51 - Dream Well

Palutin of the Eastern Wastes rode on the back of his giant rabbit pal, Marigold. She was an enormous specimen, taller than a man even on all fours. She ducked and weaved through the foliage while Palutin clutched a handful of her rust red back-fur, grinning like a loon as the wind whipped him. He looked over his shoulder at his other pal, Dolph, strapped on his back. A wide band of transparent Forged water madra covered his midsection, keeping the rest of him moisturized at all times. Being a Scorchland river dolphin, he didn’t have any gills and breathed only air, but without enough water, his skin would eventually dry up and crack. For a beast that hailed from the Wasteland, it was remarkably unsuited to dry environments.

That was why Palutin always made sure to take care of him. All his pals had some special needs or other, and he never slacked on helping them meet those needs.

“It’ll only be a lil’ bit, Dolph,” Palutin rubbed Dolph’s head over his shoulder. 

Through his Web of Friendship technique, Palutin received the mental communication of perseverance and consolation. Dolph could handle this much. That didn’t mean that he liked handling it, and Palutin knew that well. He would never take advantage of Dolph’s determination.

“Think about all the carp you get to eat,” Palutin consoled. Contrary to his intent, he fell into that reverie himself, a line of drool leaving the corner of his mouth as he fantasized about the bounties of Ghostwater. “You get to grow in a Monarch’s pocket world!” Dolph’s determination redoubled. Finally, Marigold burst out from the treeline, landing on sand. She kicked it up as she ran towards the portal frame of Ghostwater. No one else was around. That meant they were the first to get there.

A hair before Palutin detected the technique raining down on him, Marigold had already jumped out of the way. A burst of flowing flame lit up the sand, turning some of it into red-hot glass.

Dolph broke out of the harness, using the abundant water aura on the beach to swim through the air, preparing a Striker technique of water in his open maw, while Palutin looked up in shock and surprise.

A flight of three gold dragons had arrived. They landed heavily on the sand, snarling at Palutin. “You’re the Beast King’s disciple,” said a gold-scaled, serpentine dragon, in a distinctly male voice. His whiskers floated in the air, and his golden horns had a metallic sheen, like they were truly made of gold.

Palutin gave them a friendly smile, though inwardly he was preparing a technique. They would never detect his cycling at this distance—another technique had made sure of that. “Ya’ll are Emissaries of Xorrus, ain’t ya? Any reason why you tried to attack me?”

The dragon’s pink inner cheeks curled inwards in approximation of a human smile. “We thought you were food.”

The other dragons laughed.

Palutin rubbed the back of his head, smiling in a friendly way, but deliberately not grinning in a way that showed teeth. Dragons didn’t tend to like that. He understood the need for predator animals to hunt, but he was stumped on why they would possibly pick him of all people as viable prey. “Ya’ll probably shouldn’t try to hunt me,” Palutin advised, “I usually eat whatever tries to do that.” It was good for your blood essence. Apex predators concentrated a lot of blood essence from all the prey they’d eaten over the years. That especially worked wonders for his Faminewrought Iron body.

The Truegold dragon lost his smile. His lips peeled back, revealing row upon row of teeth like blades. “I will look forward to peeling the flesh off the bones of that rabbit you’re riding around.”

Marigold stomped her legs on the sand several times, but Palutin gave her a soothing head rub, projecting calm and peace through his Web of Friends technique. The girl was just itching to run up and stomp that dragon’s face in, but Palutin felt like they could play this a little smarter. After all, it never was the best idea to provoke an entire pack of prey right before a hunt. “Then you should at least wait until we’re all inside. Ya might change your mind and decide to go for more attainable treasures,” Palutin gave an encouraging grin, soothing them into a lull of comfort, “Wouldn’t you hate for this to be your final resting place, only a stone’s toss away from a Monarch’s pocket world?” 

And in that very moment between responses, Palutin pinched a vein of dream aura in the Truegold’s head, projecting a calm wave of peace.

The Truegold huffed. “You’re right. Wasting time dealing with you would only distract us from what really matters. But hear me, servant of the Beast King, get in our way and we will tear you and your pets limb from limb.”

Palutin felt a spark of raw loathing at that—that word he used, but he pressed it down. It never helped to get riled up just from words. A fight now would only weaken him for the pocket world.

The Truegold and his friends recoiled away from him in terror. 

‘What happened?’ Palutin thought. Palutin’s confusion lasted only a moment until he became aware of his breathing and his madra—unconsciously, he had activated the Predator’s Aspect. Ah well. In for a squirrel, in for a boar. A hunter did not always get to choose his prey. “Besmirch my friends again, and I will put your journey in this life to an end right here and now, and that’s a hunter’s promise.”

The Truegold shook his head, cycling madra to get rid of the Ruler technique. For non-humans, madra control was difficult, and this technique was specifically geared towards intimidating non-humans. It would take more than some cycling to calm them down. 

Palutin would have wanted to take advantage of their distraction and demoralization to land a crippling blow on them all, but his spiritual senses had informed him of more newcomers, this time coming from the coast.

An orca’s head peeked out from the water, slowly rising in intervals, as though they were walking and not swimming. A shark followed behind. True to form, they were. They were practically just sea animals with arms and legs; Peak Truegolds, and two of them at that. Behind them followed a frenzy of four dark-blue sharks, six to eight feet long, swimming through the air via a Ruler technique. Forged bands of madra covered their gills, allowing them to breathe. As far as sharks went, these specimens were rather slight, though that was an adaptation of the crushing pressures they thrived under. Smaller did not mean weaker. These fish weighed many times more than their volume would suggest.

From above, a nine-colored cloud descended. The gold dragons had finally shaken themselves out from his dream Ruler technique, but they, too, had honed in on the newcomers on the coast. Among the sea animals were two Truegolds, two Highgolds, two Lowgolds. Only one of the Truegolds would actually be the original contestant of Ghostwater, and Palutin’s scales were on the bigger one: the orca. 

Prince Jingye, sacred Gamonga Arctic Orca, heir to the Gamonga vassal clan and chosen of King Wenye, was enormous. Roughly eight feet tall, and probably almost as wide as Palutin was tall, the humanoid Gamonga orca exuded a sense of weight. He generated drum beats of force aura with every step, every movement. The aura would probably have generated some kind of clapping sound, but the orca seemed to be dispersing the Force aura with some kind of low-activity Ruler technique.

He didn’t wear sacred artist’s robes. Rather, he wore a (somewhat baggy) elaborate, but understated dark blue and black five-piece suit with epaulets that belonged more at a royal court or ballroom function than a training grounds. A single starkly white cord of rope hung from the left epaulet and disappeared into a clan’s lapel on his chest. The jacket opened at his barrel-like chest, beneath which could be seen a scripted waistcoat of white bone. Between the dark blue-black midnight abyssal spidersilk garments, and his blacker skin interrupted only by a white lower face and throat, the sacred orca looked like a slice of the night ocean itself.

The sharks swimming around the air scattered like fleas before the long stride of the Tidewalker’s orca prince, and Palutin could sense the undercurrent of fear that ran through them when they looked at their own sect’s young master. Curious. A somewhat sad state of things, to be afraid of your own lord, but Palutin had never cared much for sects or their internal dynamics. But even he, a Wastelander, had heard of how the Tidewalker’s undersea empire was perhaps even more hierarchical than the Akuras or the Gold Dragons, being based on a caste system of entire species.

Even though the Abyssal Deepwater Sharks had been nominally in command of the Tidewalker Sect ever since the Dread War, they were wise to remember their sect’s origins: they remembered the ancestral orca Monarch of the Tidewalker sect, Gamonga.

The Tidewalkers were the undisputed strongest of all the world’s undersea nations and empires, perhaps barring the nomadic and largely reclusive sea dragons, and he was the Tidewalker’s strongest Truegold of their generation. By far, according to the rumors. This was a real threat, even to Palutin.

The Tidewalkers finally arrived near the portal frame, and the nine-colored cloud as well, obviously the Ninecloud delegate if the cloud or the hair and garishly colorful sacred artist’s robes wasn’t enough of a giveaway. Together, they all formed a neat semi-circle around the portal frame.

The sacred orca spoke aloud. Even his voice was heavy, almost operatic. Palutin felt the rumbling bass in his chest. “I will be entering the portal. Sha Parizad will join me. All others will stand behind and wait for further instructions.”

That was… surprising, to see the Tidewalkers stand as the voice of reason. Sha Parizad, a young man with a long crimson red ponytail braided intricately and the nine-colored eyes of the Sha family, merely snorted and walked ahead. The orca walked as well, towards the portal.

Distantly, Palutin noted a small group of other Ninecloud Court Golds off to the side who had arrived separately. Sha Dellian, a weaker thirtysomething Truegold with an effeminate cast to his features, hair that was more orange than crimson, and wielding the diamond greatsword, buckler shield, and lamellar rainbow armor of an inner court guardsman was known to him. The two younger Highgolds trailing after him, a pair of crimson-haired, aristocratic young women with the look of birth twins, were not. But their spiritual presences all paled before that of Prince Jingye’s.

The enormous sacred orca was polite for a Tidewalker; he even waited for Parizad to walk past him and enter the portal first. The Sha was tall for a human, but the Tidewalker towered chest and head and shoulders above him, probably eight feet tall all in all. He also looked to be more muscle than anything else, and his cetacean maw rowed with razor-sharp teeth made to rip chunks of meat apart would make anyone inexperienced with beasts cower in fear, but Parizad had barely given him a second thought. Perhaps the young Sha was confident in his skills, or experienced with beast body language, or maybe he was just arrogant? 

Either way, neither of the two would be his problem. That would be those left behind.

Once the orca disappeared, the remaining Tidewalker peak Truegold–an Abyssal Shark that, unlike their prince, looked more beast than man, though he did wear sacred instruments suited for battle; a breastplate of scripted Lord-level bone and a cape of scales, and sword and sheath– took that as an opportunity to taunt, snarling through a maw of serrated shark’s teeth. “What’s this?! The Beast King sent a child!”

Palutin was slight of frame, and thinner than a warrior should be, but a lifetime of starvation in the Wastelands would do that to anyone. Reaching Truegold had been an arduous journey, but even that had not erased the marks of a tough upbringing. Perhaps nothing but an advancement to Archlord would. 

Rather than pretend to be a rough and tumble warrior, he instead dressed for comfort: a pair of brown shorts reaching right above his knees, leather boots reaching up to the middle of his shin, and a brown fur poncho, a gift from Tussy the Vastwood Mammoth, who had let him shear her fur for it. Strapped around his torso was a thick coil of rope, also made of Tussy’s fur, leading up to a harpoon that hung on the side of his waist. On his head was a wide-brimmed, tattered brown hat, one of the few possessions he still had from his old life.

Finally, there was his Goldsign, a six-foot long length of purple-furred tail, prehensile like a monkey’s.

Palutin raised a hand in a friendly greeting. “How’s it going? My name is Palutin.”

“Prey should not introduce itself,” the peak Truegold sneered. The sharks around him swam around the air restlessly. That was par for the course. The Abyssal Deepwater Sharks were obligate ram ventilators; they breathed by pushing water into their gills by swimming. Of course, their breathing apparati should take care of such concerns, but an instinctual habit was hard to quash. There should be no reason to, either. If all species tolerated each other’s foibles and instincts, learning to live around them rather than forcing them to adapt, then the world would be so much more peaceful.

“Tidewalker,” the gold dragon called out, “Join hands with us and let us destroy this human and his companions.” Palutin gave a pleased smile. At least he respected his friends as being his companions, and not pets. He really would have hunted them down if he had heard that word used again.

And he was not worried about anyone teaming up against him. If the Tidewalkers were known for anything, it was not agreeability.

The Tidewalker growled at the dragon, “Do not presume to command me, dragon. You have not advanced enough to consider yourself my equal. Where is your human form?”

That had struck a nerve.

The dragons moved towards the Tidewalkers, led by their Truegold. “Why don’t you say that in breathing distance, you overgrown salmon?”

Through his Web of Friendship, the Beast King gave a mental nod. ‘You might as well get going, kid. And remember, if they don’t play nice, you can leave at any time.’

Palutin nodded. He sent the message to Dolph and Marigold. As one, they sprang into action, bursting through the portal before either of the group of beasts could react.

000

“There are three wells in Ghostwater,” I began, “The Dream Well is here, somewhere. It’s a valuable elixir that gives you maximum focus and wakefulness. It also erases the need for sleep. The Spirit Well is a universally compatible advancement elixir–it directly affects the spirit, and will work on any person or spirit. It can take a Lowgold to Truegold in mere weeks.” That caught their attention. Lindon cycled his pure madra more intensely than usual, and Yerin raised her Goldsigns in surprise, along with her eyebrows, “Then there’s the Life Well. It helps increase the power of your lifeline, reverses aging,” I gave Orthos a nod, “As well as injuries and long-term damage. That’s what I’ll be using to heal myself, though there should be enough to go around for everyone.”

“What’s the plan?” Yerin asked, “You’ve got me itching like a flea bitten dog already.”

“In and out,” I said, “The Dream Well facility is the only one whose security measures work, and likely won’t be visited by… certain adversaries.” Perhaps Harmony had popped by at some point after Lindon had vacated. He did have an Eye of the Deep himself. But that wouldn’t be in weeks yet. “So the plan is simple. We take it,” I spread my arms, “All of it,” I opened my void key, and this time, the inside wasn’t obscured.

It was crammed with barrels.

“Then we quickly scurry away in here and advance until most of us are Truegolds. After that, we go for the secret fourth well. The greatest mind elixir in the world, named after this facility. Ghostwater.”

Ghostwater was made from four ingredients: water from all the wells, combined and fused with Northstrider’s soulfire. The fourth would be the trickiest part. Northstrider had left some behind in the Ghostwater basin, but how much was that? Could we find more?

Only one person could conceivably know this, and he was currently bathing in a pool of purple coffee.

“Seems stable enough,” Yerin said.

“Um,” Mercy said, and I focused on her. She looked very unsure. “Did you prepare for this, Sky?”

I gave a nod. Clearly. 

“How?” she asked. 

“Eithan helped me procure a lot of the rarer things we needed in this expedition,” I said. “Like the Ghostwater map, for instance. We’ve been preparing for this eventuality for quite a long time, actually—coming to Ghostwater.”

“Really?” Mercy asked, and I nodded again. “Oh,” she said with a small grin, “Things lined up really nicely for you then, huh?”

I gave her a grin, “What can I say? I’m just really lucky.” I coughed. The pain it shot through me was sublime. My hand came away speckled with some blood. Ugh. Had to get that fixed as soon as possible. “Anyway, Dream Well. Split up and search for clues, gang.”

“Are you okay?” Mercy asked. 

My immediate reaction was to be sarcastic, but I sensed there would be a caustic tone to it. Instead, I just shook my head, smiling a little. “I just coughed blood, so… no, not really.”

“Let’s move,” Lindon said, immediately breaking off from the group to check rooms. Yerin followed after, and so did Mercy. I began checking rooms as well, starting with the end of the corridor, thinking that would maybe be where the Dream Well was.

Not quite, but I did get close. After three more doors, I found it, a wide room with shelves of constructs, and in the middle, a large pond three feet deep, filled with glowing purple water. Inside was a construct encased in a metallic vessel.

I went up to it and picked it up, turning it around my hand. “I know what you’re thinking,” the construct said, glowing purple as it did, “You’re impressed by the craftsmanship of the Soulsmiths of Ghostwater, aren’t you? Let me tell you, they did quite a good job on me, and I was only a guide construct!”

“Among… other things,” I said, feeling my heart swell with joy. “You’re beautiful.”

“Aw, thanks. Gee, that’s the kindest thing I’ve ever heard someone tell me. Actually, it’s the first thing I ever heard anyone tell me.” I took Dross and walked out of the room. I whistled loudly for everyone’s attention. The crew popped out from each room, and I gave them a wave. “Over here.”

Lindon sprinted. Yerin wasn’t far behind. Even Orthos was excited for what was there. I had, after all, hyped it up. Once Lindon was in front of me, I tossed Dross over to him. He caught him and looked him over curiously. “That’s the great treasure,” I said to him. “Take care of him.”

“Hello?” Dross said, “You seem quite angry to see me. Hey, the one who called me beautiful, can you take me back, please?”

“Don’t worry,” I said to him, “Lindon won’t hurt you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It talks,” Lindon said, staring at it wide-eyed. Yerin popped up behind him to get a look, and Mercy as well. Orthos’ head loomed above Lindon’s shoulder, giving it a look as well.

“He will become the basis of a Monarch’s treasure,” I said, “Take good care of him, Lindon. He’s currently in an embryonic state. Ah, he needs a name. What did they call you?”

“Me?” Dross asked, “Ah, many things! Before I became, well, me, I was just a guide construct made to produce sound, and did not have much in the way of conversational skills, but they did call me things. Let me try to remember. Hm, ah: garbage. That one was quite common. Defect. Junk. Chaff. Waste. By-product of a failed experiment. Failure was well-used. Dregs. Slag. Scum. Refuse. Dross—”

“We can call you Dross,” I said.

“Aw,” Mercy said, “That’s a bit mean!”

Hm. Well, yes, she was right. But he was Dross in my mind already. “He will change its meaning in time,” I said, “I’m sure of it. Anyway, in there is the Dream Well.”

“Halt,” Dross said, “Let me check if you have authorization to use it.”

“We don’t,” I said, “And you no longer work for anyone. Northstrider abandoned this place. All the staff are gone.”

“Ah, then don’t let me stop you,” Dross said. I bowed to him respectfully.

“The guide construct is merciful and generous,” I said, before spinning on my heel and walking back into the room, “Here’s the Dream Well. Probably the least impressive of the three wells in my estimation, but it will serve as a decent training aide.” I opened my void key, went in and picked an empty barrel as well as a water Ruler construct in the shape of a rod with a trio of claws at the end. I walked out of the room and put the barrel on the floor, opening the lid as well. Inside were an array of scripts meant to prevent the aura of the elixir from escaping. I gave the construct out to Lindon. “Use this to transfer all the water to the barrels. We will take only enough sips that the elixir will affect us. Anything more would be a waste. Using this as our primary source of water, too, would be supremely wasteful—”

Orthos dipped his head in the water and took a long gulp.

FUCK!

“Wait, wait, please don’t do that!” I said. Orthos didn’t listen. I just watched him finish drinking. Then his head popped up from the water, and his black and red eyes widened. 

“Everything is so much clearer,” he said. I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. Whatever. There was more than enough to go around, honestly. And the Spirit Well was even bigger than this place. I had brought nine barrels, about a hundred liters of volume each. I was going to spend three barrels on each well, perhaps two on this one, and four on the Spiritwell. Three for the Lifewell, if that cauldron could even fill three barrels to begin with.

I looked back to Lindon. “Please get to work,” I ducked back into the void key and retrieved two more barrels. Lindon activated the construct above the well. Tendrils of purple water rose up from the pond, concentrating in front of the claws of the rod-shaped construct, forming into an orb that grew steadily larger and larger. Carefully, he hovered the construct over a barrel, pulling the watery orb along with it. Once he deactivated the construct, the water fell and splashed into the barrel.

We watched him do this for around five minutes, all the while Dross babbled on about the history of Ghostwater. Honestly, I was too dazed to really listen or do anything. I just wanted to lie down.

I guess a sip of the water would help. I went into the void key and retrieved a jug. Then I went to the well and scooped up a measure, taking a mouthful of it before dumping the rest of it in the barrel.

The whole world lit up before my very eyes. My awareness magnified, doubled, expanded, became more than what it had ever been. With it came an awareness of pain as well.

This Dream Well water had cut straight past the mental high of my medicinal herbs, giving me full knowledge of the absolute agony I was in.

That was only secondary, however, to my racing mind and my honed focus. With it, resisting the agony was… well, not easy, but it was far easier than before.

I looked at the others in the room. They hadn’t noticed anything amiss. I had simply frozen. I took in Mercy. Every twitch of her face and the posture of her body told me a story of anxiety. Yerin looked focused, ready to slice a whole mountain in half. She was tense, but not scared. Ready. Itching for an engagement. Our run-in with Ekeri had fired her up.

Lindon was hungry. Eager. Filling up the barrels as quickly as he could. As I suspected, there was more than enough water to use as a drinking source. I ran the mental calculations, however, because I didn’t trust my eyes.

Four people and one turtle would require more water than was in that well, if we were to use it for thirty days.

I was right, after all. We would use this water for training, but we could retrieve more drinking water from the aura in the facility using constructs.

Our resources were limited, but not to a worrisome extent. Right now, I had to focus on our people. I walked up to Mercy. “You okay?” I asked her.

She gave a comforting grin, “I’m just… a little overwhelmed. By this.”

“I’m sorry you had to get dragged into this,” I said honestly, “But I’m glad you’re here. You’re entitled to anything we use here as well, Spirit Well water included. I want us all to become Truegolds by the time we leave.” I just wanted to forestall any nonsense that all she needed to do to get advancement resources was to swallow her pride and run back to her mother, or concerns that she might be taking resources from us.

Her friendship and trust was worth more than any dingy elixir.

“Thank you,” she said, though she still looked anxious. Did she see something? Ah, that’s right: Akura Harmony was in here as well.

I wondered if I could have made that deduction as quickly as I did right now without the Dream Well water sharpening my mind.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone from your clan,” I said to her, and she swung her head towards me, eyes wide, “They’ll be fighting five against one, and once we clear out the Spirit Well, those odds will be even worse for them.”

“This isn’t someone we should fight,” Mercy said. “I’m sorry. I’m,” she spoke louder, “Listen, everyone.”

Lindon stopped filling the barrels, and Yerin turned around, one eyebrow raised. 

“I saw this person when we entered Ghostwater,” she said, “His name is Akura Harmony. He’s… someone I know. He will want to hurt me, probably, given the chance. And he’s strong. Among the strongest of the younger generation’s Golds. He’s at the peak, currently, and is probably only here to push himself to Underlord. I heard from my family that this facility should have a way to give a person the insight to becoming Underlord,” she shook herself from the tangent, “Anyway, we need to steer clear of him at all times. He has white robes, and a black halo over his head.”

“Steer clear?” Yerin asked, “Why would I do that? I’m just a hop away from Truegold myself, and we have Orthos.”

We all turned to the turtle. Orthos was currently… backing away, withdrawing his head back inside his shell.

“Orthos?” Lindon asked.

“We… must not take a path that brings us into conflict with the Akura clan,” Orthos said, voice quavering as he looked at Lindon pleadingly. His head had mostly withdrawn into his shell.  “Dragons do not pick fights with such dragonslayers, except under the direst need.”

I sighed. “Listen, Mercy. We appreciate the concern, and of course, we won’t go out of our way to put ourselves in his path. But if he’s between me and the Life Well, I’m going to fight.”

“Hopefully, that won’t happen,” Mercy said, anxiously biting her lower lips and tapping her foot. “Yes, let’s just cross that bridge when we get there. It’s a big facility. No use despairing about the worst outcome.”

The worst outcome would be Sophara paying us a visit, but that idea somehow wasn’t terrifying to me. As I was now, I felt like I could take on anyone and win, injury aside.

It was like the world had been a closed book all my life, and now finally, I was allowed to read it.

Lindon got back to filling the well, and I handed the jug to Yerin, “Give it a try,” I said with a grin, “My underestimation of this well was… premature, to say the least.”

“Yes, it was!” Dross said, “This is the second most valuable of Ghostwater’s three wells. Invigorating power to keep those motivated movers moving and those tired thinkers thinking! That’s one of the taglines that I worked on. What do you think?”

“Decent,” I said, “Five out of seven.”

“That means that I need to work harder,” Dross said with a slightly hurt tone.

Honestly, I might dedicate a whole other barrel for it. This was the good shit. Hell, I might even forget the Spirit Well water altogether, and carry only the Dream Well water and whatever we could get from the Life Well. Advancement resources felt positively cheap compared to what this could do for me. Even my body felt more in control now. It was uncanny how much better this elixir made things for me.

Yerin dipped the jug inside the water and took a gulp. Her eyes widened, and she immediately sat down to meditate, her Goldsigns idly tracing lines in the air.

After filling up the last of the three barrels, Lindon took the jug from beside Yerin and had a sip as well. His eyes widened. “This feels like a full night’s sleep in a bottle.”

“See?” I said, pointing at Lindon with two finger guns, but looking right at Dross with a grin. “That there is a seven out of seven tagline.”

“So brevity is the key. I see, I see!” Dross exclaimed.

“Before you continue gushing,” I said, “We need to get you moved into the Eye of the Deep.” I met Lindon’s eyes, explaining. “That way, we get a run of the facility.”

“Ah, great idea!” Dross said, while Lindon nodded. “Unlimited power. That’s quite a jump from having no power at all, isn’t it?”

“Before that,” I continued, “You need to reinforce Dross with memories from all the constructs around here.” Gosh, I felt like I was backseat gaming Lindon. Which I was, only the stakes were pretty high. “After that, we can see about transplanting Dross into an Eye. Here’s a hint: try to create a shell of Forged pure madra to the shape of the Eye. It will make things easier, and you won’t risk Dross’ life as much.”

“Wait, risk my life? Is my life at risk? Lindon, was it? Are you even a Soulsmith?”

Lindon gave a devilish grin, “As a matter of fact, I am.”

Apprentice, but eh. I won’t call the cops.

000

On Sky’s advice, Lindon had done everything in his power to complete this procedure. Using a sheath of Forged pure madra, he had taken Dross out from his vessel and into the Eye of the Deep, turning the sapphire a purple the color of Mercy’s eyes. It looked more like an amethyst now, or like a small shard of that titanic form that her mother had assumed in her fight against the Bleeding Phoenix.

“Wow!” Dross exclaimed. They had him in the middle of a circle that everyone was sitting around. He had finished ingesting all the constructs of this room, gaining as much memory as he could carry. That was right before they transplanted him into the Eye, “I can even tap into the surveillance footage of the outside of this facility now! I even recognize this one! Her name is Ekerinatoth of the gold bloodline. Peak Truegold on the Path of the Flowing Flame. Quite a prodigy, as you can see from her near-human form. Means she’s almost an Underlord, doesn’t it?”

Sky groaned, dragging a hand down his face, his sunken eyes lidding in exhaustion. “She’s not here to hold hands and sing songs around a bonfire, I’m afraid. Not if the Striker technique she had hurled at us for no reason was of any indication. I say we strike first, ask questions later, but within reason. I told Yerin this already but her older sister is an Underlady. Ekeri is easy to beat. Relatively, and while considering our array of advantages. The Underlady, on the other hand… I’d rather at least four of us become Truegolds before we try anything with her. But that can all be avoided if the vindictive female dog doesn’t get killed by us. Then the Underlady won’t have a reason to avenge her sister.”

“Female dog?” Mercy asked.

Sky sighed, “It’s… it’s a curse from the old country, not a literal female dog. Nevermind. But my point stands.”

“Fine,” Yerin said, “Then we bleed her until she cries for help, and leave her crawling on the sand. With the five of us, that shouldn’t take a miracle.”

Sky stood up, tapping his foot on the ground. His humor had taken a drastic dive since his injury, and even now, Lindon worried for his mental state, “I for one would rather we not waste a minute longer. If Ekeri stands in our way, we’ll crush her and take her belongings. She has a void key, so whichever one of you are keen on carrying around a magic backpack, have at it.”

Lindon honed in on that immediately. “Ekeri has a void key? Like yours?”

Sky shook his head. “No, not like mine. Mine’s freakishly big for–whatever reason,” he muttered, coughing briefly. “But yes, it’s the same kind of treasure.”

Lindon had made up his mind. “Then would you kindly return the Death Scythe to me?”

Sky turned around, opened his void key, and walked inside. A moment later, he returned with an armful of weapons: Yerin’s sword, his own spear, and the Death Scythe. He handed them out patiently and said, “I had half a mind to ask one of you to take her on solo, for the combat experience,” Lindon couldn’t imagine a less pleasant thing to do, “But I really don’t want to waste time with the Life Well,” he grinned sardonically, “Crippling injury and intense agony, you know. It is what it is. Still, if any of you are super eager to cross scythes or swords with the pre-eminent young Truegold of the Desert Monarch’s empire, have at it.”

Yerin raised her hand. Lindon looked at her in shock. She returned the look with a shrug, “I need a push right now. Sword artists only advance with our lives on the edge of a blade. If there isn’t a threat of getting buried, no point in training, is there?”

“I would have taken this opportunity myself,” Sky said, and this time he let himself affect an intense expression of bitterness, “But I’m not exactly in the state to do so, I guess.”

Everything about him screamed defeated. It broke Lindon’s heart to see him this way.

“I think we should chase her off,” Mercy said, looking at Sky in concern, “Like you said, we really shouldn’t waste time while you’re suffering. Why don’t we go straight for the Life Well, actually? And then we go to the Spirit Well for advancement resources?”

Sky looked around. “Show of hands, or head in Orthos’ case, who wants to go to the Spirit Well first, as opposed to the Life Well?”

Contrary to Lindon’s expectations, Sky raised a hand. Lindon would have done so too, but he still couldn’t abide by the idea of letting Sky suffer a second longer than necessary. “Apologies, Sky, but I would rather we not waste any time as well.”

“The Spirit Well is on the way to the Life Well,” Dross said, “Pardon me for telling you what is the smartest choice for you, but the smartest choice for you is to just drain the Spirit Well on your way to the Life Well. Then you can drink from the Life Well, and then return to the Spirit Well to continue imbibing that water, holing up there as well, behind the well chamber’s security doors.”

Mercy butted in, “Actually, the Spirit Well facility shouldn’t have viable defenses for us, according to Sky.”

“What? Of course it should. All well facilities are guarded by scripts that practically turn the structure indestructible to Gold madra.”

Sky smacked his forehead. “Oh. My mistake.” Something told Lindon that that hadn’t been a mistake. But surely if Dross, backed by the information of the Eye of the Deep, had told Sky that he had been wrong about this facility, then he truly was wrong, right?

“Problem solved, then!” Dross said cheerily, “Spirit Well, then Life Well, then Spirit Well again.”

And then, Lindon suspected fiercely, the Grand Work. Ghostwater, the elixir of a Monarch. Sky had said that Dross was the basis of a Monarch’s treasure, a treasure that required all four sacred waters in combination. That that would be the real prize of this adventure. 

Lindon felt like Blackflame madra was cycling through him the way his heart was beating in his chest. He would drive a Dragon’s Breath through Ekeri’s heart himself at this rate. “If there’s nothing else, Sky?” Lindon asked, his eagerness winning over his caution.

Sky gave a pained grin, “I know you’re eager to advance. Why don’t we leave, then? The Dragon Advances, right?” He crouched over and rubbed Orthos’ head. “This Life Well will shave two hundred years off you, you know.”

“Then why waste time?” Orthos asked. Ever since he had tasted of the Dream Well, a new light had shone in his eyes and his every word. He stayed conscious and lucid for far longer than Lindon was used to. If one of these wells could truly heal Orthos of all the built-up ravages of his madra, then Lindon truly could not justify sitting still any longer than absolutely necessary.

“Let’s go,” Sky said, “First, get your spare masks,” he opened his void key and returned with a bunch of breathing masks in his hands. Lindon had still not gotten to wear one as he had wasted too much time staring at the other Truegolds in the first habitat. He had been holding onto Orthos’ shell, holding his breath and unable to get enough of a grip on the turtle’s shell to also put on the mask.

That had been rather embarrassing.

Finally, Sky led the way for them towards the staircase out of the building.

Once they left, they immediately spotted a—it couldn’t be called a tent—a castle of Forged, golden madra in the distance, festooned with five different shades of yet more golden banners bearing the seal of a roaring golden dragon in profile, bedecked in gemstones. 

It was the most ostentatious, gaudiest building that Lindon had ever seen in his life.

Sky grunted, and without preamble pointed his spear at it and shot off a Striker technique. Ever since he had advanced to Highgold, that technique had taken on an additional layer of density and width, and each time he fired it off, it burned Lindon’s eyes, leaving behind black voids in the form of sunspots. They healed seconds later of course, but Lindon still could not fathom the power. Even looking at the technique was hazardous, like he was staring into the sun itself.

Although, to hear Sky tell it, that was the point.

“Let’s not waste any time,” Sky said lazily, as Ekeri’s castle of gold madra collapsed in a pillar of smoke and fire. “Let’s fakk her up,” Lindon hadn’t understood one of those words, but he grasped the context. It was time to crush her.

Lindon activated the Burning Cloak, taking powerful, sandblasting steps towards the castle, scythe held above his head as he was ready to stab the sharp point at his adversary. Sky’s warning not to kill Ekeri didn’t matter as much as the simple fact that if Lindon didn’t intend to kill his opponent, there would be no way for him to succeed. This was a peak Truegold, and he was only a Lowgold. A Lowgold without useable constructs at that.

And she had a void key.

“My tent! You will pay with your lives!”

A serpentine humanoid creature covered in shimmering golden scales and robes in silken strips of every color—looking more like she had robbed a high-class haberdashery of all their fabric scraps and had thrown it all together into an outfit—emerged from the smoke and met Lindon’s fury with her own.

They traded blows across the sands. Lindon could only endure her superior Truegold strength by retreating with every other step, trading space for survival. 

The dragon woman shouted in fury. “I’ll burn you all to—!”

Yerin’s Rippling Sword almost took the distracted Truegold’s head off.

Yes! Lindon swung the Death Scythe at the distracted Truegold dragon’s knees. Her eyes widened in panic, but somehow, impossibly–she didn’t dodge, she twisted away from the blow in a way no human could have ever done, widening her knees to the point that they almost pointed backwards to avoid the blow. As though, for an instant, her entire body had come boneless.

The maneuver reminded him of that death artist he had faced, but instead of breaking her bones to avoid the blow, she seemed to have taken on the preternaturally flexible aspect of a snake. His spiritual perception surged with madra, informing him that she had used a technique of some kind, an Enforcer technique at that.

Then Ekeri drew her sword. 

“Humans and rats!”

Ekeri called upon the local fire and water aura–there was plenty of it from the burning tent, the forest, the sea–and in less than a second wove it together with her madra, layering and interlayering it until her sword blazed with a spiritual pressure more akin to an Underlord’s than a Truegold’s. 

What even was this? Some kind of combined Ruler/Enforcer technique? To his spiritual senses, it was like she had woven together two great rivers of water and fire and Forged them into a blade, but one that encompassed her entirety, like a second shadow of steel three times bigger than her entire body. 

In a second, Ekeri had become a giant.

“Switch!” Yerin shouted, jumping in to take Lindon’s place in the vanguard.

“Die!”

There, atop one of the dunes, the blades of the two women turned into a blur. Neither retreated nor backed down a single step. Ekeri’s sword blazed with fire, but flowed like water–it was more like a whip, or perhaps even a living snake than a proper sword, as if it had a mind of its own. Every so often, second and third blades–blades of Forged fire, blades of Forged water–emerged from the air near Ekeri, where she had concentrated an area’s worth of vital aura. If he didn’t know better from his mundane perception, it might have looked like Yerin was fighting three different sword artists at once.

It was less of a sword artist’s exchange than it was an encapsulated war. Ekeri’s eyes grew increasingly frustrated, even baffled as a rain of sparks flew between the two women, but Yerin only grinned at the challenge. Somehow she dodged, parried, parried some more, and slid aside from fifty different cuts in five seconds, and met Ekerinatoth almost blow for blow.

Lindon shook off his momentary awe and reached out for Ekeri’s fire aura mastery with his madra control; at other times, this would have been the first step of a Void Dragon’s Dance, but here he wasn’t trying to create his own Ruler technique; rather, he was acting to disrupt hers.

For a too-long moment, Lindon’s will grappled with that behind Ekeri’s technique–but the dragon woman’s attention was split, distracted. 

It was difficult to properly get a defined hold on the ruler component of her technique. Sky had explained that Ekeri’s Path of the Flowing Flame was equal parts water and fire, fire given water’s density and water given fire’s ethereal movement, blended together until it was almost impossible to tell the two apart. It was like he was reaching out with a climber’s probing fingers, unable to get a grasp on a slippery cliff dozens of times bigger than himself. It was only when Lindon added a destruction aspect to his fire that he could properly grasp the aura Ekeri had seized. I’ve got her.

In that moment, Yerin took a kick to her knee and grimaced in pain. Ekeri’s lips pulled back in a dragon’s grin–

Break! The Ruler/Enforcer technique shattered, and Ekeri’s sword dimmed and diminished all at once, turning into nothing but a straight-edged cinder no longer than a kitchen knife. Yerin charged. Ekeri screeched, jumping back from an overhanded slash of Yerin’s. But Yerin wrenched her sword to the side, chasing the retreating dragon woman–

Finally, a blow connected. Yerin’s sword scored a cut against Ekeri’s fingers.

Ekeri’s screech gained a shade of desperation when her sword and one of her fingers dropped into the sands. She tumbled, rolled, recovered–

And then, even through her pain, the dragon woman’s eyes widened.

Ekeri ducked beneath an arrow that must have come from hundreds of feet off.

Even Lindon hesitated for a moment–he hadn’t even sensed the arrow of shadow and dreams, for all that it somehow blazed with a Highgold’s aura. 

How? Is that Merc–

Lindon cut off that line of thought. Find out later. He reactivated the Burning Cloak and leaped off from a dune, striking at Ekeri with an overhanded executioner’s cut. 

Ekeri somehow slid to the side, then dodged his backhanded follow-up slash and blocked his shoulder charge. She straightened to deliver a blow with the fury of fire behind it, but far before it could land, she had to jump away from an airborne blade of sword madra and aura, intertwined artfully together. Rather than acknowledge the assist, he instead decided to put more pressure on Ekeri, Yerin alongside him.

His eyes were on the prize now, and there would be no talking until he took what was his to claim.

Yerin threw another Rippling Sword, then a second and third, chasing her across the beach. Then Orthos joined in with a continuous bar of Blackflame, tracking her movements from one dune to the next, the two of them together forcing the dragon woman to retreat in a straight line–

Sky appeared from absolutely nowhere, stabbing at Ekeri from behind.

Where had he been this entire time?

Contrary to Lindon’s expectations, his spear struck cleanly through her midsection. He pulled the spear away, and in one smooth motion, gouged out a portion of a nearby Lowgold’s torso. Lindon blinked. He hadn’t even noticed this white-robed, plain-faced man.

He looked around just in time to find another one, approaching him with a knife. Using the staff end of his scythe, he whacked him as hard as his Burning Cloak would allow on his side. The man bent with the strike to avoid the worst of the attack but was still hit. He felt bones break underneath the shaft of his scythe. A blast of Blackflame madra blared in his senses, and he turned to see Ekerinatoth bent over under a solid bar of blackflame. A split second later, she received a full-powered blow of Sky’s spear shaft to her skull, finally putting an end to the fight. He must have taken advantage of Orthos’ Dragon’s Breath to do that. She had put herself in an awkward position, bending over like that.

Before she even fell unconscious, Sky was already ripping off Ekeri’s necklaces. He grabbed one modest chain in particular that held a tiny, rectangular, fingernail-sized piece of green jade, activated his Enforcer technique to quickly collect the Lowgolds, throwing them on a pile on top of Ekeri, quickly plucked out the jade out of the necklace, then he threw the gemstone as hard as he could at the pile of bodies.

They exploded in a burst of spiderweb cracks in space itself, gone completely. The cracks felt like nothing in his spiritual perception, too.

Had Sky just… killed those three?

“Best case scenario just happened,” Sky said. Then he coughed several times into his fist. He seemed to forcefully interrupt his fit, and then he spoke with an audible rasp, “Ekeri’s not dead, and we got her void key.” He flashed a quick, pained grin, and held up a different golden necklace, this one carrying a tiny copper key in place of where a gemstone might have been. “Which of you want this the most?”

“Me!” Lindon blurted. Then he blushed and bowed his head contritely. “Apologies, but—”

Sky just tossed him the key. Lindon looked to the others in their group askance.

Mercy shrugged and grinned, “I have my own.”

Lindon looked at Yerin, but she also shrugged. “Way I see it, you’ve got a bigger pack to carry my things around.”

Orthos took a bite out of the sand. “It’s a priceless treasure, but I’m afraid that necklace won’t… fit on me.” Lindon felt embarrassed that he hadn’t considered Orthos, but then he realized that it would have been challenging at best for the turtle to use a void key with only his mouth.

He bowed deeply to all of them. “Gratitude.”

Sky coughed, but it sounded delibrate to gain their attention. “Now that that’s settled, Dross, lead the way.” He continued coughing after that, though this time it sounded far more genuine.

So… Ekeri wasn’t dead. Did that mean that that piece of jade could transport people through space? How? Why did that seem to leave wounds in reality itself? Lindon was intensely curious, but the promise of the Spirit Well water quelled all questions. Sky would answer Lindon’s questions once they had a moment to sit down, but right now, they had to get moving.

Dross announced the way, and before long they were at the edge, staring at the wall of twisting water and darkness making up the walls of presumably every one of Ghostwater’s bubble-habitats.

“The more valuable habitats of the facility are found deeper in this pocket sea,” Sky quickly explained. “There–” he coughed violently, blood speckling his hand when it came away. That didn’t bode well for his health. But he waved away Mercy’s concern and continued. “There used to be ferries, but they broke down generations ago. So, swimming it is. One problem. Diamondscale Sea Drakes are in the water. An upper Truegold-tier threat, and when they’re in the water, they can manipulate water aura like it’s their own madra. I shouldn’t need to say this, but. Don’t fight them in the water.” He turned to Lindon. “Dross, show us the safest path to the tablet library habitat?” 

“Of course!” Dross exclaimed. “It will be a straight shot from here. I’ll curve the path as needed.”

A line of faintly glimmering purple madra light traced a path out into the dark waters of the pocket world. And then… it descended. Deep, deep down into the darkness of the pocket world’s ocean. 

A moment of collective foreboding passed through them.

“Masks on, everyone.”

000

Light was scarce in the icy darkness of the pocket ocean. They could only rely on the light from the parts of Orthos’ shell that glowed with crimson fire aura, and on Sky’s weapon—now Enforced by a luminous technique akin to Jai Long’s Stellar Spear. More for reassurance than the moderate light it offered, and so he wouldn’t feel entirely useless, Lindon swam with Suriel’s marble in hand. 

In the distance, there were dozens of glimmers, some brighter, others fainter. Some bright white, others green or blue or red, orange or violet, a multicolored constellation, a monument to Ghostwater’s strange architecture. Orbs of light, floating in the deep. Lindon assumed these were Ghostwater’s other habitats, or perhaps just the ones near enough that any light could reach at all through the cold dark.

A flicker off to the side grabbed his attention, something that, for once he noticed not via his spiritual senses–but by his mundane eyesight. A scene of predator and prey, playing out in the far distance, visible only in the silhouette offered by a random brightly lit habitat in the background. A school of fish, fleeing from a long, coiling form, a predator lazily snapping at the stragglers amongst the fish. 

The fish should have been able to scatter, but the serpentine figure, whatever it was, had mastery over the local water aura and had placed the school of fish in a sort of encasement or restriction; they could only swim forwards, and only with great difficulty; not to any particular side at all. A sort of natural aura control technique that lacked the decisiveness in battle of a trained sacred artist’s madra techniques, but was probably far, far more energy efficient for a predator on the hunt. 

Is that one of the sea drakes Sky mentioned? 

Whatever it was, it was devouring the fish–which Lindon knew to be Lowgold-equivalent–with all the lazy ease of a fishmonger plucking his morning wares out of a barrel. 

How would I escape from that technique?

The momentary fear of that thought gave him energy, and he kicked with both legs, swimming harder.

Thankfully, nothing down here had taken any particular notice of them yet. 

Down here in Ghostwater’s depths, the swimming masks Sky had provided truly were a heaven-sent treasure. Upon activation, they expanded from a sort of basic mouthguard to a head-encompassing bubble that allowed his eyes to unblur and see what he could through the turgid depths of the water. Cycling techniques were breathing techniques, in a lot of ways; a sacred artist in battle without air would ninety-nine times out of a hundred soon be dead. And because he could breathe, he could cycle his madra at full strength, even here. 

Orthos–surprisingly–was the best swimmer among them by far. His massive, broad feet were almost as good as fins, and with that advantage, he led their path downwards, following Dross’ line of projected purple madra. Sky–who not long into this foray had given up on swimming under his own power–was grabbing onto one of Orthos’ back spikes with one hand, while the other kept his glowing spear raised for the group’s illumination. 

Mercy had also attached herself to Orthos with strings of shadow, and was being dragged behind him like some kind of skinny purple and black kite. She seemed to be enjoying the ride, if her twists and pirouettes in the currents left behind by the sacred turtle were anything to go by. 

Yerin and Lindon swum behind the others, keeping up as they could while keeping an eye out for threats in the water.

And there were threats. Lindon could feel the presences at the edge of his spiritual awareness, some greater, others lesser. Others far greater. Thankfully, those were truly distant, somewhere in the abyssal depths far below any of Ghostwater’s habitats.

It was as they were passing by a habitat devoted to some unknown purpose–it vaguely looked like a shipping/receiving port, judging from the honeycomb structure built into its side, a wall of massive hatches that each looked large enough to fit a decent-sized cloudship–that Lindon saw a… thing, from the corner of his eye.

What is that?

It was hard to make out details through the dark. But if he was forced to give words to it, he might have described it as a shark vaguely reshaped in the image of a man; it was naked but for a loincloth, nine or ten entire feet long, with the stubby arms and legs of a normal human child. The limbs weren’t even remotely proportionate to its body–it looked more like an unthinking mutant or monster than a thinking being.

It noticed Lindon at the same time, but it did not attack. It only… stared at him, with the unblinking, flat eyes of a fish–for perhaps thirty entire seconds–before it swam off into the dark. It moved in a long, curving arc in the direction of an entirely different nearby habitat. It hadn’t even flared its madra. 

What was that?

Lindon met Yerin’s eyes. She had seen it too. An unspoken conversation passed between them. Should I go after it?

No. Yerin answered by drawing two fingers across her throat like a knife. She shook her head, giving him a grim, silent look. Too dangerous.

At the warning, Lindon focused on his spiritual perception, wondering if perhaps she had detected more danger than he had. His eyes were all but useless in this cloying darkness. Even with Sky’s weapon Enforcer technique, the light still couldn’t penetrate the fog in the water.

Later, he would reflect that it was precisely this sudden bout of vigilance that allowed Lindon to twist out of the way from a descending maw wide enough to swallow him alive.

---

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