The Underlord would be insufferable after this.

***

Lindon and Yerin both collapsed after completing the Enforcer Trial, bleeding into the dirt.

Now that they had reached the Striker Trial, they could walk back through the stone columns freely without the Enforcer Trial coming to life and spitting out soldiers. Once Lindon could move again, he resolved to spend an hour doing nothing but walking through the empty Enforcer Trial, just to prove he could.

The Striker Trial itself was an open field of scorched, blasted soil, with another red arch in the distance. Another stone tablet and pedestal waited for them near the entrance, and Lindon wanted to drag his broken body over and start reading the introduction to the Striker technique.

But Yerin had already begun limping back toward their caves, so Lindon followed her. The slab of rock would be there when the wound in his thigh closed.

And now, though Lindon had prepared to challenge the Enforcer Trial for several more days in a row, they were back home so easily.

The Blackflame-scorched crab meat and fiery berries had never tasted so good.

“...they tried to bury me with their bodies,” Yerin said, waving a stick in the air like a sword. Her forearm was wrapped in white bandage, as was her entire left eye and her right leg, but none of it affected her motion with the stick. “Had to scrape and claw my way out. Toward the tail end of it, I had my master's sword in this hand, a soldier’s sword in this one, and my Goldsign launching every technique I could. My madra's going out like a river, and I can barely see. I think for sure they’re going to bring me down again.”

She tossed her stick into the fire, grinning. “And then two of them turn like they hear something. They're off like arrows, and that's the straw that tips it. I cut through the rest and come through, looking for you, just in time to see you smack one to pieces against a pillar. If that's not a story worth crowing about, I've never heard one.”

Lindon's pride helped distract him from the throbbing pain in his thigh and shoulder. He pressed his fists together, looking at her. “I would never have passed without you taking more than your share. Gratitude.”

She half-heartedly kicked dirt at him. “I don't need that. Not like it was your Trial alone, was it? Goldsign did what I wanted it to that time, and I'm this close to Highgold. I know it. Didn’t have to crack my master open or anything.”

A drop of rain hissed as it fell into the fire. Another sent up a puff of dirt as it landed nearby, but he was sitting with his back to the cave. An outcropping of stone kept him dry.

Lindon stared into the remaining flames, thoughts growing heavy. Yerin stuck a hand out, testing the rain, and then slipped over to his side of the fire to join him.

She sat with him, shoulder to shoulder, for a minute or two before speaking out. “A worry shared is a worry halved.”

Even halved, he had enough worry for both of them.

“Still a long way to go before Truegold,” he said, voice dry. “What do I have left, six months?”

“I'd be cracked in the head if I said I was going to hit Truegold in six months,” Yerin agreed. “Especially if I was starting from Jade. There are ways to pump you up on the day, just for one fight, but none of them are stable for your health.”

“Then…what am I doing?”

She stayed quiet, looking into the fire with him. The rain picked up, slowly dousing the campfire, turning the dark, greasy flames to smoke.

“Back home, they'd have named me heir to the clan by now,” Lindon said. “Jade before seventeen summers. They'd call me a genius, or blessed by the heavens. But that’s not enough to keep me alive.”

She leaned her shoulder into his. “Back in your home, they stacked up pebbles and called them mountains. When you left, you slipped out of a trap. As for dying…” She gave a soundless laugh. “Not your problem alone, is it? Eithan’s to blame for dangling you over the fire; he’ll have to do his share of pulling you out.”

Yerin slipped her hand into his and gave him a squeeze. Her fingers were rough and callused. “I’m here too, for all that’s worth. Don’t want to see you buried yet.”

Lindon’s heart hammered, and he had to concentrate to control the flow of his madra. He had lived in this valley with Yerin for the past half a year, but the contact between them had been almost entirely related to the sacred arts—she would give him pointers during practice, or discuss that day’s attempt at the Trial, or help him catch food. They had both been aimed at the Trial like a pair of hawks unleashed for the hunt.

Now, this simple contact felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long day working in the snow. He squeezed her hand back without a word, and she left it there as they leaned against each other.

Together, they sat and watched the rain.

…until they heard the scream.

It started as a distant shriek, but rapidly grew closer. Yerin was on her feet with weapon in hand instantly, her silver Goldsign arched and poised.

Lindon rose more roughly, favoring his wounded leg, but he had recovered enough Blackflame madra to begin cycling for the Burning Cloak. If this was a fight, maybe some unexpected beginning to the Striker Trial, he would be ready.

Eithan slammed into the ground a second later, face-first, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Both Lindon and Yerin took a step back, coughing and waving dust away. When the cloud cleared, the Underlord was still lying there spread-eagle, turquoise-and-gold robes settling into the dirt, his yellow hair a mess around him.

He suddenly convulsed, making a choking sound as he sat bolt upright. An instant later he hacked a mouthful of mud onto the ground, grimacing at the taste.

“That was more of a—ah, let's say—rapid descent than I intended,” Eithan said, rubbing dirt from his face with the heel of his hand.

The top of the cliff loomed over them, scraping the sky. He had to have fallen over a hundred feet, if not more. “Underlord, are you...are you all right?”

Yerin folded her arms. “Takes more than that to ruffle your feathers, doesn't it, Eithan?”

Eithan spat some more mud onto the ground. “I'm not so sure. My feathers might be intact, but my ribs are going to have some complaining to do for the next morning or two.” He coughed loudly into his hand, and then inspected his palm.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, after all this time,” Lindon said. “Are you here because we passed the Trial?”

“You mean, why did I fall out of the sky and onto my face just now?” Eithan asked, rising to his feet and brushing himself off. “A wise question. I've been keeping an eye on you, as I promised, and now that you've cleared the Enforcer Trial—none too soon, I might add—I decided to pay you a visit. And as I was making my way to you, I...” He coughed once more, more lightly this time. “...slipped.”

Yerin looked him up and down. “Underlords slip off rocks every day, do they?”

“I don't make a habit of it, but it was a steep descent, as you can see.” He gestured to the cliff, which was the next best thing to a sheer wall. “Even I make mistakes from time to time. Anyway, I was waiting for the most appropriate time to make my entrance, and...well, it was raining.” He held out a hand. “Looks like that's cleared up, and just in time!”