Liron and Angin spent three days at the ruin. With Amor’s death, whatever spell he might have cast to seal the cellar, it had died with him. The assassin had lived off the food and water stored down there. But the outpost was rich with stock, enough to feed them.

  Aning giggled like a child when seeing all the material in the cellar. He explained to Liron in great detail what he needed and why. When he carved a new staff and rod, he showed his apprentice the minute details of his weaponry and how it functioned. Aside from them, Angin created dozens of bombs.

  Liron assisted him, helping the Alchemist brew the ingredients that would cause the bombs to explode. Angin showed him which substance would cause what kind of explosions and how one could alter them through mixing them with one another. While he would never become an Alchemist, Angin wanted him to have a basic understanding of the basics of the craft.

  When not helping the Alchemist, Liron acquainted himself with his new abilities. He summoned his knife, throwing it and shooting it forward, and learned how to blast smoke at his targets. The smoke didn’t do anything besides suffocating whoever was hit by it. He failed to cast it when not holding the knife, though.

  Most of his effort went into fighting with his black blade. Its edges wavered, and embers swirled around it. He had yet to find a use for his embers. They were too small to cause any burn or harm to an opponent. His black blade lacked any greater adornment besides the constant flux of the smoke giving it form. The magic sharpened the sword beyond normal measures, cleaving stone apart with ease.

  Angin guided him, giving him feedback on how to use his new abilities. He was no Wizard, but he had enough experience in battle to determine the usefulness of certain attacks.

  “Why didn’t Amor just shoot his fire at us?” Liron asked. “I mean, I can do so with my smoke.”

  “Well,” Angin said, “he might have been able to do this once, but after becoming an Initiate, he had given up this ability.”

  “Why?”

  “As a Wizard progresses, you’re supposed to bind your Gate and Conduit closer together. So, the fire could only appear as a thread. Quite the downside, right? No! Think, Liron, think. By focusing the property of his gate on the Conduit, the Conduit’s effect grows stronger.

  “In Amor’s case, he gained perfect control over his thread, letting it stitch things together, deciding when it burns something and when not. You have no greater control over your smoke. Shooting forward fire sounds good, but it would have been chaotic. Once you become better with your Conduit, you’ll lose the ability to just unleash smoke for something more precise. Won’t be perfect for every situation, but nothing is.”

  To improve his fencing, Angin fought against Liron in spare matches, both using twigs. The Alchemist was no sword master, but he had a grace Liron lacked. He scored one victory against his master, and only by catching him off guard.

  “Yes!” Angin laughed, shaking Liron by his shoulders. “That’s it, my boy! Your feint was great! You didn’t just use your body but also your eyes to make me believe you would go for my legs! Fantastic!”

  Despite the praise, Liron lost against the Alchemist each time. Angin pointed out the mistakes he had made afterward, his voice calm and precise. Liron memorized everything Angin told him, trying to learn from it.

  The dreams aided him, too. He continued his training in them, working mostly on fencing and horse riding. The towering beasts could have smashed his head with one kick, but they paled in comparison to a dragon. But they were the next best thing. Besides his martial instructions, Lance and other teachers taught him in all the other fields a Knight Dracon had to master.

  As a member of the Society of the Dragon, Liron was expected to meet a certain standard. His decorum had to be on the level of a greater highborn. He would need to know how to navigate places of the greatest luxury. A Draconist played at least one instrument, had great expertise in culture and art, and could hold any intellectual discussion with ease.

  Of course, Liron also was introduced to smithing and the maintenance of armor and weapons. He had worked in a forge, but he had done nothing aside from shoveling coal. One day, he would smith his armor and sword on Casar’s Summit. No easy feat, which required constant training until then.

  The one thing Liron was excited for the most was learning how to read. He had always dreamed about what it was like to understand the text on the war poster. The training area had a library, thrice as big as Liron’s house. He struggled to comprehend how there could be this many books, believing for a moment surely this place held all books on Ekon. As Lance told him that this library was considered small, Liron felt an awe he hadn’t before, realizing a horizon calling for him.

  Liron asked Angin for help, wanting to learn how to read outside the dreams. The Alchemist beamed, promising his utter devotion to the task. The outpost offered not much on books outside basic descriptions of the land of Nordland. Angin explained to Liron the basics of reading and writing. He never scolded or insulted Liron for his difficulties at the beginning. He showered his apprentice in praise and provided him with the patience he needed. His teacher in the dreams lacked this quality, treating Liron like dirt that didn’t deserve the privilege of reading.

  If he didn’t occupy himself with creating his equipment or training Liron, Angin strolled through the ruins, taking it all in. Liron watched him once. The usually energetic man calmed down, hands folded behind his back, each step slower than he had thought the Alchemist capable of. He ran his hands over the crumbled stone and smiled. It was a somber and sad one, but it still had a joyful edge to it. As if he found some respite in his melancholy.

  Liron never asked him about it. Neither about what Amor had called him. A Faeling. Fae were creatures of legend, more rumor than reality. He had heard only whispers of them avoiding Nordland, despising the cold. Liron feared spoiling his relationship with Angin by asking. The Alchemist demanded of him to always seek knowledge, but Liron expected this to have its limits.

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  Angin was the first person outside his family that saw real potential in him, beginning to convince Liron to believe in himself, too. The praise and proud grin appeared alien to Liron at first. Something foreign that couldn’t have been sincere. A lie to lure him out of his defenses right into a trap. Now, he found himself trusting it, a weight lifting from his chest he never knew he had carried. It was still there and refused to leave without a fight, but Angin had opened a path to Liron. One in which he could be something beyond a Ravenspawn. Someone worthy of respect. Someone with a place where he belonged.

  No matter what the Alchemist had said, Liron would not risk losing his master.

  As he trained with his black blade, his conflicted feelings never left him. He remembered the excitement of besting Amor and defeating his superior. But he also recalled his murderous rage and what he had screamed. Did he really want to kill them all? This would include normal townsfolk like he used to be. This would include the sick and old. And children.

  He often saw glimpses of Amor in his mind. Liron was barely conscious when delivering the final hau, but the assassin’s eyes had carved themselves into his memories. Shocked, afraid, and panicked. Amor was no good man. He had committed many atrocities. But he didn’t want to die. The void in Liron’s chest spread each time the assassin crossed his mind, robbing the purpose and meaning from all his actions, making him pause. Did he really want to continue knowing where this would lead? Worse was to come. He would be bathed in blood before this would be over.

  Angin noticed the ghost that haunted Liron, knowing it too well himself. “Sometimes I wish there was something we could do about it,” the Alchemist said. “Cleanse ourselves from guilt. Make it stop pursuing us. But this wouldn’t be just. Liron, I know of the beast that burdens you. I know you want a simple solution too. Something to tame it or even kill it, but that would be wrong.

  “We deal with death. Our fight will cost many lives. Most of them did nothing but be born into a system that had no other use but to twist them into soldiers. Taking their lives should never be easy, Liron. Each lost soul is a tragedy in itself. All we can do is mourn their loss by embracing the guilt. We are Sister Death’s greatest ally, and that’s not something to be proud of.”

  Angin’s words helped, making Liron see the value of what he felt. Killing should never be something he should grow accustomed to. Amor put Liron through hellish pain, but he would carry his death, refusing to relish in the thrill of the fight.

  These three days didn’t help to lessen the hurt in Liron’s heart. He would think of Amor and what fate his family had fallen to. They deserved this much at least. But it had changed his view on things. He had found a new purpose in the tragedy. His family wouldn’t have suffered for nothing. Their fate was the field that pushed Liron, setting him on a path he would have never wanted otherwise.

  Amor would have been the first of many, but Liron would make each death count. He would only kill if necessary to bring down the wicked system that had caused all this horror.

  On the fourth day, the wolves finally found them. Angin had predicted their arrival on the first night. “They are fucking wolves,” he had said. “They are smart bastards with a nose you can’t just escape. We have to give them a beating so they will keep their distance for a bit longer. Otherwise, we will never make it out of Nordland. Less out of the Empire.”

  They were intelligent, but their wit didn’t compare to the Alchemist’s. Amor’d had the right idea but the wrong execution. Angin had laid several alarm strings around the ruins, too thin for a wolf to see. As one snapped, they knew it might be a wolf. But it could also have been another animal strolling too close to the ruin. With many others breaking apart immediately after, they knew their pursuers had reached them.

  If the wolves realized a trap was waiting for them, they would never come into the ruins. So, Liron and Angin stayed near the watchtower, sparring with twigs. They acted as if they hadn’t noticed the dark silhouettes closing in on them, shadows crawling towards them. The wolves encircled them, making sure that their prey wouldn’t escape.

  Once they believed their preparation to be sufficient, they struck. They dashed forward as one, a howl signaling their attack. Liron knew Angin’s plan, but seeing these monstrosities sprinting at them, crushing everything underneath their paws, he had to plant his feet into the ground to not run away.

  As they entered the ruin, Angin cut a string next to him, and both he and Liron hurried into the watchtower. It had taken hours to create the network of threads and even longer to memorize their patterns so Liron wouldn’t stumble over it, ruining everything. Hidden in the tree above, several flasks fell down. As they shattered on the ground, bright light emerged from them, blinding the wolves.

  They screeched, shaking their heads. It had taken all the Nanium in the outpost, but Angin had recreated his bike, its engine roaring as he activated it. The new Machina lacked the polished appearance of his old one, but it packed the same strength. The bike tore through the watchtower’s wall, the building creaking,

  Liron pressed himself into Angin’s back, feeling nauseous. The Alchemist pushed his Machina to its limit, accelerating as much as possible as the tower collapsed. It wouldn’t bury them in debris, but all the explosives stored inside would tear them apart. The first wolf realized their escape, growling at them.

  But it mattered little, the tower exploding in a bright flame. The outpost had enough resources to create dozens of bombs. Angin couldn’t bring them all with him, so he went for the next best thing. The blast sent fire into the sky, triggering the bombs hidden in the ruins. Within moments, the place they had spent the last three days was consumed, a roaring fury destroying it all.

  Liron looked back, hoping that the pack had died. But the beast proved themselves sturdy, fleeing out of the flames, crying. Four of them, though, did not accept their loss, pursuing them. The flames had scorched their fur, revealing the pale skin underneath.

  Angin had to focus on driving, taking the overgrown forest road that wasn’t meant for his bike. Liron twisted in his seat, shuddering at the speed with which they moved. But as the knife appeared in his hand, smoke and embers flying by his side, he felt more confident. He turned his knife into the black blade, increasing its length as much as he could. It weighed nothing, but the size of it made it awkward to swing it with one hand. Let alone from his position.

  Liron didn’t need a precise attack, though. He aimed its tips at the nearest wolf, shooting smoke at them, hitting them in the eye. The wolf had to jerk its head away, opening itself up. Liron stabbed at the beast, leaving deep wounds behind. As he opened a deep slash at its maw, the wolf yelled and dashed away, ceasing its pursuit.

  The same strategy worked on two other wolves, leaving them behind with fresh scars. The fourth one, though, didn’t stop. It dodged all of Liron’s smoke, gaining ground. The eye on its forehead was closed, a deep wound having consumed it. Liron hissed, recognizing the beast. The wolf’s remaining eyes flared, showing the wrath that raged inside.

  Liron pointed his blade at the beast, but he didn’t shoot smoke. Instead, he fired the knife forward, blasting out of the black blade. The smoke was easy to dodge, slow and sluggish. But the knife had become an arrow, hurling forward like a dragon climbing the sky. The blade dug into an eye on the left side of the wolf’s head, making the beast fall over. Its momentum carried it forward, slamming into a tree, bursting through it, and getting buried by it.

  “Hah,” Angin laughed, glancing back. He showed the wolf his pointy and middle finger. Liron didn’t know its meaning, but based on the Alchemist’s mocking grin, it had an insulting purpose. Liron repeated the same motion, joining the Angin’s laughter as they drove away, leaving their pursuers in the dust.