Everyone’s cores were full too, even Lindon’s. But they were completely out of elixirs. The only compatible scales they had left were pure or Blackflame.
Lindon and Eithan hadn’t needed to refill their madra as much as the others, but at the same time, when they did need to recover, it took them more to fill up their cores. They also couldn’t restore pure madra using aura, but that disadvantage was shared by everyone down here.
Every second, the hunger aura nibbled away at their power. Anything that they spent now, and any energy consumed by hunger techniques, would be gone for good. Lindon and Eithan were the only ones with scales left.
When the traps cleared, they dashed through and found a hall with a mark that seized Lindon’s attention. It was the four-part symbol that had marked the Ancestor’s Tomb from the outside.
The mark of the Dreadgods.
They passed beneath it and into a room that seemed to be nothing but row upon row of circular transparent tanks. They weren’t made from glass, though, but from some kind of loose fabric like transparent skin.
These tanks, or sacs, or whatever they were had long been empty. Lindon suspected from the scripts and tubes around them that they would usually be filled with liquid, and at that point, the skins would be taut. But this machinery hadn’t been operational for centuries.
Dead tanks spread ahead of them in rows, but Lindon studied them in glimpses as he ran past. Dross was responsible for noticing and remembering more details.
[These were nothing compared to the specimen tanks in Ghostwater. So outdated! We glorify the past too much, and we fail to notice the strides we’ve made in more modern times.]
Lindon tuned Dross out.
They were rushing through the labyrinth as quickly as they could, but all of them slowed when they reached the end of the room.
Four tanks had been removed from the last row, elevated onto a higher platform and surrounded by tools. Lindon didn’t need to identify the scripts on the scopes, gauges, and marked sticks to know that these were all measuring tools.
And he had a good guess at what was special about these tanks. One had been stained red, one blue-gold, one a heavy yellow, and one purple-and-white.
Lindon slowed to examine some partial notes that remained on the nearby tables, but he knew what these had to be. The tanks where the Dreadgods were born.
A quick glance through the notes led him to a quick hypothesis. He ran it by Dross, who agreed.
[Yes, these were most likely unremarkable dreadbeasts when they were born. Clearly, this was the facility in which creatures were infused with hunger and then had their growth accelerated. Once the Dreadgods grew beyond their peers, their birthplace was removed and examined more closely.]
Lindon had kept his perception extended for dream tablets or guide constructs that Dross could absorb to understand more of the research, but he’d found nothing.
Yerin stood before the blood-colored tank, looking disgusted. “Feels like rubbing mud in your face.”
The sensation the four tanks gave off was nauseating, and to Lindon’s intrigue, it was more than spiritual. They radiated not just the power of madra and aura, but an ancient authority that he recognized.
Eithan danced closer, then rapped his knuckles on the solid base of one of the tanks. “It’s not the whole tank, I’d say.”
At Eithan’s knocking, a tray slid open in the tank’s base.
Within was a…Lindon didn’t know what to call it. It looked like a bone, twisted into a shape that resembled a ring. It contained a smooth ruby that had once given off a powerful blood aura, but instead of strengthening over time, it had emanated its power with nothing to replenish it. Now, the once-strong natural treasure only gave off a tiny radiance of red aura.
But it felt heavy to Lindon. He was reminded of the pearl necklace and the other items he’d taken from Ozriel’s room, but this was in a higher realm entirely. To his senses, it felt as if the weight of this bone ring could warp the world.
He didn’t want to touch it—as Yerin had said, this gave off the disgusting impression of the Bleeding Phoenix—but he wasn’t going to leave a treasure like this behind.
Ziel and Mercy had pried open the purple-and-white tank belonging to the Silent King, and the treasure they recovered resembled a twisted thighbone with an amethyst randomly fused into it. It gave off a weak wisp of dream aura, but it carried a powerful hunger to dominate.
[A noble artifact,] Dross said. [I will accept it as tribute.]
Lindon was briefly excited at the idea. If he could imbue this level of significance into Dross, how much stronger could the spirit get?
But he discarded the idea immediately. It would only take him further away from his goal of getting the real Dross back, and it wasn’t as though such power could be as easily transferred as aura.
Though that thought brought him inevitably to the Soulforge.
Eithan handed the device to him, and Lindon opened the portal to the Soulforge right in front of the tanks. Space groaned as the portal opened, and only a breath later, Lindon forced his personal void key open.
The sound that accompanied the portal’s sluggish opening was…concerning. He was certain that his key wouldn’t last much longer. But this was worth it, even if the key broke.
He walked out with the broken fragments of Reigan Shen’s death-aspected trident, three broken hammers that he’d scavenged, one of his bundles of Soulsmithing tools, and the box containing the Tomb Hydra’s binding.
“I look forward to seeing if the Soulforge lives up to its reputation,” Lindon said, hiding his excitement.
Orthos spoke from Yerin’s shoulder. “How long until the exit opens?”
“Should have a few minutes!” Eithan called back.
Lindon had reached for the case containing Subject One’s hand, but he stopped when Eithan spoke. “Are you sure?”
“If I weren’t, I would still say this is a risk worth taking. Or would you rather confront Reigan Shen again with the same weapons we used last time?”
Without another word, Lindon headed into the starry world of the Soulforge. He strode out onto the platform, and the others filed in after him.
The blue fire blazed in the altar at the center of the stones, and Lindon sensed that he shouldn’t have to fuel it for at least one project. Without consulting with Eithan, he threw the broken hammers onto the center of the altar.
Immediately, the physical wood of the broken hammers’ hilts caught fire. Lindon controlled the fire aura to smother the flame, but he shot a startled look at Eithan.
The Archlord gave him a shooing motion. “It’s more about the idea of the hammer than the physical form. Natural part of the process!”
If Lindon wanted to complete a project like repairing and empowering a weapon of Reigan Shen’s, he wanted every advantage he could. And Eithan and Ozriel had both emphasized the use of a hammer, so he’d start using one.
Or at least repairing the ones he had.
[Focus as I guide you,] Dross said arrogantly. [I will not steer you wrong.]
Lindon didn’t fully trust Dross’ new personality, but he certainly had Ozriel’s dream tablets. He focused on the power on the altar, letting Dross feed the memories of other Soulsmiths into the back of his mind.
Lindon imagined a hammer in his mind. Not its form, but its purpose. He needed a tool to deliver his will, to shape the material in front of him. One that wouldn’t lose out to Reigan Shen’s weapons, and wouldn’t deform in his hands.