Dross was ready. Little Blue was ready. Orthos was an indistinct lump in the back of his mind, a comforting heat. Lindon hoped for the chance to track him down after this was over.
“Let’s go.”
Lindon led the way out of the fortress.
Mount Samara was the highest, most visible mountain around them, but that didn’t mean the surrounding peaks were small. This distance had taken them days for Lindon and Yerin to travel, even with the help of a Thousand-Mile Cloud, though they had been injured and weak at the time.
Now, they all had Thousand-Mile Clouds except Mercy, who followed them on her staff. Yerin pulled one from her own void key, which Lindon still wasn’t used to. She had gone without a void key for so long, but neither the Winter Sage nor the Akura clan would have let the victor of the Uncrowned King tournament go without.
It would be a few minutes before the Golds were organized enough to catch up, but some had already begun gathering up on their own clouds. It seemed like they would be accompanied by about a dozen Golds from each of the remaining twenty-three ships, and Lindon was filled with gratitude at the sight. He would have to thank Charity when they returned.
He had plenty of time to think, because their Thousand-Mile Clouds moved at barely a crawl.
Their clouds couldn’t reach anything close to full speed out here. This was within a few miles of the spot where Lindon had opened his Copper sight for the first time, and he remembered how vivid the colors had seemed. They had been almost blinding.
When Lindon opened that sight now, the colors were muted and washed out. Barely there. As though the vital aura had been squeezed dry.
Is this the Titan? Lindon asked Dross in alarm. The only bright colors came from the veins of yellow earth aura beneath their feet, which were clearly affected by the approach of the Dreadgod. Had he somehow used hunger madra to drain all the other types of aura into the ground?
Dross coughed politely. [The veins of earth aura staying bright are an effect of proximity to the Dreadgod, yes, I’m sure that’s true. But everything else…uh, I think it’s just like that here. Not that it isn’t beautiful!]
Weak.
This place was so weak.
Their Thousand-Mile Clouds functioned, but they were built for areas with much higher concentration of aura. It might actually be faster to run.
Even so, these clouds were incomparably faster than the one that had originally taken Lindon and Yerin the other direction. This time, they covered that distance in under an hour.
When they arrived, Lindon withdrew his cloud into his void key and landed in the snow. He could feel the boundary in front of him. The border of Sacred Valley.
The vital aura was weak for miles around, certainly. When he crossed that line, it wouldn’t be any weaker. But he would be.
There was an emptiness past this point. A vampiric power. A hunger.
Eithan put his hands on his hips and looked all the way up, as though regarding an invisible wall. “Well, isn’t this unpleasant?”
“I’d rather walk headfirst into a sewer,” Ziel said as he plunged into the field without hesitation. He didn’t change visibly as he passed the barrier, trudging through the snow at the same rate.
Mercy leaned close to the invisible force, sticking her arm in and shuddering, pulling it out. “How long before it affects us, you think?”
“Sooner we’re in, sooner we’re out,” Ziel called back.
Eithan tucked his hands in his pockets and strolled across. “Since I can’t watch everyone, I expect all of you to describe your actions in detail at all times. Start now.”
[I’m looking through Lindon’s memories for the path in,] Dross reported. [Looks like it’s a straight line.]
“Excellent work, Dross.”
Lindon didn’t remember pulling out Suriel’s marble, but he ran the warm glass through the fingers of his left hand. As usual, its steady blue light was a comfort.
Yerin had stayed back with him, and now she brushed the red streak of hair out of her eye and looked up at him in concern. “Won’t blame you if your steps aren’t steady.”
“This route will take us past the Ancestor’s Tomb,” Lindon said quietly.
Yerin darkened. “Yeah.” She gripped the hilt of the sword at her waist.
The one she’d pulled out of the Tomb.
She carried her other blade, Netherclaw, in her void key now. This one, she always strapped to her belt.
Side-by-side, they crossed the boundary into Sacred Valley.
Despite Lindon’s expectation, it wasn’t much different on the other side. He could feel something tugging on his power, as though his spirit had sprung a leak, and at the same time his senses were smothered by a blanket.
But neither were as uncomfortable as he’d imagined. At this rate, it would take days to weaken his spirit enough to make a difference. He might evacuate his family before he fell to the level of a Jade.
Yerin swayed in mid-step, and he reached out a hand.
He barely caught her before she collapsed.
In less than the blink of an eye, he had dashed out of the boundary formation, landing in a spray of snow. Yerin gasped as though she had emerged from deep water, her red eyes wide.
Lindon still clutched her in both hands. “What happened?”
“Too much,” she said, still breathing heavily. “It took too much.”
Only a few yards away, Eithan looked down at himself. “Hm…I see. The boundary siphons strength away rather than suppressing it as a veil would. I suspect I have only…let’s say six or seven hours before I’m down to the level of a Jade. That will be a novel experience.”
Lindon thought he saw the problem. Since she merged with her Blood Shadow, Yerin’s body had partially fused with her spirit. Draining her madra would affect her physically even more than the rest of them.
“You can stay on Windfall,” Lindon suggested. It would be better anyway, he realized. She wouldn’t have to relive the trauma of losing her master by revisiting the site of his death, and she would still get to meet his family when he brought them out.
It made sense, but leaving her behind felt wrong. She had started this journey with him, and she should be with him to see it end.
He didn’t expect her to agree. In fact, he expected her to leap out of his grasp and plunge straight into the Valley, heedless of the consequences.
Instead, she stayed where she was and turned to Eithan. “Am I going to fall apart if I head back in there?”
It was Ziel who answered. “Do Remnants form in there?”
“They do,” Lindon confirmed.
“Then you’ll survive. No matter how close to a spirit you are, you’ll still be more solid than a Remnant.” He pointed to Little Blue, who was leaning over Lindon’s shoulder to regard Yerin with concern. “If she doesn’t fall apart, you definitely won’t. But…”
He let the silence stretch out until Lindon wondered whether he was thinking of the right words to say or if he was waiting for someone to ask a question.
“…a stable Herald wouldn’t be affected as much as you are. Don’t know if it’s because you didn’t hit Archlord first, or...”
He slumped in place, as though speaking so much had exhausted him. Eithan swept a hand toward him. “I concur with the champion of the Wastelands. This suppression field has revealed an imbalance in your body and spirit. I could speculate as to why, but it hardly matters now.”
“So I’m not falling apart,” Yerin said.
“You will not. In fact, I suspect you won’t get any worse than you are now. Barring grievous injury, of course.”
Yerin met Lindon’s gaze. “My master dove into this with eyes open.”
Lindon nodded and started to carry her back in. The second she weakened too much, he would leap free of the field again.
She cleared her throat. “Still got two feet.”
Reluctantly, he lowered her down, although he supposed there wasn’t much risk in her walking under her own power. Even an ordinary Overlady wouldn’t be killed by falling flat on her face.