Chapter 51

“Faster!” Marrowsven said as she burst ahead of Pyre and Balefor, in a full-on sprint now.

Balefor grunted and picked up his speed.

Something was changing at what was increasingly starting to look like the epicenter of the realm collapse, the Deep Nether no longer swallowed in near-total dark.

Light bled through it. At first it was only a dim wash, a dull glow that outlined the floating landmasses in pale relief. Then it strengthened. Shadows still clung to the craters and fissures, but everything now had color—rust-red stone, streaks of black glass, pale mineral veins trickled across the terrain.

Distant fragments of broken realms hung suspended in the vastness, their surfaces cratered and illuminated. Farther out, faction banners shimmered with renewed clarity. Claimfields that had once been little more than silhouettes now were defined color and movement.

The light helped. For once, the three Unclaimed could see where they were running.

They angled wide around a swath of stone where a narrow black banner rimmed in red snapped violently in the rising currents of Anima.

“We just stay south of it,” Balefor said between breaths, “and I hope that will be enough.”

“Got it!” Pyre kept jogging, focus narrowed to the ground ahead and to Marrowsven’s swift form cutting across the ridgeline.

He swallowed the notion that he had been weak for leaving the Butcher’s Court confrontation. His Defiance stirred inside him. It wanted to turn back, to prove something, to make sure they didn’t escalate this later in Aevum.

Even if we had defeated them with the Farbound Delegation’s help, would they have let us walk? Is Lyra really an ally, or was she protecting her own?

Pyre didn’t know.

“We’re safer here,” Balefor said a few minutes later, easing into a jog. “Marrow, I need a moment to…” He searched for the word. “Recalibrate.” He came to a stop and turned to Pyre. “That was impressive back there, right? Lyra. Good on her!”

“I was thinking the same,” Pyre said.

Balefor ran a hand through his mane. “And bad on me. I really need to trigger my Domain Trial. It feels like I’m falling behind.”

“When we get back to Aevum,” Pyre said.

“Yes. When we get back, or rather, if we get back.” His nostrils flared as he sampled the air. “We are on the right path now, though. At least that’s something. And it appears that we’re at the precipice of the collapse.” He gestured toward the deepening light ahead. “I’m just hoping if the realm comes wrapped in a bubble, the explosion doesn’t send us to the outer reaches of the Deep Nether again.”

“Maybe we should find cover somehow,” Marrowsven suggested.

“Maybe.” Balefor’s tone hardened. “The Unmoored were unclear about that. But what do you expect from resource pirates, no? And hey, at least we’ve got a mysterious sarcophagus to look forward to.”

“And whatever is in the wooden box,” Marrowsven added, a rare smile touching her face as she turned to them.

“A sarcophagus and a wooden box.” Balefor looked at her curiously. “Did I say something?”

“No.” Her clawed hand grazed her chest. “I just wanted to thank you both—for what you did back there.”

“That wasn’t really us,” Pyre said. “It was mostly Lyra.”

“All Lyra, really,” Balefor said. “At least until their leader started beating the mist-asshole back with her chalice.”

“You acted,” Marrowsven reminded him. “And you would have fought for me.” She lifted her chin slightly. “I did not expect that.”

“We can’t have our favorite assassin being kidnapped by a bunch of mindless butchers, now can we?” Balefor quipped. “We’re the last three Unclaimed—well, there’s Kesh too, but you know what I’m saying. We need to stick together.”

Marrowsven’s eyes flicked briefly toward him, amused. “Another reason I will need to visit the Ledger Kin once we return,” she said. “I’m sure Sister Halcyon will know something of the sponsorship contracts used by the factions and if they hold some claim over me, which I doubt they do.”

“If anyone knows anything, it will be her,” Pyre said.

“Eh, we might get lucky,” Balefor said. “The Butchers were taking advantage of the fact that we’re out here in the middle of nowhere. You might not have to deal with them at all once we’re back in Aevum.”

“I doubt that,” Pyre said quietly. “They’re cultists. I assume they hold grudges.”

Balefor shrugged. “Then let them hold their grudges. But maybe after my Domain Trial.” He flashed a grin. “Well, shall we?”

They pushed forward again, Balefor taking the lead now that his bearings had settled. The three came to a great crater, the light allowing them to see that there were several shadowyrm nests within, the beasts quietly moving over one another.

Balefor motioned them away from the crater, and they swung wide, picking their way through a strange landscape with sandy hills rising out of nothing, the ground beneath their boots shifting as they pressed on.

Eventually, they curved back toward the line they had been loosely following earlier, where they traveled across a surface that felt like a frozen lakebed, the surface dense enough to ring faintly underfoot.

Ahead, a triangular banner rimmed in gold snapped against the twilight of the Deep Nether.

Pyre stopped despite knowing that they would eventually reach it, that it was directly in their path.

“The Heavenly Host,” he said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Balefor replied immediately.

“Yeah? What am I thinking?” Pyre asked, turning to the lion-man.

“You’re thinking about storming straight up to the front of their faction and calling someone out for not saving Farreach. And if we’re being honest, maybe there’s a time when I’d join you in doing something crazy like that, because it sounds like a good time, and I’d be just as pissed as you if something I’d prayed to my entire life abandoned me at the end. But let’s not do anything rash.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” Pyre said, forcing the anger back down.

“Sure, you weren’t.” Balefor adjusted his grip on his greataxe. “But if you were, know that I’d be there with you if and when the timing is right. For now, we just stay on this path. We should—” He groaned. “Ah, bloody hell.”

Three winged figures rose from the distance and turned toward them.

For a heartbeat they looked like the Synod of Yore, dark silhouettes with outstretched wings. Then the light caught stark white hair whipping behind the lead figure, who bore the insignia of the Heavenly Host on his armor. He was joined by a large, shirtless man, his body covered in scars and a third figure, a woman who glided slightly above and behind the pair, their formation tight and deliberate.

“Windscar,” Pyre said.

“And… Urosh? What are they doing with the Heavenly Host?” Balefor asked. “Didn’t they join the Radiant Fold?”

“It looks like we’re about to find out,” Marrowsven said, who was just about to summon her Sigil when Balefor stopped her.

“I know this is going to sound strange coming from me,” he told her, “but let’s see what they have to say first. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I’m guessing it’s going to be. After all, Saejin let us pass, and Lyra did as well.”

“We don’t know what Lyra was going to do,” Marrowsven said.

“She fought for us, didn’t she? I’m sure she would have let us pass in the end,” Balefor told her. “And what a turn of events,” he said, motioning toward the three incoming figures. “Imagine a scenario in which I’ve become the voice of reason. Ha! Just…” He glanced between the two of them. “Let me do the talking. I have my ways.”

Windscar landed a few seconds later, his newfound wings folding behind him.

A slow smile spread across his sharp features as Urosh touched down behind him, and a woman settled at his other side. Markings ran in a straight line down her face, from forehead to her chin, the small chains dangling from her ears catching the light of the Deep Nether.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite bastard,” Balefor told Windscar, opening up with his double-edged charm. “Long time, no see! I must say, I really like your wings. A bit feminine for my taste, but—”

“I thought you joined the Radiant Fold?” Pyre asked Urosh, completely ignoring the sneer on Windscar’s face as he took in the three of them.

Urosh’s jaw tightened, the big man avoiding eye contact with the three of them. The brute looked the same as Pyre remembered, yet he now had a great set of folded wings and a triangular emblem near his collarbone indicating he was part of the Heavenly Host.

“It looks like we have trespassers,” Windscar told the woman to his left as he ignored Balefor entirely. “Please, Josephine, remind me of the rules of engagement when we encounter those who have crossed into our claimfield.”

“Custody or soul execution,” she said evenly.

Windscar cocked his head. “Huh. Are you certain? All I remember hearing was soul execution, especially if they aren’t part of any approved factions.”

“How would you know that?” Balefor asked. “Windscar, you never mentioned your bastardhood. We wondered, you know. Five old friends should be more forthcoming. We just had a run-in with—”

“Enough,” Windscar cut in. “You carry no banner, unless you’re concealing it, which would violate the conventions governing a realm collapse. You are factionless.” His gaze shifted slightly. “Factions operate under certain constraints at this stage. Members of the Light Pantheon operate under more. But, unless I’m mistaken, Josephine, these three fall outside those boundaries.”

“They do,” she said.

“And if I recall, if I look back at the few pointless days I spent with the Ledger Kin, the three of you were especially useless, so it would make sense that you wouldn’t be sponsored.” His slit eyes dropped to Pyre. “For that matter, one of you shouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

The words struck harder than Pyre expected as Farreach flashed in his mind, as he watched Daedalus kill himself after Heavenly Host’s silence, as the Swordsman killed him, sending him through Shriving and later to Aevum. A fire lit deep within him, Pyre white-knuckled by the point Marrowsven spoke.

“We have no conflict with you or the Heavenly Host,” she said calmly. “We are only moving through so we can reach our gate and return to Aevum.”

“You have a gate?” Windscar asked, genuinely surprised. “How? How do three Unclaimed—”

“We came with the Unmoored,” Balefor said.

“The who?” Windscar tilted his head toward Josephine, who murmured a brief explanation.

“Ah,” Windscar said. “So not an official faction and certainly not part of a pantheon. You three hopped a ride with an unsanctioned band of pirates. Isn’t that something! In that case, soul execution would be the only way to solve this little conundrum, especially if you’re pirates.” His smile sharpened. “We can’t have pirates.”

“No, we can’t,” Josephine said. “Especially the Unmoored.”

“You know,” Windscar said, glancing at her. “We could get creative. I do have something in mind that might not be as fun as soul execution, but it would be equally entertaining.

“Cut the games,” Balefor said, dropping any charm he’d shown previously.

Windscar leaned forward a few inches. “No, no, my feisty lion friend. Hear me out. What about this? Rather than soul execution, let’s have a little fun here. Fealty never hurt anyone.” He gestured to the three. “Down on your knees, all of you. Place your foreheads on the ground and accept that I and the Heavenly Host are your superiors. Do that, and perhaps we will let you pass.”

Urosh grunted from behind him. “I don’t know—”

“Quiet,” Windscar snapped. “You shouldn’t be here either. Do not forget that the Radiant Fold dumped you onto us through an old exchange treaty within our pantheon.”

“They traded you as well,” Urosh said.

“For different reasons, you fool.” His gaze slid back to the three Unclaimed. “No, I like this. On your knees. All of you.”

Pyre felt something twist deep inside him. It surged upward, feeding into his Sigil before he consciously called it.

“No,” Pyre told Windscar, the word tearing free before he could temper it.

Fire roared up around him as his broken blade flared into existence. Fire roared up around him as his broken blade flared into existence. The flame thickened, settling into a fierce, controlled burn.

“Looks like we’re doing this,” Balefor said as his greataxe manifested beside him with a heavy flash of Anima and Marrowsven’s bone blade slid into her grip without a sound.

“We don’t accept your bullshit superiority,” Pyre told Windscar, voice steady despite the heat curling around him, “and we certainly won’t kneel to the depraved Heavenly Host.” He pointed the broken black blade at Windscar. “Out of our way, now.”