She reappeared next to the Jade woman, blade drawn, its white edge pressed against the elder’s throat.

The Irons behind panicked, staggering back and preparing weapons…but none of them attacked, clearly unwilling to risk the Jade’s life.

Yerin spoke while panting. “Now…would you bet we’re here to talk, or draw blood?”

After another moment, in which she met the eyes of all the Irons, Yerin slid her sword away and back into its sheath.

The elder raised two fingers to her throat, felt no blood, and then lowered her trembling hand. “Guests don’t usually sneak in to capture one of our Jades.”

Lindon took over. “We came to warn you. There is a great disaster on its way. You may have already felt it: earthquakes, spiritual pressure, earth aura behaving strangely.”

The elder gave one cautious nod.

“It is coming to destroy Sacred Valley. We can take you to safety, but you have to leave with us.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What reason do I have to think this isn’t a plot to destroy us?”

“Because we don’t need to plot to destroy you,” Lindon said simply. He kept his spirit wide open, his madra cycling slowly.

After a moment, her spiritual perception extended from her and ran through him in a soul-shivering scan. He allowed it.

Her sense was vague and weak, but she shook when she was finished. He almost didn’t hear her whisper “Gold? All of you?”

Lindon hesitated.

“Sure,” Mercy allowed.

Yerin gave a dry laugh. “You’re short by a long mile.”

“We’re far beyond Golds!” Eithan declared.

Ziel just shook his head.

The Elder looked to all of them in clear confusion, returning to Lindon. He simply said, “Yes.”

Rahm scanned them all, and each time, the shock in his expression grew.

“Forgiveness,” the Jade woman said with a bow. “I was disrespectful. We should find a place to talk where we won’t be on display to every peeping Copper in the school.”

There was indeed a significant crowd staring at them, some close and some far away, with varying degrees of anger or fear.

As he looked around, Lindon caught note of a building he recognized. He pointed. “We can speak in the Lesser Treasure Hall.”

The female elder’s face twisted in confusion. “Forgiveness, but the Treasure Hall is crowded. And I’m sure nothing in there would catch the eye of a Gold.”

“I would feel more comfortable if we were in Elder Rahm’s home,” Lindon explained.

“Elder Rahm oversees all three of our Treasure Halls. At least let me guide you to the Elder Treasure Hall, where we are better equipped to host honored guests such as yourselves.”

Lindon realized he was pinching his void key and lowered his hand. “Let’s start with the Lesser Hall,” he said. “One step at a time.”

6

Lindon remembered the Lesser Treasure Hall of Heaven’s Glory as a wide hall packed with pedestals. Sitting on each pedestal, covered in transparent panes of glass-like Forged madra, were treasures.

As he entered now, years later, the first thing he noticed was how small the place was.

Yerin glanced around at the floor and ceiling. “Got the place all swept and shiny new.” There was no trace of her battle with Rahm, which had destroyed much of the interior before.

Elder Rahm gave a harsh laugh as she dragged him along behind. “Such little damage was simple to repair.”

His colleague entered after the rest of them, following inside only after Mercy, Ziel, and Eithan had joined them. She didn’t bring any guards along with her, though she did position herself near the exit.

When they had all entered, the old woman bowed. “Apologies for the late introduction. I am Grand Elder Emara. I have not held the position for long, so please forgive me if my knowledge is lacking.”

“You’re forgiven,” Eithan intoned.

Lindon glanced at a wooden card sitting next to a case carrying a scripted sword. Flying Sword, it said. When powered by Iron-quality madra, this weapon is capable of levitating through vital aura and striking with the force of a real sword.

He remembered it, though he wasn’t sure if this was the same weapon. When he was here before, he had ached at having to leave this behind. It had no aspect requirement, so he’d wanted to keep it for later in his advancement.

Next to it was a dormant construct, a tiny humanoid puppet of wood and bronze with arms curled around its knees. Guardian Puppet. Requires a constant infusion of madra, but can be controlled directly in combat.

Aspect requirement: earth preferred.

Lindon didn’t remember seeing this one here before. Would he have taken it, if it had been? How would that have changed his first battles?

On his shoulder, Little Blue peeped curiously. He wondered if she remembered starting her life here.

Down the row, he spotted a shining Starlotus bud. The spirit-fruit that had started him to Copper. There were scripted boundary flags, various weapons, one construct he suspected was a drudge, even two Thousand-Mile Clouds.

Looking out over it all, Lindon found it hard to remember what he’d seen before.

“Some of these are the products of our craftsmen,” Grand Elder Emara explained. “Others we have commissioned or captured. They might not meet your standards, but these can become valuable to the development of our young Coppers and Irons. Elder Rahm can explain further.”

“I gave them a tour once,” Rahm said stiffly. “I won’t be repeating that mistake.”

With a smile plastered on her face, Emara sidled up to Rahm to whisper into his ear.

Eithan held up a hand. “I’m sorry to order you about in your own home, but why don’t you speak so we can all hear? We wouldn’t want any collusion against us, would we?”

They all could have heard the two elders whispering from next door, especially Eithan, so Lindon wondered why he would prevent the Jades from talking. If they thought they were speaking privately, they might reveal something valuable.

But the elders were only getting part of his attention. Most of Lindon’s focus went to the Lesser Treasure Hall.

Ziel strolled back down an aisle. When he reached Lindon, he spoke under his breath. “This is junk.”

That summarized Lindon’s thoughts rather succinctly.

The flying sword had been made from cheap iron. Its edges were brittle, its script clumsily carved. Just by etching the runes more precisely, they could have improved the efficiency by half. And the script was so long and poorly designed that it would interfere with any other scripts added to the weapon; if they had chosen their runes better, they could have added two, maybe three more modifications to the sword.

The Guardian Puppet would shatter like dry twigs in front of the first real attack. And it couldn’t function autonomously at all, so what good was it? If you were pouring your madra into something, you might as well just swing a hammer.

Even the Starlotus bud, toward which Lindon still felt some affection, now struck him as pathetic. Compared to a real spirit-fruit, it was like a drop of dew next to a glass of wine.

“At least there’s some halfsilver,” Lindon whispered back to Ziel, who dipped his head in concession.