Unbound

In the lower halls of the Elderthrone Temple, Karys paced.

A thousand and one issues rolled through his Mind, each one sorted into discrete categories for him to handle. The management of the city was his top priority, though in reality he was in charge of all Nagast. Thankfully, the Territory consisted of only three cities, and Haarwatch was in good hands. Setoria was a little more contentious, but the new Lord Governor was easier to work with than the last. Not everyone could be as capable as Lady Cal.

Trade agreements, construction requests, crafting requisitions; the minutiae of governance moved through Karys like the wind in a forest. Each piece was sifted and handled, either by himself or one of his aides. Karys stopped at a podium designed for his height and scribbled a short missive. The moment the ink dried he pressed a glowing stamp onto its surface, placing a sigil below the ink. The sigil ignited, gathering strands of white-green Mana to it that pulled the edges of the parchment inward, folding the missive into a compact arrowhead shape. It shot off, launching from the podium and into one of many brass tubes set into the wall.

Karys repeated that action, writing note after note, each time using a different stamp to fold it and send it soaring off toward a new destination. Thirteen brass tubes covered the wall, each one connected to a different part of the city, from the Crafting Halls to the Bitterward. The tubes had been an invention of the Gnomish Makewrights, and it had become an invaluable resource. Yorun and his ilk had built the tubes, mounting them throughout the Temple and, where they could, buried them underground across the length of the city. That had been relatively simple compared to the complex inscriptions used to make the stamps, and according to their Glyphmaster were works of art unto themselves.

Not only had the tube network increased Karys’ capacity to run Elderthrone, it had made sharing information among themselves incredibly fast and easy. He recalled something similar in the depths of his Mind, things of such magic and grandeur that they would put the tubes to shame…but the memories were fleeting. The majesty of the Nym was Lost, never to be regained—not as it was.

That fact made Karys’ nonexistent heart ache, but there was nothing to be done. The past would forever remain out of reach.

He could only move forward.

BEWARE.A THREAT APPROACHES.

Karys started, his metal Body rattling against the stone tiles as a voice as big as a mountain crammed itself into his Mind. It manifested as burning leaves and lightning-sundered boles, images that carried far more meaning than could be conveyed by simple words—yet Karys Mind couldn’t handle all of what was being said. He could only grasp an imperfect translation.

Beware?The Atlantes Anima? He looked up beyond the star-tiled ceiling and through the layers of Temple and cliff above, his senses stretching up toward a massive trunk and a mile-wide canopy. “What is the threat?” he asked aloud.

There was no response. Not from the Spirit Tree, at least.

The Heart Of Shadows Stirs!

Shadowgate, Designation #5W Is Engaged.

Unlike the Spirit Tree, this notification came from the mantle of Authority he bore as Chancellor. Two floors below, something was moving through the Shadowgate connected to the Ghreldan Hills. His first thought was of the team they had sent to Khasma…but the Spirit Tree’s warning had him ill at ease.

Karys kicked off the ground, launching himself out of his chamber and into the wide hallway. In moments he hit the stairs, descending them a dozen at a time as his long legs devoured the distance. In less than ten seconds, he arrived in the Heart of Darkness, where the nine Shadowgates lined the walls, each carved to represent their ancient destinations. After a great deal of effort and skill, the gates had been repaired—at least on his end. The paired ends of most were still damaged or missing, and required to be fixed in person before they could function. Currently, only one Shadowgate was active, and the shimmering ink of the portal swirled out of it like a dark fog.

The fog bulged as a figure emerged from the gate wrapped in a purple cloak…and immediately collapsed.

Karys approached cautiously. “Name yourself.”

The figure shuddered but did not move. A pool of dark liquid spread from beneath the edges of the purple cloak, one marked with the burning eye and crown that was the glyph of House Nevarre.

“Soldier of the Claw, name yourself,” Karys demanded again, stepping closer. His metal frame rang as his footsteps struck the stone tiles. From closer, he could make out the liquid was blood. Karys flipped the man—a Half-Orc—over as the Shadowgate deactivated with a faint but audible thrum. “Ancestor’s breath.”

Karys recognized him, though he did not recall his name without using Analyze. Davum. One of those sent with Lavix. He was still breathing, but his Health had dwindled well below ten percent and he seemed afflicted by a myriad of Status Conditions. Karys flicked his wrist, and from his Leviathan bone right arm a compartment opened, revealing a number of brightly glowing vials. He pulled out one that pulsed a vibrant red and poured it down the soldier’s throat. Almost instantly the man’s Health started to rise and several visible wounds stitched themselves closed—but not all. As he watched, the soldier’s Health started to slowly drop again.

“Knowledge!”

A ghostly presence manifested at Karys’ side, seemingly real and yet clearly immaterial. It was a Geist, a fur-covered being no taller than a Dwarf wearing a set of ancient, outdated robes. “How might I assist you, Chancellor?”

“Contact the interim Alchemy Master. I have someone that needs immediate healing.”

“As you wish.” With a flicker, the Geist vanished.

Aenea will take a few minutes to reach this deep, but I can keep him alive until then. While the brass tubes helped considerably, Karys had other ways of reaching out—so long as it was within the Temple. Message sent, it left him with time enough to ponder this new predicament. Why is he here? Where are the others?

Weeks ago, Felix had ordered Lavix and a selection of Nagafolk and Claw soldiers to head through the Shadowgate into the Ghreldan Hills. From there they were to delve into Khasma and consult Paxus, the Spirit of a Nym that had bound himself to the Abundance Anima. The journey itself should only have taken a week at most, but there had been no word…until now.

“What’s this?” Karys spied a golden cord wrapped around the Half-Orc’s neck. It was tangled around the haft of the axe on his back, but his metal hands snapped the knot easily, and extracted a long cylinder made of bone. It rattled as he lifted it, the dull sound of something soft inside. “A scroll case.”

He moved his senses across the case, inspecting it for a hint of malicious wards, but found none. Carefully, Karys popped the seal and emptied out a tightly wound parchment. It too was sealed, this time by wax stamped with a glyph. A lily and tower.

“A House glyph?” Karys knew little of the modern Houses of the Continent; the land was too large and the Territories and kingdoms too varied. “Knowledge.”

The Geist reappeared. “How might I assist you, Chancellor?”

“Is Aenea on her way?”

“She is. Estimated arrival in—”

“She’s fast. Tell me about this. Do you recognize the glyph?”

Impassive, immaterial eyes peered at the wax seal. “In the past weeks I have absorbed all information submitted to the Beacons and thus the Librarium. This I recognize from Heraldry Of The Age by Scholar Martine Renz. It is the glyph of House Tevin, of the Ghrelden Hills.”

Karys hadn’t known Knowledge had access to the Autarch’s Librarium…but that made things easier. “House Tevin. They are the Prince in control of the area around Bogfeld, yes?”

“Correct. Shadowgate #5W connects directly to lands under the Authority of House Tevin.”

“Hm.” Karys funneled heat Mana into his fingertip, slicing neatly into the wax seal without breaking it apart, before unfurling the scroll. He read it in an instant, his Perception and Mind more than enough, and a deep dread settled in the pit of his hollow stomach. “Blood of the Lost.”

Aenea rushed through the chamber entry, a satchel of materials in one hand and a glowing vial in the other. “Where is the patient?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Here.” Karys stood up and backed away as Aenea kneeled beside the soldier. “I have given him a single Elixir of Health. Superior grade. It restored him somewhat, but his condition is deteriorating.”

“I see. He has a number of Status Conditions afflicting him, and—What happened? Was there a battle? Where are the others?”

Karys’ eye fires flared in the shadows of his metal helm. “Captured.”

“How does it feel?” Zara asked. “Too heavy?”

“Entirely too heavy,” Atar complained, tugging at the metal breastplate fitted around his thin chest. Zara’s lips thinned into vague annoyance, and Atar waved his hand. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”

“Very well.” She took several steps back, clearing the inscribed ring of sigils at their feet. “Begin when you are ready.”

Right. Atar set himself, pressing his shoulders back against the weight of the breastplate. He wasn’t very strong and his Endurance had taken a hit since his rebirth, but he wasn’t lying. He could handle it. “Stars of the Sovereign.”

Four-pointed stars of incandescent white flame manifested all around him. They hovered, moving where he Willed them to, until they matched up with the inscriptions at his feet. The wide circle, crossed by a spiral pattern of complicated sigils began to glow as the power of his white Stars funneled down into it. The Stars didn’t vanish, but they diminished as the glow of sigaldry spread inward and hit Atar’s feet.

“Astrum Revelation.”

A gleaming crown manifested around Atar, as large as the circle and consisting of several spiked tines connected by a ring of burning golden flame. It spun, faster and faster, as more Stars of the Sovereign appeared at the outer edges…and a certain arrogant madness welled up within him.

Now to banish this blazing bird!

The crown collapsed inward, sinking into the metal of his breastplate and setting its sigaldry alight. Atar fell inward as well, his consciousness sinking into his core space as it was chased by the blazing lines of his inspired array. He landed hard, but his muscles absorbed the impact with a grace his physical Body never could.

1. another attempt. this is the…fourth?

“Third.” Atar straightened, his obsidian bones still evident beneath layers of white, elastic muscles. An equally white robe and cloak hung from his gaunt frame, and it billowed in the hot breeze that flowed endlessly within his core space.

it will never work, atar.

Atar only smirked, his face stretching to reveal obsidian teeth. He strode forward, down the narrow crevasse leading further into his core space. The walls were polished obsidian, ridged and rippled by the ceaseless winds, until they resembled waves more than stone. Or the tongues of monumental flames.

besides, look at what i have helped you make.

The obsidian canyons resolved into descending, each polished block edged with gold filigree. There weren’t many steps, but each one was a work of perfect angles and expertly crafted art. They led to an area that resembled an amphitheater, an extended platform of black stone shaped into a perfect circle. Upon that circle were gilded monoliths, and inscribed with complex sigils that, to Atar’s eyes, perfectly described how his Skills functioned.

It resembled his old core space as it existed before his fateful choice to leap into the Highest Flame. The difference was in the tiny details, yet enough of them added up to a greater, more potent whole. Where once Atar’s Skills were etched into stoutly secured obelisks placed precisely in a temple to that Urge, now they stood hewn into uneven monoliths that floated freely. Their movements described a pattern that Atar had only started to figure out, their lowest edges dragging across the polished obsidian platform and leaving white lines in their wake. A sea of flames rose up from those lines, ebbing and flowing with each new pattern created. The source of the hot winds that poured up and out of his core space.

Above it all was an open sky, dark with full night and awash in stars. Two were most prevalent, acting as the primary light source in place of absent moons: red-gold and blue-white twins, stacked upon one another and illuminating the sharp edges of his obsidian canyon.

Below, in the center of it all, was a cage. Inside that cage, sat a bird made entirely of white flame, edged delicately in crimson.

i cannot be made less.

“I do not seek to make you less,” Atar said, striding into the center of his Skills. The pulsating sea of flames parted for him, doing nothing more than billowing his robes and cloak. “I seek control. Mastery. And you are in the way.”

Atar had gone to great lengths to reconstruct his core space. Every inch of it was built by his Will and Intent…but it was undeniable that the Flame’s power helped. Each bit of fire Mana that the Flame absorbed was added to Atar’s might, fueling his efforts and adding a greater weight and depth to every stone. The mini-Urge was a useful tool, but no more than that. It could not be allowed free-reign.

i offer you mastery time and again, yet you spurn me. why atar?

“Mastery for whom? Me? Or you?”

we could grasp the very moons from the sky.

Atar snorted. “I will do much more than that, and I don’t need you to dilute my glory.”

The words came easy, as did the confidence, but Atar knew it was a trap. His Astrum Revelation was a danger as much as it was a boon, inflating his aggression and…sense of superiority. He could feel it, like a presence both foreign and all-too familiar. A piece of himself, amplified. It was hard to escape the effects, so instead he focused upon his goal.

The breastplate around him was designed to work in tandem with the formation at his feet, and as Atar called upon the sigaldry in his Mind, he felt it warm around him like the embrace of his once-desert home.

“Enjoy your final taste of freedom, Flame.” Atar’s grin was so wide it tore into his cheeks and his eyes burned a bloody crimson. “Sigaldry!”

come then! exact your will upon me and watch as it fails once more!

Outside of his core space, in the true world, the array circle blazed to new life. His Stars of the Sovereign vanished, absorbed as fuel for the formation before funneling all of it into his breastplate. The array sang a series of notes that Atar might have wept to hear, had his Mind not been so incensed, and those chords rippled through his being like a tidal wave. His Will, Intent, and driving need were focused upon a single point: to change himself.

New sigils erupted across the steps of his amphitheater, each one connected to the next in an intricate web. Layer upon layer, the inscriptions appeared wholesale in the stone as if stamped all at once instead of carved—exactly as intended. His breastplate surged, growing warmer still, until the metal would have charred the flesh of a normal man. Atar barely felt it. All of his attention was upon his center.

With a mighty crash, two dozen more layers of sigaldry appeared around his core space. The cage at his center was the focal point, and immediately the sea of flames shifted into the grooves of his array, burning merrily as they provided fuel for the prison they now described. A bird of flame rattled his cage, bashing his white wings against the obsidian bars. A flare of energy met his incandescent feathers, forcing them back.

“Finally,” Atar panted. His skin had broken away again, revealing more of the bone beneath his hands and arms. “It worked.”

so it did, Flame admitted. this shall not last, atar. i cannot be changed, and you will need me again.

“I truly doubt that.”

Wearied but satisfied, Atar flexed his Will and blinked open his true eyes…only to find Zara standing over him.

“Get up!” she said, sterner than he had heard her in Ages. “Atar!”

All around her, beyond the bubble of his array, the world had become an inferno.

Ah! Atar pushed himself up into a seated position. When had I fallen—Doesn’t matter! “What do I do?”

Zara was managing aquamarine Mana of her own, and it combatted his white firestorm with a great deal of success…but it couldn’t seem to extinguish it entirely. “Did it work?”

Atar nodded.

“Then cut out the array! It’s feeding back into this, somehow!”

He reached out, intending to break the array physically, but his hand locked in place.“Flame!? Release me!”

i cannot be changed, atar. i am.

i burn.

“Enough!”

The inferno vanished, suddenly and immediately reabsorbed by Atar’s Skill. Flame himself subsided, clearly pleased with himself. One last trick to push Atar’s buttons. Yet…the array had worked. The mini-Urge was restricted by the inscriptions upon Atar’s core space, and the effort it took to command Flame to leave his Mind had been far less than before. His Mana, on the other hand, was barely above twenty percent.

Will it be so costly to control him in the future?

Zara purses her lips. “Trouble?”

“It worked. Focus on that,” Atar snapped. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before cutting off the flow from his Astrum Revelation. Instantly his Mind cleared, the overconfidence fading to a dull ache. “Sorry. Yes, Flame refuses to submit…but the array worked.”

This had been a fluke, likely a remnant effect from before the array was in place. From now on, the Flame would be unable to press Atar as it had—his moods and thoughts would remain inviolate. I just have to worry about my own Skills, he mused, thinking of Astrum Revelation. If only the boost in power wasn’t worth it.

Distantly, a voice laughed. Atar’s breastplate flared and it was silenced.

“That is good news. I can perceive an increased flow of Harmony around you now, and that is for the better. The Flame was a source of disquiet even in its most helpful moments…but I must remind you that this is a stop-gap measure. It is not meant to resolve your crisis, only alleviate it.”

“I know. I just—” A loud rapping cut through his words, and Atar glowered. “Who is that?”

Zara gestured, and the latch on the door to her office lifted. “Karys. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Being a metal man, Atar had never seen the Chancellor of Nagast out of breath, but something in the way the giant frame stood reminded him of an exhausted man. It was as familiar to him as his own face, these days. “What’s wrong?”

Karys’ eye flames flared. “The Ghreldan Hills are at war.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!