Chapter 27

Pyre sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, elbows resting on his knees, facing the window. The Font of Eternity glowed in the distance, constant and patient, its light diffused through the crystalline architecture of Aevum. It still stirred something in him—unease, resentment, awe—but now there was a layer between the feeling and the reaction.

He breathed out slowly and stood.

Laughter echoed faintly outside of his room. Pyre followed it to the common area and found Balefor seated at the table with Kesh, the lion-man with his feet kicked up. An empty bottle of wine lay on its side, another already open in Kesh’s hand.

“What a time to be dead,” the bard sang as he took another drink. “What a time, what a time, what a time!” He wiped his mouth. “Pyre! I was wondering when you’d stir. Are you ready for some news? Why, sure, you are. It’s just us now.” His smile thinned. “That’s the news; it’s just us now.”

“Us?” Pyre asked, taking a seat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Urosh, too,” Balefor said. “But he’s in his room, the moody bastard.”

“What happened to Lyra?” Pyre asked.

“She received a sponsorship from the Farbound Delegation,” Kesh told him. “She left this morning. I guess we’re technically missing two people considering her Domain, but it’s fine. As I said, what a time to be dead. What a time, what a time, what a time!”

“He keeps singing that,” Balefor said. “I don’t think he got any rest last night.”

“We don’t need rest.” Kesh turned to Pyre, eyes bloodshot, grin wide. “And after my experience at the Font yesterday, I want to see if it’s possible.”

“If what’s possible?” Pyre asked.

“To break my own Harmony.”

“Kesh…” Balefor started.

“It defines who I am, right? I spent ages working toward it, so I’d like to be incongruous for once. That’s what I’m saying. Rather than be in tune with everything, I want to break my Sigil—note I didn’t say shatter it—so I can rebuild it stronger. I need to be inharmonious for once, if that makes sense.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Balefor crossed his arms over his chest.

“We must push ourselves,” Kesh told him. “I would do this from time to time in my world, you know, push it as far as I could, go for days on end to see what happens. We called it a muse stampede. I suppose in a way I was doing my best to defy the very nature of my being.”

Pyre listened, unsettled. He had always thought of Defiance as something reactive, something that flared when pressed. He hadn’t considered what it would mean to turn it inward, to push against himself rather than the world.

Could that be another path? he wondered. Could resisting his own nature sharpen it instead of dulling it?

Urosh stepped out of his room and plopped down onto a seat as Balefor greeted him with a booming laugh. “To the four Unclaimed,” the lion-man said, raising an empty chalice. “May we find our way. Kesh,” he added. “Give me a top-off.”

“Gladly!”

Pyre stood first and headed downstairs, his thoughts already shifting toward the day’s training. Balefor’s Domain is Conquest; Urosh, Tempest; Kesh, Harmony. How can I do the same thing to them that Sura did to me last night?

Soon, Urosh joined him at the base of the stairs. “Morning,” the big man said, his low voice cutting through the faint sound of Kesh’s singing upstairs. “I think I will take a sponsorship, too. I thought I should let you know.”

“Who?” Pyre asked.

“The Heavenly Host or the Radiant Fold. I don’t yet know.”

Pyre stiffened. He kept his gaze forward, resisting the urge to turn to Urosh. “The Heavenly Host don’t recruit at this stage—at least that’s what I’ve heard,” he finally said.

“I was recommended by the Luminous Concord. I was out last night. Spoke to one of them. They introduced me to both factions after learning about my Domain.”

“You told them about your Domain?”

“It’s free knowledge.”

“Not really. Yes, to recruiters that come here, but not others.” Pyre forced a slow breath. “The Heavenly Host are my enemy.”

“Is that so?” Urosh asked. “Why?”

“They’re the ones who refused to protect my realm. Karastella had a chance. And I know. I know it’s not that simple. But I prayed to them my entire life, and they did nothing.”

“But you’re dead now,” Urosh said.

“Kesh was musing on something similar up there,” Pyre told him. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that things have changed.”

“None of the angelic factions seem to like one another. If the Luminous Concord recommended you to the Heavenly Host or the Radiant Fold, that would mean they did so because—”

Urosh turned. “What are you saying, Pyre?”

Pyre stopped himself. Whatever game was being played, Urosh didn’t deserve to be told he was a pawn without proof. “I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re saying something.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should do what you feel is best for you.”

“And if I join them, will you consider me your enemy?”

Balefor arrived at that moment, the lion-man stretching his arms. “What’s all this enemy talk?”

“I believe I will take a sponsorship with either the Radiant Fold or the Heavenly Host,” Urosh announced.

“Those assholes?” Balefor shrugged. “Good luck with that, mate. Everyone hates them. Then again, everyone hates each other. I believe that is one of the core meanings of the word faction.”

“Surely not!” Kesh called from the top of the stairs, the bard heading down. “There must be some brotherly love somewhere out there in the Nether.”

Sister Halcyon stepped into the room, and the shift was immediate. “And now there are four,” she said, examining each of them. “Come.”

They followed her to the training plaza, where they found the platforms already prepared. After some instruction, mostly Sister Halcyon just explaining again that they were looking to expend Anima smartly, Pyre stepped across from Urosh, while Kesh faced Balefor.

Pyre glanced up at the big man, not quite certain how yesterday’s lesson applied to a Domain like Tempest.

There has to be a way to turn it back on itself, he thought, settling his weight and giving Urosh the opening.

Lightning cracked through the air, raw and furious, but Pyre did not retreat. He absorbed what he could, let the rest glance off, kept his stance low and stable. Urosh pressed harder, anger bleeding into his strikes, until the rhythm broke and his hammer fractured.

Pyre felt the break coming moments before it happened. Urosh had overcommitted, and Pyre had not. That was enough, at least at this stage, to crack his Sigil.

“Dammit!” Urosh roared. The attendants intervened, and he raised his hands to them, letting them know that he was fine.

Moments later, Kesh went down.

“Where is your Harmony now?” Balefor asked as he helped the bard to his feet.

Kesh laughed. “Perhaps I should rest more.”

“You should all be resting,” Sister Halcyon told them, the woman still standing in a position where she was able to judge both platforms. “Balefor and Pyre, you’re up.”

Balefor smiled as he joined Pyre. “And so we meet again.”

The man glanced around the platform, then back at Balefor as the lion-man summoned his greataxe.

If I can get him to overextend himself, I will win the fight, Pyre thought. Not every fight will be this way; I won’t always know my enemy’s Domain. How, then, do I use his own desire for Conquest against him? Conquest can’t exist without something to take…

“Well?” Balefor asked. “Are we doing this, or are we gazing longingly at one another for the next hour?”

Pyre summoned his blade. The broken black sword flared into existence, fire licking along its jagged edge, but he did not plant himself, or brace for an attack.

Balefor swung at him and instead of retreating, Pyre stepped in.

He stayed close, too close for the greataxe to build momentum, too close for Balefor to claim space.

Every time the lion-man shifted his weight, Pyre moved with him, circling just inside the arc of the weapon, never anchoring himself in one place long enough to be dominated.

“What is the meaning of this?” Balefor asked, the humor soon gone from his voice. “Will you not fight me?”

“I am fighting you,” Pyre said.

“Is that what you call this?” Balefor swung again. “Fight, man!”

Pyre stepped inside the motion, close enough to feel heat from Balefor’s body, close enough that the axe passed uselessly behind him. Balefor’s movements grew sharper, then sloppier. His footing faltered, and soon, frustration crept into his stance. “You mock me,” Balefor said with a growl.

“No—”

“Then fight!” Balefor swung with everything he had, pouring will and dominance into the blow.

This time, Pyre met it head-on. Their Sigils collided, and the impact rang across the platform.

The greataxe shuddered and cracked as Balefor staggered forward and Pyre stepped beyond him. For a moment, it looked as though he might abandon it entirely and charge Pyre with his bare hands. Then he stopped himself, a dark grin spread across the lion-man’s face. “You just used my own anger against me, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly,” Pyre said, as his Sigil vanished. “But close.”

Balefor laughed softly and extended a hand. Pyre took it.

“Well,” Balefor said, gripping it firmly, “that was certainly interesting.”

Sister Halcyon skipped her customary closing and led them toward the Font of Eternity in silence.

“Please,” she said once they found a space. “You should know what to do now.”

They sat, and as he had the previous day, Pyre sank into the meditation faster than the others. Breath by breath, pressure layered over warmth, memory dissolved into sensation.

And just like before, when he finally opened his eyes again, the others had already left for the night.

Pyre stood slowly. For a moment, he considered returning to his room. He turned toward the Hollow instead.

The path to the Shepherd’s manor felt shorter this time, less uncertain.

Pyre did not hesitate when the door opened for him. He did not call out; he followed the corridor by instinct, footsteps quiet against the polished floor, and entered the study to find Sura standing near the window with someone he wasn’t expecting to see.

“Marrow?” Pyre asked, instantly recognizing the woman who had once joined the Unclaimed at the gates of Aevum.

Marrowsven turned to him, bone blade absent, posture relaxed in a way it hadn’t been since before the sponsorships. Her pale eyes fixed on him, unreadable. “You’re here,” she said at last. “I was hoping you would come.”