Chương 36

No sooner had the hot air of the Rift engulfed him than his Archetypes released a groan of pleasure. In sharp juxtaposition to his earlier entrance, Kirk appeared right above the indigo barrier. He felt his pores begin greedily devouring the ambient energy of the Rift.

"If anything," Kirk shook his head.

"Heading into the Rift without energy is safer. If I popped up next to the mustard layer again-" Even as he was turning away from the mist barrier to retreat and recover, Kirk stiffened. He pivoted back, following the exacting focus of his Bestial Senses I. His forehead creased. He heard nothing. But he felt- Kirk climbed atop a nearby boulder. He wasn't here to hunt or train, but to test the speed of his recovery. So he sat and cocked an ear. Occasionally he caught the edge of what might be shouts or roars.

But it might also just be the wind. Kirk closed his eyes and focused on the energy spiralling toward his body. His Runic Battery II expanded. He let a minute tick by, observing the changes. Kirk opened his eyes. Three hours until recovery. That's pretty significant. Kirk intended to simply sit and wait before returning and donating that energy to the Healer. But after about a half hour, he became very, very bored.

Another lesson from the Healer drifted across his mind-- the more often a Rune was cast, the more its power imperceptibly deepened. Kirk knew it was prolonging the time he would be required to remain here. Yet he raised his hand and spoke the syllables of Ember I. He created a ball of concentrated fire and pointed. The projectile exploded on the ground, spitting golden sparks. Kirk took a deep breath. For the next ten minutes, he reflected on the syllables and enunciation he had chosen and the resulting Ember.

After ten minutes, he did it again.

"Zeh-tet Ah Co-oon Reh Pah." A slightly darker Ember spun together. The motes of gold that were spat out seemed heavier, drifting down and sizzling out against the stone. Kirk grinned. When he released this Ember, the explosion wasn't larger, but the scorch marks were darker. Syllable by syllable, he refined his Runes. All the while, his Archetypes devoured the rich ambient energy. Except it became obvious, as Kirk's excitement built, that he would simply linger here if he kept spending his Mana.

So he buttoned his lips and spent time swinging the Larian Saber. The weapon at least no longer felt completely unusable in his hands. The weight was natural, adding its force to his slashes. In fact, most of his 'mastery' was just learning to use that significant weight to his own advantage. He worked until his arms ached, then drank the rest of his water. Sighing, he straightened and marched back up toward the exit to the rift.

As he did so, he occasionally paused and looked down the slope, toward the indigo mist. If anything, the wind seemed to be growing louder. The roars or the shouts of pain seemed closer. Yet it was upon his return that Kirk experienced one of the largest shocks of his life.

"I don't say this easily," Healer Michaels coughed into his hand.

"But you were right."

"Huh?" Sprawled out on the ground, that single word Kirk could manage. He craned his neck around to get a better look at Michaels; it occurred to him that the man had drained him first, before speaking on purpose.

"I received the Wielder of Energies Feat today. And my Generous Healer Feat improved. So, even if your volunteers flake after today, I benefited," Michaels coughed into his hand. For a single moment, Kirk's face creased in a smile of pure happiness. The last week had been splashes on his hope for a better world; it had dimmed his certainty that the sky could be resisted. But even if this was small, it was proof that they were moving forward. Even the universe recognized this work.

Then Kirk collapsed back into the miserable suffocation/drowning/starvation of having no energy. He had to admit to himself-- being drained twice in one day might compound the gut-quivering misery. After an hour of sweating and groaning, Kirk staggered back toward his tent. But he hesitated at the edge of the neat rows. With great care not to fall over, he turned and headed toward the trading area. The night buzzed with raised voices. Less due to commerce and more gossip around the released inspection report.

All of Peakhold now knew the Rift Wave was coming. Within the next two months. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Each day, as the concentration of energy inside the Rift increased, the number of geo-3s would grow. Yet as Kirk moved around the groups, mostly boisterous Troops in matching uniforms, fear was tempered by excitement: energy density meant more catalytics would form. As time passed, the richer the harvests would be.

Until the day the Rift exploded outward. Sleep seemed impossible for Kirk until the moment he tumbled into oblivion. And the next morning, he woke with a luxurious stretch before dawn. Unfortunately, the meat pie shop was still closed this early, so Kirk could only gnaw on slightly stale bread as he walked toward his morning patrol. I have this gold. Should I spend some on better food? Kirk reflected. But just as quickly, the idea soured. Well, money isn't the problem. It's the fact that nothing is open this early.

As Kirk approached the gates of the hold, Clara waved at him. As always, the blonde girl looked cheery. He smiled at her. Which, as usual, earned a reaction out of Rufus. The gangling young man stepped between them. He opened his mouth, probably for a caustic or challenging comment-"I need your help," Rufus growled. Kirk froze; it was the second unexpected admission in two days. He looked around Rufus's tall frame to Clara, who seemed similarly stunned. He pointed at Rufus, a wordless query.

Clara shook her head, immediately picking up on his meaning.

"He was fine yesterday. Unless it's some fast-acting disease-""Hey! I'm right here!" Rufus stamped his foot.

"You are a fucking Albion. The least you could do is tell me the secret to improving Empowerments." Kirk's amusement dried up somewhat at the 'fucking-Albion' comment, but he looked at Rufus and tried to really see him. The kid had a bad attitude, but Kirk admitted it might be similar to the same acerbic tongue that Michaels possessed. Albeit without the redeeming feature of knitting together the wounds of the dying.

"Well, I don't mind telling you." Kirk shrugged. Rufus's expression turned serious. He nodded. Kirk said.

"You just use them. A lot." Rufus stared at Kirk." That's your method?" Clara released a nervous giggle. Kirk scratched the side of his face.

"You want what, a secret method? Well, I do have one thought, but it might not work. I've noticed that using the empowerment while completely drained of energy seems to help. But- well, you are Tier 0. Even for a Feat, the Healer will just laugh you out of the tent. So-""I'm gonna kill you," Rufus growled. Kirk shrugged.

"That's a method we could try too: sparring. But you'd owe me a favor for it." Finally, Rufus's eyes flashed with glee.

"Nothing would please me more."

"Okay, okay boys," Clara said. She pointed toward the horizon.

"It's not even dawn. Let's at least do a little patrolling before we start fighting. Also, not to nag, but weren't we attacked and ambushed only a week ago? And you want to spar?" Rufus nodded.

"Most of the imperials followed the Maester, right? So it's solved."

"I don't think we should wait." Kirk shrugged. Rufus sneered at him.

"At least you can be honest about this."

"Because you won't stop making everything about my family."

"Oh, what, am I supposed to pity you because you are Kirkland-fucking-Albion-""Call me Kirk," Kirk snapped. Rufus spat on the ground.

"So I guess," Clara muttered.

"We are sparring, are we?"

The Administrator's office of Peakhold was a building of stacked stone that had leaned against the outer wall until the two had grown together. But of course, that wasn't the case; the leaning had everything to do with age. Although modest in size and underfunded, Peakhold was the sixth hold to be established in the Kingdom. The comprehensive and varied catalytics were a nice bonus-- it was first and foremost an outpost to observe the movements of their close neighbor and rival, the Imperial Sanctum.

Which was why the Administrator's office connected to a set of secret corridors that ran through most of the walls. So, as the three young patrollers moved away from the hold in the day's first light, they were observed from a secret chamber built into the gates. The so-called 'defector' of the Imperial Sanctum sat in the darkness, peering out through the slit in the stone to see their silhouettes. She shook her head.

"Here, they are just as lost as us. No one can see the light anymore. Too large looms the shadow of those above." In the silence, the defector lifted her hand; her fingers were wrapped around a pure glass orb the size of an apple. She cocked her head to the side, as if listening. Then she said.

"If so, that is a mistake. None need fear the light." Again, she paused. She leaned back in her chair.

"The presence of Finality looms large. But that is not the only choice available to us." The woman cupped both hands around the glass orb. Her brow creased.

"You would have me preach, here?"

"Those of the Kingdom are misguided. They do not acknowledge the light. Or rather, those families keep all its secrets for themselves."

"... perhaps. But you realize what you are asking of me, don't you? If I follow this path, one day I will need to choose- between these new initiates and the proper faithful, who have done nothing wrong. Who have nurtured and taught me. Only for my talents to be used for the sake of-" She stopped and tilted her head again. In the darkness, the defector closed her eyes.

"Of course there is a choice. That's the whole point.

"The world ends only the way we wish it to."