Chapter 20
Information requested: Northstrider, wandering Monarch of the Trackless Sea.
Beginning report…
Northstrider was born with a connection to blood.
His parents died shortly after his birth, never knowing that they had each carried a dormant bloodline legacy. These traits mixed in their son, producing an unmatched connection to blood aura.
As an orphan, he was taken in by a local warlord, who collected pods of one hundred abandoned children at a time to defend him from the attacks of his enemies. He raised and trained them by teaching them to hunt water-drakes, lesser dragons that skim the surface of the ocean to the north.
All one hundred children were raised on the meat of these drakes, but Northstrider’s innate abilities allowed him to absorb more of the remaining blood essence in the flesh than anyone else.
At every opportunity, he would return to the ocean to seek out stronger prey, and it became known that you could almost always find him walking north.
Thus did he earn his name.
He grew strong quickly, beyond his age, always hunting more powerful quarry and moving deeper and deeper into the ancient places of the ocean.
He discovered that the sea floor was a trove of treasures both natural and otherwise, and eventually found himself at the entrance to a vast labyrinth. Therein, he found madra that intrigued him.
At that point in his life, he had never been formally instructed in a Path. The children of his pod were taught rudimentary techniques but were left to adopt them to whatever aspects of madra suited them best.
When Northstrider integrated the bindings he found in the labyrinth into his blood madra, the Path of the Hungry Deep was born.
Path: Hungry Deep. A Path focused on devouring the physical and spiritual strength of dragons, as well as their latent authority, using them to empower the user. Most techniques are rudimentary, but become complex in execution when brought to life with the touch of the Dragon Icon.
The Path of the Hungry Deep is the most powerful hunger madra Path still in modern use.
Suggested topic: techniques on the Path of the Hungry Deep. Continue?
Denied, report complete.
~~~
Lindon woke knowing that he’d lost.
At the last second, it was as though Yerin had changed, though he’d sensed no extra power from her. Her technique had landed just that much sooner than his.
And that was enough.
He had re-formed inside the gray waiting room, sitting on a bench. His body and spirit were in perfect condition. The room was silent, empty. It was as though the fight hadn’t happened.
“I lost,” Lindon said, and his voice echoed hollow in the quiet room.
Dross slipped out of his spirit, turning to look at him with his wide purple eye. [But what a fight! You know what they say: it doesn’t matter how you play the game, only whether you win or lose. Wait, no, the other one.]
“…I thought I was going to win.”
He’d been more than willing to surrender when he first saw Yerin. He didn’t want to hurt her physically, and he didn’t want to hurt her emotionally by taking away her chance to become Uncrowned. For the same reasons, he had been willing to hold back and let her beat him.
Because deep down, he knew he’d win.
Since getting Dross, he’d never faced an opponent that he truly couldn’t defeat. As soon as he’d chosen to give it his all, he had resigned himself to beating Yerin. But he’d been fooling himself. He wasn’t good enough.
Behind him, the door hissed open. He turned away, unwilling to look Mercy in the eye. Worse if it was Charity or Pride.
“I’ve never been good at consolations,” Eithan said.
Lindon let his eyes close. It was hard to imagine anyone he wanted to see less right now. Maybe Sophara.
He heard Eithan walking up and sitting down on the bench across the room. “Mercy was coming in to cheer you up, but she allowed me the honor instead.”
Lindon would have much rather seen Mercy.
“I don’t need consolation,” Lindon said, forcing his eyes to open and look at Eithan. “I’m happy for Yerin.”
His smile was gentle. “You know, people can feel two things at once. Even when it seems like they should be opposites.”
On Lindon’s shoulder, Dross gasped. [You can feel two things? That explains so much!]
“Gratitude, but I’m fine. I tried and I lost. There’s nothing more to be said.”
Eithan scratched at his chin. “Hm. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been willing to do whatever it takes if it accomplished your goal. That’s one of the things I admire about you. But I’ve always wondered one thing: what will he do when he pours his heart and soul into something and still fails?”
Lindon’s vision blurred and his throat tightened. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s too late to do anything. I failed.”
“I want you to tell me,” Eithan said, “what you’re going to do next.”
Next. What did he want to do next?
“Yerin won.” He straightened himself, organizing his breathing, pushing his pain and disappointment down. “I’m going to go see her.”
Eithan eyed him. “Congratulations from you will mean a great deal to her, but are you in shape for that?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. The last thing he wanted to do was to dampen her excitement after winning the round and earning the right to become one of the Uncrowned, but he had to be with her. If she had fought someone else, he would have wanted to be the first to see her after her victory.
Without waiting for another word from Eithan, Lindon left the room.
~~~
Outpost 01: Oversight
Makiel projected a map of Abidan territory in front of him. The nest of flowing blue light representing the Way spread into a roughly spherical shape, each branch dotted with points of light like berries on branches. Iterations.
On the outer layer, too many of them were tinged with gray, illustrating the corruption of the Void.
And now, four of them were black.
After removing the first world, the Mad King had struck three more times. Testing Abidan response time. Makiel’s foresight. His weapon’s capabilities.
Soon he would have all the information he needed. The testing would end, and he would strike.
Who knew how far he could make it before the Judges could counter him? They were spread too thin as it was, fighting the incursions of chaos at their borders. Would he make it as far in as Sector Fifty-one? Would he make it to Asylum, to break out the other Class One Fiends? To Cradle, the birthplace of the Abidan? To Sanctum itself?
He cast his sight forward, into the future.
The Court of Seven had already given a united ruling, despite Suriel’s misgivings: they would salvage as many lives from the outer sectors as they could, retreating deep into their territory. Far deeper than Makiel had ever planned.
There had been ten thousand worlds under their protection, a thousand fully integrated into their system. They would now protect only the core twenty sectors. Two hundred Iterations.
The rest…left to fend for themselves. Now he followed the ripples of that decision out to the future.
It wouldn’t be enough.
He saw it as though his map of the Way sped through time. Gray corruption claimed light after light, Iteration after Iteration, until it eventually came to an equilibrium and stopped. Some worlds shattered to fragments while others struck an uneasy balance with chaos and survived, though tainted. Still others were eliminated or stolen by the Vroshir.
But the Mad King wasn’t satisfied with more territory. He wanted to destroy them.
With his false Scythe, he led the charge. The Judges would survive, the Abidan would survive, but it would cost them. Core worlds would be lost.
He could see no further, but from such a position, there could be no doubt that the Mad King would rule.
So he reversed his sight, bringing it back to the present. He spun it out again, reading Fate.