Ziel sighed. “We’re well-stocked, I’ll say that for us. If we’re going to do the impossible, at least we have the facilities for it.”
Lindon looked over the island, now filled with marble buildings he’d grown, and felt a pleasant swell of pride. There was more to do, but this was a good start.
Orthos rumbled agreement. “We have everything we need.”
“No, we don’t!” Mercy’s distant voice came drifting on the wind. They all turned, but she wasn’t visible yet.
She shouted from within the tunnels. “Wait! Hold on! Almost there! There’s more of this than I thou—Aha!” Mercy emerged triumphantly from underground, raising Suu to the sky.
Tears had dried on her cheeks, but she seemed like she had pulled herself together. At least for the moment.
Lindon’s heart loosened as he saw her. He had worried that Malice’s treatment might have left wounds that couldn’t be so easily fixed.
She probably had, he knew. But Mercy was starting to heal.
“We’re missing a name!” Mercy cried.
Lindon winced.
Yerin appeared next to him in a flash of white light. As soon as she did, she wrapped an arm around his waist, but spoke dryly to Mercy. “Thought we could skip that part this time.”
“No! We can’t live somewhere without a name!”
Orthos eyed Dross. “You’re not going to call this Death’s Midnight Cemetery, are you?”
[I told you to forget that! Forget it! Bring me those memories so that I can eat them!]
Yerin grabbed Dross before he could fly over to Orthos. “You’re not all death and skulls anymore, true? All right, then, show it to us. What’s your name?”
Dross glowered at Orthos for another second before drawing himself up and clearing his throat. [Ah, yes. As you know, I was born in the mighty world of Ghostwater. We should name this place after that one, right? Right. So, I present to you…]
He spread boneless arms wide. [Drosswater.]
Little Blue sounded like a strangled whistle.
Orthos choked.
Yerin openly laughed.
Even Mercy had been struck speechless.
“I told you they wouldn’t like it,” Lindon said.
[No, they just—you all don’t appreciate the subtle touches! ‘Dross’ is the part you throw away, right? Well, we are the ones who have been cast off, or thrown away, by the Monarchs! Set adrift! And from that dross we will forge our revolution!]
“It’s a bad name,” Ziel said.
Dross folded his arms. [You do better, then.]
Ziel responded immediately. “Training Chamber Number One.”
[Terrible!]
“I don’t see what’s wrong with it,” Lindon said. “It’s professional.”
Ziel pointed to him. Yerin laughed harder.
Mercy gave a pained smile. “Why don’t we think a little longer, all right? How about…The Room of Spirit and Time!”
“Eh,” Ziel said.
[I’m still concerned that we haven’t given Drosswater enough consideration.]
Yerin wiped a tear from her eye. “No water here, is there? Got our share of rock, though. And wind.”
“Wind for Windfall,” Orthos pointed out. “And wind for the Ashwind continent.”
“Ghostwind,” Lindon suggested. “Malice called me the Empty Ghost, and we can still honor Ghostwater.” He nodded to Dross.
[Hmmmm…I like it, but now that I think of it, don’t you find that a little too grandiose? This pocket world is nowhere near as large or complete as Ghostwater, after all. The smallest of Northstrider’s halls could beat this place to death. If halls could fight.]
Mercy brightened. “Ghostwind Hall!”
“Don’t have a shiny history with places that have Hall in the name,” Yerin muttered. She squeezed Lindon. “You think it might scrape them the wrong way?”
Lindon considered. “I don’t think Northstrider would care, but the Sage of Red Faith would think we were mocking him.”
“Bright welcome to Ghostwind Hall, then,” Yerin said decisively. “Our home ‘til we can fight the world.”
Lindon surveyed the buildings. And the people standing next to him.
One way or the other, they were all going to leave Cradle together.
He tightened his arm around Yerin and repeated her words. “Until we can fight the world.”
2
The next day, when Lindon had put all the finishing touches on Ghostwind Hall, he gathered everyone together.
Orthos, Little Blue, Ziel, Mercy, and Yerin were all spread out in front of him, standing on the smooth ground with the multi-colored sky behind them. They wore various expressions of expectation, from Yerin’s confident patience to Mercy’s excitement to Ziel’s completely blank face. They were waiting to hear his plans for them.
Still, he hesitated to speak.
[What are you doing?] Dross whispered to him. [It’s a good plan! Very theoretically sound. In the worst case, they just develop an instinctive hatred for you that sinks into their very souls. But that would be irrational.]
“I have left various…methods for each of you,” Lindon began. “For willpower training. Some of you have started working already, which is admirable. As you know, willpower is fundamental for fighting Heralds and Sages. And the Monarchs. You’ve all faced down a Dreadgod before, so you know that.”
The various expressions of expectation had started to crumple. Yerin said what he was sure they were all thinking. “Since when did you ramble on instead of talking straight?”
Lindon couldn’t meet her eyes, so he shifted and coughed. “I think—and Dross thinks too—that the most effective way to start training willpower is, uh, directly. You’ll have to get used to resisting the pressure of a powerful sacred artist, so…Apologies, but you’ll be doing willpower training. Against me.”
He didn’t like stammering and speaking so hesitantly, but the idea made him profoundly uncomfortable. For one thing, proposing that he could suppress them all suggested that he was the most powerful sacred artist there.
Which was true, but it was still awkward to say out loud.
He also knew what it took to resist such pressure. You had to draw yourself up to push against your opponent, which meant pitting yourself against them directly. It was a lot like hating them.
He felt like he was lining them up so that he could bully them.
Nonetheless, once they’d received the explanation, all their expressions eased. Except for Ziel’s, which didn’t change.
“Bury me, I thought you were going to confess to a crime,” Yerin said. She rubbed her hands together eagerly. “What’s the prize if we push you down?”
[I’ll give you some points!] Dross offered, which Lindon thought was irresponsible. There was no points system in place, so that wasn’t a promise he could honor.
“When you can’t take it anymore, take a knee,” Lindon said. He nodded to Orthos. “Or a shell. I’ll take the pressure off immediately.”
Orthos returned the nod gravely. “How long should we endure?”
“As long as you can. The ultimate goal is to be able to fight while resisting me, but first we need to determine how far you have to go. Whoever collapses first needs the most help.”
Ziel looked around. “If it’s about how long we each last, we could just line up by advancement level.”
“I’ll be adjusting my pressure for each of you,” Lindon said. Ziel finally showed a dumbfounded expression. Did he think Lindon was bragging? Or perhaps exaggerating his own control?
Well, his doubts would be answered soon, because Lindon could do it.
Mercy shifted from foot to foot. “Why don’t we do this individually? I’m concerned it might be embarrassing if we’re all comparing to one another.”
“Apologies, truly, but I do think this is necessary. If we are to fight as a team, we need an accurate understanding of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s not a point of competition but a way to help one another improve.”