Lindon’s imagination spun ahead of him. How powerful would his children be? He might leave behind an ability that outshone even the Arelius detection web.

He noticed Suriel watching him, running armored fingertips over the smoky lines that drifted across the back of her arm. “You could leave behind a bloodline that has all the advantages you lacked. They would have a much easier start than you did. But how many people, from powerful families with unending resources, have made it as far as you have so quickly?”

The gray ghost of a woman appeared over her shoulder and began to speak, but Suriel stopped it with a gesture. “The legacy you inherit is nothing compared to the legacy you leave behind.”

Suriel waved to her ghost, exchanging words with it that Lindon was not permitted to understand. That left him to his thoughts, chewing over her words.

When their incomprehensible conversation ended, Suriel sighed and turned back to Lindon. “Even here, we don’t have unlimited time. But I hope this has helped you.”

Lindon pressed his fists together and stood so he could bow deeply. “I cannot express my gratitude enough.”

The Abidan continued softly. “I’m sure you remember what I said before. Any sage will tell you that every Path boils down to one: improve yourself. But you’re a Sage yourself now. You should know the rest.”

She stood from her own chair, lifting his face to meet hers. “You improve yourself, but not for yourself alone. For a greater purpose.”

“Apologies,” Lindon said, “but this is my purpose.”

“No, this was your goal. Not your purpose.”

“So then…what is it?”

She rested her hand on his shoulder, and rather than a messenger of the distant heavens, he saw her as a friend lending him encouragement.

“You have the chance to show me that. Wei Shi Lindon…show me the future.”

[—here! You’re just a guest! You—Lindon! Where did you go? Wait, are you back? Is it really you? Say something that only the original you, and not an exact, perfect copy of yourself, would ever say.]

Lindon didn’t say anything.

With a brief effort of will, he opened a void key. Not his. Sophara’s.

Ekeri’s armored Remnant growled at Lindon as he entered, but he wasn’t here for her. At his intention, natural treasures began to rise from their sealed, scripted chests all around the room.

There were two here that were more powerful than the others: a source of water and fire aura. They were sealed off now, in scripted jars of their own, but he could still feel them.

For this, he didn’t need them. He needed balance. He gathered up some of the weaker treasures, matching them effortlessly to one another and burning them for soulfire. He needed to top himself off for this, and he had used up some of his soulfire. More had leaked away under the influence of Sacred Valley’s suppression field.

When he had replenished himself, he began to arrange stronger treasures in a circle around him.

[Advancing won’t be an advantage inside the suppression field,] Dross pointed out. [We’ll just lose power faster.]

But it will help against the Titan.

[“Help” is such a strong word.]

Advancing to Overlord to fight a Dreadgod was like a child bringing two sharpened sticks to fight a tiger instead of one, but Lindon would take everything he could get.

Someone sidled up beside him, but Lindon had felt him on his way. “You should stand back,” Lindon said. “If I make a mistake, you could be hurt.”

“Don’t make a mistake,” Orthos said before crunching into an empty wooden chest that had recently contained a natural treasure.

Lindon nodded absently. He was already hesitant to waste time advancing when every second counted, but the better prepared he could be, the more people he could save.

When the treasures had been arranged neatly around him, Lindon felt the soulfire in his spirit begin to resonate. The aura that blew in from Moongrave, rich and thick compared to Sacred Valley, shook in harmony with his soul.

And Lindon prepared himself with the words he had figured out days before. The Underlord revelation was about what motivated you to begin, but the Overlord revelation was who you were now.

“I…advance,” Lindon said.

He moved forward, onto the next challenge, no matter what stood in his way.

Even the Wandering Titan itself.

The aura shook around him, the treasures burned to colorless fire, and they swirled through him. Unlike his Underlord revelation, which felt like it had deconstructed and rebuilt him from head to toe, this advancement was a cleansing.

The soulfire passed through him in a hot wind, searing and comforting at once. His channels grew stronger, his cores flared brighter, and the lingering weakness from his time in the suppression field was washed away.

In seconds, Lindon walked away as an Overlord. He could have imagined it, but it seemed that Ekeri’s Remnant nodded to him.

Orthos stayed where he was, watching the other natural treasures. “I would like to use these.”

The turtle would need soulfire too, but Lindon didn’t at the moment. All the other tools he required were in his personal key.

He took the golden ring on its cord off his neck, putting Sophara’s void key around Orthos’ head. Then he rested his hand on the turtle’s shell.

“I’m glad we found you,” Lindon said quietly.

“I was never lost.”

Lindon walked back out of the void key, where of course everyone had felt his advancement. Yerin gave him a lopsided smile and gripped her sword, ready to fight. Mercy nodded, but she looked worried. Eithan stroked his chin thoughtfully.

Lindon held up one hand to Mercy, and she tossed him the scripted stone.

“Hold on a moment,” Eithan said, but he was standing too far away.

Lindon caught the stone and focused his will. He met Yerin’s red eyes. “I’ll see you soon.”

The horrified realization had only just appeared on her face when she lunged for him, but she couldn’t stop him that way. She would have been better off standing in place and pitting her willpower against his.

“Return,” Lindon commanded himself.

In a rush of blue, he vanished.

With every swing of his spear, Jai Long cursed himself. He was a fool.

They should have left the second they knew a Dreadgod was involved. Why had they ever stayed to take their chances?

Now they were miles outside of Sacred Valley, but the world was still a nightmare battlefield. The forest around them—their leaves only slightly tinged black with the corruption of the Desolate Wilds—had been completely leveled. The battle between the Dreadgod and the giant had devastated the landscape for as far as he could see; footprints left lakes, and he could see straight through a hole in a far-off mountain.

Or he could, if he could spare the attention to look.

Each sweep of his spearhead traced white light behind it, and the Stellar Spear madra came alive with the will of the Remnant who had long ago infested him. The Striker technique became a snake that sought out enemies, drilling through their head or chest.

But there were always more bloodspawn.

Jai Chen directed Fingerling, who breathed his strange pink madra over a bloodspawn that looked like it had been made from scarlet scissors strapped together to walk like a man. Fingerling’s breath didn’t behave like fire, or even fire madra, but like a dense cloud that passed over the jagged spawn and dissolved it.