However, Lindon’s spirit warned him clearly about that darkness. He turned red-hot eyes on the construct. “Dross. Now.”
“Oh, right.” He spun away, flailing his stubby little arms as he flew. None too soon.
A moment later, Akura Harmony rose from the dark.
He looked as well-fed and comfortable as a man who had spent the night in the palace, his skin clear and smooth, his purple eyes bright. Hair flowed straight down his back, and the black disc of his Goldsign hovered behind his head. His black-and-white sacred artist’s robes were spotless and pressed.
He drifted up until Lindon could see the dark purple Thousand-Mile Cloud on which he was standing. Casually, the Akura hopped off and strolled closer.
Lindon cycled madra, preparing to ignite the Burning Cloak.
Harmony didn’t even look at him. Every step brought him closer, but he had eyes only for the Life Well. The Akura produced a shallow bowl, and brushed past Lindon to dip it into the pool of shining green water.
Lindon supposed he should be grateful the man wasn’t hostile, but his spirit was still warning him. He pressed his fists together and gave a shallow bow. “Greetings, Akura representative. I am—”
Harmony cut him off with a sigh. “Quiet.”
Like a painter raising a brush, he raised two fingers.
Madra gathered within his hand, dark and sharp, and Lindon recognized the technique.
The Burning Cloak sprang into the air around him, and he struck at the Akura’s wrist with the explosive speed of Blackflame.
Harmony’s left hand intercepted his, pushing his punch aside with apparent ease. Lindon opened his Remnant hand, trying to grab hold of the Akura’s body.
Harmony stepped back, still graceful, and lowered his fingers.
A black blade flickered down, slicing a line in the stone floor.
Lindon managed to throw himself to one side, the blade cutting only into his outer robe. He rose to his feet, conjuring dragon’s breath, but Harmony was once again looking at something else.
This time, he was looking at the corner of Lindon’s robe, which had fallen to the ground. It had included his pocket.
Harmony first drew out a blue-glowing glass ball, which he tossed aside. Lindon almost wished he’d taken it; Suriel’s marble would return to him without fail.
Then he withdrew the other blue orb that had been inside Lindon’s pocket before it was severed by the shadow-blade. This time, it was the cracked, damaged sapphire that had once housed the Eye of the Deep construct.
Harmony examined it for a moment, then reached into his own pocket and pulled out a sapphire that shimmered with a gradient of other colors.
Another Eye of the Deep.
Lindon launched a bolt of dragon’s fire at Harmony, but a black wedge appeared in the air in front of him. The Blackflame madra split along the wedge, one half drilling into the wall on the left and the other half cutting a glass cylinder in two.
Unconcerned, Harmony raised the dead sapphire. “The construct. You removed it.”
“It cracked,” Lindon said, gathering madra again. “The construct dissolved.”
Harmony nodded to the door. “You opened the door not six hours ago.”
Lindon leaped at him, powered by the Burning Cloak. He grabbed for the gem with his Remnant arm.
Harmony stepped away, but that step carried him halfway across the room. “Let’s see, then.”
He held up the unlit gem, sending his spirit into it. A blue light flickered deep within, and Lindon’s heart fell.
There was a script inside the sapphire, which Harmony had just activated. And Lindon suspected he knew what it did.
Soon enough, he heard Dross’ shouts growing closer.
“What’s happening? What is this? Something’s got me! Help!” As though drawn back by an invisible fishing line, Dross was hauled into the room and straight into his sapphire.
Brows drawn in confusion, Harmony held both gems next to each other. One was blue, though it rippled with other colors, and smoothly glowing. The other was now purple, with Dross inside it, and was begging to know what happened.
After a moment of examination, Harmony simply turned and walked back to the hatch.
Where Lindon was already waiting for him.
Empowered by the Burning Cloak, he lashed out with his Remnant fist. Harmony met the blow with the back of his hand.
It was a casual gesture, as though Harmony were waving him away, but it carried the weight of a hammer. Lindon flew back, turning in midair and cycling madra to his legs. He landed against the wall in a flare of black-and-red madra.
He leaped away, dragon’s fire gathered in his palm. He shoved the half-formed Striker technique into Harmony’s face, but Harmony’s fingers pierced through it, shrouded in darkness. The ball of fire burst in Lindon’s hand, and the momentum of his lunge carried him past Harmony and into the middle of the floor.
The Akura turned, crooking his fingers as though beckoning a dog.
Black swords stabbed up from the ground.
Lindon slid aside, avoiding them, but they kept coming. He started drawing Blackflame into his palm, glancing up to judge his distance from Harmony.
Icy pain flashed through his spirit as a sword shoved through his Remnant arm. He staggered, his technique disappearing, gripping his white arm around the dark blade that emerged from the forearm.
Without another word, Harmony turned and hopped back into the tunnel. Taking Dross with him.
Chapter 15
Lindon wrenched his arm free of the Forged blade, biting back a scream. He rushed over to the hatch, grabbing it one-handed and trying to haul it open with the strength of the Burning Cloak.
Orthos raced in at that moment, skidding to a halt in front of the hatch. He looked around at the burns in the walls, the sliced floor, and the newly damaged glass cases. “Where is the enemy?” he demanded, excited.
Right arm hanging limp, Lindon slapped the hatch with his left hand. “Down there. He took Dross.”
The turtle’s spirit swept over the hatch. “…it was the Akura?”
Lindon nodded.
“Then thank the heavens you are still free,” Orthos said gravely. “The Akura do not kill honorably. They take prisoners.”
Without warning, Lindon gathered power in his left hand. The dragon’s fire congealed in seconds, and he drove it at the domed lid of the hatch.
Hidden rings of script shone on the lid and on the ground all around, the runes glowing the orange-white of heated metal. In seconds, they faded to orange and then to red.
“Can’t follow him,” Lindon muttered, looking around the room. The refiners had left so much behind; had the Heralds stripped this place decades ago, as they had the other habitats? If not, there could be something he could use.
“If you followed him, what would you do? A dragon does not walk blindly into the devil’s lair.”
“I know you see the problem here,” Lindon said, walking over to a cabinet next to the glass tanks. He threw open the doors—empty. “Without Dross, we are stuck here. Locked in a dying world.”
“Keep a calm head, boy,” Orthos said quietly. There had been no heat in Lindon’s words; even Yerin might not have heard any anger. But Orthos had a direct line to his spirit.
Lindon slammed his fist down onto the cabinet.
It stood as high as his chest and wider than his shoulders, but under his blow, it burst. Wood chips flew everywhere as the two halves of the furniture collapsed inward.
“He took Dross from me. From my hand. More easily than taking a bone from a dog.”
Lindon’s rage stirred his Blackflame madra, which called fire aura to him from outside; he could feel the red power flowing into him. The shards of the cabinet started to smolder.