Chapter 22

Once again, the long table in the common space had enough food on it to feed an army. Kesh sat slouched near the center, a bottle of wine in hand, his expression distant and faintly disappointed as he swirled what remained inside. Whatever comfort it once offered had thinned.

Balefor occupied the far end, broad shoulders hunched forward as he tore into a slab of roasted meat, grease shining along his fingers. Lyra sat across from him, posture composed, movements economical as she cut smaller portions and ate with deliberate restraint.

“Grab a plate!” Balefor told Pyre with a cheerful roar, bits of enthusiasm carried on his voice as easily as the sound itself.

“I’m not hungry,” Pyre said as he finished stepping out of his room.

It wasn’t a lie. His body felt intact, rested even, but there was no pull toward the food, no desire for comfort, no sense that eating would ground him in any meaningful way.

The lion-man licked his fingers, mane shifting as he leaned back. “In that case, head downstairs. Urosh is already there. We were just making our way down.”

“Will do.” Pyre greeted both Kesh and Lyra before heading for the stairs, his thoughts lagging behind his feet: the Font of Eternity, the Shepherd and his manor, the walk back with Sura, the way Aevum had seemed vast and transactional all at once.

He wanted to talk about it with the others, to give shape to the thoughts crowding his head, but not here. Not yet.

He reached the lower chamber and found Urosh in its center, the big man’s feet planted, hands crossed in front of his body. His muscles bulged slightly beneath his skin, cords of power held in check and there was a hardness to his expression, not anger exactly, but vigilance.

“Hey,” Pyre said.

Urosh turned toward him, eyes sharp, measuring until they suddenly relaxed. “I don’t believe we’ve spoken to each other yet.”

“No, we haven’t.”

Urosh started to grin and stopped himself. “Sorry. I’m quiet.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“But we’ll have more time now.”

Pyre frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“There are fewer of us.”

Before Pyre could ask what he meant, Sister Halcyon entered the space, her presence cutting through the quiet with practiced ease. A thin smile rested on her face, neutral and controlled. Almost at once, heavy footsteps followed as Balefor came stomping down the stairs, Lyra trailing after him with her usual smooth grace. Kesh brought up the rear, bottle still in hand until he got halfway down, looked at it, and realized he should leave it behind.

“Good, you are all here,” Sister Halcyon said once Kesh had rejoined them.

“All of us?” Pyre asked her.

“Windscar, Saejin, and Marrowsven have taken sponsorships with some of the factions.”

“Which ones?” Balefor asked her.

“Windscar with the Radiant Fold; Saejin with the Named Mothers; and Marrowsven with the Butcher’s Court. But that’s not what’s important,” Sister Halcyon told them. “For our increasingly small group, we will continue working on Domain Attunement and Anima Management until you either start your Domain Trial or a faction takes you under its wing and you start your Domain Trial with them. And in case you are wondering, yes, sponsorships don’t always work out; some may return later.”

“Will they come to view us again?” Lyra asked her. “The factions?”

“Possible. Different factions may come. Maybe I wasn’t clear yesterday, but I personally don’t think sponsorship this early is a good idea. It’s best to finish your Domain Trial.”

Lyra smiled, an expression that suggested her expectations had already been met.

“Come,” Sister Halcyon told them with the sweep of her hand. “We will return to the plaza we were in yesterday and begin Attunement.”

She turned without ceremony, and they followed her out, footsteps echoing faintly against the crystalline floor. Urosh took up the rear, silent as ever, while Pyre ended up in the middle, where he heard Lyra speak briefly with Balefor.

“I’m surprised you didn’t get a sponsorship,” she whispered as they reached the end of the hallway.

“It’s not that simple,” came his vague reply.

“But the Radiant Fold—”

“Later,” Balefor told her.

Pyre glanced at the lion-man. Balefor didn’t look angry; if anything, he looked as though something had failed to align, not broken, but missed by a narrow margin.

There was no chance for Lyra to press further as they entered the outdoor train space, and Pyre immediately noted the change. The platform area had been reconfigured. Three larger platforms now stood in a broad arc, their surfaces etched with faint symbols that pulsed almost imperceptibly. Attendants lined the perimeter at even intervals, watchful and deliberately unobtrusive.

“In the stages before a Sigil matures,” Sister Halcyon said, turning to them, “combat can be messy and painful. Yet it is crucial because it allows you to better understand your Sigil and eventually trigger a Domain Trial, which, if passed, will solidify your Sigil so it looks like mine”—she summoned her staff with the bell at the end—“rather than be transparent like all of yours currently are.”

“Aside from our dear Pyre,” Kesh said, back to his merry self.

“Yes, a unique case,” Sister Halcyon said. “You may remember that your Sigil and your recovery are fueled by Anima, the same energy source you will be burning off today. How, then, do you gain more Anima?” she asked as her Sigil faded.

“By your soul’s natural growth as it refines its identity, strengthening your Domain and maturing your Sigil,” Balefor said.

“Correct. The most effective way to restore your Anima is at the Font of Eternity. Sitting or standing before it serves two purposes. First, it replenishes your Anima. Second, it exposes your soul to the Nether’s pressure, allowing your Domain to attune. Do you see the cycle yet? Your Sigil is fueled by Anima. Anima is limited by the depth of your soul, which is defined by your Domain. And your soul is shaped by how much pressure it can endure before it changes.”

Pyre narrowed his eyes slightly as the explanation unfolded, pieces clicking together one by one.

“This is why there is so much space around the Font of Eternity,” Sister Halcyon explained. “It’s for all ascended souls to be able to gather, refuel, and connect to the spiritual pressure of the Nether. This pressure is important. Enough of it can help your Domain grow deeper into its theme, stabilize your Sigil, and eventually initiate the Trial.”

She paused for questions, her gaze shifting to Pyre. He shook his head quickly, and she continued.

“Finally, I should remind you that while you can train together, a Domain Trial is not something you tackle together. It happens when your soul can no longer remain as it is.”

“Does this mean we could simply sit in front of the Font until our Trial is triggered?” Kesh asked Sister Halcyon. “I’ve been wondering that, you know.”

“People have done that before, but in my opinion, doing so can create too much pressure too quickly. You want your Anima to deplete, so you’ll get a better feel for it when you recover. Depleting it fully or overcharging it can force your Sigil to weaken and eventually crack or, worse, shatter. But the Font is generally helpful, especially if you are injured. It will speed your recovery.”

“A question for those of us who have had our Sigils crack but haven’t spent much time near the Font,” Kesh said. “How? How do our Sigils reform? I assumed it had something to do with the Font’s radiant Anima reaching us here.”

“That is correct, yes. But stronger effects are experienced closer to the Font.” Sister Halcyon brought her hands together. “You may be wondering why combat helps. Combat forces you to learn more about your Sigil. It depletes your Anima, which is replenished by your time around the Font, which also aids your Domain’s growth. We will work on that together, later, around the Font. But for now, we should begin.”

She paused, then gestured with practiced precision.

“Pyre of Farreach and Rinpoche Kesh,” Sister Halcyon said. “Please head to the platform on my right. Balefor and Urosh, the platform on my left. Lyra, you may join me on the center platform.”

Pyre stepped onto the platform, and Kesh joined him.

“This should be interesting,” the bard said as he produced his lute.

“Before you begin,” Sister Halcyon told them all. “Remember you are here to test each other, to help each other grow, but not to hurt one another. There are attendants standing by if this happens. Pay close attention to your power and stamina. As I’ve already told you: a cracked Sigil isn’t the end of the world, but a shattered one is.”

Pyre summoned his black sword and watched the flames gather along its broken edge, heat rolling outward in low, steady waves. The fire settled, deliberate and contained, as if waiting for direction rather than release.

Across from him, Kesh lifted one hand and conjured his lute.

The bard’s Sigil formed without sound or spectacle, its shape resolving into something almost surreal, entirely transparent save for a faint, glassy sheen along its strings and frame. Light passed through it cleanly, bending just enough to prove it was there at all.

“Are you going to put me to sleep?” Pyre asked as he brought his weapon to the ready. “Well?” he asked when Kesh didn’t respond.

The bard grinned. “I think it’s time to try something else. Ready?”

Pyre never got the chance to answer. Kesh lunged, the lute snapping through a short, brutal arc that cracked across Pyre’s face and sent him straight to the ground.