His sect had first gathered in his name because people wanted to borrow the protection of the Void Sage, and that hadn’t changed since the Dreadgods rampaged all over the world. More than his insight into their sacred arts, these people wanted to feel safe.
Pressure settled onto his heart. Whether he had called them or not, they’d gathered in his name. If he abandoned them, he would be leaving them unprotected.
And he was going to leave. Impatience grew daily, an ache inside his chest. The others had left him behind, and it had already been far too long.
What if they needed his protection too?
“When I leave, will you come with me?” Lindon asked. His family stopped, and he immediately held up his hand. “Apologies, that was too sudden.”
They had discussed the subject before but had never come to an agreement. Lindon had promised himself he wouldn’t bring it up until he had to, but it weighed too heavily on his thoughts.
“I won’t,” Kelsa said firmly. “Not until I’ve earned it.”
Lindon had expected nothing else from his sister.
His parents exchanged glances before Seisha spoke. “We’ve discussed it. But we don’t even know when…”
She trailed off, but Lindon knew what she meant. He hoped to be gone well before the next year’s Seven-Year Festival, but it was taking longer than he wanted for hunger aura to lose its grip on his body.
For all Lindon knew, he’d be around for the next Seven-Year Festival.
Jaran cleared his throat and awkwardly clapped his son on the shoulder. “You don’t need to take care of us. I expect we will come with you, but the last thing we want is to hold you back.”
“Well said,” Kelsa said encouragingly.
“Of course it was.” Jaran folded his arms. “I said it.”
Lindon gave him a weak smile, but the repetition of his name was pushing even at his restricted spiritual perception. “Pardon, but I think my time has come. They’re getting impatient down there.”
Seisha waved a hand. “We’ll be here when you’re done. If you see Little Blue, tell her I’m cooking tonight.”
Lindon walked downstairs and off the edge of the cloudship, letting himself fall.
He landed in the center of a courtyard, in a pulse of force aura that prevented him from breaking the paving-stones. This land had been theoretically reclaimed by the Wei clan, though virtually no one he saw had been born in Sacred Valley.
Everyone here wore robes of the Twin Star Sect, and salutes spread out from him in a wave the second he reached the ground.
The crowd parted around him as he walked, though he took a moment here and there to greet the faces he knew. He moved toward the training courtyard, which had expanded since yesterday; it was a vast, open space with a single raised stage.
It was filled with thousands of students.
They knelt on cushions in rows, cycling as they awaited him. Many had two cores. They quieted when they sensed or saw him approach, many closing their eyes and pretending they had been diligently training.
Two Remnants slithered through the air toward him, Remnants that had become known as the Twin Guardians of the Twin Star Sect.
“I have been giving pointers to the ones who wished to learn the Path of Black Flame,” Noroloth said. The black dragon Remnant smiled at Lindon, his too-wide head distorting. “If anything is not up to your standards, please instruct me so that I may improve.”
The gold dragon Remnant at his side snapped at him. “Stop bending yourself in half!” Ekeri snapped. “You’re a dragon!”
Noroloth was far more advanced than she was, though Lindon had continued artificially enhancing her. He estimated that she was roughly the level of an Overlord, which meant she could almost handle a portion of the Weeping Dragon’s madra.
A small portion.
“A dragon should know when to show proper respect,” Noroloth said.
Ekeri drew herself up proudly, displaying the many constructs embedded in her suit of golden armor. “Before long, I will be able to walk in human form. Look.” She showed off her foreclaws, which indeed more closely resembled human hands than they had before.
Lindon made an appropriate sound of amazement before he indicated the students. “We’re not missing anyone, are we?”
“Not a single absence.” Noroloth chuckled. “It’s the first time.”
Lindon had left word that this would be a special lesson, and it seemed that message had carried its intended impact. In fact, even the skies were full of clouds and flying sacred artists who hadn’t, strictly speaking, been invited.
That was all right. Lindon would allow word of this to spread.
He leaped off the ground, soaring over the heads of the students and landing at the center of the stage. There was a control panel and a network of constructs intended to magnify his voice, but Lindon stepped in front of it.
Dross.
[Would you like me to enhance your voice at all? I can make it sound like you’re singing, if you want.]
Lindon spoke at a normal volume, trusting Dross to carry the message to each person rather than magnifying his voice with aura. “Greetings to the Twin Star Sect from the Sage of Twin Stars.”
The sect shouted their own greeting back, shaking the ground.
He waited for the noise to die down, then continued. “I’m sure you all know why my Path is called the Path of Twin Stars. It is named, of course, for my two cores. Many of you have split your own cores, and you’ve filled them with two Paths of your own.”
Even without scanning, he sensed many different pairs. They tended to use complementary aspects, selecting madra in one core that covered for the weakness of the other, but that wasn’t always the case. Some followed Paths of life and death or water and fire, but others used their twin cores to gather two different types of sword madra or a pair of seemingly random Paths.
“But what you may not know is why I followed two Paths,” Lindon continued. “It’s harder, it can be weaker, and it requires more resources. The true answer is that I wasn’t satisfied with only one. I wanted more.”
In its sling, his Dreadgod hand clenched into a fist. “As I was once taught, there are a million Paths in this world, but they can all be reduced to one: improve yourself.
“For me, that meant a hunger to improve in the sacred arts. To fight greater battles and climb to greater heights. You may choose to improve in different ways, but for those of you who share my hunger, I intend to share a new technique with you.”
There came a restless stirring and a murmuring in the crowd, and he felt their attention sharpen.
“We have kept this secret until now,” he went on. “It is difficult to practice and can be taken from your Remnant, so I have taught you a lesser version. Most of you will likely stick with the one you know now. But if I am to leave you behind—”
There came a much louder outcry this time, a protest, as sacred artists from all over—not just the ones seated on the cushions—protested the statement.
This time, Lindon did control wind aura all over the courtyard to overwhelm the noise. “When I leave you for the heavens, I intend to leave you fully armed. You came to me for protection, and I wish for you to be protected. But I also want you to provide protection for others.”
At that point, Lindon removed his veil. Just a crack, but the pressure from his spirit hung over the crowd as though he’d suspended a sword an inch over each of their heads.
There was utter silence.
He looked over them with black-and-white eyes, and he told them what he had once told an Underlord he didn’t quite trust. “Remember that whatever you do while wearing my symbol, you do in my name. And I will be watching.”
Though Lindon didn’t ask for it, Dross projected a giant version of himself looming behind Lindon, staring at them all with a giant purple eye.