Chapter 55

Before Scorio knew it, the next tournament round was upon their cohort. This time the winner’s bracket was fighting, which meant one thing: he’d finally get to watch Jova Spike in action.

The excitement was palpable as the students funneled their way into the huge basilica. Each of the sixty-four contestants formed their own special nucleus; Scorio studied them as he and his friends made their way to their biers, trying not to frown and quelling the pangs of envy as they went.

“Should be good,” said Leonis, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he stared to where Ravenna Accardi sat cross-legged atop her bier. “Only the very best are left in the bracket now, which means no one-sided fights.”

Lianshi tssked in annoyance. “You mean only the elite as artificially created by the House sponsorship system.”

“Sure,” said Leonis with a one-shouldered shrug. “However you want to phrase it. Though only some thirty-five of those competing have patronage. Means the other half made it this far relatively speaking through talent and grit.”

“It just rankles, is all,” said Lianshi, crossing her arms and leaning back against her own bier to form a mirror image of Leonis. “Who’s to say we’d not have made it if we’d been fed a steady diet of Fat Crickets as well?”

Leonis’s grin failed to touch his eyes. “Who told you to turn down Kraken’s offer? But yeah, that’s part of it. Apparently. It’s not enough to be talented and determined. You need political connections, and know-how to work the system to get ahead.”

“Unless you’re Jova Spike,” said Scorio quietly, searching her out amidst the crowd.

“Unless you’re Jova Spike,” Leonis agreed grudgingly.

“There’s Juniper,” said Lianshi, raising a hand to wave at a beautiful woman who was walking by. The willowy blonde smiled broadly and waved back, then she was past, half-listening to a couple of other students who were chattering around her.

“She competing?” asked Scorio, trying not to stare after her. Juniper’s dark blue eyes had contrasted sharply with her pale hair, and betrayed a steely determination that brutally undercut the genial impression she otherwise made.

“She is.” Lianshi sighed. “She was the fifth to make Emberling. Manifested this strange but awesome power—each time she throws a punch, she leaves a hovering impression of burning light that shines only in her foe’s eyes. After a few punches, her enemies are faced with a blinding wall that moves with Juniper like a shield.”

“Huh,” said Scorio, and a brutal twist of emotion caught his breath: what would his own power be? How well would it even the odds?

“There’s Nuru,” said Leonis, motioning with his chin. Scorio saw a lanky youth with skin the color of night, so dark that it almost had bluish tints. He frowned at nothing as he made his way toward his bier, three friends clearly trying to encourage him as he went.

“Another Emberling?” asked Scorio.

“Protective power,” answered Leonis. “He can tear chunks out of the environment and cause them to circle around him like mobile shields.”

“And if you break them,” continued Lianshi, “they explode with white fire. Which, conveniently enough, Nuru is immune to.”

“I want floating explosive shields,” muttered Leonis.

“Maybe you’ll get better,” said Lianshi with a sympathetic smirk.

“We’ve ten weeks till the Gauntlet run.” Leonis sighed and stared down at the floor. “Whatever I’m going to develop, it better happen fast.”

Scorio hopped up onto his bier and drummed his heels against the side. “Making Emberling won’t be enough. How many of our cohort will have reached it by then?”

Lianshi bit her lower lip in thought, then gave a slight shake of her head. “Impossible to tell. Some forty have reached it already. In ten weeks’ time? Maybe double that number? Maybe a hundred?”

“We need to do better,” said Scorio, his words heavy and quiet. “It won’t be enough to hit the Gauntlet as Emberlings.”

“What, you mean to make Tomb Spark as well?” Leonis raised an eyebrow and then grinned. “I applaud your ambition, friend, but one step at a time.”

Scorio scowled and looked away. Only to see Jova Spike. She moved as if alone, the crowd parting before her without her having to ask or even focus her gaze on those who stood in her way. Even her walk looked more like a prowl, her whole body limber, controlled, powerful. She’d recently reshaved one side of her head down to a dark fuzz, and somehow the long tresses that she combed over to fall past her other shoulder looked impossibly fierce. Especially when combined with her kohl-rimmed eyes and black lipstick. What might have looked laughable on anyone else looked predatory and imposing on her own striking features.

Zala walked by her side, hair falling in slender braids, talking animatedly to her friend and gesturing with her hands. She was short, slender, almost insubstantial, but was rumored to be one of the deadliest fighters in their entire cohort.

It didn’t hurt that she was one of Jova’s roommates, and along with Juniper one of the few Great Souls Jova trained with.

The pair of them were trailed by a column of hangers-on, some of their faces familiar from the morning runs, but both women ignored them all.

Lianshi and Leonis followed the direction of his gaze, and they all watched in silence as Jova strode past them without glancing their way.

“It’s not fair,” said Lianshi once she was past. “To be that talented, stylish, and beautiful?”

“Not to mention she got the king’s share of the Archspire’s power for making it the furthest in the Gauntlet,” said Leonis. “And that she’s somehow remained ahead of the pack despite turning down sponsorship offers from all four Houses.”

“I’ve written about her in my diaries,” said Lianshi. “She’s always been aggressively independent, it seems. It’s just her nature.”

“And prejudiced,” muttered Scorio.

“What did you read in your journals?” asked Leonis.

“It was three reincarnations ago. I met her when I was a Dread Blaze. She was a rising Tomb Spark and impressed the hell out of me. I apparently knew of her by reputation, though I’ve not read far back enough to know why.”

“Wait,” said Scorio. “If you’ve read through your diaries, you have to know about the Trials, and what your powers are, right?”

Lianshi pouted. “Each entry I’ve scanned refuses to go into detail. Apparently, I end up agreeing with the policy of not revealing information about the trials, infuriating as it is. Nor do I write down what my abilities are. Which has driven me crazy. And which past mes have apologized for, and told me to be patient about.”

“Past yous sound asinine,” said Leonis.

“So I think each time. But every reincarnation I seem to swear that I’ll reveal the goods, only to change my mind when I do so. There are even entire pages I’ve torn out. Not this time, though. I’m going to write everything down.”

“Seems you’ve vowed that before,” said Scorio wryly.

She blew a lock of black hair out of her face. “A girl can change.”

Leonis’s grin grew wide. “The ninety-eighth time is the charm.”

“Greetings, Class of Eight Hundred and Seventy-Three!” Chancellor Praximar’s voice rolled across the room, silencing all conversation and drawing attention to the far stage as before. Once more, he was clad in his official robe of bejeweled beige, and he stood, beaming, as the students quieted down and turned to give him their complete attention.

“We have reached the midpoint of our tournament, and from henceforth the competition shall only grow even more intense. Those who have fallen in battle were worthy, assuredly, but either due to fate, bad luck, or poor decisions, are no longer in the running. Those who yet remain in both brackets now have a real chance at winning the tournament, and joining one of the two elite teams that shall enter the final Gauntlet run. I can barely restrain my excitement and wish in my heart of hearts that you could all benefit equally from this process!”

Scorio stared coldly at the distant figure. Never before had Praximar’s words rang hollower, had his cheer and benign words grated so much. Scorio imagined himself stepping out of the shadows by the chancellor’s side and dislocating his jaw with a perfectly placed punch.

“But alas. Today we witness a further evolution in the winner’s bracket, a winnowing that shall reduce the number from sixty-four to thirty-two. Each combat shall be a spectacle, but unfortunately, we cannot watch them one at a time. Thus I enjoin our guests, instructors, and fellow students to watch carefully and with avid attention; there is much to be learned from the exploits of the men and women who are about to fight before us today.”

A murmur passed over the crowd like a breeze rifling through a field of wheat, but Praximar raised his hand. “Today there are no extenuating situations in need of special attention. We shall proceed to the main fight. Instructor Helminth?”

The Hell Whip stepped forward, hands linked behind her back. “Students, honored guests, spectators, infuse your crystals and lie upon your biers! The Archspire shall convey you to the Arena, where we shall see who shall progress and who will be left behind.”

Despite himself, Scorio felt a twinge of excitement as he moved to the base of his bier and placed his palm over the crystal. He’d never seen Emberlings fight before, and the prospect of witnessing thirty-two such battles all at once got his pulse racing.

When his crystal gleamed, he leaped up lightly atop his bier and lay down, hands crossed over his chest.

A moment later the world about him changed; he stood upon the stands of the vast arena, surrounded by other students who grinned and moved to stand together in small groups.

Below them were the sparring circles, each surrounded by darkness, none within ten yards of the other. Their contestants stood at the ready, facing each other across the circle’s breadth, and Scorio remembered with vivid clarity how it felt to stand there below, to feel the whole arena watching him, the excitement, the tension, the fear, the exhilaration.

“Should we move down to the lower levels?” asked Scorio, turning to see Lianshi and Leonis close by. Apparently, they manifested in the same pattern that one lay upon the biers.

“No need,” said Leonis, hands on hips. “Just focus on whichever sparring circle you’re interested in, like quickening your darkvision, and you’ll find that the arena does the rest.”

Scorio frowned and looked back down. Picking a sparring circle at random, he narrowed his eyes, focusing intently on the distant figures. The circle suddenly swam into view, growing large and obfuscating the others, so that Scorio felt as if he were observing from only a dozen yards above the contestants.

“The rules are simple.” Helminth’s voice rang out from an invisible source up on high. “Anything is allowed. Victory takes place when your opponent yields, touches the ground outside the ring, or is rendered unable to fight. This being a mystical space, you have no need to fear unleashing your full abilities upon each other; no injuries will remain when you awaken. The fight will begin on the third chime, interfering in another combat will immediately disqualify you from the tournament, and there will be one bout. Good luck, contestants.”

Blinking, he let the magnified view fade away, and the circle was replaced by the full thirty-two. The first chime sounded, and he scoured the contestants below for the one figure he wished to watch.

“There,” said Lianshi, touching his shoulder and pointing to the far-left side of the fights.

How did she know? But there was no time to ask—the second chime sounded, and Scorio focused on the circle Lianshi had pointed out.

Immediately it swelled in size, and he saw Jova Spike standing calmly, gaze fixed on the massive Massamach who glowered at her from the far side. His robes were stretched taut over his prodigious frame, his huge shoulders rounded like boulders, his square jaw and closely trimmed beard making him look older than Scorio knew him to be.

Massamach was doing a good job of hiding it, but Scorio could tell he was nervous; the huge man opened and closed his fists, and shifted his weight subtly, as if trying to find the optimum stance.

Jova, however, stood poised and alert yet almost gave off an air of disinterest. She awaited the third chime with her hands upon her hips, lips pursed, gaze locked on her foe.

“Massamach’s no longer ranked third,” said Leonis by his side, though his friend wasn’t visible. “But he’s still a force to be reckoned with. Jova’s got her work cut out for her.”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Lianshi, then the third chime rang out.

Scorio leaned forward, heart hammering, and watched as Massamach threw himself forward into a sprint, powering his way toward where Jova stood still, waiting for him. When he was halfway across the circle, the huge man leaped into the air. Scorio thought he’d soar right toward Jova, but instead, he came down only a yard away, still far from his foe—but his impact upon the ground was devastating.

The stone shattered in a small crater around him, massive spikes of rock rearing up, but a furrow a yard wide raced from his feet to where Jova stood, a deep gouge in the ground that threw up similar spikes as it flew toward her.

Scorio could immediately tell that Massamach’s aim was off by a good couple of yards to the side—was his control so poor?

Then he understood.

The moment Massamach had crashed down upon the ground, Jova had leaped away, clearly anticipating his attack. But it hadn’t come directly for her, rather skewing out wide to her left.

Except she’d jumped right, and landed neatly on smooth stone as the furrow devoured the rock where she might have landed otherwise.

“Damn it,” hissed Leonis. “That was close.”

Jova rose from her crouch, and now it was her turn to race toward Massamach in a wide curve.

But her foe leaped back, springing out of the hole he’d made with surprising athleticism, and created a second crater where he landed, the ground shattering anew.

A second furrow flew out, tearing a wide ditch through the sparring circle towards where Jova ran, and this time she angled her approach so that she could leap clear across it.

Again Massamach leaped, and again, and each time new furrows, a yard or so wide and several feet deep flew out across the ever more ruined sparring circle to where Jova approached. The shards of rock speared up, making their edges perilous, forcing Jova to dive between them with impossible agility as she negotiated the badlands that Massamach was turning the sparring circle into.

A fourth, a fifth, and Scorio thought Jova would actually close with Massamach when her luck ran out. The terrain immediately before him had become so wracked and ruined it was nearly impassable, fissured and splintered into a mass of sharp stone shards and cracks. Jova leaped over the fifth furrow as it roared out toward her, but lost her footing and fell into the belly of one of the trenches, going down onto one knee.

Massamach wasted no time. Again he leaped back, and this time he sent a furrow surging toward her along the same path as the one in which she knelt.

It hit her full-on, an invisible force impacting with enough force to pick her up and hurl her a dozen yards down the furrow’s length, to crash and roll over the sharp rocks and lie still.

Scorio felt the blow as if it had been directed at him; he gaped, shocked, to see Jova lain low.

Massamach stood still, shoulders heaving, and then leaped again.

A deeper furrow raced toward where Jova was stirring, hurling spears of rock to each side as it went, and slammed into her, picking her up once more and throwing her closer to the sparring circle’s edge.

She came to a stop, her robes torn, her flesh lacerated, and again lay still, face down amidst the chunks of rock.

“He’s going to do it,” said Leonis breathlessly. “If he hits her one more time and knocks her out of the ring before she gets up…”

“You think she’s getting up?” asked Scorio doubtfully.

“Oh, honey,” said Lianshi, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. “She hasn’t even started yet.”

Massamach took a deep breath and once more leaped into the air. Each assault was taking a toll on him; he was drenched in sweat, and his jumps seemed to take ever more effort. But once more he landed into a new crater, digging himself even deeper into the rock, and sent a fresh furrow roaring toward Jova.

About whose form, Scorio now saw, jagged arcs of black lightning were beginning to play. She stirred, raised her head, and Scorio recoiled from the flat fury in her eyes. With effort, she popped up, drawing her legs under her into a crouch, and then leaped clear of the furrow just as it roared past her and sent fragments of rock flying into the darkness beyond the circle.

“That’s it,” said Lianshi. “He missed his chance.”

Jova landed on a section of unbroken ground and rose to her full height. She was in rough shape, torn and lacerated by the rocks, blood causing her left cheek to gleam red, one shoulder slumped as if something critical had broken. But the black lightning continued to play about her, and now she began to walk purposefully toward Massamach.

He stood, heaving for breath, chest working like a bellows, staring dull-eyed at his foe. He took a moment to gather himself, and Scorio could feel the effort it took him to bend his knees and leap again. Tendons stood out in Massamach’s neck, his whole body strained, and again he cratered and hurled a furrow toward Jova.

She stepped aside, but without any real concern. The furrow clipped her, huge jags of rock spearing up into her side, but they simply knocked her aside and caused her to stumble.

Catching her balance, Jova straightened once more and resumed her approach.

“Gives me chills,” whispered Leonis. “Watch. I bet she doesn’t even bother to dodge the next one.”

Scorio stared intently at Jova, studying her closely for signs of new wounds. Two huge spikes of stone had slammed into her side with enough force to break bone, but her arm, while sporting a new gash, seemed otherwise unharmed.

Again Massamach leaped, and a smaller furrow roared forth, shallower and with less power behind it.

And this time, Jova simply walked straight into it. Stone spikes rose about her, but she didn’t even look down. Instead, she simply paused, lowering her head as she was buffeted by the invisible force that Massamach had unleashed, and then resumed striding forth.

Massamach backed away, climbing out of the layered craters he’d created, and retreated into his half of the circle.

Scorio blinked. Jova’s side was a wasteland of trenches and chasms, while Massamach’s remained pristine. The sight when taken in as a whole was surreal.

Gasping for air, the huge man drew himself up and waited.

Jova reached the midway point and grimly climbed up out of the last crater to face him.

For a moment, nothing happened, both contestants staring at each other, then Jova resumed striding forward.

Massamach let out a roar of defiance, leaped forward, and followed his surging furrow, racing after it right at Jova. The furrow carved out the ground beneath her feet, its buffet barely swaying her, then Massamach drove his huge fist across her jaw.

The force behind the blow was palpable, and Scorio winced, closing one eye. It would have caved in the side of anyone else’s face.

Before Jova could react, Massamach buried an uppercut into her stomach, grabbed her head and wrenched it down into his knee, then laid into her with a flurry of furious blows, pounding her as he shouted in desperation.

Jova took the blows, making no effort to ward them off.

Only to straighten up when Massamach backed away, looking so winded he might vomit, and resume walking toward him.

Her face was unchanged. No—he’d split her lip, Scorio saw, and blood was trickling from one nostril, but that was it.

Massamach was weaving with exhaustion now, fists still raised, and when Jova came close enough he threw more punches which she batted away. There was no strength behind them, and suddenly she was inside his guard. Faster than Scorio could follow, she slammed her brow into the bridge of his broad nose.

Massamach reeled back, arms going wide.

And Jova leaped, rising high enough to bring both interlaced fists across his jaw with such strength that Massamach’s head spun around, neck breaking, and promptly fell in a heap at her feet.

Jova stared down at him. She wasn’t even winded. Her wounds and cuts had to pain her, but her expression was hard, controlled. Then, without looking up, she raised a fist into the air, a simple gesture of conquest.

“Damn,” whispered Leonis.

Scorio blinked, released the magnified view, and looked out over the other sparring circles. Most of the fights were already over, with perhaps five or six only left in their final phases. He gazed numbly at the fights but didn’t really register what he saw.

He was just starting to come out of his reverie when the last of the fights ended; a man whose flesh glowed with a hellish crimson light slammed his way through a barrier of rock and drove his burning fist through his opponent’s head, ending the bout, and the crowd that filled the stands let out a raucous cheer.

Scorio blinked and turned to his friends. “How can anyone defeat her?”

“She’s not invincible,” said Lianshi firmly. “She’s just an Emberling, with Emberling-grade power.”

“Supposedly,” said Leonis, pitching his voice to carry over the cheers. “I bet she’d give a Tomb Spark a run for their money, though.”

“But how do you beat her? If she takes less damage the more damage she takes, doesn’t that make her… invulnerable?”

Leonis frowned, and Lianshi just shook her head.

“Congratulations, winners of the eighth round!” Helminth’s voice boomed out over the arena. “Thirty-two champions stand tall, while thirty-two defeated Great Souls shall now move into the Loser’s Bracket. We honor your valiant efforts and recognize the greatness of the martial displays!”

“She’s not invulnerable,” Scorio heard Leonis say. “She almost lost to Massamach.”

“No,” said Lianshi, hugging herself tight. “I think she let him hurt her just to hurry things up.”

Scorio turned to regard the distant sparring circle. Jova Spike stood alone, hands on her hips, head bowed as if in thought.

Did she even hear the cheers that were washing over her? Scorio crossed his arms and frowned. Didn’t look like it. He saw no relief, no celebration, no joy, no post-battle nerves. She looked as calm and serious and composed as ever, despite the cuts and blood and torn robes.

Looked like she was just waiting, now. Waiting for the arena to disappear so that she could get back to work.

Scorio felt a chill pass through him.

Was this the woman he’d promised to beat in the Gauntlet? One who only grew stronger the more wounded she became?

A sinking sensation of doom flowed into him, and he was only too glad when the world went dark, and the sight of the arena fell away.

Scorio sat up, blinking, as the basilica appeared around him. He felt conflicted. Sobered, withdrawn. Immediately voices arose in conversation all around him, tones both eager and chagrined, and everywhere knots of students formed to discuss the fighting.

But Scorio simply wrapped his arms around his shins and sat staring at nothing, his heart pounding slowly in his chest like a hammer knocking nails into a coffin.

“It’s worse than I thought,” he said, as Leonis and Lianshi drew close.

“What, exactly?” Leonis leaned his hip against the side of Scorio’s bier and frowned at him. “You’re coming to terms with my natural superiority?”

“Jova Spike.” He said the name carefully, as if its edges could cut his lips. “Her power as an Emberling is almost tailor-made for the Gauntlet. After a certain point, she’ll become almost immune to the damage each room will deal her. Barring chambers she can’t physically pass, she’ll be able to just slog her way through, unstoppable, able to shrug off damage that will slow the rest of us down, then kill us.”

“Yeah,” said Lianshi, voice quiet. “I’ve thought about that. A lot of the Emberlings have developed different ways to attack their foes, or even defend themselves from attacks. But Jova’s one of the few whose defense actually changes.”

“Which makes besting her all the more impossible.” Scorio sank his head into his hands and fought back the urge to groan. “Why’d I make that ridiculous wager with her?”

“To be fair, I’ve been asking myself that same question since you told us,” said Leonis. “And I think I’ve come up with an answer.”

Scorio looked up, skeptical.

“Because you thrive off impossible odds. I think there’s an element to being told you can’t do something that just sets you afire. In a sense, you have a version of Jova’s power.”

“How so?” asked Scorio, still wary, wondering if his friend was teasing him.

“Think of it this way: the more you’re oppressed, the harder you fight back. Jova grows inured to physical damage, right? And at a certain point, it becomes exponentially harder to hurt her. You’re the same, but instead of damage, it's your will.” Leonis smiled sadly down at Scorio. “I think you’ll always thrive the most when someone’s got their boot on your neck.”

Scorio went to protest, then shut his mouth.

Fortunately, Praximar chose that moment to speak. “Students! What mighty feats of heroism and bravery we just witnessed! To those who lost the day, know that I am impressed that you made it this far, and you have much to be proud of. To our victors: congratulations! You shall pass into the next round and have two weeks in which to prepare for your next bout. Train, focus, and develop your strength—time is ever your most precious resource, so use it wisely.”

“Problem is,” said Leonis, turning back to them as Praximar lowered his arms, “I don’t quite see how you’re going to pull this one off.”

“Leonis,” hissed Lianshi.

“What? He knows it as well as I do. Lying won’t change the situation.” Students were beginning to drift away toward the exits, talking animatedly amongst themselves. “The equation simply does not add up. It’s not enough to make Emberling or overcome all his other troubles. He has to defeat Jova at the Gauntlet, and that’s…” He paused, clearly seeking a kind way to frame the situation.

“Impossible,” whispered Scorio, staring at his linked hands. “I know it. But this is what I must deal with. I’ll find a way.”

“And we’ll help you,” said Lianshi, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “You can count on us.”

“Sure,” said Leonis, giving a curt nod. “We’ll do whatever we can. You know that.”

“I know.” Scorio felt his eyes burn as he considered his friends. “You two were the best thing that happened to me.”

Lianshi’s eyes gleamed with tears as her cheeks colored. “I feel the same way.”

“Oh calm down,” said Leonis, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like we haven’t expressed this to each other before.”

“No, wait, I read something in one of my journals last night that really resonated with me,” said Lianshi, wiping at the corner of her eye with the base of her palm. “It was about a different group of Great Souls, but I wrote something like, ‘We are reborn without family, without past, without a sense of identity or knowledge of our former hopes and dreams. But our sole blessing is that we are not reborn alone, and each and every time can choose our friends, can choose our families.’”

Her words seemed to hang in the air between the three of them as she continued blushing. She ducked her chin, then visibly gathered herself and stood straight, squaring her shoulders. “And that’s how I feel. I don’t remember anything of my past. My parents. My home. My country. It’s all gone. It’s an aching void within me, just like it must be for you. A void that was once filled with… I don’t know, certainty and purpose. I lived my life in such a way that I became a hero, the Nun of the Red, Guardian of the Second Death, and Bestower of the Final Grace. I couldn’t have done that without drive, without an overriding purpose. And that purpose is now gone.”

She looked from Leonis to Scorio, face intent, words hurried, as if she feared being cut off, or unable to express herself fully.

“But instead, we can choose whom to love, whom to trust, whom to be family with. I don’t know why Asha spurns us so, but you two—you were the first faces I saw in this life, and in the Gauntlet, I saw your true worth. And I—I don’t take that lightly. I don’t know if it was fate, or destiny, or blind luck, but whatever it was, I mean to make the most of it. You two are all I have in this hell.” She shrugged a shoulder in an almost apologetic manner. “You’re my family. And I’ll do whatever I can to help you both.”

Scorio felt his heart jerk within his chest, a spasm that was just shy of painful, and his breath caught in his throat. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Lianshi’s shoulder and returned her smile.

Leonis’s own face had flushed, and he reached out as well, placing his hands on each of their shoulders so that they formed a triangle. “We are bound together, we three, and I hear and honor your words, Lianshi, once known as the Nun of the Red and Guardian of the Second Death. I, too, pledge to always hold you both in my heart and to do whatever I can to aid your causes. You have my word on it.”

Scorio again felt his heart tug, and inhaled shakily, his eyes prickling once more.

“I’m not one for words,” he said softly, “but thank you. Both of you. I promise the same to you both.” He paused, then smiled bitterly. “Though right now I seem to be the one in need. My help’s of little worth.”

“Nonsense,” said Leonis, squeezing Scorio’s shoulder with punishing strength before dropping his hand. “A hiccup on our journey. One day, years down the road, we’ll look back at these misfortunes and laugh.”

“Yes,” said Lianshi, nodding firmly. “We will.”

“Yeah,” said Scorio softly, unconvinced.

Leonis glanced around the basilica. “Well, it’s time we got moving. How about some training? We could claim a sparring circle in one of the basement levels and raise a sweat.”

“I think we’d be better off focusing on our meditation techniques,” said Lianshi. “We need to hit Emberling as quickly as possible, and I’ve yet to reach the limits of my ability to drink deep of mana.”

“You guys go ahead,” said Scorio, swinging his legs over the side of the bier to slide off. “I need to think.”

“Think?” Leonis frowned. “Perilous activity, coming from you. We shouldn’t let you out of our sight.”

Scorio laughed softly. “Right. But no, seriously. I need to figure this out. Just training, just meditating, that won’t set me on the path to beating Jova Spike. I need to come up with something completely new.”

“All right.” Lianshi considered him worriedly. “At least promise not to do anything stupid without checking in with us first?”

“Can’t promise that,” he said ruefully.

“And you should know better than to ask,” said Leonis. “Scorio is delightfully pig-headed when it comes to reckless courses of action. Haven’t you realized that yet?”

Lianshi scowled. “I won’t have him killing himself right after what I said. That would be cruel and unfair.”

Scorio raised both hands and laughed. “I’ve no intention of killing myself! Easy, relax. I’m just… going to go for a walk. To think things through. With a little luck, I’ll have a plan in place for tomorrow’s Eighthday, and I’ll tell it to you both over a delicious meal at some restaurant.”

“Fine,” said Lianshi, not sounding pleased at all. “At least promise to keep your suicidal behavior to a minimum.”

“Lianshi,” groaned Leonis. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

“I will.” He leaned in to give her a hug, then punched Leonis in the shoulder. “You guys go train. At the speed I’ll be progressing, you’ll be hard-pressed to keep up.”

“Right,” said Leonis, falling in with him and Lianshi as they began to make their way out from between the biers. “Because you’re a model of power and progress thus far.”

“You’ll see,” said Scorio. “I aim to hit Emberling before my next fight.”

“Means you’ve got a week,” said Leonis.

“You can do it,” said Lianshi.

“One way to find out,” said Scorio, and he turned left as they passed through the archway, just as his friends turned right, and left them behind.