Before the Dion Civil War, and the Beast Wars, the Sul Empire lay divided between the Dion lords of the east and the Malan lords of the north. In the thousand years since, the Malan lands have endured largely unchanged, a stark contrast to the east, where Dion dominion fractured under the weight of growing discontent. As outrage surged, the Sunborn and Penitent of Sabahar, the Numen of the Khanate, and the Justicars of Ylfenhold rose in defiance, carving out new provinces of their own. What city better embodies this schism than Tir Na Nog?
– The Rise of Tir Na Nog by Alcar Valentar
Aslavain: One Day after the Summer Solstice
“This must be the demesne of Tir Na Nog. The City of Rage,” Sylva announced, her voice barely masking the dread creeping into her heart. “Also known as the City of Revenge… we are not ready to be here.” She bit her lip, cursing silently. What was Casselia thinking, dragging us into this unstable zone? We were supposed to be in Dornogor, safe from danger until we chose to face it. She hated the feeling that the choice had been stolen from her, thrusting them into peril before they were ready.
The landscape of Tir Na Nog sprawled out like a twisted nightmare. Cracks zigzagged through the barren earth, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of rot. Each breath tasted of decay, the distant obelisk looming like a dark omen against the sky. Sylva heard the sandy soil shift beneath Hadrian’s feet as he turned to take in the sight.
Sylva’s chest tightened with a mix of anger and fear. Dornogor should have been their haven, their place of preparation. Instead, they were thrust into danger, their plans unraveling like the cracked earth beneath their feet.
“Is that natural?” Hadrian’s voice wavered as he pointed at the reflective black obelisk, his eyes wide with a blend of curiosity and unease.
“Of course not,” she snapped, immediately regretting her harsh tone. It wasn’t Hadrian’s fault they were in this mess. Patience. He’s from the Fog Lands; of course, he hasn’t seen anything like this before. “That’s a Dion-style obelisk,” she said, her voice tinged with unease. “But theirs are usually made of bone, not obsidian. This one feels… different.”
“People built that? Then that must be where we have to go. Lucky for us that our destination is so prominent.”
That was one interpretation of their situation, though she wasn’t sure it was a destination they’d want to visit. Meeting the denizens of the City of Rage wasn’t on her list of priorities. Hadrian turned and looked to Lotem behind her, his eyes widening.
“What is that?”
She turned, raising an eyebrow at what had grabbed Hadrian’s attention. Lotem held an orange kitten in one palm, feeding it pieces of dried meat. Well, now, that’s unexpected. I didn’t realize the ritual would allow someone to bring an animal with them. Is that a pet?
Lotem’s eyes softened as he looked at the kitten nestled in his large hand. “This is Sabel,” he murmured, cradling the kitten as if she were the last piece of warmth in the cold, unforgiving forest.
“A kitten?” Sylva asked, incredulous. “You brought a kitten with you into Aslavain?”
“Is it dangerous?” Hadrian asked warily, watching the mass of orange fur as it nuzzled Lotem’s hand, one pointed tooth jutting from the beast’s mouth. Its fur was the color of a warm fireplace lighting a dark night.
“Dangerous?” Lotem echoed, incredulous. “Sabel—” He lifted his palm, the orange kitten blinking sleepily, its black eyes darting around, taking in the dense, bone-strewn forest. “—is only dangerous to small pieces of string.” He glanced at Sylva. “Unattended string, that is. Sabel didn’t have anyone else to watch her. I couldn’t bear to leave her all alone, and she agreed to be well-behaved for the journey.”
“She agreed?” Sylva asked in disbelief.
“Well, if by ‘agreed to behave’ you mean she sleeps most of the day and stays quiet if I give her treats occasionally, then yes.”
“And that works?”
“I gave her a piece of meat in Sylvine’s throne room, and she behaved there. Sabel is a good girl; she knows what she needs to do.”
“Leave it to a Bal to bring a beast into Aslavain,” Sylva muttered, a hint of irritation in her voice. But as she looked at the tiny kitten, a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Can I hold her? You can’t just show off a fluffball like that and not share.”
“Later. She needs sleep. Today’s been long for the little one, with lots of new smells to process,” Lotem said, returning Sabel to a pocket in his cloak. “But you’ll have plenty of time with her, as long as you offer meat and gentle ear scratches.”
“Now that we’re in Aslavain and clearly out of our depth, are you willing to share your class and boon, Lotem? I didn’t want to press earlier, but circumstances have changed.”
He looked thoughtful before nodding. “I probably should have shared earlier, but… well, they’re not the most impressive. Not compared to either of you.”
“No skill is useless; that’s what my parents always said,” Hadrian offered sagely, as though speaking words of true wisdom. Sylva thought that might be a bit ambitious. Everyone knew some skills were just better. Half the reason Aslavain was so important to the empire was the number of strong skills awarded in every cycle.
“Hadrian’s right,” she said, ignoring her racing thoughts. “No skill is useless,” Sylva asserted, recalling her training. “The elders always said that every gift has a purpose, even if it’s not immediately obvious. What did Sylvine grant you?”
“My boon was [Enhanced Blood of the Numen], though the Balar only knows what that means,” Lotem said, his voice barely above a whisper. He clenched his fists, the veins on his arms standing out prominently.
“Wait, you’re one of the Numen? That’s amazing!” Hadrian said excitedly. “One of the traders told me about the might of the Numen tribes during the Flower Wars, and I’ve always dreamed of meeting some of the great warriors.”
“An enhancement skill? That’s nothing to scoff at,” she interjected, cutting off Hadrian from dragging them into another tangent. “It will likely purify the bloodline. I wouldn’t be surprised if you continue growing for at least a few more years.”
“Continue growing?” Hadrian looked up at Lotem’s face, already more than a foot above his own, with awe.
“My great-grandmother married into a Numen tribe before her self-imposed exile. I have a touch of the blood going back several generations, but it isn’t anything special.”
“Depending on the strength of Sylvine’s boon, you could grow to match one of the pure bloodlines of the clans. That’s a rare gift, Lotem—something to be proud of.”
Lotem shifted uncomfortably, his eyes flickering with a mix of uncertainty and longing. “I guess,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. He still looked uncomfortable discussing his bloodline, but he seemed less disappointed than before. Sylva counted that as a win.
“And your skill?” she prompted.
He coughed and quietly admitted, “I received [Natural Enemy – Rodents].” He hurriedly added, “I think Sylvine thought it would be humorous after she noticed Sabel.”
“Like squirrels?” Hadrian asked, curious. “I hate squirrels.”
“I guess? Though I think the intention was more like ‘cats eat mice, and you have a cat.’”
“I’m sure that’ll be of great use if we encounter any vermin.” Sylva wasn’t sure how likely that actually was, but she felt the need to say something. Compared to his enhancement skill, that was… underwhelming. Not that she’d ever tell him that.
“Wait, do you think our skills will actually work now?”
“They should, though I think you’re the only one of us with an active skill you can use, Hadrian.” She knew her [Lesser Dexterity] was likely active, though she hadn’t felt any different since they’d arrived. She wondered what her [Sympathetic Intuition] skill could do, but she had a feeling it was passive, something to guide her rather than something she could invoke on command.
“How do I use the skill? You mean [Lesser Armory of Bone], right?”
Lotem spoke before she could answer Hadrian’s question. “Just focus on it. My mother had a similar skill, I think, and she could always use it with a bit of focused intention.”
“Your mother had an armory skill?” Sylva asked curious.
“Not exactly. She had a [Cook] skill that let her summon the tools she needed in the kitchen. If she needed a ladle, a ladle would appear.” He shrugged. “It probably works the same.”
Hadrian’s face scrunched up in fierce concentration. He extended one hand outward and closed his eyes. It can’t be that hard, surely, she thought. With a faint popping sound, an object appeared in his hand, and Hadrian’s face lit up with a triumphant grin, the weight of their perilous journey momentarily forgotten.
In his hand sat an ivory bow, its smooth surface wrapped around the center with a leather band. It wasn’t anything special; the bone lacked the intricate carvings she knew were common in the work of [Boneshapers] to enhance the bow beyond its mundane potential.
“Amazing,” Hadrian said, just as a second popping sound materialized an arrow in his free hand, carved from the same pale ivory and feathered with thin strands of bone. He nocked the arrow, pulled back the bow, and aimed at one of the ivory trees at the other end of the grove.
“I knew I’d need to get a bow eventually. What use is an archer without one? But this… this will do mightily.” He released the string, and the arrow vanished into the trees, faster than Sylva’s eyes could easily follow.
“Well, isn’t this touching?” The voice came from above, within one of the bone trees ahead of them. “Three birdies caught in the web. Trapped. Defenseless.”
The voice was unlike any Sylva had heard before. The words were garbled, barely distinguishable, as though spoken by a mouth never meant for speech. Cackling, the harsh sound of inhuman laughter echoed through the trees. She turned toward the voice.
“Are the birdies ready? Ready to play? Play our game? Game! Are you ready?”
Sylva heard another pop, followed by the twang of the bowstring releasing.
“Close! So close to Old Rutsen.” A black form—likely a raven, Sylva thought—rose from the canopy in the distance, its voice mocking. “You can kill Old Rutsen. Truth! But survive the Forest of Thorns? Lies! Death to the Sul. Death to the empire! No death to Old Rutsen.”
It circled, moving erratically through the air, its mocking cries echoing through the trees around them.
“We need to move, now!” Sylva’s voice was urgent as her eyes scanned the shadows. “That thing’s cries will draw everything nearby. We’re not ready for a fight on that scale.”
Another pop came from behind her, followed by the twang of the bowstring. She watched, incredulous, as the creature exploded in a cloud of feathers and dropped to the forest floor.
“There we go. I can’t believe it dodged my first shot.” Hadrian lowered his bow, a satisfied grin on his face. I can’t believe he made the second shot, she thought, a mix of awe and frustration gnawing at her. How could he stay so calm and precise while she felt every nerve on edge?
“Where do we go?” Lotem asked. “The obelisk? Do you think there’s a trial there?”
Hadrian made the decision for them, striding confidently toward the structure in the distance. Sylva glanced at Lotem, and the two followed. She was sure she could handle what the creature called the ‘Forest of Thorns’ once she had learned a few spells, but until then, she chose to stay near the only one among them with any real protection against the dangers of the forest.
They moved quickly, the eerie silence of the forest pressing in on them. The trees seemed to close in, their bone-like branches forming an oppressive canopy. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of wood, set her nerves on edge. Sylva strained her ears, each sound a potential threat in the oppressive quiet.
It’s only several miles. Surely, we can avoid danger until we reach the obelisk. The trials of the demesne will abide by imperial law. If we can just reach the obelisk, we’ll be safer than in this forest.
Yet, something inside her doubted it would be that simple.
Lotem’s steps were heavy, each one a silent curse against the choices that had brought him here. The bone branches overhead seemed to mock him, their eerie creaking a constant reminder of his perilous path. His parents had warned him that Aslavain was a death trap—nearly a third of candidates who entered never returned, or came back crippled. He had argued that the empire had safeguards, policies to prevent needless death or injury. But after encountering Old Rutsen, he wasn’t so sure he had been right.
The ivory boughs thickened around them, casting long, skeletal shadows that danced in the dim light. The towering obelisk in the distance was almost entirely obscured, but Lotem felt a strange, unerring confidence that they were still heading in the right direction. Each branch moved as if swayed by a heavy wind. It wouldn’t have bothered Lotem as much—if there actually were a wind. Or if the branches weren’t covered in thorns as large as knives.
Sylva walked easily under the hanging branches ahead of him, her smaller stature allowing her to avoid many of the low-hanging limbs he had to dodge. She had said he would keep growing, that his enhancement skill could turn him into a pure-blooded Numen. He was still grappling with the idea.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be larger, stronger, and more resilient, but it felt like he was losing part of what made him, well, himself. His family and tribe were not Numen. In some ways, they had stolen the gift of true blood, and he had inherited the result of that theft. To be Numen was to be more than a normal man. It’s what my goal demands of me, he thought.
He tried to focus on the forest as they cautiously moved forward, banishing thoughts of the future. He wasn’t sure he would even have a future to worry about unless they reached that obelisk before something dangerous found them.
The Bal had a less strict understanding of what could be shared with youth before their entry into the other world compared to the rest of the empire, and his parents had made sure he understood the most dangerous elements of Aslavain. If they could reach a trial, they could sign a contract to safeguard them during the trial. It was the interim that posed the real danger.
“So, what can we expect from the trial?” Hadrian asked, his voice breaking the silence of the forest. “You both seem to have some idea of what’s going on.”
“Each demesne has three trials under imperial charter,” Sylva explained, her voice thoughtful as if recalling an old lesson. “Each trial begins with a Room of Threefold Oaths, where we’ll be offered a contract for the duration of our competition. The terms will bind us to the trial until we either fail or succeed.”
“Bind us to the trial?”
“Are you familiar with how the [Venerate] work?”
“Nope,” Hadrian replied cheerfully, unfazed by his ignorance.
“Essentially, they bind their essence to something that allows them to be reborn if they die. The elders assured us the process is far more complex than simple rebirth, but that’s how it functions.”
Sylva continued after seeing Hadrian’s nod of understanding. “The trials in Aslavain work similarly. While we’re in a trial, it’s unlikely we’ll die or suffer lasting injury.”
“Unlikely is the key word,” Lotem said. “My clan always said it depends on the trial. In Quartzall, the City of Peace, even the gravest errors result in little consequence. But in Tir Na Nog… it’s best to assume the worst until we know otherwise.”
“The trials are bound by imperial law,” Sylva said, “but there are always ways to bypass protections. Lotem’s right. Tir Na Nog is likely to ignore regulations just to show their displeasure.”
“But, in theory, we can fight dangerous enemies to the death without actually fearing death?” Hadrian asked, with what Lotem thought was a tad too much excitement.
“Well, that’s what the system is designed for,” Sylva said, “but it’s no excuse to take unnecessary risks!”
Hadrian grinned, but Lotem felt it did little to ease her nerves. They continued talking quietly about the trial as they navigated the forest, and Lotem realized he was far calmer than he should be. Hadrian’s enthusiasm for everything around them was at least a little contagious.
After hours of cautious walking through the empty forest, Hadrian pointed out a hill nearby, free from the ever-swaying trees. They ascended, the black soil shifting beneath Lotem’s bare feet. He felt something buried beneath the surface and bent down, noticing a gleam of white in the recently disturbed earth.
Lotem brushed aside the dark soil and carefully lifted a bone from the ground. He called out to the pair ahead, “I found a branch buried in the soil. Watch your step—there’s a nasty thorn here that could slice right through a shoe.”
He held a branch the size of his arm, a single thorn at its tip as long as his finger. This could work as a weapon. I need something to defend myself, at least, he thought, striding to catch up with the others. Why is this area devoid of trees if these branches suggest they were once here? he wondered as he climbed.
At the top of the hill, he paused, taking in the rocky summit and the view beyond. The obelisk was closer now, and from this vantage point, its immense size became clear. It towered hundreds of feet tall, still several hours’ journey from their current location.
“We’re still on the right track. Should we rest here before continuing?”
“I have rations if you need some.” Lotem pulled a packet of jerky from his pocket opposite Sabel and handed them each a piece.
“What kind of meat is this?”
“Bison.” Lotem grinned as Hadrian eyed the meat with wonder, taking small bites as if afraid it would vanish.
“I’ve never tasted bison before,” Hadrian remarked, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s gamey, richer than the jerky we get back home. This is a treat.”
Lotem’s attention shifted downward as a sudden unease crept in. Something deep inside warned him that something was wrong. His heart raced, and he looked around in sudden fear.
“Lotem?” Hadrian frowned. “Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure. Something feels… off.”
Lotem heard a faint pop and turned to see Hadrian with his bow drawn, an arrow nocked. “It could be nothing,” he added quickly, “but something just feels wrong.”
“Wrong how, Lotem?” Sylva asked, rising from the rock where she had been resting. The unease deepened, and Lotem grabbed the long bone he had found earlier, holding it like a crude spear.
He paused, considering. “Like something is watching us, something dangerous. The only time I’ve—” He stopped mid-sentence, striding forward to crouch and touch the soil. “Vibrations…”
“Lotem?” Hadrian asked, his bow drawn tight.
“Something’s burrowing, trying to surface. Back,” Lotem said quickly, retreating and readying his makeshift spear.
Seconds later, a black snout broke through the dark soil, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. Lotem’s grip on the bone spear tightened, his heart pounding. The ground shifted and heaved as the creature emerged—a rat the size of a wolf. Its matted fur and feral eyes gleamed with hunger. The creature’s incisors, each the size of Lotem’s hand, caught the dim light as it let out a high-pitched squeal, sending shivers down his spine.
The rat wasn’t alone. The ground trembled and cracked as more monstrous rodents clawed their way to the surface. Two other rats emerged, writhing and squirming through the earth. Their eyes locked onto Lotem with an intensity that made him pause. [Natural Enemies – Rodents], he realized ruefully. The skill must be the source of my unease.
Lotem steadied his breathing, pushing back the rising panic. He stepped back deliberately, positioning himself between Sylva and the advancing rats. His grip tightened on the bone spear, ready to defend her. Hadrian stood poised with his bow, eyes darting between the creatures.
The nearest rat lunged, teeth bared and claws outstretched. Lotem thrust the bone spear forward, aiming for the creature’s open mouth. The rat screeched as the spear tip ricocheted off an incisor, scoring a line down its side. Lotem swore as the tip broke off, spinning to the ground before the rat could retaliate.
The rat collided with Lotem, forcing him to grunt as the soil shifted beneath his feet. The rat tried to wrestle him to the ground, biting into his hip. Lotem screamed as the incisors sliced through his flesh, feeling a draining sensation as if his body heat was being drawn out. With a grunt of effort, he grabbed the creature, lifted it over his head, and hurled it down the hill. Blood welled through his leathers as he staggered, his focus locked on the rat he had thrown.
The other two rats charged, their eyes filled with rage. Hadrian released his first arrow, the projectile whistling through the air and striking one rat squarely in the side. The creature yelped, tumbling to the ground with a wet rasping sound as it stumbled forward. A second arrow followed, piercing the rat’s eye, and it collapsed.
“Lotem!” Hadrian yelled as the second rat leapt toward him. Lotem spun, instincts kicking in, and punched the beast’s snout with a loud crunch. The rat squealed, falling backward, and went silent as an arrow struck its eye.
Lotem refocused on the rat he had thrown and watched in surprise as it charged back up the hill. Hadrian quickly finished it off with two arrows, and the sense of unease within Lotem dulled to a faint pulse.
“We have to get out of here. This must be a warren.” How do I know that? he wondered. I don’t know anything about rats, especially this size. Yet he knew with certainty it was true. They had likely disturbed rats close to the surface, maybe even sentries posted by the colony, though Lotem wasn’t sure if they were that organized. They’re just rats, he thought.
Sylva looked shocked by the rapid turn of events, standing behind Hadrian with wide eyes. As much as Silken Grace is supposed to be the best, she wasn’t much help here. Lotem wondered about that. Was Sylva not up to the sect’s standards, or was she just unprepared for the sudden violence? Ultimately, it hadn’t mattered. Hadrian could likely have taken all three rats without them, doing so from a distance without breaking a sweat.
“Lotem, your right leg…” Sylva said, snapping back to reality.
He tested his leg, shifting more weight to the right and feeling the deep ache of the bite. He frowned. The pain had settled far too quickly for a bite like that. Those incisors weren’t razor-sharp, and a bite wound is never easy to heal. He could have sworn the teeth had sunk at least an inch into his hip, stopping at bone. Yet the wound was already clotting, and his leg could bear weight.
“I think it’s fine.” He began walking toward the obelisk with a slight limp. “We need to go. We can check the wound later, but my instincts tell me more of these creatures will emerge soon. Let’s move.”
Hadrian frowned, stepping forward to help Lotem as they descended the slope. “That wound looked nasty. You sure you’re alright? I could’ve sworn it closed its jaws on you, and those teeth were like daggers.”
“It must’ve been shallower than we thought. I can walk fine, and the pain’s manageable.” Lotem spoke with feigned confidence. The fact that Hadrian saw the same thing worried him. What are the odds we’re both mistaken?
Sylva raced to catch up as the three quickly moved away from the warren toward the looming black stone ahead. We survived, Lotem thought as the adrenaline faded and the ache from the bite settled in. It hurts, but that just means I’m still alive. He hoped the rest of their journey to the trial would be uneventful, but he knew better than to say that aloud. No need to tempt the Sulphen today.
Hadrian moved cautiously through the woods, his bow ready, an arrow nocked. This time, he vowed, he wouldn’t be caught unawares. The memory of the rat attack gnawed at him. If he had been quicker, Lotem might not have been bitten. Guilt and frustration churned in his gut. He desperately hoped his new companions could forgive him for his weakness.
Hadrian knew rationally he had done a lot—killed three of the beasts—but the nagging feeling of inadequacy wouldn’t leave him. Fog below, he thought, I wouldn’t have even realized the danger until it was too late if not for Lotem. He alerted us, and I failed to protect him. His father’s words echoed in his mind: “Ensure you’re in a safe spot before you start throwing punches.” He clenched his fists, his knuckles white around the bow.
Hadrian knew the lesson well, applying it daily in skirmishes with Simians who braved the tree climbs. If you were going to take on a Simian, you had to keep them at arm’s length from their muscled frames and four grotesquely long arms. If they had been fighting Simians, Lotem would be dead. Hadrian shuddered at the thought.
After half an hour of silent walking, each lost in their thoughts, Sylva broke the silence.
“Hadrian, umm, thanks.” Sylva’s gaze remained fixed ahead, her voice unsteady. “You were pretty incredible back there. I don’t think we would have made it without you. I was… well, fighting rats isn’t exactly what I was trained for.” She offered a tentative smile, a rare moment of vulnerability breaking through her usual composure.
“I can see why Rovan chose you,” Lotem said, his deep voice cutting through Hadrian’s self-reproach. “I’ve only seen archery like that from the Tulunganar who cross the Diontel. They’re… intense. You turned a potentially deadly situation into something we could handle with ease.”
They aren’t mad at me? Hadrian thought, hope flickering through his guilt. But I failed. “I should have done better,” he said aloud, his voice heavy with regret. “I hesitated, and it led to your injury, Lotem. I hope you can accept my apology.”
“Hadrian, dear,” Sylva said, “modesty has its time and place, but here it’s a bit insulting.” She raised a hand to cut off his response. “I stood on a rock and did nothing. Lotem at least defended himself, even preparing two of them for your arrows. Without you, we could’ve died or been much worse off.”
In that moment, Hadrian realized these people were more than just companions—they were his friends. Despite knowing them for less than a day, he felt a deep trust forming, and he believed they felt the same. He had never had friends his own age before, and the warmth of this newfound camaraderie was something he cherished.
“Thank you,” Hadrian said, rubbing the back of his head with a rueful smile. “I should’ve done better. I could’ve prevented your injury, Lotem. But you’re right; we came out mostly unharmed. How’s your leg?”
“It could be worse. It hurts, and it’ll need more care when we’re safe, but it’s manageable. The pain is already fading, hard as that is to believe. Do you know what those things were?” Lotem directed the question to Sylva. Hadrian thought that was a good decision. Sylva had the knowledge; he had the skill with violence. They each had their roles.
“Apart from rats? No. But Nyxol mentioned something interesting when we met.” She cleared her throat dramatically and recited, “The Tul are awakening, and whispers of a new breed of ravenous rats crossing the Diontel River have reached my web.”
“Crossing the Diontel? Do you think they were related to the Tul?” Lotem asked, a sudden intensity in his gaze that caught Hadrian’s attention. The normally placid man had an edge to him now.
“Who knows? It has to be more than a coincidence that Nyxol mentioned beasts like the ones we saw. Once we’re safely in Dornogor, we can ask the [Venerate] about them. Hopefully, they’ll know.”
They fell into a contemplative silence, their footsteps crunching on the forest floor. As the obelisk loomed closer, its ominous presence grew more intimidating.
Finally, they reached the forest’s edge and stepped into an open field of thin, pale grass, the obelisk towering imposingly at its center. Lotem bent down and plucked a handful of the pale grass without explanation as Sylva and Hadrian scanned the field for threats.
“It looks safe,” Hadrian said. “Do you think we can cross in the open to reach the structure?”
“Lotem, can you jog with your leg?” Sylva asked.
“I can manage something slow, though it’s questionable. My legs should cover the distance faster than you’d expect, even at a fast walk—an advantage of being tall.” The Bal man grinned, and Hadrian couldn’t help but return it.
“I’m not the best at running, to be honest,” Hadrian said, causing both to look at him in surprise.
“Why…” Lotem began, then understanding dawned. “Ah, not much running in the Fologian Forest, I’d imagine, with the whole living-like-birds lifestyle in the trees.”
“I can climb a rope almost as fast as a Simian,” Hadrian said with a triumphant grin. Lotem and Sylva exchanged a look, and Hadrian wondered if that was a helpful point of reference.
“So, we agree to hustle to the structure?” Sylva asked.
“I vote aye.”
“I vote aye.”
“Keep your eyes open,” she said. “I don’t like how exposed we’ll be if there’s another ‘Old Rutsen’ around.”
Hadrian took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. They were about to make a run for it, and he needed to focus. The open field between them and the obelisk felt vast, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something would go wrong.
“Alright, let’s go,” Sylva said firmly. “Lotem, you set the pace.”
Lotem nodded and began a brisk walk, his long strides quickly covering ground. Hadrian and Sylva fell in step beside him, their eyes darting, scanning for any signs of movement. The pale grass rustled softly underfoot, adding to the eerie silence that enveloped them.
As they walked, Hadrian kept a constant eye on the skies. Lotem had sensed the last ambush from the ground; Hadrian hoped he could do the same if they encountered another threat. He was scanning the sky when he noticed something emerging from the skyline, moving toward them.
“There.” He pointed to the object, calling out details as he’d been taught. “It’s large, several dozen feet long, pale white. I see three forms on its back, though I can’t make out more.”
“Lotem, can you pick up the pace?” The Bal man nodded and began a gentle jog, which Hadrian found himself struggling to keep up with. If this is his speed while injured, how fast could he move normally?
“Hadrian,” Sylva said, taking control of the situation, “can you make out anything else? I can barely see the form, let alone what you just described.”
“Same,” Lotem added quickly. “I would’ve thought it was just a distant bird.”
Hadrian kept his eye on the form and realized with a start that it was moving fast enough to intercept them. As it approached, he saw it was a serpentine structure made of white material—bone, if his recent experience meant anything. It looked as though a snake had been animated and given wings to carry the three forms on its back.
“There are two humanoid figures on its back and what looks like a black snake riding a bigger white snake. Wait, the white snake seems to be made of bone, like they’re riding a winged snake.”
Lotem picked up the pace on his own, and Hadrian felt his lungs protest as he tried to keep up while tracking the creature.
“Sylva, any idea what that is?”
“Sounds like one of the Dion constructs, though few Dion can animate bones for flight. It’s an incredibly rare skill and rarely used. The skies in the empire aren’t safe.”
With that, at least, Hadrian could agree. As bad as the Simians were, the forest’s flying inhabitants could be worse. Their dash brought them closer to the obelisk ahead, and Hadrian watched as the form began to descend.
“Hadrian, will we make it?”
“It’ll be close. Should we try to talk to them? They might be friendly.”
“I vote no,” Lotem said, gasping, the faster pace clearly straining his leg. “I’m injured, and we’re in no shape to fight if they’re hostile.”
“I vote no,” Sylva said curtly, seemingly unbothered by the pace. Is that a Silkborn trait? Hadrian wondered as his lungs burned and his legs ached. “We’ll leave the trial strong enough to confront whatever it is, if it’s still here, but we need to get stronger where we’re safe.”
Behind them, the bone structure hit the ground with a crash, and one of the human riders dismounted and ran after them. A moment later, a massive black-scaled snake began slithering through the grass, closing in on the group.
Lotem was the first to reach the obelisk, touching the structure and vanishing just before Sylva, then Hadrian, reached it and were similarly transported away.
“Fog below, that was close,” Hadrian swore, the image of the black snake closing rapidly on them as when they reached the obelisk burned into his mind’s eye. A dark skinned women had been only paces behind the snake and Hadrian had no idea what to make of that.
For the third time that day, the triumvirate stood in the Room of Threefold Oaths. The room was mostly the same: the same wooden table at its center, the circular walls covered by imperial scripts. The only difference was the floor and ceiling, now formed from the reflective black obsidian of the obelisk they had just entered.
“We made it. We actually made it.”