My stomach drops. If Ash wants the dagger, there’s nothing we can do to stop him. But he doesn’t make any move for it.

“If even I want it, then Achemiss will, too,” Ash reasons. “I know about your deal with Karanos and do not intend to impugn upon it.”

He’ll sure be happy to learn that, Maria says.

“I agree that Achemiss deserves to die and that you’re uniquely positioned to execute him,” Ash continues. “And now Eternity has conveniently bestowed upon you a blade that is sure to attract Achemiss’s interest. It is a tool of chaos with effects that are unpredictable. Some are useless, while others, clearly, are not.” Like the ability to change the flesh and blood centipede into an elemental, or change Maria into... whatever she’s become.

“He won’t be the only one interested,” I argue. “How do people typically advertise and sell artifacts in Eternity?”

“If not bartered off internally within a group or faction, artifacts may be sold to a middleman, or offered for auction,” Ash says.

“We’re trying to attract Achemiss’s interest, not actually sell the artifact,” I emphasize. “We’d want to use it as a lure to draw him out of his hidey-hole, or at least offer us an invitation to enter freely and bypass his defenses.”

Maria’s laughter chimes in my head. You speak as though Achemiss is a trapdoor spider.

He’s a shadowy creature of death. I think the descriptor is accurate.

“I know little more than the obvious about Achemiss,” Ash confesses. “I do know that Achemiss wields red ascendant energy and has an armory of artifacts with unique effects, rivaling the hordes of much older ascendants. He’s a powerful foe.”

“I’m aware,” I state coldly. “Look, I only want to return to my home world as soon as possible–my deal with Karanos is only a means to that end. The gap between me and Achemiss is significant. I know I’m unprepared, even after spending years training in dilated time.”

“Then why do you insist on proceeding? There are countless ascendants in Eternity, and the demise of a new ascendant isn’t usually of consequence; but sending a newly-minted ancient to his death is clearly a waste.” He plucks another flower and brings it up to his nose, scenting its aroma.

“What if you provided me a return beacon now, so I could go and save my world? In return, I’d promise to kill Achemiss when I’ve mastered Beginning and Remorse?” I previously dismissed the idea, rationalizing that I would only be powerful enough to save my world from the Infinity Loop when I was strong enough to defeat Achemiss. However, now that I have three affinities, the idea is more alluring. For instance, if I’m able to use Remorse affinity with ascendant energy, I’ll be able to overpower far stronger minds than would otherwise be possible. I won’t become Cayeun Suncloud overnight, but I don’t need to be.

Perhaps more important in my shift of thinking is my time away from Karanos. After training with him for months, I felt guilty contemplating other ways to return home on a faster time scale. From my perspective, I’ve been training with Ash for longer than I ever did with Karanos. That guilt has evaporated.

Ash taps his chin and grins. The tattoo of a feline eye slides across his neck, up to his jaw, and blinks. “Achemiss is an artificer and collector first, a fighter second, and both Karanos and I have easy access to dilated planes. Victory is possible if you spend years in dilated time to catch up. Receiving a return beacon now would only remove the fire from under your feet, slowing your growth.”

“I’m immortal–I’ll have all the time I need to grow,” I retort, frustration entering my voice.

He shakes his head. “That is the trap of this place.”

We stare at each other for a solid two seconds, neither speaking.

He breaks the silence. “Let us discuss Achemiss’s capabilities and together we can practice developing your Beginning affinity by strategizing.”

Planning isn’t what I should be doing right now. I know little about Achemiss aside from information that Karanos has shared offhandedly. Any plans made now will be subpar to ones made with Karanos’s experience. Moreover, my mind will be distracted by the untested potential of Maria’s tripartite artifact form–the cloak, the crown, and the bracers. Supposedly they’re Maria transformed, but they feel almost like inanimate necromantic constructs. The only part of Maria that I still sense is her mind, connected to mine by our bond.

Is the fiery mantle some kind of defensive item? What of the vambraces, or the floating crown of fire? Figuring that out is far more pressing than concocting a strategy to lure out Achemiss.

But more importantly, I want to understand what’s happened to me better. Despite being a so-called ‘ancient’, I don’t feel any different. I just have an additional affinity, except now without the dagger’s transformation ability and Maria’s help, I fall unconscious.

I refuse to be dependent in such a way and disapprove of forcing Maria into a disembodied state of being. The utility of our union is obvious, and I’m not opposed to wielding Maria, so to speak, at opportune moments. But turning Maria into a set of regalia before a battle is very different from constantly using Maria to remain conscious.

At that point, she’s little more than a glosSword like Bluebird.

“There will be time to develop my Beginning affinity later,” I say. “I need to understand what’s going on with me now.”

Several red eyes appear on the chest plate of Ash’s armor, round and glassy. “Fine,” he demures, teeth flashing. “Back into the rift!”

—

My first objective is discovering how to use Maria in her transformed state. We start with the cloak because, according to her, its purpose is “rather obvious.” It’s composed of two drapes that overlap on one another. When they lie limp across my back, they extend down to my knees. However, Maria says that I can expand them.

I have a basic intuition for what the cloak is supposed to do, she says. I think it’s an outlet for my fire elementalism, if its flaming appearance isn’t sign enough. The cloak is technically me, after all.

Ash leaves us to practice on our own in the Sun confluence of the hot desert bluffs. The temperature is almost unbearable, but the flaming cloak actually serves to keep me cool by absorbing the heat of the environment. I don’t think it would necessarily make me flame-proof, but it should offer some passive defense against fire-based attacks.

You said that the transformed parts of me feel like necromantic constructs, Maria states. How do you normally control them?

Back on the lightless plane, Maria watched me prepare the hulking oculus monstrosity for weeks, investing the rock and eye with several disembodied souls. I explained some of the basics to her, but hadn’t bothered to go into the details. We hadn’t exactly been friends at that point, even if by the end we grew to rely on one another.

“Normally,” I begin, speaking out loud, “I invest inanimate matter with a soul, then imbue the soul with meaning. I’m not sure what to do in this case, though–your soul has already been invested in the cloak and since you’re alive, I’d hazard a guess that the investiture already comes with meaning. It’s like I need to find out how to operate a piece of new glossware without an instruction manual.”

Sounds easier than inventing glossware from scratch.

After fifteen minutes of trying to activate the cloak, I succeed. The cloak’s two drapes snap open to the sides at forty-five degree angles, fire raging under them like the afterburner rockets on high-speed, off-track hoverglosses.

The fire blasts me forward and I tumble face-first into the dirt, unable to arrest my momentum in time. As I fall, the wings deactivate and wrap around me protectively, leaving scorch marks on the ground. As I groan and pick myself up, the fiery cloak flares around me like a pair of moth wings... and I fall over again.

You’re starting to fly like a fire elementalist, Maria exclaims encouragingly, her voiceless laughter coming through loud and clear over our bond.

I roll my eyes, then launch myself into the sky using my practice. When I’m a hundred feet above the bluff, I release my decemantic practice and try to glide around on the cape-wings. I feel like a piece of paper fluttering in a heavy breeze, the sharp movements caused by the cloak’s propulsion disorienting, but I’m gradually getting the hang of it.

I can see how this–combined with my ability to move my body with decemancy–will give me better maneuverability. I think of it in terms of pushing and pulling. My practice is essentially pulling–I pull my body around like a puppet. The fire of the cloak is like pushing, propelling my body forward in rapid bursts to change direction or sustaining concentrated fire to move rapidly in a fixed direction.

“Okay, I think this is good enough for now,” I say as I touch back down on the dusty ground, the cloak deactivating and draping limply across my back. I raise an arm up, inspecting the bracer on my wrist. “Let’s try these next.”

I hold them both up and concentrate, Death energy coating the bracers and feeling them out. I can sense a soul shift within the wrist guards, bobbing with the ebb and flow of my energy.

I feel that, Maria remarks. It’s like something is scratching my mind.

If you can sense my Death energy, then you should have a strong enough connection to activate the vambraces.

How? she asks.

Visualize what you want them to do, I tell her, trying to remember how Soolemar explained necromancy to me when I was a beginner. Try thinking in terms of powerful scenes or symbols. Draw from your own experiences.

Maria falls silent, though I can sense her soul churning within the bracers from the way my Death energy shifts without my bidding. What are you thinking about?

When those in my regime insurrected against me.

On the eve of Ari’s descent?

Yes, then. Attacked from without and within.

What did you feel?

Fury. Desperation.

Harness that emotion, I instruct her. Paint with it.

The emotion is my ink, she says. My intent the calligraphy.

I feel the bracers activate just as rainbow arrows encircle me, barely visible in the glare of the false sun. These aren’t fate arrows. They don’t point to anyone. Instead, they remind me of the figures I’ve seen inside souls that are made of countless woven arrow vectors. They cover my body like a second skin. I stare at the arrow points interposed atop my fingertips and flex them. I can’t feel anything as the arrows intersect the flesh of my palm.

Do you know what this is? I ask Maria. It looks like my soul-self projected on top of my physical body.

It’s an End avatar, she says. I suspect what I’m seeing isn’t the same as what you see, though. End practitioners don’t see End avatars; we feel their outline. Can you describe what you’re seeing in more detail?

Rainbow arrows, I begin. A mesh of rainbow arrows that covers my skin.

You can’t normally see End avatars, Maria notes. You would be able to see me using mine on a regular basis to construct arrays.

Can you typically see the avatars of others?

No, she says. If the cloak is a manifestation of my Sun affinity, the bracers must be related to End, and allow you to manifest an End avatar. Try writing an oath in the dirt.

Tell me the words, I say.

Here’s something basic: “Give the one–” I jot it down. “Who recites this oath–” She pauses, waiting for me to finish. “A smile and a jump.”

A what?

It’s an oath used in classrooms for those who awaken early, Maria explains. You don’t want children to make oaths that do anything more. A smile and a jump are visually obvious and relatively innocuous.

Relatively?

There’s always a child that breaks their arm every year, Maria transmits wistfully.

I finish the last word and withdraw my arm, waiting for something to happen. Am I supposed to do something else?

You need to say it out loud.

“Give the one who recites this oath a smile and a jump,” I say slowly, enunciating the words. Nothing happens. “I think the issue is me trying to do it. I can’t control your affinity.”

But you control the physical motion of the End avatar.

“Just so,” I reply, continuing my end of the conversation out loud. “I think this requires both of us working together. Me doing the movements, you supplying the intent. It reminds me of a necromantic construct from the loop.” I recall the necromancer’s puppet, a crude wooden mannequin made with the soul of a Dark practitioner. I’d been forced to witness a vision of the woman’s torture and murder. When I later discovered how to activate the construct, I found a way to commune with the remnants of her psyche and convinced her to help me track down the necromancer.

I trace over my original letters in the dirt while circling Death energy around my wrists to encourage her.

That’s distracting, she rebukes.

Whoops. I let the Death energy fade and trace the oath, repeating the same strokes over and over. As my fingers finish the last letter for what must be the tenth time, the oath flashes with golden light. Suddenly, I see a thread of gold wound throughout the text, as though each of the crude letters is gilded with gold leaf in the center.

My mouth arcs into an awkward smile and I involuntarily jump. The flame mantle expands outward and propels me forward and upward, right over the side of the bluff. I scream on reflex as I rocket over the edge, though I twist around and use my decemancy slow my trajectory. With a final somersault, I hang motionless in the air less than three feet from the canyon floor.

I exhale in relief. “Well, that worked.”