Then she seized Eithan with her other hand and shoved them both down the tunnel.
When they were safely in the hallway, she looked up. “I’ll go see who needs killing.”
She leaped upward, leaving them to walk down.
Two left.
[The fact that you haven’t learned to count me by now proves to me that you are irredeemable and will never amount to anything.]
Only when Lindon had scanned the next room with his perception and was satisfied that Reigan Shen wasn’t lurking within did he move forward. Eithan had already strolled down, hands in his pockets.
Lindon had to stop his expectations before they rose too high. This should be the deepest room Ozriel had left behind in the labyrinth, which meant that it was likely to hold his Soulsmith inheritance.
He hadn’t sensed anything like that in the room, which didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t there. The inheritance could easily be inactive, or sealed, or veiled behind a script, or…
His thoughts crashed to a halt when he entered the room.
The chamber had been raided. Ornate, scripted chests stood open, and Lindon could still feel residual power emanating from inside. Powerful treasures had been hidden there, not long ago.
A nearby projection table had once housed a dream tablet, but it was now broken. No one would view the memory again. A shelf full of labels had once held books and scrolls dating back centuries, if not millennia. Every one of them missing. Some had been sealed away to preserve them, and others had been protected so that their power didn’t disturb visitors.
There was another display hanging on the wall that showed triangular indentations—more of Penance’s prototypes would have waited here. They were all missing.
But there was one central feature of the room that Lindon had not overlooked. A shrine against the back wall, holding a cut gem the size of Lindon’s head. From everything Lindon had read, and heard—and from what he could still sense—this had been a Soulsmith inheritance. Ozmanthus Arelius had left the sum total of his Soulsmithing knowledge for future generations here.
The crystal was cracked. Dream madra still leaked from the fissure, dissipating in the air.
With Dross’ help, Lindon could still read a flickering memory here or there. Not enough to form an image; they were mostly impressions, half-formed thoughts, or emotional reactions. They didn’t make a clear picture.
Lindon stared at it.
“I can’t fix you,” he said aloud.
Dross spun out, tiny crown displayed proudly on his head. [What is there to fix? You should be concerned instead that you missed the chance to increase my power!]
“Apologies,” Lindon whispered. He wasn’t apologizing to this Dross, but to the old one. The real one.
Eithan looked around, hands still in his pockets. Lindon didn’t think much of it, but on some level he still found it strange that Eithan wasn’t more interested in records of his ancestors. Instead, he looked almost fond.
“Don’t give up yet,” Eithan said cheerily. “There should still be a way. Reigan Shen, for instance, always carries top-notch loot perfect for any Soulsmith.”
Lindon’s voice was dull. “Gratitude, but I’m all right. It would have been beyond difficult even if I did get Ozriel’s inheritance. By the time I comprehended the techniques and learned to use them, chances are it would be too late.”
“The theory is fairly straightforward, if difficult to execute. You have to realign Dross’ structure in the same manner as before. Something like this Soulsmith inheritance would make it easier, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
“I know that. I tried. I looked. I couldn’t tell what he was like before.”
Even Dross hadn’t remembered what his alignment was. As he’d put it, Have you ever paid attention to the exact order of your own bones?
“There should be small hints in each piece. It’s one of the many areas in which enhanced perception comes in handy.” Eithan shrugged. “I’m always reluctant to tear off a piece of my spirit, but once we get out of here, you could Consume from me and borrow my bloodline legacy. I think you could do it.”
Lindon looked around the room. There was no exit, and he could feel power gathering in the walls. The labyrinth was going to use its trump card, whatever that was.
He was going to have to use the last of his power to blast a way out, and when he did, they’d just leave. Whatever it was that drove him forward, he had just run out.
“Gratitude, Eithan.” And because that didn’t feel like enough, Lindon pressed his fists together and bowed. “Thank you.”
Eithan lifted his eyebrows. “What was that for?”
“I think I understand how you feel, now.” Lindon stared past the broken jewel. “When you’re strong enough to move forward on your own, the only thing you can’t do is bring others with you.”
Lindon began to cycle Blackflame, because the power in the walls was still growing. Whatever the labyrinth was coming up with, it was strong.
[This is that echo technique, which you wouldn’t need me to tell you if you ever bothered to pay attention to your own spiritual sense.]
Lindon thought back to the ghosts that Ziel and the others had faced. “How much stronger is this one?”
[It’s always a rough estimate, your senses not being precise enough to have a numerical measurement attached, but I would say that if those were an incomplete shell of a Herald’s Remnant, this is a real one.]
Lindon even felt ripples in reality that suggested authority was being exerted. He readied the spear Midnight; even if the death madra would be largely useless against a technique Forged of madra, the sheer force in the instrument would help him.
Eithan clasped his hands behind his back, looking…fond. “You know, even as a child, all I ever wanted was people to grow with me. Every extraordinary thing I ever accomplished, I left behind another friend. And the world celebrated.
“That’s not limited to advancement, you understand. When you see deeply, to the point that Monarchs clash over your advice, what does another Underlord have in common with you? Your peers are Sages and Heralds, and even they treat you like a stranger.”
Hunger madra coalesced in the hallway, and Lindon prepared himself to face it as Eithan spoke.
“I wanted to raise up peers. In theory, it was possible. If you started from the beginning, you can raise a generation of truly unparalleled sacred artists who would never leave each other behind.”
“Congratulations,” Lindon said firmly. Blackflame materialized in his hands. “Yerin and I, at least, would never leave you behind.”
Eithan walked beside him and gave Lindon a brilliant smile. “I know. I’ve never been happier.”
Lindon wondered if Eithan wanted to fight together as the strongest hunger echo finished Forging.
Wind passed through the tunnels. Not a forceful wind, as Lindon had expected. Nothing violent. A cool, thorough, gentle wind that picked up every speck of dust and carried it away.
A solid, black-and-white version of Ozmanthus Arelius strode out of the shadows. At this age, he looked like Eithan’s brother. His hair was bright, his smile small and subtle. And across his shoulders, like another sacred artist might carry a spear, he carried a broom.
There were no overwhelming fluctuations of madra, but Lindon’s spirit still trembled. This was a dangerous opponent.
But one still more dangerous waited ahead.
“Leave him to me,” Lindon said.
Eithan turned back again, surprise evident on his face. “You want me to face Reigan Shen on my own?”
Ozmanthus didn’t take advantage of his opponent’s lack of attention, but rather waited politely.
“Apologies, Eithan, but I saw you fight earlier. He’s weakened, and you could break through to Sage at any time. Go face your family’s killer.”
Eithan sighed and held up a hand for Ozmanthus to wait. The Broom Sage looked a little surprised, but dipped his head in acknowledgement.