Yerin herself wasn't sure how old she was, but twenty had to be about right. “Thought you had to be under thirty-five.”

“As long as you haven't begun your thirty-sixth year by the time the tournament begins, you're eligible,” Saeya said. “I qualify by less than a month. That's the human standard, of course. Some sacred beasts can be almost—”

Saeya stopped. She turned from the window in a way that Yerin recognized: she had sensed something.

Yerin extended her own senses, feeling a growing shadow in the next room. It was cold and dark, like the air of the Night Wheel Valley leaking into Blackflame City.

“Akura clan likes to take their time,” Yerin muttered. They had been promised training support from the Akura Sage, and this must be it.

She strode forward, joined by Naru Saeya, throwing open the doors to the hallway outside their training room. An ornate chest of black wood sat on the crimson rug, emanating darkness. Its lid shone with the moon-pale image of a mountain range topped by three stars—the symbol of the Akura family.

A shiver passed through Yerin's spirit as a construct in the box scanned first her, then Naru Saeya.

Confirming their presence, the box opened, its lid slithering apart.

The sense of spiritual power within blinded Yerin's eyes and her perception at once, but it instantly improved her mood. The Akura clan lived up to their reputation if they were sending gifts that felt like this.

Saeya's expression had softened into something that looked like awe. “We'll have to track Eithan down to give him his share,” she said absently.

“I'd bet a sackful of gems against two hairs that he's standing around a corner waiting to pop out.” Yerin knelt to pick up the box.

When Yerin straightened, Saeya had turned all the way around to stare into the training room they had just come from. “No...he's climbing up the side of the tower to slip in through the window.”

“Counts as a corner,” Yerin said, carrying the chest back through the door.

As Naru Saeya went to the window to look down, Yerin settled on her knees in the center of the room, rummaging through the box. It was divided neatly in three, and from the feel of each section alone, she could tell which section belonged to each of them.

Small, narrow tubes leaked sword-madra, certainly containing scales intended for Yerin. A series of stones next to them would be dream tablets, and that was it for her. Scales and dream tablets, though the tablets looked a little strange, polished and cut like gemstones. Maybe that was how the Akura family preferred them.

The partition next to hers contained Saeya's share: more scales and dream tablets, as well as a small scroll with a wing on it. Eithan's section had no tablets, only scales of pure madra and a pile of books and letters.

Naru Saeya had clearly lost patience waiting for Eithan to climb up. With wind madra, she reached over the side. Eithan came drifting up, bundled in green-tinged air, hanging like a doll in invisible hands. His long blond hair dangled, and he was breathing heavily, but his smile didn't suffer.

“Good evening, ladies!” he said. “I was trying to surprise you, but I'm afraid climbing up a smooth wall using only my fingertips was more tiring than I assumed. You know, this tower is very tall.”

Saeya dumped him onto his feet, heading toward the box, but she kept her eyes on him. “You're not hurt, are you?”

“Only my pride.” Eithan stretched and knuckled his back. “And also the skin of my fingers.”

Naru Saeya brightened when she reached the box. “Top-grade scales! Before the Night Wheel Valley, those alone would have been worth more than everything I owned.”

With both hands, she picked up a jeweled dream tablet, her eyes glazing over as she sunk into it. Eagerly, Yerin started to do the same.

Eithan extended a hand, stopping her. “Don't be too eager. One of those is a sound transmission construct, perhaps for Akura Charity to contact you. The rest are training courses, sent under the assumption that we wouldn't have any worthy opponents to train against here in the Empire.”

“We don't,” Yerin said. Despite Eithan's words, her excitement for the tablets had just gone up.

“Don't we? What did you learn by training against Saeya?”

Yerin's fingers were still itching to pick up one of the tablets, but Eithan had a purpose for asking questions like this. Usually. And he hadn't touched his own pile of books.

She noticed they hadn't sent him any training courses.

“I need a better answer to fast feet and good eyes,” Yerin said. “Same thing as when I'm fighting you. If I can trap them in with the Endless Sword and stop them from running around like a newborn rabbit, I'll win. If they slip past me and land a hit, I'm dead.”

“And how would you solve that problem, if the heavens granted you one almighty wish?”

She nodded to him. “I'd take your ability. Eyes of my own give me a better chance to move. Or I'd ask the heavens to make me faster than any sacred artist living. But since that's nothing but dreams and shadows, I can double up the Endless Sword with the Shadow.” She still grimaced and felt a pang of revulsion whenever she mentioned using the Blood Shadow. “Cover more ground, give them less space to run.”

Eithan stroked his chin. “Would you like my help?”

That was typical of Eithan, leaving her with a fake choice. Of course the only correct answer was yes; how could she turn down training before a tournament in front of the entire world? Her master never would have.

“I sense that my reputation is under attack, so let me defend myself,” Eithan continued. “You are already on the right path. With or without my help, you will close off your weaknesses. If you feel that you would benefit more from figuring this out on your own, I will respect that.”

She sensed unusual sincerity from him. Cautiously, she asked, “What would you suggest?”

From within his outer robe, he withdrew a long stretch of bright blue silk, probably meant to tie a different set of his robes closed. He held it up for her inspection.

“One answer to superior awareness is improving your own,” he said. “As you fight, tie this around your eyes and rely on your spiritual perception instead.”

She almost laughed at him. “I'm not an Arelius. I can't see without my eyes, I can only feel. And only if there's madra.”

If she closed her eyes and focused on Eithan, he felt only like a mass of pure madra. When he attacked, she would feel a spike of danger, but that told her almost nothing about where the attack was coming from. Relying on her spiritual perception to fight was like trying to find her way through a maze by smell.

“Sometimes,” Eithan said, “I do forget what it is like not to see all around me.” He let his eyes drift closed. “I spent my childhood learning how not to see, how to deafen myself to my opponent's heartbeat, their rasping breath, their gurgling stomach. But my actual spiritual perception was no better than yours.”

His eyes opened again. “You will have noticed upon reaching Underlord that your senses can be cast wider and farther than ever before. I suggest you challenge yourself in an area that most Lords and Ladies ignore until they are a higher stage: to make your perception sharper and deeper. I myself took on this training, when I first realized how long the journey to Overlord would be. It's a small advantage over your fellow Underlords, but it can turn the tide.”