Training with Cass and the Strikers, studying runic theory with Malcolm and the Arcanists, cooking and baking with Katie, and now learning the basics of metallurgy—it was no surprise that I completely fucking forgot about Arryava's arrival.

  The past few days had been a blur of controlled chaos. Every morning started with Striker training, which basically meant getting my ass handed to me by people who moved faster than my brain could process, leaving Valor to do all the heavy lifting. Then Malcolm would drag me into theoretical discussions about runic interactions that made my head spin worse than any concussion. Katie's cooking lessons were the highlight—discussing sourdough maintenance with dozens of fascinated students who treated fermentation like high magic. And now here I was, covered in soot and sweat that stung my eyes, trying to convince stubborn metal to become something useful.

  The smithy at Sylvarus was tucked away in a distant section of the tower, where the heat from the forges could vent properly without turning the rest of the academy into a sauna. Stone walls, blackened by centuries of smoke and sparks, surrounded me in comfortable familiarity. The rhythmic ring of hammer on anvil had become my evening soundtrack, almost meditative if you ignored the ache building in my shoulders.

  I hefted the hammer again, staring down at the lump of copper and tin I'd been trying to coax into proper bronze for the past three hours. The measurements had to be exact—ninety percent copper, ten percent tin. Simple math, right?

  Wrong. So incredibly wrong.

  "Too much tin and it's brittle," I muttered, echoing Brandon, who'd given me the basics before wandering off for his lunch. "Too little and it stays soft."

  It reminded me of baking, honestly. Or any kind of cooking, which made sense—making alloys was basically cooking metals into new metals. Following a recipe where ingredients had to be measured precisely, heated to exact temperatures, mixed at precisely the right moment. Except instead of ending up with a soggy bottom on your pie, you ended up with metal that would shatter the moment you looked at it wrong.

  The crucible glowed angry orange in the forge, the metals inside finally reaching the right temperature. The heat washed over my face in waves, making my skin feel tight and dry. I grabbed the tongs, forcing my exhausted hands not to shake. This was attempt number seven. Lucky number seven, right?

  I was so focused on pouring the molten metal into the mold without splashing it everywhere—and potentially setting myself on fire—that I almost missed when Valor started acting up.

  My aura rippled with sudden pressure, like it was a soap bubble being pressed from all sides. Not trying to pop it, just... something distinctly other had filled Sylvarus. The very air seemed to thicken, gaining a quality that made breathing feel like work, like I was suddenly at high altitude.

  My hammer froze mid-swing over the cooling bronze. Everything about reality seemed to shift—like someone had adjusted the contrast and saturation on the world itself. Colors became more vivid, almost painful in their intensity. Shadows deepened into pools of gray. The heat from the forge felt both more intense and somehow more distant, like I was experiencing it through some kind of filter.

  "What the hell?" I set the hammer down carefully. No point in dropping it on my foot because of whatever weirdness was happening.

  "Hmm. Narrin was right, more or less. I suppose I owe him payment," Arryava's voice made me jump as I spun around to see her standing in the smithy doorway like she'd always been there. "I had thought you would take up alchemy, given your reported aptitude for cuisine."

  Now that I was looking directly at her, my aura flooded with information that made my head spin. She looked the same as I remembered, but somehow distinctly different. More real, if that made any sense. Hyper-detailed, as if someone had turned up the resolution on everything about her. Her colorful carapace seemed to reflect light that wasn't even there, creating an almost prismatic effect through a soft filter. The immense spiritual pressure Valor was detecting from her made every hair on my arms stand straight up, goosebumps racing across my skin.

  "Arryava Pusa!" I shot her a grin, genuinely happy to see her despite the overwhelming sensation of her presence.

  "Ben Crawford." Arryava spread her mandibles in what I'd learned was her version of a smile. "It is good to see you again without an audience. We have much to discuss."

  She moved into the smithy with fluid grace, her head swiveling to take in the blackened walls, the glowing forge, the scattered tools, and my general disaster of a workspace.

  "I'd say so—there's a lot going on right now." Behind me, the cooling bronze let out an ominous crackling sound, like glass breaking in slow motion. I winced without looking. "As for alchemy, well... the recipes are impossible to follow, and the measuring systems make no sense whatsoever."

  Arryava peered at the cooling bronze on the anvil behind me, tilting her head with curious interest. The crackling intensified, ending with a sharp snap that told me everything I needed to know about attempt number seven.

  "I don't believe that's supposed to happen," she said with a musical giggle that somehow made the air pressure ease slightly. "But you seem to be making progress with working metals. Perhaps Narrin can help you when he has a moment—metal and Runesmithing are his specialty. I'll contact him for you. One moment."

  She waved her hand with casual authority, and suddenly Dara was standing right in front of her, looking about as confused as I'd ever seen the usually composed spirit. She even seemed to be mid-sentence, her mouth still open from whatever conversation she'd been yanked out of.

  "Tower spirit, please convey my requirements to have my Second begin a journey to Sylvarus at once."

  Dara blinked at her, then her face turned to annoyance.

  "Arryava, you can't just pull me through my tower and demand whatever you want. That's not how things work here."

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  The Sentarian cleared her throat—which sounded more awkward than it should have coming from a Sentarian—and produced a small blue rose from thin air, holding it out to Dara. The air around the flower seemed to vibrate with barely contained energy, and suddenly my mouth tasted of sugar and ozone, like I'd just licked a battery after eating candy.

  "I apologize. I have not been in another tower in many years. Karma demands I balance my transgression. I was hoping you could send word to Narrin of the Broken Path I’d like him here."

  Dara stared wide-eyed at the flower, her anger melting into something that looked suspiciously like reverence. She reached out hesitantly, then carefully took the rose from Arryava's hand and nodded with newfound respect.

  "It will be done, Venerable One."

  And then Dara was simply gone, like she'd never been there at all.

  "Venerable One?" I asked, pulling off my leather apron and folding it under my arm. "What the hell did you just give her?"

  Arryava shrugged with casual indifference. "A Rosa Etherealis, though it's commonly known simply as a Mana Rose. I say common, but they're actually quite rare and difficult to cultivate."

  "Uh-huh." I leaned against the anvil, wishing I had a chair for whatever conversation was coming. "And the 'Venerable One' thing?"

  Arryava's mandibles spread in what I'd learned was her version of a pleased smile. "As a Sage, I'm entitled to certain formalities. There are few Sages on Ark, and only one Titan—as he prefers it."

  "The Emperor, right?"

  "Indeed." She nodded, then her expression grew serious in a way that made my stomach clench. "We have two goals while here at Sylvarus, Ben Crawford. We must find and destroy the Hollowflame curse before it takes root, and we must obtain Heaven's Tears for your Vajra. To accomplish both, I suspect you must place highly in the Tournament—both for the prize money and to test the competitors for corruption."

  "The money?" My blood ran cold. "And you think a competitor is responsible?" I thought back to Francis and River, who'd seemed perfectly normal to me, though both had appeared disturbingly excited about kicking my ass.

  "Indeed. Amon Crow agreed to send Aurum to the auction under the strict instructions that you pay for it with your own earnings, so we must earn as much as possible. As for Karma, it leads from the Tournament to Hollowflame somehow, Amon agrees," Arryava said, gesturing toward me with one elegant hand. "It even feels as though someone has attempted to hide that connection from us now that I'm here."

  I gaped at her for a minute, my mouth opening and closing like a fish as I tried to form some kind of coherent response. Not only had she spoken with this mysterious Emperor, but she was on a first-name basis with him?

  Arryava giggled at my reaction, the sound somehow both musical and unsettling. "Oh yes, Revered One. Though I am no Runebinder, I have magic of my own and am quite familiar with the Emperor of the North Shores. We were effectively at odds until last week."

  I narrowed my eyes at the Sage. "Are you deliberately trying to overload me with information? At odds? You're not a Runebinder?"

  She shook her head, mandibles clicking softly. "Not so much conflict. Amon and I simply didn't agree on many things. To avoid confrontation and deal with Hollowflame, I decided to add the Collective to the Monster Hunters. This way I can support you with no additional politics. As for magic, Revered One, mine is completely spiritual. And it is how I intend to train you over the next two weeks. There is much to learn."

  "You're going to train... my soul?" The words felt strange in my mouth. "But I'm an Eidolon—isn't my soul basically me?"

  Arryava laughed again, this time gliding through the air to perch on an anvil next to me with impossible grace. "Your soul has been training your body effectively. Normally this would suffice for most, but as an Eidolon, you must maintain balance, or your path may overwhelm you entirely."

  I thought back to the dread I'd felt in the courtyard of my soul, and the growing sensation of Valor taking on a mind of its own. I was learning how to use it, sure, but it also felt like it was learning how to use me—and that was equally terrifying.

  "I can see on your face that my words strike true." Arryava's voice grew gentle, almost maternal. "We will begin with something simple. You are familiar with Soulcries?"

  I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.

  "How fortuitous. Kneel

  The Soulcry erupted from her mouth like a physical blow, and the stone walls warped around me as if they were made of fabric caught in a hurricane. My vision tunneled into a narrow point of light as I felt my knees crack against the floor, dropping hard enough to send shockwaves up my legs. My eyes clenched shut against the overwhelming pressure.

  The force on my aura pressed inward like a vice made of pure will, completely unstoppable and utterly alien. The invasion of my mind—into my very soul—made her Elders' suppression feel like a gentle suggestion by comparison. Disobeying wasn't even an option; resisting felt like a concept that existed in another universe entirely.

  I shuddered as I felt my soul-self slam down onto the stone courtyard in my inner space. Even Ted, who was still hanging around like a grumpy observer, dropped to his knees with a grunt of pain. Dawn, however, seemed completely unaffected. She just smiled back at me and waved cheerfully from the courtyard, like we were at a fucking picnic.

  Mentally, I pushed back against the effect, but my resistance felt as substantial as tissue paper against a sledgehammer. Where Astrid's command had been a light blockage, this felt like someone had welded a steel plate between my body and soul.

  I looked at Dawn as she started actually frolicking around the courtyard like a delighted toddler.

  Oh. .

  The realization hit me like lightning. This was my soul, dammit. I could stand if I wanted to. I wasn't cut off from my body—I just... couldn't make it do anything. But Arryava didn't need the physical me to do this.

  Plenty of mana floating around in here, right?

  I looked to Ted, who was struggling to his feet with a string of creative curses. "Yeah, kid, fucking do it. First she invades your soul-space, and now this shit? Show her what you've got."

  Experimentally, I willed the ambient mana to flow toward Valor, like I was preparing to create divine mana. Valor received it and hesitantly provided a single strand of energy. Instead of feeding it through the connection to my body, I grabbed it directly in my soul-hand.

  It was like gripping a live wire connected to the heart of a star. My soul-self vibrated with energy that made my spiritual eyes go wide with shock and recognition. Why hadn't I thought of doing this before? Now that I was holding it, I knew deep down what it was, what it had always been. This wasn't just divine energy—it was older, more fundamental. It was the magic of speaking a word and having the universe itself listen.

  A wave of pure force exploded outward from my physical body with a thunder crack that rattled every tool in the smithy. I slammed the energy into Arryava's command like a battering ram, shattering the compulsion, and stood up on shaking legs.

  "No thank you," I said with a grin that probably looked half-insane.

  She grinned back at me, mandibles spreading wide with what looked suspiciously like pride. "It seems Narrin and I are now even. He didn't think you would be this capable." Her expression grew more serious. "Though using that energy to snap my command is rather like using a hammer to swat a fly. Diana told me you had manifested Viritas—though you might recognize it as Truth or Authority."

  I blinked at her, my heart still hammering from the experience. "You know what it is?"

  "Of course! Most who cultivate the soul encounter it eventually, though only in much smaller quantities." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I'm told you can manufacture it—no doubt with help from the Realm of Light."

  "It's getting harder to make," I finally admitted out loud, the words feeling like a weight off my chest. "And Valor seems to hesitate more each time... I think it's getting too powerful for me to handle safely."

  Arryava nodded with understanding. "You require balance. And learning to resist a mere whisper from a Sage without turning to Valor will be our first task."

  I blinked at her and sighed.

  It was going to be a long day.