IGS #4, Chapter 8

Scorio

Flight.

Scorio never felt more free.

With his huge wings extended, he glided on the baking hot thermals that rose from the desert below, his body exhibiting a natural intuition as to how to angle his wings so as to flow smoothly over the rises and falls of air.

It reminded him of navigating mana densities while aboard a whale-ship, knowing when to bank, when to climb, when to dive.

But now, as his own self, it was more graceful, more natural, and he took a deep and immense pleasure in simply sliding through the winds and navigating the columns of air. He was large enough that he could throw his weight around, power through drafts and only needing to adjust minutely to accommodate the more powerful gusts.

What would it be like to fly through the Wind Wall back on the Rascor Plains? An experience for another time, but one he relished.

The Telurian Band flowed by beneath them. The Bone Plains had been atypical of the Band as a whole, a great triangular wedge of white sands and undulating dunes. Here, beyond LastRock, the land was once more brackish and metallic, great lakes and scattered ponds reflecting the turmoil of the sky in hues of green, acid-wash yellow, deep umber, and miasmic blue. The land was uneasy, rising and falling in sharp, shattered hills, cleft by numerous ravines and canyons, and rarely covered by vegetation of any kind.

Fascinating. To see it from up on high. His shadow far below was diffuse but definite, and rippled over every obstacle, uncaring for depth or height.

This would have taken them forever to cross on foot.

Bronze mana flowed past them, and Scorio labored to maintain a constant siphon of the ambient power, pouring it directly into his great Heart so that his draconic form was maintained. Carrying his three companions and their packs easily doubled the effort, and to his chagrin he realized he’d not be able to remain aloft much longer without a rest.

But how wondrous. How magnificent he felt. Long and lethal, all sinuous grace sheathed in black scales and clothed in huge muscles. Wings and tail, claws and serpentine neck, his broad chest straining and relaxing with each beat of his wings, the vast muscles around his shoulders and down his back working in counterpoint.

His appearance in the sky startled herds of fiends into flight. A large band of okoz below let out shrill warning hoots and fled to the west, hurling their gorilla-like forms into vast leaps as they cast terrified looks up in his direction. A flock of tentacled flying fiends arose from where they’d been lazing amidst copper pools to trail after them curiously, and Scorio hoped they would press him and give cause for battle. For he remembered well how they’d harried him on the Bone Plains, shrieking and snapping at him with their praying-mantis claws, their fluid alien shapes diving after him and forcing him to fight for his life.

Now? He was curious how even a dozen would fare against his dragon fire.

But they clearly thought better of it, and Jova was flying too close to his side to be an easy target, so they peeled away to sink back down amidst toxic mudflats.

The relief from his riding companions was palpable; they’d been holding on tightly to his hide and spines, and only when the fiends were gone did they relax.

Lianshi had said it was a hundred miles to the Unfathom, and that from even the highest vantage on LastRock you could only see some twenty miles to the horizon. A hundred miles to the Cinder Fields, where the Telurian sun descended to hover over the charcoal plain for a span of hours before rising once more into the sky.

Another wonder of Hell, and Scorio found his curiosity rising, his gaze straining toward the horizon as he searched for sign of the blackening.

Flight was peaceful. Meditative, and his thoughts strayed to considering the many sources of light he’d observed across Hell thus far. The sun-wire in Bastion proper. The tiny and rapidly shuttling sun of the Ash Belt. The general darkness of the Iron Weald, that was only lit by the Rascor Plains to the north and the Telurian Band to the south.

And now he observed the shimmering sun that descended as a ball of burgundy toward the horizon. There were a dozen of them, he’d learned, equally spaced out across the circumference of the Band. They rose, hovered in the sky for a few hours, then fell once more toward the Cinder Fields, a stretch of desert so blackened and seared by their eternal heat that nothing there grew. Passable only when the suns were at their greatest apogee, and then only for a few hours.

Who had set these suns in motion? Why was Hell divided into its bands, and why was each band once and a half again as deep as the previous one before it, till one reached the equator of Hell beyond which the pattern reversed itself? Was their a guiding intelligence behind Acherzua, or had it always simply been here, before the Great Souls emerged through the portal to Eterra to do battle with the fiends on their home turf?

Scorio allowed these idle thoughts to play through his mind. Jova skimmed above the desert below, Leonis having sat cross-legged at the base of the plinth, his eyes closed, hands resting on his knees as he meditated.

Scorio fought for as long as he could, but finally conceded and dipped his wings to begin a great circling descent. Jova caught sight of his maneuver and angled after. Around and around he flew, the others holding on tight, till at last the great rocky plain arose to greet them and he landed, racing a dozen steps as he banked his wings to finally come to a stop, his massive lungs heaving.

His Heart was on the verge of guttering.

“Are you all right?” called Xandera.

“Fine.” His voice was hoarse from effort. “Need to rest.”

Everyone dismounted just before his Heart went out, and Scorio shrank back to his human form to crouch, hands between his knees, heading hanging low.

Jova landed a few paces away, the plinth touching down and canting at an off angle on the rough stone. “Ran out of mana?”

“Yeah,” said Scorio, wiping the sweat from his brow. In his draconic form he only registered the muscle burn, but now that he was human again his actual heart was racing, his body feverish, his muscles turgid and hot. “It’s a lot of work, holding that form.”

“And carrying us,” agreed Nyrix, moving to check the broad straps. “It’s amazing that you were able to fly for so long.”

“What was that, you reckon?” Scorio glanced up at the others.

“An hour?” asked Kelona, unsure. “Maybe a little more?”

“Only an hour? Damn it.” LastRock had already disappeared from sight to the north, the mesa swallowed by the haze, and though the Telurian sun seemed larger to the south, the air marginally warmer, even, they’d not come nearly as far as he’d hoped.

“Well, we won’t be reaching the Red Keep in one go,” said Jova, digging out her waterskin. Scorio tried to parse her tone. Amusement? Contempt? Relief? He couldn’t sense much of anything. Perhaps she was just stating facts. “I remember you flew nonstop with… back when I was chasing you that one time. To Bastion.”

“That was in my scaled form,” he agreed. “Much easier to fuel. My dragon body requires immense amounts of mana.”

“Would it help if we walked?” asked Kelona, tone worried. “I don’t want to push you too hard, and—”

“No, we’ll make better time if we fly,” said Scorio firmly. “You all right, Xandera?”

The blazeborn queen had knelt on the rocks, feeling no discomfort from their sharp edges, and placed her palms on the raw stone. Her skin had grown slightly ashen, and she’d closed her eyes.

“Hmm?” She seemed to return from a very distant place, blinking and turning to him. “Oh. I… being on your back, so far from Acherzua, it… I suppose it weakened me. I was beginning to feel light, insubstantial. I just need—just for a moment—to touch the ground, to feel…”

“Oh,” said Kelona, moving to kneel beside her. “Is this like some blazeborn connection to the ground?”

“I suppose?” Xandera sounded unsure. “I don’t think my kind has ever done much flying before.”

“Another good reason to take breaks,” said Jova firmly. “I think we’ve covered perhaps fifteen miles, maybe a little more. Scorio, how long do you need to recover?”

“I don’t know.” He tried to bite back his frustration, to again not read judgment in her words. “I’ll tell you when I’m good.”

Jova pursed her lips and raised both palms as if deflecting animosity, and turned away to stare south.

Scorio felt a pang of embarrassment. It had been a fair question. “I’m sorry. I just… I was hoping I’d last longer.”

“Don’t feel so bad,” said Nyrix, tone smug. “It happens to every Pyre Lord, now and again.”

“Wait,” said Kelona, grinning uncertainly. “Are you—?!”

Nyrix raised an eyebrow, his expression one of studied innocence.

“Ha!” Kelona beamed.

“Great,” muttered Scorio. “I really am traveling with children.”

“I’m growing fast!” protested Xandera.

“I mean, not you. You’re a child. I just—never mind.” Scorio accepted a waterskin from Nyrix who could no longer restrain his grin. “This is going to be a long trip.”

“Then hurry up and restore your reservoir,” said Leonis, tone cold. “And we can shorten it.”

The mood, which had begun to lighten, died.

Leonis gazed blankly at Scorio, as if daring him to protest, then walked away to sit on the far side of Jova’s plinth, waterskin in hand.

“Well, that was lovely,” said Kelona quietly.

“He’s right, though.” Scorio took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Just give me a moment. I’ll be ready soon.”

* * *

It was hard to tell time out on the Band, but the sun had sunk measurably lower when they were finally aloft once more. It was immediately apparent that they weren’t going to make the Cinder Fields in time to cross to the first waystation, but Scorio had already made his peace with that. They’d probably get about halfway tonight, camp, travel a second day thereafter, camp one last time, then cross into the Unfathom during the following midday.

Maybe it was even for the best. He wanted a moment with the whole crew before they entered the Silver Unfathom.

There were decisions to be made.

They managed two more bouts of flying before dusk fell, at which point Scorio landed for a final time. The chances of being attacked in the burgundy dark wasn’t something he was excited to risk, so they erected their tents in a rocky hollow and ate a cold dinner of dried out rations. Conversation was subdued, and everyone turned in early, eager, no doubt, to have morning come quicker so they could resume traveling.

Scorio watched the crew carefully and tried to gauge if tonight was the right night to raise his concerns.

No. He’d give them another day before speaking his piece.

They broke camp early the next morning and took to the skies. For the rest of that day they alternated soaring through the heavens toward the ever larger sun and taking rests on the rocky plain below. They fell into a rhythm, allowing Scorio’s mind to drift as he savored flight and fought to increase the rate with which he could draw on local mana with Nox’s technique.

Perhaps there was something to Moira’s wisdom after all. Flight with vortices would have been another matter altogether.

The heavens darkened, became a roiling tapestry of crimson and salmon pinks, of curdled blood and dark smudges. This far south the Telurian sun didn’t sink nearly as close to the ground as it seemed to when viewed from LastRock. The air grew warmer as night drew close, as they drew ever closer to the vast sphere’s magnificence, and soon the baking hot heat was a pressure in and of itself, as a continuous sere wind that blew forth from the sun’s presence before them.

It had grown huge, a burning ball as massive as the mesa upon which LastRock sat, no—bigger. But not nearly as hot as Scorio had imagined. This close, where he could make out the texture of its surface, the bands of burgundy tiger-striped with sworls of livid crimson, puddled here and there with vast lakes of orange, he’d have thought they’d be burned to a crisp. They had to be—what—only twenty miles away?

But instead it was the baking heat of an open oven, not the raging ferocity of a live bonfire.

Fascinated, wanting to draw closer, Scorio pushed against his limits and surged through the air, powering through the desiccating wind. The rest of the Telurian Band seemed to fade away before the malevolent glory of that burning sphere. But the sun hadn’t drawn nearly as close to the ground as he’d imagined; in the telling, he’d thought it would come to actually rest upon the black sands, or hover only a hundred yards above the blackened peaks, but instead from up close he saw that it remained high in the air, perhaps half a mile above the Cinder Fields.

It was awesome. Alien. Incredible.

It filled his vision. Its heat made him feel ever more alive. Was the mana flowing more easily into his Heart? The sun called him on, its siren song filling his mind and smoothing down his thoughts. That heat. That delicious heat. It warmed him to the bones, it made him feel supple and strong.

He understood now Xandera’s desire to sit in molten patches of rock. Found himself called closer, ever closer—

“Scorio!” Kelona’s voice pitched above the winds. “Too hot! Turn back!”

Scorio curved his neck to look at his passengers. Xandera had risen to her knees, one arm wrapped around a spinal horn, her orange hair streaming behind her as she grinned, the other arm outflung, but Kelona and Nyrix were hunched down, their faces red.

Damn it. Of course.

He immediately banked and began a great curve away from the beautiful heat of the sun. Jova followed suite.

The heat moved from baking his face and shoulders to warming his tail and hind legs, and he lamented the loss. Some mad part of him had wanted to fly right into its blazing core.

Down he flew, down to Jova’s level, and together they skimmed back over the coppery sand and burnished ridges of bronze. He’d fallen into a trance and kept flying far longer than he should have.

Half an hour saw them leave the sun a sufficiently distance behind, and as they did so the strain on his Heart grew rapidly, so that when he finally landed, his wings beating powerfully, the sand beneath his claws was merely warm and not piping hot and his Heart guttering.

“Oh man,” said Kelona, leaping down and staggering as she pulled out her waterskin. “Even the water is warm now.”

Jova landed lightly to one side. She’d been sweating so profusely that her make-up had run, and Leonis was red-faced as well, his robes drenched with sweat.

“I’m sorry,” said Scorio as he sank back down into his human form. “I don’t feel heat the same way in my dragon form. I completely lost track.”

“Not a problem,” snapped Jova, raising her waterskin.

Leonis sneered and simply shook his head.

Kelona chugged from her waterskin while Nyrix loosened his robes. Xandera, however, was beaming.

“That was amazing! It was like earth-heat but in the air, like diving into an ever more welcoming mountain heart!” She gripped Scorio’s hand in her own. “I’d begun to feel weak, to feel sick, but the heat, it revived me! Shall we leave them here and fly back? Let’s get closer!”

Scorio frowned back at the sun. The thought of returning both appealed and frightened him. “I need to rest, unfortunately. I pushed myself far too hard by accident.”

Leonis frowned. “And nearly flew us straight into the sun.”

“Yeah.” Scorio wanted to smack himself upside the head. “Again, I’m sorry. I fell into a trance there. The sun was just so…”

“Beautiful,” Xandera finished, then stepped to one side so she could stare at where it hung, huge and baleful in the sky.

“What’s done is done,” said Jova.

“You should have said something,” protested Scorio.

Jova eyed him. “I thought you were testing me.”

“Testing you?” Scorio blinked. “What? No!”

Jova arched a brow, shrugged, then turned away.

“This isn’t how I wanted the journey to begin.” Scorio fought for calm. Nyrix was sitting on a rock, head hanging low, waterskin in hand. Xandera was beaming at the distant sun. Kelona was eyeing him sympathetically. Jova and Leonis were stepping away as if to form their own camp.

“Listen, everyone.” He needed to recover lost ground, to bring them back together before they fragmented for the night. “We need to talk. I wanted to do this out here in the Band because I thought it would help us focus. Really understand how we’re going to need to depend on each other.”

Leonis’ stare was deadpan.

“None of us have been this far south into Hell.” Scorio glanced at each member of his team. “We’re going to see and experience things we can’t yet imagine. If we’re to survive, if we’re to accomplish our goals, we’re going to need to work together. I sure as hell aren’t infallible, as you just saw, so if you see me making a mistake, I’m going to expect you guys to let me know.”

“Done,” grinned Kelona, and Scorio felt a burst of gratitude for her good cheer.

“I want to discuss two things. One, our destination and plans. Two, our capabilities and how we’re going to work together as a team. The dangers we’ll face in the Unfathom is going to be categorically more lethal than anything we’ve fought yet—barring the Blood Ox’s gold-ranked fiends.”

Everybody nodded.

Good.

“So.” Scorio moved to sit on an outcrop. “Jova, Leonis, let me key you into what we’ve discovered.” And he reached into his pack to draw out the rosewood box. He recounted to them both what they’d read and determined, and both Great Souls drew close to examine the lid, to study the rose quartz carving that the box protected.

“A map of the Lost Cube’s passage through Hell?” Jova tilted the lid so that the inlaid lines of gold glimmered in the setting sun’s light. “That’s just a guess.”

“Sure,” said Scorio. “But one we plan to check out by having the Twilight Lady confirm if these little nodes along the lines correspond to important landmarks.”

Jova handed the lid to Leonis. “Even if you’re right, how are you going to determine where along this path the Lost Cube is?”

Leonis frowned at the map in turn. “Because you’re guessing the path wraps all the way around the Unfathom and the Maria, right? Wouldn’t that be many thousands of miles?”

“That we don’t know how to do. Yet.” Scorio wished Lianshi were here for support. Kelona and Nyrix were listening intently, but this was clearly not their field of specialty. “But we have the rose compass. It should tell us which way to go. If we fly along the path, if we’re right, then we should eventually run into the Lost Cube.”

“Hmm.” Jova crossed her arms. “Which you say is also invisible?”

“It’s my hope the compass will with that.”

Leonis handed him the lid. “If your assumptions are correct.”

Scorio tamped down his growing annoyance. An annoyance, he realized, that stemmed in part simply from their correctly pointing out the leaps of faith inherent in his plan. “Sure. But this Lost Cube, Blood Baroness Aezryna said it was supposed to be their factory, where the Herdsmen fashioned all the lost wonders we can no longer create ourselves. Krantar said it might contain a second Archspire. It’s worth hunting for.”

“Yes. I’m not debating its being a high value target.” Jova crossed her arms. “Merely pointing out that we could spend who knows how long following your map before we find it. Whereas my journal contains clear directions to this Tomb of Sadness.”

“Sure.” Scorio put the rosewood box back in his pack. “Why don’t you elaborate on that, then.”

Though it turned out there was little for Jova to share. She read the relevant passage aloud, then put the journal away.

Kelona raised her hand, caught herself, and lowered it quickly before speaking up. “So all we have is the fact that we know how to get to it? And that you never returned from that quest, despite being a Crimson Countess?”

“Which argues for its importance,” said Jova. “We also don’t know if the threats I faced two centuries ago remain. What we do know is how to reach it.”

“I wonder if this Tomb is one of the landmarks on the map,” said Scorio. “Impossible to say, I guess.”

“I’d prefer a definite target over chasing a theoretical invisible cube across all of Hell,” said Leonis.

“Fair,” said Scorio. He was quickly realizing how deeply Leonis’ animosity ran.

“I’ve a thought.” Nyrix sat up straight, his face still flushed and bright with sweat. “What if we head to the Red Keep first and try to identify the landmarks on this map? Then, if Scorio’s theory is correct, we can figure out where on the lid’s map the Tomb of Sadness might be, and head there. If we need to follow the trail regardless, there’s no reason we can’t being with the Tomb.”

Jova frowned, considering.

“I like it,” said Scorio.

“If they have accurate maps,” rumbled Leonis. “And aren’t in league with the Herdsmen.”

“Always a danger,” said Kelona brightly.

“Jova?” Scorio watched her. Leonis would do whatever she said, after all. “What do you think? We set the Tomb as our priority target after figuring out whether this map theory is correct?”

“More assumptions. In this case that the Twilight Lady will have a map accurate enough that we can figure out which of those golden dots is the Tomb.”

“True. But it’s a happy compromise.”

“And,” interjected Kelona, “don’t we need a Silverine guide, regardless? What if your Crimson Countess self got lost in the many planes of the Unfathom?”

Jova turned to stare at Kelona. “I doubt that was my fate.”

Kelona drew back.

“I would say we put it to a vote,” said Leonis, smile cruel, “but obviously your group is larger than ours.”

“We’re one group, not two,” said Scorio. “How about this. Let’s take some time to think it over. We’re here for the night. How about we move onto my second point, that we should figure out how we can all best fight together?”

Nyrix grinned. “We should have brought Taron along. That’s his specialty.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out ourselves.” Scorio forced a smile. “Jova? Leonis? Shall we discuss what we can do?”

“That’s a logical suggestion,” said Jova. “So fine. I’m a Dread Blaze. My Emberling power allows me to take ever less damage the more I’m hurt. Which makes me hard to kill. My Tomb Spark power allows me to terrify my opponents. My Flame Vault power allows me to control stone. My Dread Blaze power allows me to coordinate all my attacks subconsciously across an entire field of battle.”

“Whoa,” said Kelona. “As in, you don’t even need to think about it?”

Jova’s smile was humorless. “Precisely. But I do need to be aware of what’s going on around me.”

“I’m just a Flame Vault,” said Leonis, staring hard at Scorio. “For now. I can summon my club, Nezzar, which is indestructible. I can cause it to make copies of itself and surround wherever I’m fighting so that I either drain my enemies or enhance my allies. And my Flame Vault power allows me to manifest a suit of golden armor and grow nearly twice as large as I am now.”

“Damn,” said Scorio, beaming with genuine appreciation. “How tough is your armor? I bet you can take a beating.”

Leonis grunted. “Tough enough for a Flame Vault.”

“Hey, we can be gold friends,” said Kelona. “Seeing as I’m Kelona the Gold.” And she Ignited so as to shift into her golden form, every aspect of her body, from her hair to her eyes to her teeth to her visible skin immediately taking on that aureate sheen. “I can leap as high as the sun, and my Queen Flare ability fills my opponents with awe and fear.”

Leonis smiled in appreciation. “Impressive. We should spar sometime.”

“Whenever you like,” said Kelona. “Just don’t go crying to Jova if you lose too badly.”

“Ha. How much damage can your golden form take before you’re in real trouble? Say I removed your head with Nezzar. Would that hurt?”

“Hello everyone,” cut in Nyrix. “I’m Nyrix, known as He Who Dislikes Arguments. Also a Dread Blaze. I can manifest a crossbow that lets me shoot bolts of power. I can also open portals wherever I shoot, allowing us to pass through them and appear there. Also, I’m immune to long range attacks.”

Jova just stared at him. “What do you mean, you’re immune?”

Nyrix’s smile grew abashed. “I just… they phase right through me. I can’t ever be completely sure what the right distance is, though. The more powerful the attack, the farther away it has to be. It’s definitely nerve wracking. I don’t take it for granted.”

“Sounds unfair, is what that sounds like,” protested Kelona.

Leonis was just shaking his head, and then he glanced over to Xandera, who was still looking at the distant sun. “What can she do? I assume we didn’t just bring a kid along for the idiocy of it?”

“Hmm?” Xandera turned to glance at him with her eyes of burning yellow in the gloom. “What I can do? I’m not completely sure. My mother-self, Xandera Prime, she was born from Noumenon, and in time I think she will conquer all of Acherzua and become its eternal queen, but only some of her power was transferred to me. I was born in Gold.”

“Seems like a theme,” smiled Kelona.

“—and am choosing not to use all of my power so I don’t grow up too quickly.”

Jova frowned. “You’re purposefully holding yourself back?”

“Mmhmm. I like this outlook. Being young allows me to be more flexible, more open to adventure, to travel. If I age myself to become more powerful, I’ll begin yearning for my own hive, and lose interest in seeing the depths of Hell.”

Even Jova looked nonplussed.

“But right now?” Xandera considered. “While it’s hard to be sure, but I can summon magma from Acherzua’s depths and can loose bolts of it from my hands. I think I could probably make the air hot enough to cook you where you stand, and perhaps sink into the stone itself if I needed to.” She frowned. “And I can sense what’s around us as long as my feet are on the ground.”

“Cook us where we stand?” repeated Kelona in amazement. “Um, don’t do that please.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning to,” said Xandera, linking her hands behind her back. “Also, I’m not really a child. I’m a blazeborn queen. I enjoy being carefree, but only in the same way you might enjoy being happy. It’s a mood or an outlook that I can change at any time.”

“Oh,” said Leonis. “I… all right.”

Xandera beamed at him, then turned back to gaze upon the Telurian sun. Waves of heat caused the desert that stretched out to the south to undulate liquidly.

“And I’m a Pyre Lord, kind of.” Scorio grimaced. “I’ve yet to wrap my head around my new powers. Vortices and the like. But I can obviously change into a dragon, turn into living fire, then inhale that fire and breathe it out as a weapon. I have a pretty crude command ability that I really need to refine, as well as the ability to shift into a human-sized scaled form with wings.” Scorio considered. “Plus I’m tempered Gold and have what I’ve been told is a pretty huge reservoir.”

“Tempered Gold?” Leonis stared at him. “I’d heard rumors, but I thought it more of that worshipful nonsense.”

“Yeah. During my time in the Crucible. Took me two years, and that after Naomi and I cleansed our bodies of Coal.” 

“Wait, how’d you cleanse the Coal?” asked Leonis, curious despite himself. “Is that something we could do?”

“Manticore ordered Naomi and I to smash rock for five months. No Igniting, ever.” Everyone was listening intently, Kelona leaning so far forward she was practically toppling off her perch. “It was… hard work. We had to wring all the Coal out of our systems while you—well, the old you—and the old Lianshi meditated with Jova in Bronze.”

“So you can re-temper?” Leonis rubbed at  his beard, clearly intrigued.

“Five months,’ repeated Scorio. “Not sure we have the time for that.”

“Huh.” Leonis blinked, considered, then recrossed his arms over his chest. “That’s too bad. Sounds like a smart move.”

“A smart move.” Scorio couldn’t resist glancing at his own palms. The calluses he’d developed during that time remained, thick ridges that would never go away due to the Gold-tempering. He thought of the existential pain he’d suffered. The doubt that had nearly broken him. The isolation from their friends. “It… wasn’t easy.”

“Wasn’t easy,” snorted Nyrix. “Wasn’t easy, he says.”

“Well.” Leonis glanced at Jova, as if checking for her opinion. “Well, fine.”

“But speaking of,” said Kelona, perking up, “I was hoping that we could work in some kind of training schedule while we travel?”

Jova smiled sardonically. “Wouldn’t be a Great Soul expedition if we didn’t.”

“But seriously. I’m only a Flame Vault. If the Lost Cube’s path takes us into the Lustrous Maria, I don’t want to be left behind.”

“I actually need to train, too.” Scorio offered her a rueful smile. “I used a fiendish technique to jump to Dread Blaze instead of putting in the work. What do you say we train together?”

Leonis frowned. “Fiendish technique? You mean Nox?”

“That’s right,” said Scorio.

Leonis snorted. “Shortcuts.”

Scorio shrugged. “You do what you have to to survive. But, yeah. Time for me to play catch-up. What do you say? Perhaps Jova can show us how it’s done?”

Jova raised her chin. “Show you how to ascend from Flame Vault to Dread Blaze. Fine. In exchange for your sharing what it took you to go from Dread Blaze to Pyre Lord.”

“Deal,” smiled Scorio.

“I’d be interested in hearing that, too,” said Nyrix. “I’ve been a Dread Blaze for far too long already. Time I ranked up.”

“This all sounds incredibly boring,” said Xandera.

“I think it’s a plan. We won’t have much time, as I don’t think it’ll take long to reach the Red Keep, but we’ll make use of our frequent stops. Say, twice a day, morning and evening, we’ll put in some serious training?”

“How long till we reach the Red Keep?” asked Kelona.

“At the rate we’re going?” Scorio glanced uncertainly at Jova. “A week?”

“A week?” Kelona’s shoulders slumped. “That’s not much training at all.”

“We’ll have to make the most of it.” Scorio brushed away her disappointment. “The most important part of this mission is uncovering the Herdsmen. But along the way we’ll see if we can’t all raise our abilities together.”

Everyone nodded. While Kelona reconciled herself to what little she could get,  Leonis looked as if he was trying to spot the catch. Jova merely regarded him, while Nyrix gave a thumb’s up.

“Then let’s bed down for the night. The sun won’t begin rising again for a while yet.” Scorio tried to not feel too much satisfaction at the agreement. They were hardly a team, not yet, but it was a start. “I’ll go ahead and take first watch.”

Nobody looked particularly sleepy, but they didn’t complain, either. Packs were opened, bedrolls taken out, but the air was so warm nobody wanted to bother with the tents. Everyone found nooks and hollows in the sandy depressions in which to lie. Xandera sought out the highest crag, and there sat cross-legged to face the sun, her dark form bathed in ruddy light.

Scorio walked the perimeter. He’d not seen any fiends this close to the Cindered Plains, but that didn’t mean they weren’t here. Staring out over the rocky desert, he felt something solid and certain shift into place within him. Despite his mistake of flying right at the sun, they’d accomplished the basics and agreed on a course of action, agreed to train together.

It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning.

And he couldn’t help but smile.