react when she didn’t show for the first contest in Eisentor. Instead, she’d be across the empire, competing in Ylfenhold.
She tried to recall which candidates had their robes turn the dark gray of Ylfenhold. Was it Nyla of Clan Vareth or Meris of Clan Torthen? They’d been the favorites, but Sylva hadn’t paid attention during the final ritual—the incense had been too thick, and they were on the other side of the room.
Nyla was the most persuasive candidate in their year; everyone in the Sect agreed on that. She had an almost supernatural talent for reading people and finding common ground. Sylva expected her to become a diplomat, using promises and guile to represent the empire. She hoped Nyla had been chosen—it was certainly better than Meris.
Clan Torthen wasn’t known for weaving words or persuading hearts. They produced warriors for the Sect of Silken Grace. If Meris saw Hadrian’s robe, Sylva was sure he’d challenge him to a duel. She had no doubt Hadrian could defeat Meris, even without help from her or Lotem, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Clan Torthen held grudges longer than was wise, and they didn’t need any new rivals—at least, not yet.
She sighed, her thoughts swirling with the fog in the chamber. So much had turned out differently than planned. Yet here she was, a student of the Triumvirate of the Broken Crown. The Crownless herself was mentoring her. The Archivist taught her magic. The Harbinger taught her ethics. It was almost too much to believe.
The fog slowly dissipated, and Lotem’s breath came in heavy gasps as the motions took their toll. Just as Sylva expected him to ask for a break, the door to the side chamber slid open. Their mentors entered, Casselia looking as composed as ever, a gentle smile curling her lips as she noted the sweat beading on Lotem’s brow and the last wisps of fog.
“A kata in the Foglands style? An interesting choice for teaching combat in such a short time. I assume that was your decision, Hadrian?”
Hadrian and Lotem halted, turning to face the newcomers.
“It was. My parents taught me the basics this way, so I thought it would be a good starting point for Lotem.”
“And you, Lotem?” Casselia asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you find the training helpful?”
Lotem hesitated, glancing at Hadrian before answering.
“The movements were… enlightening. But I wonder how effective they’d be in actual combat.” He cast an apologetic look at Hadrian, who seemed to deflate at the words. “Not that it wasn’t helpful,” Lotem added quickly. “I’ve never felt my muscles burn in those places before, but—” he threw a slow punch, sending a last wave of fog rolling across the room—“a child could dodge that.”
Hadrian nodded. “I thought the same for years. How can you fight a Simian when you’re moving as slow as sap? Then I watched my Pa fight one and realized I’d been thinking about it wrong. The kata doesn’t teach you how to win a fight, Lotem—it teaches you how to punch or kick with proper form.”
“You’re both right,” Casselia interjected. “Lotem, the kata trains control over your body, which is essential in any fight. But, Hadrian, to be effective, it takes months or years. Trying to rush it in a few days is a fool’s errand.”
Lotem looked relieved by Casselia’s words, though Sylva didn’t understand why. Of course training took months or years—that’s how it worked for humans and Numen. Sure, she’d learned the primary incantations and thaumaturgic principles in days, but that was different. She had a skill to help her, and she was Silkborn, inheriting the instincts of all her ancestors. Lotem didn’t have those advantages.
“So, what should we be doing?” Hadrian asked with a shrug. Could anything bother the man? Sylva wondered, aside from insulting his robe.
“Alsarana, we need a necromantic construct strong enough to challenge Lotem. Do you have enough bones left for one the size of a Numen eidolon?”
Alsarana reached into his bag and pulled out a thigh bone, far longer than the bag itself. A dimensional bag, Sylva realized with a start. She’d learned about such tools, but hadn’t expected to see one this early in her training. Dimensional objects were rare, carefully monopolized by the Guilds and the Province of Trade after their creation in Jahbad, the City of Boats. Still, she wasn’t surprised this Triumvirate had access to one.
Alsarana continued pulling bones from the bag, inspecting each one for invisible imperfections. Most were dropped to the floor with a clatter, though he returned a weathered one with a dissatisfied hiss. Eventually, the bones began to move on their own, assembling into a full skeleton that stretched and rolled its shoulders—though Sylva had no idea what bare bones had to stretch. Krinka merely rolled his eyes but said nothing.
“As you command, oh great Crownless,” Alsarana smirked. “Though I’m running low on bones bigger than a goblin.”
Goblin bones? Why would he have so many? Sylva wondered. The goblin warrens in the deep south were notoriously reclusive, their Matrons jealous guardians of tribal secrets. Among the empire’s ethnic groups, only the Blind or the Nygmar faced more disdain from the average citizen. Was that why our first lesson had been about who is considered a person?
“Lotem, you’ll train against the construct piloted by Als. Practice fighting with Sabel on your shoulder, and focus on blows strong enough to break the skeleton. Hadrian,” she turned to the Kiel man, “how do you plan to train over the next few days?”
“When Sylva created the fog and I was performing the kata… it just felt right. I want to focus on my affinity as I go through the steps.” He glanced at Sylva hopefully. “Could you make more fog, maybe in one of the smaller chambers where it won’t dissipate?”
“Sure, Hadrian,” she nodded. Good practice, she thought absently. Maybe I can convince the water to turn into fog differently this time—a chance to refine my craft.
“Now, Sylva, if I may offer a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“You need training in the strategy and tactics for Triumvirate duels. Krinka and I will teach you the fundamentals, and you’ll be the strategist for this fight and future ones.”
Sylva liked the idea of being in charge. Hadrian was their sword, Lotem their shield, and she was their brain. Better her than Hadrian or Lotem, no question.
“Once I’ve filled the room with fog for Hadrian, should I meet you in one of the side chambers?”
“That sounds perfect,” Casselia said, smiling. “Now, let’s get to work.”