Still laughing, she crushed a gatestone in her hand and vanished in a blue flash.
Surrounded by burning undergrowth, Lindon turned to Orthos again. “Do you think she had the wrong people?”
“I think she should have stayed and fought us,” Orthos said, taking a mouthful of undergrowth. “But yes, as they say, she was crazier than a nest full of squirrels.”
Dross piped up curiously, “So Anagi didn’t send you?”
“Do you know who that is?” Lindon asked.
“I don’t know anything that didn’t take place inside this pocket world. But I do wish she hadn’t done that.”
Where Shoumei had once stood now waited a web of cracks. Falling leaves, passing through that space, were effortlessly sliced in half by nothing more than the weight of their fall.
Slowly, the cracks expanded. It wasn’t obvious, but if he looked closely, Lindon could see them inching forward.
“Let’s hurry,” Lindon suggested.
Back at the Life Well, Lindon cupped his hands and drew out a mouthful to take a sip. It had a faint taste like a very weak tea, and he could feel it spreading to his body without his encouragement.
But unlike the meat of the Silverfang Carp or the Diamondscale Drake, this didn’t carry with it a burning sense of strength. Lindon felt a little more relaxed, a little refreshed, but otherwise he didn’t notice much of a difference.
Well, his expectations of the Life Well hadn’t been high to begin with. He started to open his void key when Orthos dipped his head in for a drink.
Pain shot through their spiritual bond, and the turtle bellowed in agony.
His legs collapsed immediately, shell slamming to the ground, and his head curled back into his shell. His eyes rolled into his skull, showing all black.
“Tell me what’s happening,” Lindon demanded of Dross, lowering the Sylvan Riverseed from his shoulder. Little Blue hopped over, placing both hands on Orthos’ neck, letting her power flood into him. She gave a little cheep of distress almost immediately; whatever was wrong with him, it wasn’t in his spirit.
“The water of the Life Well can have...more of an impact on older subjects,” Dross said. “Usually it’s very healthy for them. Very healthy. Only in a small percentage of cases do they lapse into a coma and die.”
Green light oozed from Orthos’ skin. It beamed like a beacon from the crack in his shell, shone from his mouth, and spilled from beneath his belly. Lindon readied his arm; if this was excess power overflowing from the Well’s power, maybe his Remnant binding could devour it.
But when he took his first step forward, he noticed that the wound in Orthos’ shell was closing.
The verdant light dimmed slowly over several minutes, and by the time it did, Orthos had gone through a clear transformation. His skin was less of a worn gray and more of a glossy black. The edges of his shell now glowed bright red, and when his eyes snapped open, they were bright.
Orthos’ voice was recognizable, but deeper. Smoother. Younger. “I...I feel...”
He laughed, bounding to his feet and running in a circle like a puppy. Lindon had heard more laughter out of him since coming to Ghostwater than in the last year.
He galloped away, leaping and kicking off a wall, then backflipping and landing with surprising grace.
Orthos turned back to Lindon, mouth open as though to say something. But he only laughed again and bounded out the door. Going to hunt some dreadbeasts, Lindon assumed.
Lindon looked down at Little Blue, who had tumbled onto the ground while Orthos frolicked. He picked her up and glanced at Dross, who brightened.
“I’d like some of that,” Dross said hopefully.
Lindon absorbed him into his core.
Over the rest of the day and into the night, Lindon cycled the fire and destruction aura released from the burning undergrowth, using Dream Well water to stay awake and cycling power from the Life Well to Dross.
Though the Spirit Well had taken him weeks to absorb, this started to change the construct immediately. He cheered as he spun inside Lindon’s core.
Orthos still hadn’t returned, but the roars in the distance and the satisfaction radiating from his soul told Lindon the turtle was having a good time.
This place had been at least as much of a blessing for Orthos as it had been for Lindon. Not only had it helped heal some of the damage that Blackflame had done to his spirit, but it had sharpened his mind and now restored his body.
“Dross,” Lindon asked, “If this place existed while the Blackflame family was in charge of the Empire, why didn’t they use it?”
“Oh, they did. They used to buy as much Well water as Northstrider would allow them. It was one of the ways this facility maintained itself.” Dross squirmed inside Lindon’s core, absorbing some more green water. He was becoming opaque, as though he were growing skin.
“It was more an issue of quantity. A single cup from the Spirit Well cost a fortune, and it was the cheapest of the three. You’ve been drinking a fifty-year stockpile. And you really dove into it headfirst, too. You should bow down in gratitude for every mouthful.”
Absently, Lindon took another sip of the green water. “It will all go to waste when the world collapses.”
“Yeah, that’s...yes. It will.” Dross’ words were distant. “You know, I spent a long time in the Dream Well. And now I won’t get to go back ever again.” He was quiet for a moment. “What do you call this feeling?”
“Sadness,” Lindon said, sitting against the Life Well.
“It feels a lot like grief,” Dross observed. “I don’t like it.”
“It’s not my favorite either.” He spun quietly for a while, processing the water. “Here’s some better news: I only needed a taste of this well. I’m coming alive by the second! How does that make me feel? Excited!”
A sudden sound, like a distant clink of metal on metal, drew Lindon’s attention to a rounded hatch in the floor opposite him. The clink came again, and again, louder as it continued.
Lindon pointed to it. “What’s that?”
“The way down. We shouldn’t go yet. There are some spirit-fruits in here that I think you’d really enjoy.”
Lindon rose to his feet, cycling Blackflame. The ringing sounded like a bell-tower now. “I’m not worried about going down. I’m worried about what’s coming up.”
“There’s nothing down there,” Dross said confidently. “It’s been sealed for decades. You’d need an Eye of the Deep.”
“An Eye of the Deep?” Lindon asked.
“You didn’t think there was only one key to this place, did you?”
With a sound like a ringing gong, the hatch crashed open. Darkness spilled out, shadows oozing from the entrance.
Lindon pushed Dross out. “Go get Orthos.”
Dross spun as he emerged from Lindon’s palm, blinking in the light. Blinking. “I have an eye!” he exclaimed.
This time, Dross’ evolution was even more pronounced. He was covered in what looked like purple skin, with one huge eye in the center of his body. He was speaking with an actual mouth now, which Lindon could see was lined with tiny teeth. He looked like a very advanced Remnant, or a cross between a spirit and a sacred beast.
Blunt tendrils extended from his sides. “And I have arms! Well, I have little pseudopod tentacle things, but I’ll take them!”
Under any other circumstances, Lindon would have been delighted with the possibilities of a construct coming to life. He would have started speculating about what could be accomplished with other constructs, about whether long-term exposure to dream madra was the way to turn a construct into a living spirit, or whether there was something special with Dross’ circumstances. If it was so easily replicable, the expert Soulsmiths would have tried it before.