He held out the blindfold with one finger.

“Maybe one of the others will be some kind of challenge with this on,” Yerin said, stuffing the blindfold away. “You're not going to tell me that there are six more levels of this training, are you?”

He shook his head. “This is entirely up to you. The more you restrict your physical senses, the more you will get out of this training. You might reap a greater reward than I did; blindfolds are only so effective for me, you see.”

Naru Saeya still sat in a cycling position, eyes distant.

Yerin returned her attention to the Akura clan box. “That's enough about me. What did they pack for you?”

He still hadn't leaned over to look through the chest. “Combat records and manuals from the main House Arelius on the Rosegold continent. I mastered most of these as a child. Still, it can be nice to see something from one's ancestral home.”

“Thought you grew up here.” Yerin snatched a dream tablet from the box.

“I was born there, raised here, and then returned there as an adult for a number of years. Most of those I knew on the other side are gone, but I have a message I'd like to deliver to the others.”

In spite of herself, Yerin was curious. “What message?”

“I will tell them to hold on,” Eithan said softly. “Help is coming.” Something in the box caught his attention, and he reached down, brushing aside his manuals to find a letter. “Ah, and look, a letter from the Sage herself. She hopes that we will find these simulated opponents useful...some other things, I'm not entirely interested...and intends to retrieve us in approximately eight months after the Rising Earth and Frozen Blade teams.” He tossed the letter down. “Well, at least we have a time limit.”

He had to have noticed when Yerin's spine stiffened and her hand froze on the dream tablet, but he didn't ask what was wrong. He merely watched her, his expression somewhat curious.

“...the Frozen Blade school?” Yerin’s eyes flicked to the Sage's sword against the wall. “They're going to be there?”

“They're one of the larger vassal factions under the Akura clan, so I imagine they will be.”

“So the Winter Sage will be too, then.”

He peered into her eyes and for some reason grew more excited. “You know the Sage of the Frozen Blade, don't you?”

“Like an arrow that missed my neck,” Yerin muttered. “My master almost married her.”

Chapter 4

Through the eyes of her living Forger technique, a silver-and-purple owl, Charity watched Lindon.

The owls were made of her own madra, a blend of shadow and dream aspects, so they could be difficult to detect. Though Lindon was alone in the bare basement of his guest house, he gave no sign of noticing the owl in the corner.

She checked on him every few days to ensure he was following her training program and that none of the Akura Underlords had beaten him too badly. So far, he had exceeded her expectations. Not only was he finishing her training courses faster than she'd planned, his actions demonstrated obvious determination. He rose early and worked late. Even while eating, he took notes.

The pen she had provided him looked tiny in his hands, and he hunched broad shoulders over the desk. Unkempt hair fell around his face, and he wrote at a feverish pace. He was a large young man, built like her father, and that appearance could be used as a weapon.

But he was not taking care of himself. His eyes had rings under them, ugly welts and fresh scars remained in spite of his Iron body, his hair was unwashed and his skin pale. Whenever he glanced up, his eyes were dull but determined, as though he’d pushed himself to stay up all night every night.

Sometime soon, she would have to force him to take a break. She wanted him pushed to the very limit he could handle, but no further, and she had seen too many gifted young sacred artists ruin their minds, bodies, or spirits by over-training.

She removed her consciousness from her owl and drew a book from the pocket of her outer robe. She made a quick note to find a task for Lindon that might help him relax.

When she looked up from her note, her father stood in front of her desk.

Akura Fury held up a hand in greeting. “Hey, Charity! Who are you watching?”

With his wild, shadowy hair, his bright red eyes, and his huge frame, Fury should have been a terrifying figure. Many of the family's enemies found him so.

But for those who knew him, his personality undercut all possibility of intimidation. He acted on his own whim, and it was almost impossible to get him to do anything he didn't enjoy.

He looked forward to fights most of all, so advancing to Herald had been one of the great regrets of his life. Now it was so hard to find a worthy opponent. Fury spent most of his time veiled and restricted, trying to wheedle Lords into duels.

Charity let her madra flow into an orb at the corner of her desk, and the owl's viewpoint was projected into the air. Now her father could see what she'd seen: Lindon in his basement, slamming his empty palm into a scripted tower the height of his chest.

The scripts on the tower lit up, but Lindon shook his head, frustrated. His Sylvan Riverseed, playing at his feet, ran over to pat him on the ankle.

“Oh, it's Mercy's friend. How is he?” His tone was only mildly interested, and Charity knew that if Fury wasn't intrigued, he might wander away at any second.

There would be little danger of that once he heard what she had to say. The trick would be keeping him interested without having him challenge Lindon to a duel.

“His most frightening aspect is comprehension speed,” she said. “His mind-spirit should still be asleep, but he has completed all the training I prepared for the first six months.”

Fury rubbed his hands together. “Really really really…How long has he been here?”

“Three weeks.”

“Hmmm, I see, I see.” A dangerous interest gleamed in Fury's red eyes.

“But his techniques are poorly developed,” she added hastily. “I'm having him do self-guided technique training. With a little more effort—”

She looked to see how he was taking it, but he had already vanished.

Seconds later, he showed up in her projection.

~~~

Lindon turned around, surprised by the sound of a casual “Hey!”

He had been prepared for the possibility of someone showing up out of nowhere as soon as Dross had pointed out the Sage's owl in the corner, but this wasn't Charity's voice.

Had one of the young Underlords come straight into his house? He hadn't sensed anything...

[Try not to panic, but you are now sharing a sealed basement with a man who could destroy this whole city. I recommend deep breaths.]

Lindon fell to his knees when he saw the intruder: tall, robes open to bare a muscular chest, red eyes, shadowy hair, broad grin that reminded him of Mercy.

The Herald, Akura Fury.

He and Dross had done a bit of research in the few weeks since arriving at Moongrave. Fury was Malice's child from before she was a Monarch, and he was the Sage Charity’s father. He was the only direct descendant of Malice to have ever made it to Herald, and was Malice's favored child.

He was known for waging war singlehandedly. His techniques toppled cities and blighted forests. He had killed a dragon Herald, the Eight-Man Empire had a bounty on his head, and some cultures included him in their mythology as an omen of war. He was Malice's sharp sword, a legendary one-man force of devastation.