Chapter 13

Pyre drew his Sigil.

Warmth bloomed in his palm first, the sensation almost familiar now, as the sound of rushing whispers rushing at the back of his head.

The broken black sword manifested with a low hiss, flames twisting along its fractured edge and crawling up the dark blade. The heat radiated into his arm, settled into his shoulder, grounded him.

Around Pyre, other bouts continued to play out with the other Unclaimed, movement flashing at the edges of his vision.

On a nearby platform, Lyra fought her short instructor, who flipped past her strikes with impossible agility. Lyra’s clear crown hovered above her hooded head, and beside her, the cloned version of herself mirrored every motion, attacking in tandem. Even so, her instructor slid between, the creature occasionally producing what looked like a metal plate to block her attacks.

Pyre tightened his grip and focused on Sister Halcyon. “How do you want me to start?”

She remained opposite him, composed, her bell-staff resting lightly against the ground, chin slightly down. Rather than reply, she tapped the base of the staff once, magic rippling outward.

Sister Halcyon’s robes stretched as muscle surged beneath them, her frame expanding, growing taller, broader, the woman nearly twice her previous size in the span of a heartbeat. The bell at the end of her staff hummed softly, space around it bending as if reluctant to remain stable.

Pyre lunged for her, sword flashing forward, flames flaring.

Sister Halcyon met the strike with her staff. The impact warped the space between her bell, and his blade, the strike distorted. Halcyon’s Sigil swallowed the force of the blow and spat it sideways.

What was that? Pyre thought, eyes darting left and right.

In the moment it took to recover his footing, she was gone.

Now, she stood some forty feet away, her body returned to normal size, staff upright, posture relaxed. Pyre growled under his breath, ignoring the fact that the platform had somehow stretched, and charged.

He batted her incoming staff aside, fire erupting from his blade in a sudden plume. The flames roared past, and Pyre was suddenly behind her, momentum carrying him through as if he had cut straight through her position.

He dropped low, memory snapping into place—old drills, old habits. Down to one knee, Pyre shot up fast as he pivoted, narrowly avoiding her staff, which came down where his head had been. He caught it on the bottom flat of his blade, right near the hilt, sparks spraying.

Pyre pushed back, and the heat surged. He exploded forward and landed a solid strike against her side, one she barely managed to block. The blow sent Sister Halcyon staggering a step back.

A flicker of satisfaction flashed through Pyre just long enough to break his attention. Beyond them, the robed observers now moved between platforms, silent and watchful, speaking among themselves, judging the Unclaimed.

As he moved on her again, the end of Halcyon’s staff slammed into Pyre’s gut. The impact stole his breath and sent a vibration through his body. Nausea surged up his throat, the world lurching sideways. His vision blurred, stomach twisting as if he might vomit.

Pyre swung anyway. Fury burned through the haze, focus narrowing to one thing, land the strike! he thought as he struggled to recover. Whatever this is, I get through it. I get closer to the Shepherd, to the truth.

Sister Halcyon shifted her grip and shook her wrist, causing the bell to ring, its tone light, barely audible.

Even so, the sound punched straight through Pyre. His muscles locked, breath caught mid-draw. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed until it was only the two of them standing in a quiet pocket of reality that excluded everything else in the testing arena.

“You fight like the world is crumbling around you,” Sister Halcyon said, something like approval in her voice. “It is a good thing. But rage leaves openings. That is my only lesson for you at this time, Pyre.”

With that, she swept his legs out with the end of her staff, Pyre certain that she shouldn’t have been able to do it, that she had somehow changed the size of the platform again.

He hit the ground hard.

Pyre gritted his teeth and rolled, time seeming to speed up around him as instinct took over. His Sigil flared back to life into his hand before he even thought to summon it.

“You know nothing about me!” he shouted, the words riding the tail end of a strike that forced her to take a step back.

“You are an open book in certain regards.” Sister Halcyon grew again, towering and massive as she thrust her staff forward. At the last instant she spun it, the bell slamming into Pyre’s side.

He flew to the edge of the platform, where he scrambled to his feet, boots skidding. Pyre ran back in, flames on his sword growing brighter and hotter, spilling off the blade in wild, liquid arcs.

He hit her squarely; fire washed over Halcyon, engulfing her form. She took it without flinching, standing unmoved in the blaze, calm etched into every line of her face.

“Reset,” she said after the flames died instantly. “This is not a duel, Pyre—it is measurement.”

Around them, the evaluations continued.

Windscar seemingly dominated his bout against the tentacled instructor, the crescent blade carving clean lines through flailing limbs. He pressed relentlessly, aggressive and controlled. Balefor fought the stone giant, hammer crashing down with devastating force, but his movements were restrained, power held in check. Saejin moved slowly, deliberately, his eye-disc hovering protectively as attacks slid harmlessly aside.

Sister Halcyon’s bell rang again, and this time, the discordant sound it produced rolled across the hall.

Pyre pushed through it, through Saejin dropping to his knees, through Marrowsven’s bone blade breaking apart in her hands, through Urosh’s lightning blowing back into his face and hurling him to the ground, through Lyra’s crown flashing as she took a full hit and reeled with blood streaming from her nose, through the crack of Rinpoche Kesh’s lute and the wrong, tearing note it left behind.

Sister Halcyon’s bell scraped at his insides, clawing at him in a way that felt too close to Shriving.

Yet his sword flared brighter, flames roaring as he forced himself forward, teeth bared, eyes locked on Sister Halcyon.

When the sound faded, only three remained standing.

Balefor, breathing hard.

Windscar, defiant, crescent blade already reforming in his hand.

And Pyre, hunched forward, angry, sweat dripping from his brow, his fiery blade flickering strong.

Pyre went for Sister Halcyon again, not to spar, not to test, but to break the bell.

The memory of that sound burned through him, dark and sharp. Pyre struck once, staggering her. He struck again, driving in for what would have been a killing blow.

Halcyon twisted, her staff vanished, and she caught his wrist.

Lightly.

Surprise crossed her face and settled into calm. “Good, we’re done,” she said as she continued to hold his wrist, oblivious to the roar of Pyre’s flames.

She released Pyre and stepped off the platform as if nothing of consequence had just happened.

The man stood there, lungs burning, sword still blazing, one hand lifting to the back of his head as he realized how far he had taken it. How close he had come to wanting blood.

Around him, the others recovered.

Balefor took a knee, breathing steadily; Marrowsven nursed her back, teeth clenched. Saejin rubbed at the back of his head while Urosh stood again, arms crossed. Lyra pinched her nose, blood streaking her fingers; Kesh kept his head down, shame plain on his face; Windscar watched from the far edge of his platform, unreadable.

Sister Halcyon turned to them all. “You will now undergo Resonant Domain discovery,” she said. “Afterward, we will discuss the results. Remain on your platforms.”

Pyre finally lowered his broken sword, and his Sigil vanished. Even though his weapon was gone, the embarrassment he felt in nearly taking it too far remained.