The darkness of the night fell as the torches above dimmed to a silvery hue. Myra sat across from him, the dissatisfaction on her face clear even in the absence of light that had once hindered his sight in a time long past.
“Care to explain what about all this self-mutilating you’ve been doing all day?” she said, with a bite in her voice.
“Not really.” Draven shrugged. “Just took your advice to heart, that’s all there is to it.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Are you a fool?” She fumed, made as if to stand up, then sagged back to the ground. “You are a fool. The least I can do now is try to mend what’s broken.”
She untied the bandages around Draven’s arms, the red cloth falling to the ground with the weight of dried-up blood. Her eyes widened at the sight of the wounds. Cuts. Punctures. Draven shied away from looking at them; their throbbing alone was enough to tell him he had done a thorough job.
“This…” She gripped his arm tightly. “Is amazing!”
What?
“The minor cuts are almost fully healed.” Myra twisted his arm, the droplets of blood pouring out of the deeper wounds falling unnoticed by her eyes. “Only the major wounds are yet to close. You didn’t learn overnight how to weave hexion, did you?”
Her eyes fell on him with the intensity of a child gazing at their new toy, —full of curiosity and dangerous ideas begging to be tested.
“No?” If Draven had done something of the sort, it was not intentional.
Myra breathed out, a relieved yet disappointed sigh that echoed with conflicting emotions. “Good to know even someone with as much affinity as you can’t go around breaking common sense. I guess we just gotta add quick healing to night vision. Perks of having a core inside your heart.”
“So, you know.” Draven looked down with a sigh. “I’m not a genius or anything. There’s plenty I can’t do, no matter what Aemon goes on spouting.”
The Unbreakable Veil around his soul was one of them, for it was only indestructible in name. All his attempts, all the damage and healing to his soul, and the shield had only gotten a little more durable than stone. As for absorbing the darkness into it, he would have a better chance at plucking out a torch from the ceiling.
“About the night vision? Of course!” The revelation seemed to fill her with enthusiasm. “You just gotta learn how to cover your weaknesses, that’s all. Speaking of which, what do you say about learning how to become a true Empyrean?”
A smile took over Draven’s face by instinct. “Sounds good.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, then.” Her face became serious, her voice beckoning his attention. “Every Empyrean worth their hexion must learn The Three Tenets: Channel, Imbue, and Emit.”
Sounds simple enough.
“To channel is to will the hexion to heed your call, wrenching it away from one of the six realms, through your astra, and into your soul. The strength of your will and the structure of your astra will determine how well you perform it.”
“Think I got that one down.” The description of it sounded familiar. It was what he had been doing every time he needed hexion to heal the tears in his soul.
“I’m not surprised.” She shook her head with a smile. “Your will is strong. You even shook off my hold once—given that I had been distracted and drained, truth be told. It’s quite something, though. The more hardship one lives through, the stronger their will becomes.”
“Hard to beat a miner when it comes to living a rough life,” she whispered.
“The Second Tenet: Imbue, is as straightforward as its name. Spread your will over the hexion, slowly claiming it as your own.” She paused with a frown, the tip of her finger tapping against her lips in search of better words. “Like a drop of blood staining water, your will must meld with the hexion and create something new—something that belongs to you. And what is yours will obey you alone.”
Inside his soul, Draven was the indisputable ruler. Imagination became reality at the mere manifestation of his will. In truth, however, some commands did not go unchallenged. The shield, for once, was not made of unbreakable Ekron, and the darkness that stained his soul moved according to his will at the speed of thick ink that was about to become solid.
“Say, Myra,” he interrupted her.
“Master,” she interrupted him in return. “You’re the student, and I am the master. I’ve always wanted a wide-eyed little pupil calling me like that. Do it.”
Sometimes Draven wondered what was wrong with her. “Master, I have a question.”
“Of course, little Draven, anything for my student.” She nodded in satisfaction. “Be quick about it, though. Master dislikes interruptions.”
“Whatever—” Draven coughed to mask the slip of the tongue as he saw the frown on her face. “Alright. You said that what is mine will obey my will, right?” She nodded. “Then that only applies within my soul? What if I’m trying to command something outside of it?”
She glanced at him, her eyes scrutinizing him from head to toe. “Is this about your troubles with Unbreakable Veil?”
Read like an open book. “Yeah,” Draven sighed.
“Don’t take Aemon’s progress as the norm. That little freak is a natural when it comes to visualization—he’s a Dreamer for a reason, you know.” She threw her gaze up at the silver dots that almost seemed to dance amidst the night. “It took me a whole three months to master it, and I’m no slouch.”
Three months? Why didn’t the old man tell me this?
That lightened his mood a little. At the pace Draven progressed, it would be lucky if mastery of that technique came after years of practice, but it was reassuring to know that he was not expected to learn it in one go.
“The Third Tenet: Emit… well, you just blast people with hexion molded into Arts,” her muffled laughter echoed in the clearing like a breeze of fresh air. “It’s the most fun part, truth be told. Of course, to know how to mold the hexion into Arts is a different beast altogether.”
A globe of blood formed above her hand in a flash of crimson light. It bubbled, then its shape became that of a leaf. The details mimicked to such a degree that it would be impossible to tell the difference were it not for the unusual color.
The leaf changed into a small mouse. The little critter raised both hands, innocent eyes of red staring directly at him, and then disappeared in a cloud of red that melded with Myra’s skin.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
“That’s amazing. Can you teach me how to do that?” Draven bit his tongue and added, “Please, Master.”
“I’m afraid that is beyond my pupil’s comprehension.” She whipped her hair back, and her shoulders rose high with pride. “In time, you will learn all the secrets of the Blood Manipulation Art,” she switched her imperious voice to a casual tone, “might be safer to start at the beginning, though, don’t you think?”
There was truth in her words, and the skill displayed with such ease added a layer of authority to her wisdom that had not been there before. Whatever Myra was—whoever she was—it did not matter. Before Draven stood a master of the Blood Path.
“I want you to dive into your soul.” Myra’s voice became a trance-inducing melody that filled Draven with concentration. “Should be easy enough for you; don’t think I haven’t noticed you doing it while you walk.”
Draven appeared in front of his core effortlessly.
“You commanded hexion before, so you’ve been using your will by instinct, which is pretty good.” Her voice reached him even though his eyes were closed, his awareness focused within. “But grasping the full extent of your will is a different matter, and you’ll need to do that if you ever want to go beyond the Second Tenet.”
Myra’s Presence surrounded him. Draven’s shield cracked, the crooked lines of fractures spreading through its entirety until not a single spot remained untouched. It shattered into countless pieces after four seconds of enduring the ethereal weight.
How is this possible?
Draven willed the hexion to heal the wounds in his soul before they stole his focus away. Even Helvan’s Presence wasn’t this strong! That made little sense. How could Myra be stronger than him? The look of respect in her eyes, whenever Helvan came along, was clear as day; she looked up to him like a kid admiring a hero.
The old man was holding back. The realization put a bitter smile on his face.
The unseen pressure wrapped around the sphere that was his soul and squeezed. Suddenly, it became hard to breathe, impossible to even move. This was the difference between those who mastered the Unbreakable Veil and those who did not; it decided who lived and who died.
In the gasps of pain, he understood how lucky he had been, how shelter had softened him. If Draven faced an Empyrean in battle, Dyad Vessel would be of no use—nothing short of a shield would help him. If his opponent could suppress him like this, then his life was theirs for the taking.
Like the abyss, it is!
He refused to have his life at the mercy of others. With a roar, Draven let go of thought and pushed back. The entirety of his being condensed in front of him, and a cloud of ethereal red solidified in the recesses of his soul—his will. It poured out from the projection of his awareness like water leaking out of a broken bucket, but the flow did not lessen or weaken.
It only grew stronger.
With a roar, Draven directed the cloud at the pressure that strangled the breath from his lungs, and he willed it to get lost.
“Argh!” Myra’s muffled grunt brought him back to reality.
Rage fled him, and the cloud of red disappeared without a trace, but he did not despair, for Draven knew where to find it. It lay sleeping inside his being, eager to hear the whispers of his thoughts, ready to burst into action.
It was a piece of him.
“Cold abyss, Draven… are you even a kid?” The red-haired Empyrean looked at him with surprise written all over her slack jaw.
“Of course not, I’m sixteen!” Or am I? The days flew by without a sign, so the date of his birth remained lost inside those winding tunnels. “Probably.”
“That’s not what I meant, stupid!” She slapped the ground and stood up. If her muttering did not raise the hairs on the back of his neck, her pacing in circles certainly did. “You can only train will to a certain extent. You know, stuff like hardships and meditation is only gonna take you so far.”
Draven most certainly did not know, but he was not about to say it. Interrupting Myra was dangerous when she muttered to herself.
“Only incessant training over the years can increase the amount of will you’re born with. But nobody can be born with the amount you just showed! It’s just not… wrong.” She winced as their eyes met. Her nervous pacing stopped, but her gaze remained just as troubled, if not more. “Sorry, but we’re wrapping it up for today.”
“What do you mean?! It’s barely been five minutes.” Draven stood up and walked after her. “What kind of lesson is this? I haven’t learned anything!”
“Aiden,” she whispered his name in a way that allowed no overhearing. “Before I speak to Helvs, I can’t teach you anything else. It might sound trivial to you, and I can’t expect you to understand how big of a deal this is—”
“Then fucking tell me!” he roared.
Myra’s eyes flared red, the unnatural hue only those who trod the Blood Path could muster. Draven did not look away or ask for forgiveness for his outburst. He was not in the wrong, not this time. People kept walking away without explaining things. Every time something out of the ordinary happened, their first reaction was to vanish without a trace or explanation.
He was sick of it.
“If you won’t tell me, how am I gonna understand it?” Draven let his tone fall closer to politeness, but the rage still seethed underneath those words. “Has that ever crossed your mind?”
Silence spread in the empty clearing as the icy wind of a silvery night carried the frustration in his voice like a visible fog. It could be seen on his face. It could be felt in the air itself.
“You got a point.” Myra looked almost embarrassed, the color in her cheeks matching her fiery hair. “Alright, alright! To put it simply, every person is born with a similar amount of will. Some have more than others from the get-go, but it’s so negligible that it’s pretty much common knowledge to just say everyone starts from the same point.”
“When you channel hexion, when you practice any of the Three Tenets, that reservoir of will gets larger, with time.” She chuckled at her own words. “I’m really downplaying this, you know. To notice any difference usually takes months. So you can imagine how long it takes to actually grow it in a meaningful way.”
“So what—”
She raised a finger and silenced him. “You wanted to hear it? Shut up then! Some of the most powerful Empyreans can triple the amount of their will, but it usually takes them their entire life to do so—I’m talking about hundreds of years here.”
Empyreans can live that long? It seemed unfair when a miner would be lucky to reach their forties—the Gloom made sure of that.
“And then there is you. Not even a strand of hair on your chin, but you already have more than what?” she asked herself. “Three Empyreans combined? What am I supposed to make of it, Draven? You’re either as old as Helvan or there is something else going on.”
“Why does this even matter?” Draven scoffed. Surely that could not be true; her knowledge had to have limits.
“Oh, it matters a lot.” The disbelief on her face gave way to genuine laughter. “Will is the sole threshold that limits the amount of hexion one can Emit at once. A battle between Empyreans is a battle between will—whoever has more can suppress the other. What do you suppose would happen if someone had enough to match three Empyreans?”
The miners that stand out the most are the ones that don’t last long. His mother’s voice echoed inside his head. For months now, he was no longer just a miner; he was something else. Not a Sovran, not a miner, a forbidden mixture that justified cleansing.
“They would be strong,” Draven said. “Feared.”
“Strong enough to draw out the dangerous sort of attention we don’t want.” Myra nodded, her face making clear of the gravity of the situation. “I don’t know what to make of it, and that’s why I gotta go ask the old man about it. He probably knew this already… so annoying!”
She walked away into the night. “He never tells me anything!”
Draven did not fancy sitting in the open all by himself, especially not with Corvanis prowling around with his sullen face frozen in an eternal frown. On his way back to camp, he pondered her words, and no matter how much Draven told himself to be careful, a part of him only saw the revelation for the opportunity it presented.
Three times the amount of will other Empyreans have. No matter how dangerous it sounded, he would be a fool not to make use of it.
When he lay down, sleep was the last thing on his mind. Draven could not afford to waste a second. His core lay in front of him, a miniature red sun in appearance, its red flames burning warmly to the touch.
He summoned the cloud of will with a flicker of thought, manifesting it around his projection. Hexion lacked meaning if its only use was to heal one’s soul. It was nothing but a fancy sort of Sovran air, but the Second Tenet offered a way to change that.
Draven would be a fool not to take it.