At the break of dawn, as golden light spills over the plains, the bison stirs, muscles tensing as it senses the call to stay one step ahead of the hunter. Somewhere nearby, the wolf stretches and prowls, hunger sharpening its every move, knowing that without the chase, the day ends empty. Each morning, whether built to endure or born to pursue, life demands they rise with purpose: to run, to survive, to live another day.
– Echoes of the Plains by T.J. Warden
Aslavain: One Day after the Summer Solstice
Lotem slumped into one of the cold stone chairs in the Room of Threefold Oath, the seat’s chill biting into his weary back. His sigh echoed in the dim chamber, mingling with the musty air—a stark reminder of their harrowing escape. His heart still pounded from their frantic sprint to the obelisk, the memory of the bone construct chasing them vivid and haunting. What was that monstrosity? Why were they after us?
He shivered, recalling the massive snake that had pursued them, its black hood covered in scales that seemed to form countless red eyes, each one glinting with malice. Lotem loathed snakes, and this one was plucked straight from the depths of a nightmare. Even more unsettling were the two humans accompanying the creature raising more questions than answers.
Sylva’s voice pulled Lotem back to the room. “I’m planning to read the scholar’s contract for the trial. Do you want to read the other versions so we can compare notes?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, Sylva. I’m sure you’ll give us an excellent overview of the terms,” Hadrian said, glancing at Lotem.
“Don’t you want to know what you’re agreeing to?” she asked, her tone slightly sharp. “Wouldn’t it be better to get that knowledge firsthand?”
“Well,” Hadrian cleared his throat, “you know how I said my focus has been more on the violence side than the knowledge side?”
Sylva’s eyes narrowed, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the table. Lotem bit back a smile, realizing Hadrian might also be unable to read the imperial scripts. He braced himself for Sylva’s reaction, amusement bubbling within him.
“I remember,” she said, her gaze fixed on Hadrian. The room fell silent as the Kiel man shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“I never had the time to learn the scripts,” he added quickly. “Not that my parents didn’t try—they could read the trade script—but it just never seemed important.”
“But what about all the knowledge you’ll never access? Aren’t you worried about missing something important?” Sylva’s expression showed she couldn’t fathom how he had never learned the script. She turned sharply to Lotem, eyes ablaze. “And you, what are you smiling about?”
“I never bothered with the word scars either. What’s the point? I can speak and ask someone who can read what it means,” he shrugged. “And let’s be honest, Sylva—you can read anything we encounter and explain it to us. Simple.”
“That’s not the point! What if I lied to you?”
“Will you lie to us?” Hadrian asked curiously.
“Of course not!” Her fingers twitched before she clasped her hands together, her grip tightening. She drew a slow, deliberate breath, nostrils flaring. When she spoke, her voice was calm, but with a steely edge. “Do I seem like some cheap half-scholar to you?”
“Of course not!” Hadrian echoed with a grin. “Glad to hear we can trust you. So, what does the contract say?”
“I’ll let you know when I’m done.” She turned away, more aggressively than Lotem thought necessary. Hadrian’s right. Lotem gave him a nod, respecting a man who kept his mind pure from the influence of the written word.
He gently lifted Sabel from his pouch, the tiny kitten yawning and stretching her delicate paws. Placing her on the table, he watched as she curled up next to his hand, purring softly. Smiling, he gently stroked her head until she drifted into a peaceful sleep.
What if she lied to us? Words were powerful things, and his people knew that sometimes a hidden word could save a life. He glanced at Sylva, grateful that she could navigate these perilous legalities. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes, hoping the rest would ease the dull ache in his thigh and quiet his racing thoughts. He picked up Sabel, holding her to his chest as his breathing deepened and slowed, drifting to sleep with the kitten in his arms.
[Skill Obtained: Lesser Strength]
Lotem woke with a start, the placid voice of the Sulphen cutting through the haze of sleep. He jerked awake, his head rocking backward from where it had been hanging.
“You okay, Lotem?” Hadrian asked, seated across from him, idly twirling a pale white knife in his grip.
“I just got a new skill.”
Sylva turned from the tapestry she’d been studying, giving him an appraising look, her expression clearly asking him to continue.
“[Lesser Strength],” Lotem answered her unspoken question. It wasn’t a bad skill, especially if he could eventually get the more advanced versions. He hoped it would help in the coming trials.
“Think I’ll get a new skill if I fall asleep too?” Hadrian asked, excitement bubbling in his voice.
“Could be. The Sulphen probably noticed the fight with the rats and our struggles. ‘Struggle breeds skill,’ as the saying goes.”
“How long was I out?”
“I was just finishing the contract terms. It’s… interesting.”
“Interesting in a good way?” Lotem pressed.
“I think so. The contract uses standard language, but there are some parts unique to Tir Na Nog that we need to discuss.”
“What are the standard contract terms?” Hadrian asked, then added, “Assume I know nothing about contracts,” as though Sylva hadn’t already been doing just that.
“Of course you don’t,” she muttered before answering. “The standard contract language binds us to follow its terms, and it binds the trial to do the same. It’s a mutual agreement, the basis of contractual magic. Think of it like the ropes connecting the trees in the Bridgelands, Hadrian. The ropes are necessary, but they don’t make the journey easy. The specific contract clauses are like the planks on those ropes—they allow the journey to actually happen.”
“And these planks are the interesting part?”
“Exactly. It outlines that there are three challenges we must overcome to complete the trial, though we can leave after beating just one.”
“Only three challenges? Easy enough.”
“No, not…” Sylva sighed, giving up on correcting him. “The first trial tests our skill at arms, the second our control, and the last our dedication.”
“Skill at arms?” Lotem asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice. “Are we in danger?”
“That’s the interesting part, Lotem. The contract demands a much larger portion of our essence in exchange for protection from any non-voluntary injury or death.”
“Our essence?” Hadrian echoed, confused.
“Your blood, my animating magics. It’s how the contract enforces its safety assurances, I think.” Sylva began pointing out the specific connections between the clauses when Lotem interrupted.
“Non-voluntary injury or death? So if we agree now that we don’t want to be injured or killed, we’ll be safe?”
“That is what the contract says, yes.”
“I vote aye to enter the trial,” Hadrian said without hesitation. “If this contract really protects us from injury or death, it’s a rare chance to get stronger without risking our lives. We don’t know what’s out there, and a trial at arms sounds awesome. We can’t miss out on that.”
“Hadrian’s right,” Lotem said, catching Sylva’s skeptical look. “Not about it being awesome—some of us don’t want to fight—but it’s a good opportunity, right? I vote aye. How bad could one challenge be? We could always leave after we beat it.”
Sylva rubbed her temples, closing her eyes as if gathering her patience. “Again?” she muttered, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “Why is everything a vote with you two?”
“We Bal have a storied history of democracy. It’s you imperials who struggle with sharing power,” Lotem teased.
“We don’t have an issue with—” she started, then cut herself off. “Fine. I vote aye, not that we have much of a choice. Hadrian, take your seat.”
Sylva took her seat in the wooden chair and began an intricate chant, her voice low and rhythmic as she read from the contract. As she finished, three bone needles rose from the table, hovering in the air. Following Sylva’s lead, Lotem pricked his finger on the needle and gasped as he felt a suction, pulling more and more blood from his body. His heart raced as the needle finally withdrew, and he felt a shift take hold, pulling him into the next phase.
Hadrian surveyed the stone-hewn room, wondering if every structure they encountered would be fashioned from this same cold, unyielding substance. The Malan, he knew, had an affinity for stone, abundant in this part of the empire. Yet, he never imagined such an overwhelming presence of it in one place, as though the very heart of the world had been carved out and shaped into these imposing walls.
The room stretched before him like an elongated corridor—a narrow, imposing passage a dozen feet wide, with walls slanting inward sharply to form a triangular prism. Three doors, evenly spaced on each side, interrupted the relentless stone. He couldn’t fathom how they might open, given the severe angles, but the very impossibility of their function lent the place an air of mystery, as if the geometry itself was a riddle.
His gaze drifted upward, drawn by the flickering light of a long brazier suspended from the ceiling. The flames danced and writhed, casting erratic shadows that pulsed with a life of their own. The room was bathed in an uneasy blend of orange, yellow, and red, the colors swirling together like a smoldering sunset trapped within these stone confines. An inexplicable unease gnawed at him, a vague, unnamable dread that he dismissed as nothing more than claustrophobia. The slanting walls pressed in on him, narrowing his world to a suffocating slice of existence.
“Ahh, this is perfect!” Sylva’s voice cut through his thoughts, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere. She moved with purpose toward one of the stone doors, her steps confident, almost eager. “I hoped there would be recovery rooms, but I didn’t dare expect it. The contract mentioned the possibility, though it all depended on the whims of the Eidolons overseeing this year’s trials. Although…” Her voice trailed off as she reached the door.
Sylva’s fingers brushed against a rune etched into the door’s surface. The stone shifted, sliding smoothly into the ceiling with a sound that was both seamless and unsettlingly final. The room beyond was sparse, its austerity almost monastic. A single stone platform jutted from one wall, offering the barest hint of comfort in this otherwise stark environment. Opposite it, a coffin-shaped basin, longer than Hadrian was tall, brimmed with crystal-clear water. A solitary torch, its light muted and steady, hung on the far wall, casting a serene reflection across the water—a stark contrast to the violent hues outside.
“Well, at least we won’t die of thirst,” Hadrian said with a grin. “I was worried with all this stone around—no need for water to survive.”
“That is not for drinking!” Sylva’s voice was horrified. “Those are the waters of rebirth—they allow us to return after grievous injury or death in the trials.”
“So what are we supposed to drink, then?” Hadrian asked, genuinely curious.
“We won’t need to. The contract said we don’t need to worry about ‘mortal concerns’ like food and drink.”
“But we can drink if we want to?” Hadrian looked hopeful. “I love the taste of cold water after a workout.”
“The door covered in engravings of people fighting each other might lead us to a different source of water,” Lotem suggested, raising an eyebrow.
“They’re probably guarding it,” Hadrian mused, excitement returning with force. “If I were a guardian deep underground, I’d definitely guard the water. Combat to the death until we quench our thirst—that’s how it should be!”
“There won’t be any thirst,” Sylva retorted, her patience wearing thin.
Lotem, however, seemed intrigued. “But Sylva, are you sure we can’t drink this water? It looks safe enough, and Hadrian makes a good point—there’s power in a good drink.”
“We might be able to, but…” Sylva hesitated, distaste evident in her voice. “It doesn’t feel… civilized. Drinking from a pool designed to rebuild our forms feels wrong.”
Hadrian squatted by the pool, dipped his hand into the placid surface like a ladle, and slurped loudly. “Sure does taste like water.”
“Hadrian!” Sylva’s exasperation was palpable. “You can’t just drink random dungeon water.”
“I was thirsty. We can’t fight dehydrated, Sylva, that’s just common sense.”
“You weren’t thirsty; you can’t be thirsty—the contract made that clear.”
As Lotem bent down to sample the water, Hadrian felt a warmth ignite in his chest—a quiet satisfaction that he wasn’t alone in defying the strange rules of this place. “This isn’t bad at all, Sylva,” Lotem said thoughtfully. “Tastes like spring water. Can we designate a pool for rebirth and keep one clean for drinking?”
Sylva looked appeased by the idea. “The trial’s almost certainly already assigned us a pool; it took our imprints earlier, so we shouldn’t need to provide another.” She shrugged. “The only way to know for sure is to die.”
“Let’s try not to test that, then. Any idea why there are six rooms but only three of us?”
“Those rooms are for a triumvirate of mentors,” Sylva explained. “The contract specified that if we had mentors, they would accompany us but couldn’t assist in the trials. Since we don’t have any, it looks like we just have extra space.”
Hadrian stood and summoned his bow with a sudden pop. “We’re ready to try the trial, then. To the bronze door?”
“It’s not that simple, Hadrian,” Sylva cautioned. “We aren’t ready yet.”
“Oh, what else do we need to prepare?” We have water and an objective—surely we’re ready to beat the first trial. And what’s the worst that happens? We’ll just get reborn if something goes wrong. What my parents wouldn’t have given for one of these in the village.
“Well… we could meditate on the challenges ahead.”
“Meditate?” Lotem asked, skeptical. “The first trial’s about combat, not inner peace, Sylva.”
“Fine, combat it is. We need rest, but it’s best to try the challenge at least once first. Come, boys, let’s give it our best shot.” She gave Hadrian a look that brooked no argument, showing she wasn’t afraid of whatever awaited them.
Hadrian followed her, his eyes tracing the intricate script on the bronze door at the end of the hallway. The door radiated authority, a weight pressing down on him as he approached. It was more than it appeared—imbued with the essence of the trials, it carried an almost spiritual weight. It reminded him of the difference between normal flame and the flame imbued by the Luminaries—a sense of authority that was impossible to ignore.
“Are we ready?” Sylva asked, her tone serious.
They both nodded, and Sylva placed her hand on the center of the door, her fingers brushing over the intricate carvings. The script glowed, and the doors swung open with a creak that echoed through the hallway, revealing a large hexagonal chamber beyond.
They stood in silence, taking in the grandiose space. The floor was covered in a mosaic of tiles that formed a pattern Hadrian couldn’t decipher. His attention, however, was drawn to the three sarcophagi embedded in the walls opposite them, each adorned with carvings and scripts that seemed to tell a story—a life captured in stone.
The Kiel, Hadrian knew, sent their dead into the rivers of fog on elaborate ships, a final voyage to the next world. These sarcophagi seemed the opposite—a tomb of stone, a prison without air or light. Why would anyone choose such a fate? he wondered.
In the center of the room stood a pedestal, a column of carved gray stone holding a crystal ball filled with swirling smoke. The mist within reminded Hadrian of the rivers of fog—a familiar sight from his childhood. He resisted the urge to stride forward and challenge whatever awaited them, knowing Sylva wouldn’t approve. Instead, he stood ready, his bow in hand, an arrow nocked.
Sylva took the first steps into the room. She strode to the pillar, crouching before the stone. She ran her fingers along the carved script, muttering under her breath as she studied the symbols. Hadrian glanced at Lotem, but the large man seemed content to wait as long as it took Sylva to reach her conclusion.
After a few minutes of quiet observation, Sylva stood and turned. “Lotem, you should leave Sabel in one of the rooms. She won’t be safe in here.”
“Fair enough.” Lotem turned and left the chamber.
“Are we going to fight something?” Hadrian asked Sylva as they waited for Lotem to return.
“This trial draws three Eidolons of the demesne to challenge us. Once we prove ourselves worthy, they’ll let us move on.”
“And we prove ourselves by fighting?”
Sylva sighed, clearly exasperated.
“Yes, Hadrian, I do believe they might attack us. The stone makes it clear we might be killed and reborn in the rooms behind us.”
“And you’re sure we’re safe despite that?” Lotem asked as he rejoined them.
“Sure enough.” She shrugged. “Are we ready?”
Hadrian nodded excitedly, while Lotem hesitated for a few seconds before nodding as well. Sylva touched the crystal ball, and the swirling mist within froze, then glowed gold. The door behind them swung shut with a resounding crash. In front of them, the sarcophagi lids creaked open, revealing three figures.
A giant of a man emerged first, towering even over Lotem, his mane of fiery red hair blazing in the chamber’s light. He wielded a massive club—no, a bone, the leg of some great beast. Hadrian’s mind raced. What creature could yield such a weapon?
His gaze shifted to the next figure—a naga, her golden scales gleaming like the fires of home. Her torso and arms bore a humanoid shape, though covered in those lustrous scales. She wore a sleek toga, her face a strange blend of serpent and woman, with eyes that glowed the orange of a setting sun. Hadrian had never seen a naga before, and a thousand questions flooded his mind—questions he hoped to ask once they had defeated her.
The last figure to emerge was another giant, clad in armor of gleaming green metal, intricately carved with the images of two creatures. The armor must weigh more than I do, Hadrian thought. How am I supposed to wound him? The helm alone was a formidable weapon, with curving horns that narrowed to lethal points.
The armored man whistled, and the creatures etched on his armor materialized—solid and real. The first was a robust, barrel-shaped beast, its fur coarse and streaked with red and gray. It had a broad head, small ears, and large, dark eyes. The second creature was spiny, its body bristling with needle-like spines. Its small, dark eyes and short snout gave it a deceptively harmless appearance, but Hadrian sensed the danger.
The beast’s spines reminded Hadrian of the darts Simians used in their raids. Nasty things, those. The other creature looked… unassuming. Its thick frame resembled a rat’s, but the face was all wrong—too square. It reminded him of the squirrels he’d hunted.
“Summoned this soon into the cycle?” said the man with the bone club. “This should be interesting. It’s what, the first day?”
“Drakar and Morvan, an interesting confluence indeed,” the naga hissed, eyeing the two men on either side.
“Seraphis,” said the red-haired man—Drakar, if Hadrian understood correctly. “How’s overseeing the forge? You haven’t been called to kill an initiate in how long?”
“Now, Drakar, no need to rile the snake up,” Morvan said. “I’m sure she’s been busy with whatever it is Sunborn mages spend their decades working on.”
“Research. It is–”
“Ah yes, I’m sure it’s been a riveting period for you,” Morvan said. Hadrian tensed as he noticed Morvan’s creatures growing still, their muscles tensing, eyes locked on Lotem.
“So all we need to do is kill these three and we can move on?” Hadrian asked quietly, growing more confident they couldn’t afford to delay. He didn’t know much about conversation, but he knew when violence was about to start. The air had a feeling to it.
“Kill us?” Drakar let out a guffaw.
“Drakar, stop playing with your food,” Seraphis hissed bemusedly. “We can talk with them after they recover, they can earn our answers.”
As the naga began weaving her hands in complex patterns, Sylva swore. “It’s five of them, not three.”
“Is now really the time?” Lotem asked, his eyes fixed on the twin creatures.
“Accuracy is important in all things” Sylva replied as the beasts lunged, and Drakar deflected Hadrian’s first arrow.
“Krinka, how is the scrying attempt progressing?” Casselia’s voice sliced through the dense air of the makeshift cabin. “They’re almost certainly preparing for the first trial today. We need to witness this.”
Casselia sat at a table fashioned from the bones of nearby trees, its skeletal framework stark against the rugged walls of their impromptu cabin. Outside, Alsarana’s magic thrummed through the air, the crack of falling trees punctuating the stillness as Krinka focused on bypassing the wards. The distant crashes masked what she was certain was Alsarana’s manic laughter.
“The Tir Na Nog wards are adequate,” Krinka muttered, sketching symbols into the wall. “Not as intricate as a specialist shrine, but respectable. They carry a hint of the Khanate’s style, really—”
“Krinka, enough with the details,” Casselia snapped. “I need results. Save the ward scheme lecture for later.”
“Easy for you to say…” he grumbled, resuming his sketching. After a few more minutes of focused effort, he shot her a muted smile and wiped away a bead of sweat rolling down his brow. Then, the [Archivist of Hidden Truth] invoked one of his skills, and she felt a shift in the room as his power took hold.
Relief washed over Casselia as the wall shimmered, revealing the three youths by the pedestal. She strode to the door and flung it open. “Alsarana, hurry! The children are about to face their doom.”
Casselia shook her head with a rueful smile. Alsarana would never miss a chance to watch a fight, especially a hopeless one. Moments later, he slithered into the room, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Did I miss anything?”
“Just the Silkborn reading the instructions,” Krinka said, slumped in one of the chairs. “Ah, here we go. She’s summoning the Eidolons. Looks like it’s a trial of approval. Casselia, do you think they’ll set a challenge or go for a traditional attack?”
“In Tir Na Nog? The Numen, Nygmar, and naga are likely to demand a trial by combat. You know their history as well as I do.”
“We naga do love an unfair fight.” Alsarana added unhelpfully. “I hope she bites one of them.”
“The Sunborn is unlikely to bite the candidate, Als,” Krinka interjected matter-of-factly. “She’ll almost certainly prepare a spell if they let her.”
“Shush you two,” Casselia said. “It’s starting.”
They watched intently as the sarcophagi creaked open, releasing a shiver of ancient air. Two Numen and a Sunborn emerged, their presence commanding. A [Beastmaster]? The Bal can’t have a companion yet. Did he smuggle a beast into Aslavain? Casselia’s unease deepened. They should have intercepted the group before they entered the trial. I didn’t expect them to get drawn here—not really.
She hadn’t anticipated they’d rush into a trial so soon. What kind of fools enter an unknown shrine without securing a class or relevant skills? Relying solely on the boons of immortals was… reckless. Yet, this was her chance to witness the trio’s raw abilities before any external influences could shape their paths.
She hoped they could survive the trial and reach Dornogor within the next month and a half. At least if they escaped the trial in time, her plan could still work.
“I can’t get audio yet; creating a sympathetic connection is tricky, and the ward scheme still insists it’s right.” Krinka plopped into one of Alsarana’s conjured seats, his brow furrowed. “But look, they’re bantering. Why do the youth never grasp the danger of idle chatter?”
Casselia’s eyes were fixed on the shifting image on the wall. She expected the same unwavering focus from Krinka and Alsarana, who knew better than to test her patience. The Sulphen’s awards depended on the precise quality and quantity of feedback they gathered. Casselia was confident that few could match the caliber of insight her group provided, and it was wasteful not to pay attention.
Though Casselia couldn’t confirm it, she believed trials of approval thrived because Eidolons were required to provide meaningful feedback to the contenders. Becoming an Eidolon meant one was strong and insightful enough to guide the empire’s newest citizens, and, she knew, too weak to actually advance any further.
Casselia’s musings ended as Sylva detected the naga’s spellcraft, igniting the fight. The trio clustered near the pedestal, mere strides into the expansive chamber, with the Eidolons across the room. The [Beastmaster] raised his hand, and two beasts—a Crystal-Quill and a Thunderback—rushed Lotem in a flurry of motion.
Casselia frowned. The Crystal-Quill, a porcupine variant from the hills west of Valourwash River, charged forward. Known for disrupting infantry formations with explosive spines, it was a formidable sight. Beside it, the Thunderback—a lightning-infused capybara—aimed to disable enemies with powerful electrical shocks. An unusual choice for the trial, these rodents lacked the defensive prowess expected against a triumvirate with a spellcaster, though that was irrelevant for now.
Her gaze shifted to the [Squire] as he drew and released his first arrow at the spellcasting naga. His form was nearly perfect, showcasing the potential Rovan had seen in him. As the first arrow flew, a second materialized in his hand, swiftly following. An armory skill? And he wielded it well. The bone arrows streaked through the air, only to be caught by the Eidolon’s club, shattering into ivory shards.
An armory of bone skill suited Rovan’s profile. Such a skill implied proficiency with multiple weapons, not just the bow. Casselia hoped he’d showcase his versatility before the Eidolons ended the fight. The Eidolon deflected his third and fourth arrows with disdain. How long before he shifts tactics? Casselia wondered.
“Is the girl countering the Sunborn’s spell?” Krinka muttered, eyes narrowing at the battlefield. “The naga’s spell array keeps shifting, and she’s responding with hasty adjustments to her incantation. The girl’s form is sloppy, though—doubtful it will do much to interfere unless she chooses her counter well… Maybe I should try to get audio.”
Krinka’s words faded as the Crystal Quill erupted, launching a barrage of sharp quills that pierced Lotem’s side. He crumpled to his knees, blood staining the ground. The Thunderback followed with a thunderous headbutt, its electrical shock powerful enough to stop anyone but one of the Numen, she knew. Lotem flew backward with a crash before sinking into the ground.
“There goes the giant,” Alsarana remarked with a gleeful smirk. “Slain by rodents! It’s not a first, but it’s certainly novel.”
Casselia’s eyes darted back to the [Squire] as he shifted his aim to the Thunderback—a mistake. The pressure on the Sunborn waned. The Numen warrior surged forward, covering the distance in heartbeats. Two arrows pierced the Thunderback before Hadrian realized his error and spun to face the oncoming Numen, now hurtling toward Sylva.
Sylva backpedaled, eyes locked on the Sunborn, her hands weaving desperately to counter the naga’s spellwork. Too slow, Casselia noted. The Numen’s club swung wide, a dozen feet from Sylva, before he released the weapon at the arc’s peak. The spinning club slammed into Sylva’s chest, the club nearly as large as she was, sending her crashing into the wall. She vanished into the floor with a thunderous impact.
“A mage, felled by a club? Amateur work,” Alsarana taunted, clearly relishing the spectacle.
Hadrian dropped his bow and lunged at the disarmed Numen. Just as his attack seemed to fall short, a spear materialized in his hand, stabbing the warrior’s shoulder and drawing blood. The Sunborn completed her invocation, and Hadrian’s moccasins burst into yellow flames, clinging to his feet with fierce intensity. Casselia knew better than most how painful the Radiant Flame could be.
“And that’s why fog robes are prized throughout the empire,” Krinka remarked. “He’d be a pillar of flames in any other garb. But even with the robe’s resistance, he’s in a tight spot now.”
The Numen warrior raised his fist, summoning his club back with a swift, practiced motion. It reversed course from where it lay after felling Sylva, returning to the giant as though on a string. He caught the club, and in an instant, it descended. Hadrian crumpled, his body sinking limply into the floor. A tense silence followed before Casselia turned to Alsarana, her gaze sharp and serious.
“Analysis?” Casselia asked, her mind racing.
“The [Squire] shows real potential, wielding his armory skill with the finesse of a seasoned veteran. However, he lacks the power to penetrate true defenses. Against peers, he’d be a formidable opponent, but seasoned combat specialists like these Eidolons? He’s lucky to have landed a hit. The Numen let his guard down.”
“And the others?” Casselia prompted, her eyes narrowing in thought.
“The Bal likely has a skill that agitated the beasts. Otherwise, the [Beastmaster] wouldn’t have targeted him with both. Had he split their focus, the fight would’ve ended even quicker. Despite this, the boy’s response was negligible. He might lack a weapon, but more likely, he has no combat training whatsoever.”
“I concur,” Casselia agreed, noting Alsarana’s keen observation. “The [Beastmaster] suggests the Bal is on that path, even if he hasn’t fully acquired the class. Oddly, no sign of his companion beast. Krinka, what’s your take on the spellcraft?”
“The girl appeared to be manually unraveling the invocation. Unless she possesses a skill that allows her to directly interpret her opponent’s spellcraft—unlikely at their level—she was trying to comprehend and disrupt the naga’s invocation on the fly.” Krinka looked perturbed. “Unless the sects are teaching spellcraft pre-trial, which is doubtful, she was operating blindly.”
That wasn’t something Casselia had considered. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”
“The naga used the Sabaharian spellcasting framework to link the trio’s gear to the Radiant Flame, igniting it like Hadrian’s moccasins. Sylva countered with her own understanding of the world, likely an Imperial Poem of some sort, disrupting the spell for a few crucial heartbeats. Only a few heartbeats, but still.”
“What skills could enable that?” Casselia’s mind was racing through the possibilities. The girl had to have the assistance of the Sulphen in some form. Otherwise… Nyxol had created a monster in one of those sects she claims not to own.
“Most likely? An intuition skill. She might have an active skill like [Counter Meaning] or [Unravel Spellcraft], but I doubt it. An active skill would’ve ended the invocation, not just delayed it.” Krinka anticipated her objection. “Not that [Delay Invocation] isn’t possible, but she was too focused for a simple active skill.”
“Interesting. We will have to keep an eye on her. If anything,” she focused on Krinka, “this means it is even more important for you to form a connection with the trio. We need them to accept our offer of mentorship as soon as we can. We should be providing the feedback directly, not secondhand like this.” Especially not if one of them is using the Radiant Flame, and against a Silkborn no less. She knew the girl must be terrified of the stuff—all Silkborn were. “How long until you can usurp the wards?”
“Getting visual feedback like this is easy,” Alsarana snorted at the casual mastery in that statement, earning a warning look from Casselia. “But forming a link through the shrine?” Krinka shook his head. “That’s a tall order.”
Casselia knew only a few dozen individuals in the empire could accomplish what she was asking, and she wasn’t sure Krinka was one of them. He’d need to access the trial’s inner ward scheme without alerting the Eidolons. An [Archmage] could handle it, but Krinka wasn’t a [Mage]; he was a [Historian], relying on a different skill set. He had had to steal one of Als skills earlier to even etch the incantation onto the bone.
“Can you do it?” Casselia’s tone held a hint of challenge, knowing the scholar wouldn’t back down.
“I’ll try my best, Cass. But if there are no historically similar ward sets broken this way, my hands are tied. None come to mind. I’ll need to review wardbreaking histories, and that takes time. My best estimate is a month unless something changes. If we could get a talisman inside, I could do it sooner, but I doubt we want to call attention to ourselves by recruiting in the city.”
“It’ll have to do,” she said, turning to Alsarana. “Gather as much bone as possible while we’re here. Krinka, can you alert us whenever the trio makes another attempt? This will be an interesting month.”