He used his full set of abilities, but he was hardly in his best condition. Pride and the others left him conscious but reeling, staring up at the ceiling.

[My Pride model has been significantly improved,] Dross said. [Believe it or not, you pulled out more of his skills during this shameful beating than the last one.]

Lindon pulled himself up. He could barely stand.

“Show me,” he said.

~~~

In preparing for the tournament, Charity didn’t have enough time in the day. There were always more people who needed her commands, enemies who needed her deterrence, projects that needed her personal supervision.

As an Archlady, she needed very little sleep. Most nights, she could go without. But she tried to keep a regular pattern of rest anyway. A rested mind, she’d found, was a sharp mind.

Before bed, she checked in on Lindon. She had yet to find him resting.

Only a few days after her father had given him some pointers, she took another look at him. He sat diligently cycling, but even through her owl, she could see that he was out of balance.

His eyes were half-open and blank, his hair was matted and unwashed, his clothes were rumpled and stained with blood, and he hadn’t shaved in days. His Sylvan Riverseed lay curled up in his lap, sleeping, and he looked as though he would pitch over at any second.

She had intended to let him go a few more days before intervening, but everyone had a limit. This was his.

Charity glanced down at herself. She perched on the edge of her bed, hair undone, wearing only a thin single-layer robe. She wasn’t suitable for greeting a stranger. So instead of ripping open a human-sized tear in space, she made one about the size of her hand.

And she slid a construct through. It looked like a dream tablet made from a purple gemstone, but it was instead a rare and valuable transmission construct. She doubted he would recognize how valuable.

The instant the small portal appeared, Lindon’s eyes snapped open, and he reached out his pale right hand and caught the falling construct.

Charity spoke through the spatial connection before it closed. “A mind needs more than training to keep it active. Do not wear yourself out before the tournament begins. That construct will be active for one hour after sunset every other day. Do not waste the time. Instructions are contained within.”

She let the portal close, but continued watching through one of her hidden owls.

At first, Lindon examined the gem suspiciously. He swept his spiritual sense through it, examined it from several angles, and then finally activated it. She could see on his face when he realized that it was a transmission construct, because his suspicion deepened.

She smiled.

A moment later, Yerin Arelius’ voice came through, speaking loudly through the stone in Lindon’s hand. “…who is this? Am I supposed to talk into this? Is it going to carry a message, or what?”

The change in Lindon was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. He looked like he’d gained a full night’s sleep in an instant, and he began speaking eagerly into the construct at once.

Charity let her owl dissipate, cutting off the vision, and settled in to sleep.

Chapter 6

Lindon sat on the roof of his house in Moongrave, watching the skies as he spoke with Yerin. Lines of cloudships followed each other in even lanes, passing over dark towers and black-leafed trees, and Yerin’s voice came from the jewel-construct sitting on the tiles next to him.

“…and I can beat Saeya so long as she keeps that sword locked away. If I had a weapon with a binding I could use, you can bet I’d be whipping her like a stubborn mule.”

The shadow aura hung so thick in the air that it tinged all the stars with a slight purple haze. He settled onto his back as he responded.

“Forgiveness, but I’m glad you don’t. I might have to fight you.”

A short laugh came from Yerin’s side of the construct. “I’d need something to knock you off track. Don’t have any surprises you haven’t seen.”

“I’m the one who needs a surprise.” Lindon’s early attempts to fight a model of Yerin made by Dross had not gone well. When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I’ve actually been working on something that might catch you off-guard, but I can’t tell you too much.” That should have caught her curiosity, but she still didn’t respond. “Yerin?”

He glanced at the horizon. Darkness had completely swallowed the sun, leaving the stars, the buildings in the city, and the vehicles passing overhead as the only lights.

Dross made a sound like he was clearing his throat. [Well, I’ve been working on something. I’m just using your brain.]

Lindon ignored him, sitting up and cradling the transmission construct. Sure enough, only a glimmer of light remained in its depths. It was deactivating on the time limit the Sage had left.

He let pure madra flood into the construct, along with a wisp of gray soulfire. He had learned early on that providing it with more madra would boost its performance for a short time.

Indistinctly, Yerin’s voice drifted through the air. “…there? Lindon?”

Lindon brought the construct close to his mouth. “We’re out of time. I’ll talk to you the day after tomorrow.” The weight of that time settled on him. Two days before he could have a break like this again. He added, “I wish you were here.”

The construct went dark.

Lindon tucked the jewel of Forged madra away, laying back down against the tile. Two phoenixes of violet flame circled each other in the sky, and he watched them as they ducked into clouds and reemerged.

Part of him wished Charity hadn’t given him the construct. Being able to talk to Yerin five times in the last week had made the time between unbearable. He’d never realized how short an hour was.

[You know,] Dross said, [I can’t tell if these talks make you feel better or if they highlight just how alone you really are. Anyway, I’m sure the best thing to do is not think about it. Just stuff those feelings way down deep where they can never hurt anybody.]

The phoenixes vanished, and Lindon realized he was lying on his own roof for no reason. He stood, stretching his arms. “I’m going to sleep early. You should, too. We have a big day tomorrow.”

[We’re still going with your plan, then? Oh, good. Good. I was worried you had changed your mind to something reasonable. No, don’t worry. Just go to sleep and dream of success. Maybe that will help somehow.]

~~~

The next day, Charity sat next to Fury in a viewing tower overlooking one of their fighting stages.

“I know this is to choose your representative,” Charity said, “but I didn't think you'd show up.”

Sixteen young Underlords—the last remaining candidates for the main Akura team—were lined up on the arena beneath them. Several dozen possibilities had already been eliminated, whittled down to this elite group.

An Overlord barked instructions at them—he was Fury's great-grandson, Charity's grand-nephew. The Underlords bowed to him and then to the tower where the Sage and the Herald waited.

The stage itself was a polished black square a hundred yards to a side, and the Akura family emblem glowed at the center. One large star and two small stars, all over three mountains. The stars and the mountains glowed purple.