49 - Highgold (Patreon)

Sky had been deliriously whispering in his sleep for three days straight. His madra churned on its own volition as he breathed a pattern of cycling, taking rasping, slow inhalations. It was a wonder he could still breathe, considering the hole in his chest.

It had healed after Mercy had exhausted her supply of medicine on him, but it had healed… wrong. The twisted divot of a grievous wound turned his chest into the eye of a grotesque vortex of skin and muscle, and out from it spread an enormous starburst shaped scar of pink, twisted skin.

Lindon had lost all hope on the first day that he would still live. And yet it had been three.

In the basement where they had taken refuge, they had tried to feed him and water him. His breathing would not allow him to eat anything, but he could take breaks from his cycling in order to drink a limited amount of water, only enough to keep him alive.

Contrary to his expectations, it was Yerin that looked after him the most. Even Mercy would find time to do anything else but stare at Sky’s supine form. She had barely said a word in all of three days. Mercy’s own attempts to lighten the mood had also fallen flat.

Orthos had overdrawn his spirit in order to save them, and it was only due to Little Blue’s intervention that he hadn’t returned to his former raving self. 

Suddenly, Lindon heard a crashing sound from upstairs. Had the monsters destroyed their barricade? The herd had thinned considerably since yesterday—

The basement barricade imploded as well, and in stepped Eithan. They all lowered their weapons, and Lindon heaved a sigh of relief. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Eithan wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Unfortunately, my nose cannot say the same.”

“Enough jokes,” Yerin bit out, “Sky’s on death’s door!” She stomped her foot to punctuate herself. The floor shook under the strike. Eithan looked over at Sky, who was at the very end of the basement to its entrance, taking in gasping breaths.

Eithan sobered up and approached Sky, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut past his coat, and the shirt underneath, exposing his belly. Gray, ethereal fire crackled in Eithan’s hand as he started writing in the air. He then pushed whatever script he had created into his stomach.

Sky took in a gasping breath of relief. Finally, for the first time, he breathed easily, no longer cycling. “Has Little Blue been tending to him?” Eithan asked. 

“Yes,” Lindon said, “She… she’s very weak at the moment. We had to cleanse Orthos as well.”

Eithan whirled on his feet to face them with a grin. “The good news is he hasn’t suffered any spiritual injuries from all his cycling, trying to resist the Blood Shadow. In fact, that good news is only secondary to the fact that he is not a Blood Vassal. And physically, he is totally stable! He’s only in excruciating pain, but at times like these, it behooves us to count our blessings.”

“Then!” Lindon exclaimed, “That’s really…?”

Eithan nodded gravely. For the last three days, Lindon had been trying to get answers of his own from Yerin, who seemed painfully aware of what was ailing Sky. “We will have to find a way for him to cope with that. That’s assuming he’s still keen on continuing his Path.”

“Can he?” Yerin asked, “Look at him,” she gestured at his chest. 

Eithan grimaced. He then sighed. “I guess I will have to empty my coffers to get him back on his feet. Nothing like a short-term loss to truly appreciate the long-term gains.”

“Fakk yu,” Lindon whirled to see Sky gaze blearily at Eithan, attempting a grin, but failing. His head lolled back down.

“He’s awake! What did he say?” Mercy asked. 

“In his language, this means ‘thank the heavens’,” Eithan said. How did Eithan know Sky’s language? “In any case,” he turned to Mercy, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“I’m Akura Mercy,” Mercy said, bowing over two fists pressed together. It was the most amount of deference Lindon had ever seen Mercy give to anyone, “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for coming to our rescue!”

“Not at all, young lady, not at all!” Eithan grinned ingratiatingly, “I was simply coming to retrieve my prized investments. I have some good news, and some bad news. Which one do you pick?”

Yerin didn’t say anything, so Lindon decided to give an answer. “Can we have the good news, please?”

Eithan looked at him in sympathy. “I’m sorry, I cannot do that for you. The bad news is, you are all very likely wanted for capture, for assaulting Skysworn officers.”

Yerin immediately drew her sword, even though there was no one to draw swords on. “I’ll kill them all.”

Eithan raised his hands placatingly. “Good news is, Gwei is very firmly in my debt, after his botched adjudication, and now because I had completed a difficult service for him. Well, difficult for him. For me, it was incredibly easy. You will get away with a slap on your wrists, and you may continue service.”

“Continue service?” Yerin spat, “Burn my soul to ash if I ever work for those traitorous dogs ever again!”

“Yerin,” came a rasp from the ground. It was Sky. He beckoned her over with his fingers. “Come,” he rasped.

Yerin rushed on over. “Closer,” she crouched. He grabbed her wrist with a weak grip. “Treasure island.”

“What?!”

“Yerin… don’t… mess… up… treasure… island…”

“Treasure island?” Mercy asked, eyebrow raised. Lindon felt a rush of panic for a moment, remembering Sky’s warning not to reveal anything about the future to Mercy. No one could blame him for this particular lapse, but Lindon still felt tempted to interject before he revealed more.

Yerin stood up. “You think I’ll just— after what happened to—bleed me if I can’t even do anything after what happened!” Yerin hissed. 

Sky gave a sickly grin. “We wait.”

“You contend we wait until Underlord while still drawing swords for them?” Yerin asked, scandalized by the idea.

“Precisely,” Eithan said with a grin as he stepped closer to Yerin. “Being among the Skysworn during this time will only be beneficial for you. I ask that you wait until a better opportunity, Yerin. Doing anything at this point will only set you back.”

Yerin whirled on her feet and walked up to Lindon. Her intensity sent shivers down his spine. “You’ll be trading words with the flying pigs, not me. If I ever have a word to spare to them, it’ll be to challenge them to a duel to the death.”

Lindon nodded. “You don’t have to speak with them at all. I’ll make sure of it.”

Yerin gave him an appreciative nod.

“And what about Bai Rou and Renfei?” Mercy asked. “Why did they feel that they could get away with trying to assassinate Yerin?”

Eithan grimaced, “Eyewitness accounts state that Yerin’s Blood Shadow had conducted itself in a… threatening way.”

“I had it under lock!” Yerin shouted. “Then they almost smashed my skull in.”

This was truly Sky’s envisioned perfect future?

Lindon cast another glance at his ruined senior brother, and wondered to himself how things would change for him now. Would he turn out like Lindon’s father, embittered and yearning for a different fate?

“Condolences,” Eithan said, “If Gwei had been there, this would never have happened. Unfortunately, I had redirected him for my own purposes.”

“And those were?” Lindon asked.

“For the benefit of the family,” Eithan gave him a grin. “Alright now. Further good tidings, the Bleeding Phoenix has retreated for now.”

“Not killed?” Lindon asked, shocked by the statement.

“Ah,” Eithan smiled, “I see that Sky did not tell you everything. No, if the Dreadgods could just be killed, they would not survive for this long. The best that humanity can do is drive it away for a time. That was precisely this case. The honored Monarch fought for two days and two nights until her armor chipped, leaking essence. And then, the Phoenix just… split apart.”

“Split apart?” Lindon asked.

“I saw it myself. By now, you must have understood the ‘bleeding’ part of its name. As for why they call it a phoenix, it is because it can’t be killed. Well, none of them can, really. But the Phoenix, when sufficiently pushed, splits into a myriad of different parts called Blood Shadows. They gather power independently, and return to the Phoenix when it is ready to rise again.”

“What, it gave up and went home?” Yerin asked.

“Battles on this scale take a truly immense amount of madra. Even a creature on the level of the Phoenix cannot fight forever. My theory is that it’s biding its time.”

Lindon held up a hand. “As curious as I am, can we not…?” he gestured towards Sky. “You said he is in pain!”

Eithan went to pick Sky’s light form up. “We can walk and talk. And trade stories of our heavenly visions.”

Lindon’s eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly.

000

Every breath hurt like someone had stabbed me with a knife in my chest, and twisted it. The worst part was… the pain built up. I had to breathe excruciatingly slowly to prevent the pain from compounding, advancing into a new realm of agony. Yet, the pain marched on inexorably.

Every second was a new and fresh agony.

I opened my eyes, and was in a bed.

Eithan hovered over me. He gave me a saddened smile. “How are you feeling?”

Tears squeezed out of my eyes. “How do I fix this?” I whispered, talking slowly so my lungs wouldn’t hurt. 

“Let’s begin with the extent of your injuries,” Eithan said, “The Blood Shadow perforated your chest, scrambling your right lung. Remnant parts have replaced the missing lung tissue. You’ve healed as well as you can, however.”

Can I fight?

Why was I even thinking about that? Who fucking cared? How do I fix this?

Advancement.

I immediately honed in on my spirit, tried to ignore that disgusting mass of Dreadgod sheddings that had melted into the side of my core like a horrifying alien parasite of nightmares, and saw Arakmedes’ Remnant.

“Wait, wait!” I heard Eithan shout, and opened my eyes. In his hands was a smooth, holed shell made of some gray material. My perception prickled with a forceful thud-like impression. Force madra. Scripts covered the surface, precise and looping, everything I had given to Gesha.

I looked up at Eithan’s face. “How long was I out?”

“The procedure lasted five hours,” Eithan said, “That means you have three days.” Until Ghostwater.

Three days, huh?

“I’m healed?” I asked. “Can I… breathe normally?”

Eithan nodded. “The pain is not indicative of injury, if that is what you want to know. Your body healed imprecisely, as a consequence of your Ethereal Iron body. You can breathe as quickly as you want. It will just hurt.”

The pain wasn’t just in my chest. It seemed to spread like liquid fire through my blood vessels. Every inch of me stung, and it all led back to the volcano in my chest.

I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t focus. It was all I could do to continue talking to Eithan.

I told myself that I would never use this again.

“Three days,” I echoed. “Will it… take three days?”

“It can if you’re diligent.”

I thought of the death Remnant reindeer and the frozen-solid heart in its grinning maw. Was it real, or was it an illusion?

Did it matter?

Frozen Heart.

It was like my chest had hollowed out. All color seemed to drain from the world at once. My mind, too, drained of everything. Superfluous things. Worries, anxieties, fears. Guilt, shame. Attachment.

I took a deep breath, ignoring the sting, and slowly sat upright. “Stupid,” I said to myself, shaking my head. “I’ve been a silly person.”

“Sky.”

I looked up to see Eithan, looking down at me with a serious gaze. “Frozen Heart,” I told him. I cracked a grin and chuckled derisively. “Apparently, I couldn’t handle the pain. I was so desperate for relief.”

I pulled the gown away from my chest to inspect my wound. There was a starburst-shaped scar of pink tissue over the right side of my twisted chest, where the pain was greatest. Looked pretty neat, honestly, in a morbid way. I looked back at Eithan and gave him my hand. “The construct.”

“I take it you won’t be overly inclined to accept guests at this time,” Eithan said to me. I opened my mouth to dismiss him, but then thought about it for a while longer.

Lindon and Yerin were incredible allies to have. Their potential was limitless. To lose them would be to my detriment down the line, especially if my goal was truly to gain ultimate power.

Akura Mercy was a Monarch’s daughter. Nothing else needed to be said.

“Tell the kids that I’ll be busy pushing for advancement,” I said simply, “To overcome my injuries. I’m not taking visitors.”

“And Chiara?”

Ah, she hadn’t occurred to me.. I hummed. “Tell her the same.” I didn’t relish wasting time in the future with pointless arguments. I was well aware that my priorities would shift after advancement, and sabotaging myself in this way would only slow me down. In an ideal world, I’d never have gotten involved with her to begin with. She was hardly main character material. I wasn’t confident she could keep up with me.

Still, I’d eventually have to get around to accepting that truth once I regained my emotions.

“Preferably,” I said, “You will completely stop them from interrupting me. I have less than no interest in entertaining anyone for the next three days. This is a private challenge. I don’t need anyone else for this. Leave the construct, and walk out of this room so I can get started, unless you have anything of value to tell me.”

Eithan’s grin returned, though I could see that it was strained. “What are your thoughts on this… new opportunity that has been presented to you?”

“Hmm,” I thought about it for a moment, “It’s a shame I can’t cultivate it according to the Blood Sage’s method. My madra would not combine well with it. I may have to go the beast route,” I frowned, “No… I already have a project in mind. This will only make things easier for me.”

A plan crystallized in my mind the longer I thought about it, and for the first time, I felt that my symbiote project was actually within reach.

I grinned. “This is good for me.”

Eithan mirrored my grin. “Glad you feel that way. Always nice to have a good attitude about life-altering injuries!”

I rolled my eyes. “This won’t hobble me for very long. We both know that.” Eithan handed me the force construct, and I gave the scripts a look.

Not shoddy. Not bad.

But it could be better. More comprehensive. This was already enough to trap Archlord madra, but if there ever came time to use it in combat, instead of just using it as an advancement resource, then what? I’d be shit out of luck.

I could do better.

In fact, I would do better.

I returned the Force construct back to him. “Do you have the vessel for it on hand? I need to cycle the Eightfold Wheel before I get started. I need perfect control for this.”

Eithan gestured toward the nightstand, where a scripted cage sat. I reached over to it, ignoring the agony of the movement, and gently placed it inside, closing the cage’s lid.

“Anything else?” I asked him, “Or are you intent on talking to me for the entire three days?”

“No,” Eithan grinned. “Best of luck, Sky! I believe in you. This is not the end of your path.”

“You talk way too much,” I said, “Leave.”

I didn’t wait for him to do so. Instead, I got straight to business. I closed my eyes, laid down on the bed, and began cycling.

At its initial stage, the Eightfold Wheel was a cycle of panic, struggling against this panic, and gaining control over my struggles. After my first bout of Frozen Heart, the technique had permanently changed. The cycle occurred so quickly that the effect it created was instead this generalized anxiety bordering on a panic attack.

I pushed the Eightfold Wheel as fast as I could make it go, pushing it faster and faster in search of some limit. It took minutes before the wheel spun so fast, that the emotional cycle turned into full-blown panic and hysteria.

It was as though I was of two minds. One was falling apart in raw terror and dread. The other kept control, and kept cycling.

I continued in this way for as long as my body would allow me before I needed food or water. None of it harmed my mind in the long term. Like before, all the panic slid away from my mind the instant it touched it.

And my madra, that jumbled mess that I had only occasionally been able to tend to during my three day semi-coma—nearly on the verge of splitting completely before Eithan had saved me—was mine once again. 

By the time the thirst became too unmanageable, I opened my eyes and saw a plate of cold food and a jug of water with a glass next to it on my night stand.

I drank the water, took some bites of the food—none of it particularly rich in blood essence or life aura—and refocused on the scripted cage containing my Starseed shell.

It was time.

I opened the cage, took the shell out, and at the tip of my index finger, I produced a Nova Blade, the thinnest one I could possibly make. My madra threaded its way through my channels, not even touching the sides—such was my control—and poked out of my finger needle-thin.

I began scripting over the scripts of the construct, making sure to be as precise as I possibly could. New swirls extended old ones. The script circles became parts of a larger script circle, recursing over and over as I added an additional depth of complexity. I took a break to eat and drink again, as well as relieve myself, and then I cycled the Eightfold Wheel.

When I woke up once more, I noticed three things: my empty plates had been taken away, my bedpan had been emptied, and Chiara stood at the foot of my bed, consternation evident in her features.

“Sky,” she mumbled.

I looked at her for a moment, wondering how I was supposed to play this. The answer was quite obvious, however: don’t say anything to hurt her. That would only make trouble for myself down the line. “Hello,” I said to her.

She didn’t say anything after that. I didn’t relish her wasting my time, but I didn’t know how to communicate that without coming off as curt or rude.

In any case, having a beautiful woman standing over me like this wasn’t the worst thing in the world. If she’d just stare, then I’d stare right back.

“How are you feeling?” she asked me.

I couldn’t hold back the chuckle at that ridiculous question. “Like a freshly advanced Monarch.”

She chuckled at that, but her mirth couldn’t cut past her sadness. “Sky, I’m… I don’t know what to say.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, you came here for a reason.”

“I’m sorry, Sky,” she said, her face falling further. “I should have been there to protect you. I should never have let this happen.”

I shrugged. “In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have had any reason to jump straight into a monster-infested jungle under the light of a Dreadgod. If you want to blame anyone, blame those two idiot Skysworn for giving me that reason.” And myself for finding that to be a valid reason.

She frowned intensely. “This should never have happened.”

“You’re right,” I said, “But it did, and I’m going to have to deal with the consequences of that. Not you. I don’t see why you should be so upset.”

She frowned at that. “You don’t see why?”

Oops. Was I fucking things up already? I sighed. “Why are you here, Chiara? Didn’t Eithan tell you not to interrupt me?”

“Do you blame me?” she asked.

“I just told you that you’re not to blame,” I said.

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t blame me.”

Wooow, okay. “I don’t blame you,” I said, spelling it out for her. “Did you finally get to clear your conscience?”

“Why do you talk to me like this, then?” she asked, “Like you’d rather I be anywhere else than here.”

I blinked at her. “Chiara, I have a hole in my chest.” Then I remembered something, and I frowned. “Are you afraid that I would turn out like your ex? You have nothing to fear. I’m not so incapable of taking accountability for my own actions, and if anyone should be getting blamed in this situation, it’s Yerin. I don’t blame her, however. I don’t even blame the Skysworn, really. I blame myself. I was weak,” I said.

She walked up to me and put a hand on my lap, buried under a blanket. “You’re not weak.”

I rolled my eyes. I knew that had been an objectively incorrect response. Sadly, Chiara seemed to be in the mood of trying to make me feel good by lying to me, which was not only unnecessary, but quite a bit patronizing. There was no point in arguing, however. She just wasn’t being rational. Might as well meet her halfway and continue the act.

“Thank you,” I said. Now that she was this close to me, I felt a sudden urge to explore her body. She was draped in sacred arts robes, utilitarian as befitting a Skysworn apprentice, but I knew what that svelte and toned figure looked like underneath. It was one of my great regrets living on Cradle, that clothes weren’t very form fitting as a rule. “I missed you, you know,” I said, reaching for her hand. “Why don’t you stick around a little longer? We have plenty of privacy.”

With her other hand, she pushed my chin upwards, so that I wasn’t staring at her body, but at her face. On it was consternation, as always. “Did something happen, Sky? Why the sudden change?”

Okay, so she was just going to be like that then.

I let go of her and gave her a flat look. “You wouldn’t have had to suffer through this sudden change if you’d listened to Eithan. I’m in a… specific mindset at the moment. It’s complicated. I don’t expect you, or anyone really, to understand.”

She folded her arms. “Tell me. I will understand.”

No. She really wouldn’t. I couldn’t care less about you or anyone right now. I gave that up so I could scrounge up the will to advance.

Perhaps it was in giving up my emotions that my will sharpened to this extent? My prior theory was that things were less difficult or willpower-intensive while my heart was frozen, but maybe it was just that my available willpower was concentrated in a very narrow focus?

Anyway, there was no way I was telling her that. Humans were social animals. Reciprocation was a law practically written in stone. If I told her how I was feeling right now, it would definitely change things for her.

Then I’d have to deal with the consequences of this conversation for weeks, maybe months, and perhaps it would lead to a break-up, further distracting me from the sacred arts.

Exhausting.

I gave her a grin. “I’d much rather we do something far more interesting.”

“Sky.”

I frowned. Maybe I should try out a different tack and exploit her sympathy? “It’s because I’m crippled, isn’t it? You don’t like me anymore.”

“No!” Chiara shouted, “Why would you even think that?”

This clearly wasn’t working. “Go, and we’ll talk in two days. I promise you won’t find that conversation as unpleasant as this one undoubtedly was for you.”

“Sky, I just want to understand—”

“I set up a pretty clear boundary, Chiara,” I said to her, and now I was beginning to feel some embers of anger, “And I trust that they were communicated to you when I told Eithan. Leave me alone for three days. And here’s something that doesn’t need to be repeated, yet it must for reasons I can’t fathom: I have a hole in my chest. I’m working towards fixing that—and the constant, excruciating pain I’m under—by advancing. This is a private challenge, I don’t need you at the moment. In fact, I specifically don’t need you to be here.”

She backed away from my bed. “Fine.”

“We’ll talk,” I said. She didn’t confirm or deny that, just walking out the door, and slamming it shut behind her. Interesting response. I assumed she was more selfless than that. Didn’t having a crippling injury allow some leeway for your behavior? That seemed quite likely, but I really couldn’t say.

I basically told her I didn’t blame her, and never indicated that I didn’t love her anymore either. That was an exasperating conversation. What emotional reaction had she even wanted from me?

I looked back at the Starseed shell in the scripted cage, and got back to finishing my scripting, pushing Chiara out of my mind. It was incredibly easy. No harm, no foul, and only around three minutes wasted. 

000

Lindon rode back to Stormrock, soul still shaken by what he had seen in deployment. Yerin rode next to her, equally silent. Mercy had not come for this one. Yerin wouldn’t have either, if she was able to obey the Skysworn Truegolds in charge of them. They wanted their team to work in shifts to cover more ground. Lindon had politely explained that any attempt to tell Yerin what to do beyond the parameters of every mission would very likely lead to a battle between Underlords.

Eithan and Naru Gwei’s relationship had never been more tenuous as now, and the Skysworn stepped easily around their team for the first time since they arrived. It wasn’t respect that allowed them this level of grace, but simply fear.

Lindon tried not to focus on that as well. Being a Blackflame already gave him an undefeated potential for terrifying the masses, and now with his group’s recent falling out with the Skysworn, that potential had only become cemented.

He also tried not to focus on the events of today, a village drenched in blood and the demented Redmoon Hall emissary in the middle of it, just cycling quietly.

In the end, Yerin had put an end to him. Lindon had wanted to contribute, but she hadn’t given him much room to.

His guilt at having killed those Truegold criminals during his training waned by the day as he became exposed to more and more such sights. At some point, a simple truth had crystallized in his heart: some people simply needed killing.

As they touched down in the staging ground, they caught sight of Chiara, having arrived from a mission as well. She was already walking towards them, looking saddened as always after what had happened to Sky.

“How are you two?” Chiara asked.

“Bright and sparkly,” Yerin said, “Drew swords on Redmoon Hall. Buried him, and his Remnant. Whatever good that did for the village he’d massacred.”

Chiara nodded, understanding. Then, “I… I saw Sky today.”

Lindon frowned. “You saw him? How is he?”

She chuckled forlornly. “Working away, never taking a moment of rest. He saw me and… he,” she shrugged.

“He hates us,” Yerin said, “Or me. For dragging him down. True?”

She shook her head. “He said he doesn’t. He doesn’t blame anyone but himself, but… he’s different. I don’t know.”

That wasn’t such a surprising outcome to Lindon. Sky had been grievously injured, and was in pain according to Eithan. It wouldn’t make sense for him to be the same. However, “Did Eithan not tell you to steer clear of him for the time being?”

Chiara sighed, and she closed her eyes, clearly in pain. “I didn’t understand why. And I still don’t. He’s… different. It doesn't make sense. He told me that he was in a ‘specific mindset’, and… he just seems to lack warmth.”

“Perhaps,” Lindon said, “After he finishes his advancement, he might return to his old self? Perhaps this was the reason Eithan told us to stay away for the time being?”

Chiara nodded, but looked like she was in deep thought.

Lindon turned to Yerin and sighed. “You know he doesn’t blame you, right?”

Unlike all the times Lindon had repeated this to her, this time she finally gave a proper response. “I told him he didn’t care. One of the last true talks we had was a fight. I blamed him for my Blood Shadow, and now… now he went and got one himself.”

“That was not your fault.”

Yerin looked at the ground. “It’s about how it feels, Lindon. And it doesn’t feel cheery.”

“Skysworn!” Bai Rou shouted. Lindon put a hand on Yerin’s shoulder before she could bark something back at him, or worse yet, draw her sword. That had been a constant concern on their first day back in service. “Refresh yourselves and report back for your next assignment.”

Chiara gave a proper salute. Lindon mirrored it. Yerin remained standing, staring at Bai Rou. Thankfully, the grizzled Skysworn didn’t do anything else but stare back with his smoldering yellow eyes shaded by his conical hat. Then finally, he turned around and left, and Lindon could finally breathe more easily.

Remaining a Skysworn was obviously not very sustainable. They needed to leave as soon as possible. And to do that, they had to advance.

Once they were strong enough, no one would be able to tell them what to do. That would ease the tension of authority, but it wouldn’t heal the scars already in place.

Hopefully, it would heal Sky’s.

000

It was time. 

Advance or die. There was no turning back.

By the time I was satisfied with my alterations to the Starseed construct, as well as the preparations I had done for the scripts binding Arakmedes’ Remnant, I held it with both hands, and took a sharp inhalation, taking the madra of the construct into my spirit, through my channels and into my core. Unbidden, it latched onto Arakmedes’ Remnant, now covered in a thick snowcoat of Collapsing Star madra.

And I held as it tried to explode outwards.

In retrospect, Eithan was quite irresponsible for allowing this to happen in a population center, but I supposed that was just how much faith he had in me. It was misplaced, however. Unless he had anticipated Frozen Heart, in which case, I had to give him points for that. 

Arakmedes’ Remnant behaved as the construct shattered its structure, drip-feeding itself into the shell. This was how a mere Underlord construct could stand against Archlord madra—by co-opting the Archlord madra slowly, but surely, converting that into the shell itself.

I had to supervise the process, making sure that it didn’t happen too fast, or I would waste the majority of the Remnant and deviate my madra. To put it as mildly as ‘supervise’ was an understatement, however. The reshaping of Arakmedes’ Starseed-fused Remnant into its optimal configuration was a task almost fractal in its complexity. Every bit of my wispy, unfocused Lowgold will was put to the task of micromanaging every aspect of the process that I had control over. Still, it was just barely enough to stabilize it. Barely enough was still enough, however, and I only gained satisfaction and thrill from being this close to the edge.

I didn’t know if hours had gone by or days. I didn’t have the capacity to stress about the looming deadline for dual reasons, because all of my focus went to this one task, and because I didn’t have the capacity for anxiety in general anymore.

The only thoughts I could spare were thoughts in which I lamented the temporary nature of this state.

Perhaps the three day limit was truly just some fabrication of a diseased mind? This feeling was familiar to me, after all. This was the general state of my existence in the Soma clan: days spent churning out labor without the use of sacred arts or any supernatural assistance aside from the few gifts they allowed us, like our preternatural memory, or our resistance to despair.

I could carry Frozen Heart with me until Highgold, use this boundless willpower for the service of my bottomline, of understanding reality as much as I could. Perhaps once my mind reset upon advancement, the pain of my injuries would still be so severe that I would escape back to this state for comfort? Paradoxically enough, I hoped that I would be so cowardly.

The Starseed shell fused with Arakmedes’ Remnant in a brilliant lightshow that seared even my spiritual perception. I opened my eyes and saw that my abdomen had completely lit up the room. Tens of thousands of lines of tiny script, the formulae for the many levels of limiters and energy channels I’d sealed the Remnant-fused Starseed within, ran up and down my skin in searing-white lines, radiating from my abdomen outwards all the way to my toes and fingertips, encompassing the important channels of my Iron Body’s entire madra network. 

It was only when the light dimmed, script-lines fading back to dark skin, that I noticed the white strands of dimming hair laying spread all over the blankets, around my shoulders, and on my chest.

I reached for my head, and felt that it was entirely smooth. My Goldsign had disappeared. Even my eyebrows had fallen off. All the hair on my body, once replaced by the shine of my Goldsign, was detached. 

Would this be permanent? Oh well. I looked inwardly once again, and saw that the madra had fused with the Starseed shell until there was no longer a distinction. Only a searingly bright orb of light that made even the shine of my Collapsing Star madra look positively dim.

I cycled the Eightfold Wheel once again, and watched as the Starseed settled firmly into my spirit. That’s not going anywhere.

Theoretically, the Goldsign should return. The Remnant had been disconnected from my spirit for a brief moment, but with this new Starseed, that connection should have been reestablished. Worst case scenario, the Goldsign would be subtly or drastically different this time. I didn’t see a point in investigating it any further.

And now, my core was overfilling from the bounty of the Starseed. It had three layers. At its core, pure Archlord Broken Star madra. In the middle, a layer of Broken Star madra mixed with Forged force madra scripted to slowly generate the third layer: Collapsing Star madra. 

And I could skim the third layer at will, adding it to my core. And that third layer had become fat and bountiful during my cycling.

I took it all.

All the madra in my spirit drained into my Lowgold core, joined by the Collapsing Star layer of the Starseed.

The core’s madra formed a vortex, and I supported it with the Eightfold Wheel, though it did nothing to aid or slow down this inexorable process. Instead, all my madra drained into a singular core of condensed madra, syrupy where my madra was once watery, thin.

That viscous core grew until every bit of that watery Lowgold madra disappeared into it, converted. My blood essence, life aura, and dream aura stirred as well.

I looked up at the stars and saw a vast ocean of potential. I saw the rest of existence. I looked back down at my tablet, now covered in scribbles of shadow ink, every musing I could come up with, every idea I felt was worthwhile.

I always did my best work outside, at night, in the wilderness, with no one to disturb me, and the only thing keeping me company were the stars. They were indifferent to me, but what did it matter? Their indifference meant nothing to my own love for them.

Perhaps it was indifference that was the final ingredient of star aura? I chuckled at the ludicrous thought. Perhaps it was love? I truly was beginning to scrape the bottom of the barrel.

That didn’t frustrate me, though. Science was all about the journey of discovery. Everyone could be wrong. Even me. That didn’t frighten me. It excited me.

I had lost everything: My family and my sect, but I had an eternity now. Well, almost. Mathematically, that ‘almost’ was doing a lot of heavy lifting, but I didn’t care.

I had time. And I would use this time to continue my journey as far as it would take me. If I worked all my life just to one day discover that I was wrong, it would still be worth it. Warmth filled my heart: a warmth of gratitude. It couldn’t do anything to douse the ocean of guilt and shame that always accompanied me—etched in my soul in broken oaths, and in my mind in the form of horrible memories—and I wouldn’t want it to, either. 

But it was enough for now under this endless expanse of starlit night, tablet in one hand, shadow stylus in the other.

I opened my eyes with a gasp, as the world took on a sharpness of color that I couldn’t possibly fathom. With it came joy, sadness, anger, hope. Everything returned to me. Even love.

Chiara returned to me, and with that image came a barrage of self-loathing and disgust. What damage had Frozen Heart wrought in its wake?

Almost all my regrets disappeared when the pain registered.

Every breath hurt. Not as much as before. The weakness of my body had likewise reduced. My left arm was still a little weaker than the right one, and a long, crevice of a scar still ran across it, but I could use it pretty effectively. No tremors or anything.

I took off my gown in front of a standing mirror in my hospital room and beheld my body. Months of grueling exercise had filled out my slender form with toned and visible muscle. It didn’t have much mass, but it did look good. I looked like a long-distance runner.

A long-distance runner with a twist of flesh right underneath my right pec, from which an irregular starburst-shaped scar of pink tissue spread out up to my clavicle and down to my belly button. It looked horrifying. I doubted that even another advancement would fully heal this.

Its impact on my looks wasn’t nearly as important to me as its impact on my quality of life. I wanted to lie down, breathe slowly, and never get into another fight again. Cycling madra meant breathing hard, and I could hardly bring myself to breathe softly. I wanted to cry and laugh, and then cry again.

The pain was excruciating, and I knew that while never trying hard again was a decent way to remain comfortable in the short-term, I also couldn’t abide by ever having to get used to this in the long-term, not when I knew what could fix this.

In the end, it wasn’t willpower that animated me. I had always been a rather predictable kind of animal. Pain was the great motivator of the animal kingdom. And pain would continue to take me places.

I felt an impression of mocking, and of hunger. My Blood Shadow stirred. It sat on my core like a leech, and looked vaguely like a section of intestine or a colostomy hole. On it were scripts that burned with gray fire. I discerned them as best I could to understand their purpose. I almost felt like I did. It was obviously a suppression script, but the principles it used were more advanced than anything I had ever encountered since the Broken Star city.

Eithan’s work, undoubtedly.

I wondered, how did this piece of the Bleeding Phoenix understand the context of my thoughts? How did it have such a range of understanding even that it could mock me? Even an infinitesimally small shedding of a Dreadgod still carried such a frightening level of intelligence.

Oh well. I’d just tell it to shut the fuck up.

I’d call it Bruno.

Shut the fuck up, Bruno.

It hadn’t bothered me until now, either. Was it maybe scared of psychopath-Sky? Cute.

The Blood Shadow rebelled at the taunting. Shut the fuck up, Bruno. I’ll turn you into my nervous system.

Bruno cackled at the thought.

I was starting to get second thoughts.

Huh. Psychopath-me gets up to some interesting ideas.

At least one of them didn’t come to pass: that I’d be cowardly enough to go back to Frozen Heart to escape the pain.

I had royally fucked things with Chiara. The shame alone would hold me back from ever trying it again.

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Major thanks to Coldbringer/SnowGN for beta-reading and extensive editing!