10 seconds remaining

  I felt the power of the Vitae I’d claimed surge into me. It wasn’t meant to make me stronger or faster. That lesson had already been learned. The more I enhanced my body, the more he grew in power. As the shadow of the Lawgiver, he wasn’t some long-dead priest-turned-herald-turned-ascendant. He was still a god, and his domain touched upon all of this. I wasn’t sure what the exact relationship between the Lawgiver and the Ways was, but I knew they were both part of the same system.

  What I needed was a way to channel the Vitae I had into a weapon. At first, I didn’t consider Vitae Spear because it was a spell. Yes, it used Vitae, but it also used mana to form the attack. But I realized I was being stupid. If I could shape mana, what was to stop me from shaping Vitae? This power was mine, and I was going to lay claim to it.

  I reached for Vitae Spear in the way I had reached for lightning and space earlier, shaping it manually with nothing but will and raw Vitae. Blood burned as it answered, condensing into a crimson construct that felt heavier than any weapon I’d ever held. It thrummed with pressure, eager and dangerous.

  I drove it forward with everything I had left.

  The impact was catastrophic. The Vitae blast slammed into the Death Knight and hurled him across the arena in a spray of shattered stone and echoing force. His shield disintegrated outright, and his left arm tore free at the shoulder, spinning away to clatter uselessly against the far wall. He crashed into the stone hard enough to leave a crater, armor fractured and smoking.

  I surged after him, feet pounding the ground as I closed the distance, Wayfinder leveled for the finishing blow. Every instinct screamed to end it now, to press the advantage while I still could. The crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch as I raised the spear.

  And then the pressure vanished. Time had run out.

  The anti-magic field collapsed in on itself with a muted snap, and the arena froze mid-motion. The Death Knight stilled where he lay, the crowd’s echo cutting off as if someone had severed a cord. I skidded to a halt, chest heaving, the Vitae construct dissolving back into nothing as the timer expired.

  Silence fell, heavy and absolute.

  I let it lie on me for a moment before I turned to check on the two women. As I did, I realized that time had frozen around me. I hadn’t even felt a hint of it happening. So much for an increased temporal affinity. I didn’t know what to think, but I did know that the closest I’d ever felt to this was when Jay had affected time around me.

  A notification popped up, but I couldn’t say if it was something I read or something I heard.

  You have touched upon Unity.

  Many are called. Few are chosen. Will you be one?

  Then just as seamlessly, everything was moving again. I quickly cast Celestial Restoration on Violet, healing her wounds, and relaxed when I heard her sigh of relief. Another notification popped up, this one clearly coming from the Fey System.

  Completion: 98%

  Wait, what? There were no more floors, no more enemies. Even the fake crowd was gone. I pushed out with my senses and couldn’t find anything beyond the three of us. I risked a pulse of Trailblazer’s Mind large enough to cover the entire dungeon floor in the keep and beyond. I put a simple inquiry into it, asking if there were any more enemies.

  Nothing came back, but still no XP notifications, and that stinking two percent remaining. With a curse, I realized what the answer was, and it made me sick to my stomach.

  I knelt down in front of Felania. She’d calmed down, but was still staring at the floor. I cupped her chin in my hand and tilted her head up until our eyes met. “Who are you?”

  There was a pause and then she said, “Just a memory.”

  “But that doesn’t tell me what I need to do.”

  “You already know that. The past must be slain so the future can be built.”

  “Are you my enemy?” I demanded.

  She shook her head and a tear ran down her face. “I would like not to be. The war of the past made enemies of humans and elves. Hatred sought to undo an injustice of the system, and another hand sought to use that hatred to bring change. Hatred is never the way. Nothing good comes out of it, and it consumes those who hold it in their hearts. I tried for a while. I hated those who slew my family, but I can’t hold it any longer.”

  Then she pulled away from my hand and tilted herself back, exposing her neck in a clear gesture.

  “You want me to kill you?”

  “Memories can’t die, only be freed. I only ask that you be a man of hope, and not a man of hatred.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t my world. I’m not the one you’re looking for, but I’ve met him. And he is a good man. He seeks to help those around him. He works with both elves and humans, and bears the loyalty of them and more. I’ll help where I can, but I think your legacy is in good hands.”

  “Then all I long for is to be returned to my family, if only in dreams.”

  I ached, not wanting to do this, but it was necessary. With a simple stroke faster than she could have followed, I removed her head. Instantly, the floor rumbled, and I knew I’d completed it even before the notifications hit.

  You have completed Floor 397 of the Endless Dungeon. This is a special floor, locked away for centuries. Your completion is the first in more than 3,000 years.

  You have proven yourself to be a worthy ally. Now gather your rewards.

  You have gained 215,900,000 XP. You have reached level 277.

  Strength: +315

  Dexterity: +175

  Agility: +245

  Vitality: +350

  Durability: +350

  Endurance: +280

  Mind: +315

  Will: +315

  Perception: +315

  Charisma: +280

  Free stat points: +364

  Defensive Fighting: 953 >> 998

  Polearms: 973 >> 990

  Vitae Spear (Epic 40%) >> 54%

  Precognition: 7 >> 9

  Psionic Construct: 2 >> 4

  Physical Enhancement: 2 >> 3

  Psi Seed: 4400 >> 4650

  You have received Blood of the Herald. This is a crystallized drop of blood from Astonius Serrafin. It is infused with a trace of his ascendant power and his devotion to truth and order.

  The gains were significant. I’d pushed another two of my skills near 1000, so they would hopefully gain techniques soon. I liked having techniques for my skills, and realized that I needed to put more of my time and energy into those. They would empower me even if I didn’t have mana.

  It was a reminder that anything that was given to me could be taken from me. I needed to forge my own path. That was what it meant to be a Trailblazer. The only real frustration I had was that there wasn’t any more explanation about Unity. I had ideas, but it clearly wasn’t going to be spoon-fed to me. Maybe that was a good thing. If I had to claim it for myself, it would truly belong to me.

  For now, all I wanted was to get off this floor. I had so much to tell Tad, but more than anything, I needed to feel Selena’s arms around me. The blood of a long-dead elf felt like it was staining my soul.

  Interlude Five: Here They Come

  Ryan stared at the dimensional barrier. He’d pressed as hard as he could, yet he was still unable to enter the Void. Without that, transit between various parts of the multiverse was impossible. He needed a way of escape, or a way to draw help here. He had no illusions about Silas being able to turn the tide all on his own. His friend wasn’t even as strong as he was, yet.

  That wasn’t the true source of Silas’ strength, though. Ryan liked to think that he was a team-builder, one who gathered others to follow him, but Silas put him to shame in that regard. He’d reached across multiple systems and pulled together some of the most disparate of groups to become so much more. That was what he needed from Silas now. He needed that ability to gather together.

  There was also the fact that fate itself seemed to dance around him. Maybe, just maybe, he could create an opening that would allow Ryan to cross the final threshold he needed. With the full powers of his Secundi father blocked from him, he wouldn’t ever be strong enough to challenge a god. To fix that, he’d have to dig deeper into each of his three peaks, and for that, he needed a way to travel between realms.

  Now, he was going to make one last-ditch effort. He held up the glyph-worked array which had been built for him. It had taken more resources than he’d expected, and it would only give him one chance, so he intended to make the most of it. Instead of once again trying to break through the dimensional barrier, Ryan began to spin his core.

  As it built up momentum, he felt the power of his neutral mana running through him. It was capable of unmaking so much, but now he only needed a pinprick. As his power grew to a crescendo, Ryan released it through the array, and as a focused beam, it struck the dimensional barrier.

  The hole it created would seal over almost instantly, but almost instantly and instantly were not the same thing. He might not be able to make a hole large enough for him to enter the Void, but he could send a message. That message was now crossing the Void, aiming for its target, carried by his intent and fueled by a combination of Psi and neutral mana.

  Hopefully, Silas would get the message in time.

  The past 118 days had been difficult for Tad. He’d never been worked so systematically hard. He would have cursed Samvek’s name, but it would have just gotten him more of a hideous exercise called burpees. Apparently, it was something that children used to be required to do on Silas’ world, and Samvek had deemed it appropriate for his level of fitness and focus. That might have upset others, but Tad wasn’t going to lie to himself. He wasn’t a warrior, and despite his need to fight, he never would be.

  That didn’t stop Samvek from coming at him again.

  There was no warning that a bout had started. One moment, Tad was catching his breath, the next, the haft of Samvek’s spear clipped his forearm hard enough to numb his fingers and spin him sideways. Tad staggered, tried to recover, and caught a sweeping kick to the back of his knee that dumped him onto the mat. Samvek didn’t press the advantage. He simply stood there and watched Tad scramble back to his feet.

  “You think,” Samvek said calmly, “and then you act. In a real fight, that gap is where you die.”

  The first thirty days had been a catalog of small humiliations. Tad was faster than he had ever been in his life, stronger too, but his body did not agree with his intent. Every time he tried to set something up, Samvek was already somewhere else. Every time he hesitated, even for a heartbeat, a spear tip or elbow found him. Samvek forbade flight, limited his magical abilities, and banned anything that resembled a finishing move. It was what Samvek called getting back to basics.

  It took Tad far too long to realize that Samvek wasn’t trying to beat him—he was breaking habits. But that wasn’t really surprising. He’d grown up an orphan and figured out how to fight on his own, just like he’d learned to enchant. For all his victories in battle, he could admit that luck had played a part in it.

  Samvek forced him to move until movement stopped being a choice. Footwork drills blurred into sparring, sparring into exhaustion, and exhaustion into mistakes that Samvek punished immediately. Tad learned to breathe under pressure, to keep his center low, and to stop overcommitting just because he could hit harder than most people alive. He stopped trying to win exchanges and focused on not losing them.

  The first real shift came when Samvek started using magic against him.

  Not full spells, just pressure. Raw mana shaped into little electrical charges. They weren’t even all that painful, but each time they struck him, Tad felt a rush of shame competing with a desire to improve. The latter won out. Tad reacted on instinct, and something inside him snapped into place. He reached out without thinking and tore the mana apart. The mana unraveled in his hands like wet paper, the magic collapsing inward until it vanished. Samvek’s eyes flicked to Tad’s hands and then back to his face.

  “Again,” Samvek said.

  From that point on, the training shifted. Samvek mixed physical strikes with mana feints, spells layered under movement and movement hidden inside spellwork. Tad stopped trying to dodge everything. Instead, he stepped into the pressure and destroyed it. When Samvek cast, Tad ripped the spell apart at the source. When Samvek shaped mana, Tad chewed through the flow and left nothing behind.

  When Tad became too focused on his opponent’s magic, Samvek dropped him with a clean sweep and shook his head.

  “Control,” he said. “You have an amazing ability that I can barely explain. I understand all too well the pressures of family, especially when you’re being pushed in a way you don’t want to go, but you have every reason to be proud of your heritage. It has gifted you power that most will never know. Whether you like it or not, it’s on you to prove that you’re worthy of that heritage. Those who came before you have already had their struggles.

  “They don’t owe you anything in life. None of us are owed anything. Sure, if they’re decent then they really are trying to find and support you, but in the midst of battle, you have to first be able to rely on yourself before you can be a good teammate.”

  Days blurred together after that. Tad learned to blend his magic eating with physical action so that he could do both at the same time. It was a potent combination, and he knew it. Samvek adapted constantly, forcing Tad to refine instead of relying on the same solution twice. That sparked the creativity which was at the core of his nature.

  By the time they reached the midpoint of the training, Tad was no longer thinking about magic consumption. It simply happened.

  Samvek removed the last of the limits after that. Full speed, full aggression, and no pauses between bouts. The sparring turned brutal, strikes flowing into grapples, mana pressure into sudden silence as Tad devoured spells mid-cast. Samvek hit him harder and faster than ever, forcing him to respond instead of plan. Tad was even allowed to use his Sheathed in Flames and Roots of Containment abilities, along with the various spells and traits that his gear allowed him to trigger. Samvek taught him how to use Mana to Matter Conversion in a pinch. Tad still thought of it as a crafting trait, but he could see that, with enough practice, it could be incredibly flexible in combat.

  The day Tad finally redirected Samvek’s momentum and put him on the mat, neither of them spoke for several seconds.

  Samvek rose and nodded once. “You are no longer a liability in a fight with equally powered allies.” It wasn’t praise per se, but it landed harder than any compliment Tad had ever received.

  The final month was about restraint. Samvek pushed him emotionally, deliberately baiting anger and frustration, forcing Tad to confront the part of himself that wanted to end fights quickly and decisively. Tad learned to stay calm and recognize when a fight was already won, even if it wasn’t finished.

  Their last spar was quiet. No commentary, just the two of them moving through a sequence of exchanges so fast that Tad barely remembered deciding anything at all. Samvek pressed, Tad denied. Samvek cast, Tad erased. Samvek lunged, and Tad stepped aside, removed the magic from his limbs, and locked him in place with nothing but positioning and leverage.

  Samvek ended the bout himself.

  “You still aren’t a warrior,” he said, meeting Tad’s eyes. “But you are a combatant. You end fights. That’s enough. Take the last two days and meditate on what you’ve learned, and who you’ve become.”

  Arbiter Kalix stood at the high window of the one undamaged tower in the Lawgiver’s Keep in Basetown. Repairs were underway on the part that mortal had dared to damage, but it would take time. He had to rely upon local workers, because his people were too busy in the search for this Tad, the supposed fey prince. Many called this a temple, but that was only because they misunderstood the Lawgiver. He didn’t need worship, but action. His followers were people of deeds, not meaningless words.

  From this height the city looked orderly—the streets laid out like veins, the buildings aligned with careful intent—but he could feel the disorder underneath. Panic bled through the populace in uneven pulses, sharp where rumors had spread, dull where disbelief still clung. It offended him. The law was clean, decisive, and instructive. He expected the city to mirror that law.

  Silas’ escape burned like grit under his eyelid, but not because the man had fled. That much was expected of the unworthy. It was interesting. The mortal had been a study in contrasts. Kalix could sense authority within him. Whatever dark corner of the multiverse he was from, the man had power, and people who answered to him. No, it wasn’t the escape. It was that it had happened while he’d been personally holding the man in his grasp.

  A mortal shouldn’t be able to break the hold of an ascendant. The official line was that the ascendants of the Order were the most powerful, but Kalix had been involved in a skirmish against forces of the Winter Queen. If there hadn’t been two of them and many of their more powerful mortal followers, then the icy prince they’d fought would have killed him. It was unfair, but even with the Lawgiver’s elevation to divinity, the system still favored the fey. That was but one of many injustices the Lawgiver would fix. It simply took time.

  He turned from the window and let his presence fill the chamber. The Inquisitors and the remaining Light Seer who were attending him stiffened without being told, spines straightening as if pulled by invisible strings. They knew that posture mattered in moments like this, that the Lawgiver’s gaze traveled through him. Kalix raised one gauntleted hand and the room quieted completely.

  “Enough delays,” he said, voice calm and perfectly audible. “We will end the search by making it unavoidable.” His eyes moved across the assembled members of the Order. “Gather every elf and dwarf within the city. Homes, workshops, guild houses, inns. Take them alive if possible. Make examples only where resistance is offered.”

  A murmur rippled through the room and died instantly when he looked at it. Kalix did not explain himself. Explanation invited debate, and debate was a disease. “The Lawgiver does not bargain with shadows,” he continued. “We will provide a focal point for truth. If the fey prince values his people, he will come.”