Blake trudged west for a few days. The ground became more solid, and the trees changed from swampy mangroves into regular pines and deciduous trees. They were still shrouded in mist, but it wasn’t anywhere near as foggy as before.

  Then the ground started getting redder. The mud and fallen pine needles changed colour, and there was even a crimson hue to the mist. The pine trees’ needles became a shade of maroon, and the deciduous trees a shade of magenta. Smells that reminded him of fermented fruit washed through the mists, which got more intense the closer he drew to a tree.

  But they were almost out of the mists. That was all he thought about. That was all he let himself think about. He couldn’t say he’d dried off, but he was certainly less damp. It was an improvement.

  On the second day, when he stopped to eat, an eiknir approached him again. It looked much like the first who’d come to him out in the mists, but it was hard to say. He didn’t know how similar or not they looked.

  But he was pretty sure it was the same one. Its single antler stuck straight up out its head, and it branched in a familiar pattern. Almost like lightning.

  For good measure, when Blake held out his hand and fed it a handful of groats, he took note of its markings. There were a few white stripes down its back—still liquid, but a different shade of it.

  As it ate, he reached out, moving to pat its head, but it flinched away. “Sorry, bud. Sorry,” he whispered. “Or…not bud. Girl?”

  He shrugged, then held his hands up when the eiknir finished eating the groats. “No more.”

  She let out a trilling bleat-roar, then bounded off into the woods.

  “Hopeless mooch,” Blake muttered, then finished his own meal. “Ethbin, it’s a baby, right?”

  Correct, Ethbin replied.

  “Where’s it’s mother?”

  I have no idea. It’s possible her mother is gone, or, knowing the Nords, it’s possible they hunted and killed her.

  Blake grimaced. “Right…” As the last glimmers of the eiknir’s blue glow faded into the distance, he shook his head. He wasn’t sure how he should feel. On one hand, an eiknir was an animal. It may have been a spirit beast, but it was still an animal. He didn’t have any qualms about eating other animals’ meat.

  But on the other hand, if it was sacred…he didn’t want them harmed. He couldn’t explain it. The Nords had their traditions and such, but all spirituality seemed to take a backseat to the raw ambition and endless churn of their ways. He could stand a little sentimentality, even if there was no logic behind it.

  There had to be something worth fighting for, even if he didn’t know what he was fighting for yet.

  What do you want? Ethbin stressed. Are you looking to defeat them? To send the Nords packing, reclaim your world?

  “I forgot you can read my mind…” Blake said. He scratched the back of his head, then itched his neck. “I don’t know. I want to be strong enough to fight them. I want to be strong enough to not care about their ways. Freeing the world, though…sounds nice.”

  For a moment, he dared to imagine the Earth of his childhood. Sitting on a couch in the living room, playing videogames, or looking out the apartment windows at the rest of the city. School—regular school, not whatever the Nords had tried to teach him—and playing on playgrounds, unconcerned about what was out in the sky. No nets to catch falling debris. No cultivators to appease.

  The memories were getting dimmer and dimmer, but he could still fill in the gaps with his own imagination.

  You don’t sound terribly convinced, Ethbin said.

  “I don’t know what I can commit to,” Blake replied. “I’m still only at Condensation stage six. Whatever’s out there is still miles away.”

  A Knight needs a goal. Without knowing what he wants, he will not make it far.

  Blake grimaced. “For now? Freedom.”

  That’s good, but that won’t be enough.

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  “Can you explain?”

  It wouldn’t cost me much to explain, but no, I will not. That is something I’d like you to understand on your own—it will resonate better and be more effective in the long-term.

  “You’re right.” Blake sighed. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”

  There’s time. Ethbin paused, and the warm presence of him settled down on Blake’s shoulders. There’s still time, kid. Don’t stress about it, but don’t stop thinking about it, either, and be prepared to act on it when you do understand.

  Blake nodded. “Thanks.”

  The next day, as he travelled west, he found a stray howler wandering far from the bog, and he put it out of its misery. It left behind an Echo as well, but it was weak, and it dispersed with a single gust of wind.

  Regardless, killing the monster was enough to get him a little Honour. Since the howler had only been equivalent to the third stage of Mana Condensation, he couldn’t draw as much Honour mid-fight. There was less left in him afterward, too.

  But it was enough to create a loop with the vial of elixir, which connected back to his spine and claimed it as part of him. He hung it by its string and dangled it around his neck, keeping it close, but tucked beneath his shirt and invisible to most eyes.

  As he slept, he practiced maintaining the loop. It wasn’t automatic, like Ethbin insisted some weapons would be, but it only took slightly more concentration than breathing. There really wasn’t much Honour to push in a loop, and it barely took any will to keep it constantly moving.

  Likewise, it wasn’t a technique. It didn’t actually use up any of the Honour, not like his Augmentation did.

  However, in the early morning, Ethbin woke him with a mental shout. Blake couldn’t make out what the ring was saying, but Blake still sprung up in his hiding spot. He’d been sleeping up in a tree to get himself away from the ground.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  Cultivators, Ethbin said. Nearby.

  “Any idea who they are?” Blake asked. He couldn’t sense anyone.

  No.

  Blake stayed in the tree. Now, the alien trees were closer together, and he could jump between them with ease. It wasn’t as easy as traversing the ground, but given how thick the undergrowth was getting, it was starting to feel a little easier.

  He jumped through the canopies of four nearby trees. If they had been laying a trap for him while he slept…

  His movement made the branches rustle, and the canopies were shaking, drawing attention to himself, so he went still for a few seconds, waiting and listening. He pressed his back up against the thick trunk of a tree.

  Finally, a voice called out, “Boy! We sense you nearby!”

  Blake couldn’t help a bit of a grin. That meant his elixir was working. He peered out around the tree trunk, enough that he could see the ground below, but not enough that anyone would see him through the canopy of leaves.

  A group of three mana cultivators approached the tree where he’d been sleeping. Two of them were the thugs who Svarikson had brought to collect rent money from Blake, and one wore Green Bear sect armour—he didn’t recognize the Green Bear. The thugs carried spears, and the Green Bear carried a middle-sized battle axe.

  “We know you’re out there!” the female thug called.

  “Svarikson just wants to chat!” the other thug shouted.

  “No he doesn’t, Cag,” the female cultivator snapped. “He just wants us to kill the fiend-blend.”

  “Yeah, but if we lure him out with false promises…” the other thug, presumably named Cag, hissed back. “It’s a lie.”

  “The Sagas extoll truthfulness as a virtue!”

  “You want Svarikson to beat us instead, beardless?”

  “Enough,” the Green Bear snapped, stepping forward. He boasted a Body Tempering stage three rank seal—where the thugs were still only stage one. “He’s not here anymore, but I sense him nearby. Svarikson said he had no mana…but he’s gotta have something if we can feel him.”

  They can’t pinpoint your exact stage, nor where exactly you are, Ethbin said. Not until they advance to a higher stage.

  “Svarikson wouldn’t have sent anyone better?” Blake tilted his head.

  And make you look like a big threat? For the moment, the less it looks like he cares about you, the more face he saves.

  “Point taken,” Blake whispered. “But…I have an idea.”

  First, he changed course, repositioning farther north. As he moved, he cut off the loop to his elixir, so hopefully, he’d drop out of their senses. He couldn't see the cultivators anymore, but he didn’t need to. Then, once he figured he was far enough away, he shouted, “If Svarikson wants me dead, tell him to deal with me himself!”

  “There he is!” Cag shouted. “Ley, do you sense him?”

  “He came back!” the female cultivator, probably Ley, yelled.

  “Stop wasting time and get him!” the Green Bear warrior called.

  Blake cut off the elixir loop again, then changed direction. The cultivators let out confused shouts, but Blake stayed in the treetops, swinging from branch-to-branch. With a larger Honour sea, he had a stronger grip, and he could launch himself father with each swing.

  Sure, he was making noise, and they’d notice soon enough, but they seemed more distracted by his presence popping in and out of their senses. They’d keep running north for a while.

  So when he abruptly changed course and launched himself west again, the cultivators didn’t even notice. They soon faded completely out of earshot. When he couldn’t even hear them shouting, he dropped down to the ground and sprinted.

  Bushes scraped at his legs and tore at his shins, and the remains of his pants were torn and ripped. He kept running and running, swatting away low-hanging branches and ducking under heavy boughs. The mists lightened, and the ground lost all its sogginess. Thick undergrowth became knee-high grass with a blood-red hue, and hamster-sized bees flitted away from him as he ran.

  Then, as abruptly as they began, the merge-mists ended.