“Welcome to Underground Chamber Number Three,” Eithan said. He gestured to the two attendants in Arelius family uniforms, who quickly began opening the door and undoing the script.
“Hang on there,” Yerin said. “This is where Lindon went.”
“He’s been acclimating to the aura in one of the side chambers, though he should be finished by now. We have to go…deeper.”
He wasn't kidding. They walked for an hour, through baking hot tunnels filled with smothering aura, lit only by the occasional red spot smoldering like a bloody ember. Even just sensing the aura would have made her sweat; being down here was like wading through hot mud. Hot mud filled with needles—her skin prickled in the presence of all this destructive aura.
After the hour, their narrow tunnel began angling upwards. “Let's pick up the pace, shall we?” Eithan suggested, and vanished.
Yerin almost stumbled over her own legs in her haste to follow. She poured madra into her Enforcer technique, hurling herself through the dim tunnel, and twice she nearly cracked her skull like an egg on an outcropping.
After a second hour of that, she finally emerged into blinding sunlight. It was enough to stop her like a slap to the face, wincing as her eyes adjusted.
While she was panting and sweating—as much from the oppressive heat as from exertion—Eithan stood cool as a statue in midwinter, leaning against the side of the cave.
“I'm sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, and at first Yerin thought he was talking to her.
“Not at all, not at all,” Lindon said, and for the first time she noticed he was there, looming head and shoulders over her. He had his bulky brown pack on, both straps, and a black iron medallion showing a hammer.
He stood straight as a spear, staring intently at Eithan.
When she first met him, that stare was rare. Only when he was really interested. But ever since Eithan locked him in the Transcendent Ruins, his eyes had gotten sharper and sharper, like he thought he might miss the one key detail that would lead him to defeat Jai Long.
He gave a shallow bow. “It took me all morning to climb up, and I was glad for the rest.”
Yerin swiped at her forehead with a sleeve and tried to slow her breathing. Losing a race to an Underlord was one thing, but she hated to look like she had lost her breath from a little run.
Now that Yerin's eyes had adjusted to the surroundings, she took a look around. They were tucked away in a sort of cleft in the black mountain, open to the sky, but dark rock rose like spires all around them. This miniature valley seemed to stretch for miles, though she couldn't see far over the uneven ground.
Most of it looked blasted and blighted, as though a lightning storm had scrubbed it raw, and the few plants she could see seemed like they’d been dug out of the Blackflame caverns. The grass was black, stringy and tough, and the flowers had dark petals covering dim spots of smoldering red. The bushes were scraggly with glowing red at the edges, as though they had been half-burned and were ready to burst back into flames at any moment.
When she switched to her spiritual sight to glance at the vital aura, the Blackflame power was so thick it choked out everything else. She could barely get a glimpse of life or wind through the overwhelming miasma of black destruction and red heat.
At the other end of the valley stood a free-standing red doorway, just a couple of painted logs with a tiled archway over the top. It was wide enough to admit a team of horses, and dragons of black paint coiled up each support.
Through the doorway, the land was choked with stone columns, so thick they looked like a dense forest. She extended her perception to see if she could sense where the columns ended, but her sense was stopped at the doorway. By some kind of script, she guessed.
“Are there two courses out here?” she asked doubtfully.
“Just the one,” Eithan responded. “It's divided into three separate Trials: one for the signature Enforcer technique of the Blackflames, one for their Striker technique, and one for Rulers. Blackflame madra is hard enough to Forge that they never developed an official Forger technique.” He cleared his throat. “But yes, to answer the question on both of your minds, you will be taking it together.”
She gestured to the red-and-black gate. “We're intended to walk in there together, then?”
Eithan gathered them up with one hand on Lindon's shoulder and one on hers, ushering them closer to the gateway. “These are the ancient Trial grounds for the first generation of Blackflame sacred artists. For centuries, this was how they passed their Path down to their descendants, preserving their legacy.
“Once you enter, the script will seal behind you, and you won't be able to leave until you complete the three Trials.” Eithan considered a moment. “Or until you admit defeat, but where's the fun in that? You will find food, water, and shelter here, outside the entrance, and once you’ve defeated a Trial you can retreat freely. No need to take the same test twice, is there?”
Lindon turned his gaze to the west, and Yerin followed it. In a deep crag, she caught sight of a narrow waterfall. Something scuttled behind it.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how long will we be living out here?”
“These Trials have been known to take months, or even as long as two years in some cases.” He gave Lindon's shoulder a squeeze. “I trust you won't spend quite so long. And when you emerge, you'll be considered a Blackflame sacred artist in truth.”
There was Lindon’s goal, all nice and bright and clear, but what about hers? She wasn’t likely to dig anything of value out of a course that an Iron could run.
“If you’re looking to teach me another Path, I’m happy with the one I’ve got,” she said, words dry. “Lindon can run this maze on his own.”
Eithan turned to Lindon. “Orthos was supposed to deliver a package to you.”
Lindon hurriedly reached into his pack and pulled out a leather-wrapped bundle, which Eithan took from him. He unrolled it on the ground before Yerin.
Half a dozen fine swords had been strapped to the leather. From the way the aura played over them, they must be sharp as razors—even the Blackflame aura tickling the edges had started to gleam silver.
They were perhaps too sharp to use as weapons, but to gather sword aura? Perfect. “That’s a sweet enough gift, but I’m still not seeing why I should stay here. Could just carry these down the mountain.”
He waved a hand. “I tried my best, but predicting people's actions is harder than I make it look. Now, you may be wondering what kind of training ground is designed to work for both a Jade and a Lowgold.”
Surprised, Yerin's eyes flicked back to Lindon, and she opened her spiritual senses at the same time. Sure enough, he felt like a Jade: his spirit had a weight to it, a gravity, that no Iron could fake. He could actually sense what he was doing now, where before he'd been working blind. On top of that, his core was packed with burning, dangerous madra. More than he could have possibly harvested from aura in just a handful of days.
Elixirs. Eithan must have stuffed him full of the good stuff.
He saw her notice, and a little bit of a proud smile touched his lips. Well, he was right to be proud—wasn't long since he'd been happy enough to reach Copper.
Her chest tightened. She was glad for him, but…her unwelcome guest was tickling the back of her spirit. If she didn’t advance soon, she wouldn’t keep ahead of it.
And here Lindon was, hopping from Copper to Jade in three months like nothing. Sure, breaking from Lowgold to Highgold was like smashing through a thick stone wall compared to the rickety wooden gate blocking Iron from Jade, but even so. Why was she the one standing still?
“That's call for cheers and celebration!” Yerin said, forcing a smile. His shoulders straightened, and he brightened until you'd have thought she'd given him a crown.