Chapter 30


    Sunlit Abyss


    Castor''s form blurs as he launches forward, his movements sharp and precise. The Ardent Fang style transforms him into a predator—all angles and brutal intent. His Skathrith pulses with each strike, casting writhing shadows that dance across the chamber walls.


    I pivot, letting Blade of the Wind guide my movements.


    The familiar forms flow through me as naturally as breathing. A hammer strike comes at my head—I slip past it, feeling the air crack where I stood. His Skathrith''s energy leaves afterimages in my vision, but I trust my body to move without sight.


    His next attack comes low, a vicious sweep meant to shatter my knee. I lift my leg in Silent Gale, letting his momentum carry him past. My own Skathrith hums in approval, a white light pulsing above me. I redirect rather than block, conserving energy while he expends his.


    "Fight back, demon!" Castor snarls, transitioning into a cross-counter that nearly catches my shoulder.


    I dance away, maintaining distance. His style is all force and dominance, trying to overwhelm through sheer power. The contrast between us could not be starker—his movements are predatory slashes while mine flow like water around stone.


    The sunlight streaming from above catches his Skathrith''s dark pulse, creating a strobe effect that makes the chamber seem to stutter and jump. My eyes water from trying to track both his physical form and the disorienting shadows his construct casts.


    A feint turns into a brutal straight punch. I read the tell in his shoulder, sliding into another Silent Gale evasion. His fist crashes into the wall behind me, leaving spider-web cracks in the metal.


    Our Skathriths sing to each other—his a war cry, mine a whispered warning. The chamber fills with their resonance as we circle, two philosophies of combat made flesh. His path seeks to dominate through force. Mine seeks to turn that force back upon itself.


    He comes at me again, Ardent Fang making his movements sharp as broken glass. I flow around him, but I can feel the killing intent behind each strike. This is not training. This is not sport.


    This is survival.


    The shadows around Castor begin to twist and writhe, his Skathrith''s energy bleeding into the darkness. His semblance coming into play. His form becomes fluid, uncertain—one moment solid, the next dispersing like smoke. My eyes strain to track his true position as multiple shadow versions of him ripple outward.


    I breathe deep, settling into Wave of Stillness. The form comes naturally, my body remembering countless hours of practice. Like moonlight on water, I let my awareness expand beyond simple sight.


    His first strike comes from the left—no, that''s a feint. The real attack slides in from behind, his Skathrith humming with lethal intent. I shift, letting Moonlit Reflection guide my response. His energy flows into me, through me, dispersing harmlessly as I redirect it.


    "Impossible," Castor growls, his voice seeming to come from everywhere at once.


    The shaft of sunlight becomes my anchor. Each shadow distortion creates a subtle pattern, a ripple in the light that betrays Castor''s true movements. I track him through these disturbances, reading the flow of energy rather than trying to follow his physical form.


    He launches another assault, his Shadow-Wrap Feints creating a dizzying array of false attacks. But the sunlight does not lie—it shows me where shadow and substance meet, revealing the truth beneath the illusion.


    My Skathrith resonates with each successful absorption, turning Castor''s chaos into order. Where he seeks to overwhelm with unpredictability, I find patterns. Where he pushes with force, I yield and redirect. His shadows dance and writhe, but they cannot touch the stillness at my core.


    The chamber becomes a study in contrast—his dark, aggressive energy against my flowing adaptability. Each clash sends ripples through the shaft of sunlight, creating momentary prisms that scatter across the walls. His shadows try to swallow the light, but they only succeed in making it more visible, more revealing.


    The chamber shudders.


    A deep vibration travels up through my feet as water begins streaming from hidden vents in the walls. The metallic floor becomes slick, the gathering puddles reflecting our shadowed forms.


    Castor''s next attack forces me backward through ankle-deep water, the splash echoing off the walls. His Ardent Fang style becomes even more dangerous—each missed strike sending spray into my eyes, obscuring my vision.


    The water rises to our knees.


    Something brushes past my leg—a sinuous, glowing shape cutting through the murk. More shapes emerge, their bioluminescent bodies casting an eerie blue glow across the chamber. Eel-like creatures, drawn to our Skathriths'' resonance.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    One latches onto my calf, its teeth piercing through my clothes. Pain shoots up my leg as it thrashes, trying to tear flesh. I slam into Root of Stone, channeling Iron Roots through my stance to maintain balance. The form lets me redirect the creature''s momentum, ripping it free and throwing it against the wall.


    Castor roars as two eels strike his arm.


    His Skathrith flares with black energy as he tears them apart, their luminescent blood mixing with the rising water. He does not slow his assault—if anything, the creatures make him more aggressive. His strikes come faster, wilder, splashing through the water with deadly intent.


    Another eel whips around my torso. I grab it behind its head before it can bite, but its powerful body constricts, making it hard to breathe.


    Castor sees the opening and attacks.


    I barely deflect his strike while maintaining Iron Roots, fighting both opponents at once.


    The water continues to rise, now mid-thigh. More eels circle us, their bodies creating trails of light beneath the surface. They attack in pairs and trios, forcing us to divide our attention between them and each other. The chamber fills with splashing water, thrashing bodies.


    Our Skathriths draw nearer to each other, two battling orbs of light.


    One darker than night.


    The other brighter than bright.


    The water creeps up to my waist, turning each movement into a battle against resistance. My stance shifts constantly as the current pulls and pushes, the eels'' luminescent bodies casting wavering shadows through the murk.


    Castor''s attacks become harder to read—his shadow duplicates ripple and distort beneath the surface, multiplying with each reflection.


    A strike comes at my ribs. I block, but the water slows my response. His Skathrith''s energy pulses through the liquid, sending concussive waves that make my teeth rattle. Another eel latches onto my arm. I tear it free, but the distraction costs me as Castor''s next attack catches my shoulder.


    The chamber spins.


    Pain blooms where he struck me. Blood blossoms.


    Through the haze, I see his shadows converging for a killing blow. Time seems to slow as I recall Mother''s teachings of Flame of Renewal. The form ignites in my muscles, my body remembering countless repetitions in the training yard.


    I gather my strength and launch into Phoenix''s Ascension, exploding upward through the water. The move carries me above the surface in a clean arc, water streaming off my body. For a breath, I hang suspended in the shaft of sunlight. Castor''s eyes widen as I descend, my strike precise and unavoidable.


    My attack connects. My Skathrith descends on his own, a hunger from outside tearing through sheets of folded space. My Skathrith catches the weapon''s dark surface in its maw, transforming it into a blinding star. Light explodes across my vision. Through the glare, I see Castor stumbling backward toward the central hole, his arms windmilling as he loses balance.


    He falls with a massive splash, disappearing beneath the churning surface.


    The Skathrith pulses against my consciousness, its hunger a living thing. Castor''s black star dims, is subsumed by a blinding blight.


    The air rings with alien shrieks.


    Blood clouds the water where Castor thrashes, struggling against the eels that wind around his limbs. His eyes lock with mine—defiant yet tinged with something new. Fear.


    Feed. Consume. Grow stronger.


    The whispers fill my mind, drowning out everything else. My Skathrith hums louder, resonating with Castor''s fallen weapon''s final moans. The sound vibrates through my bones, through the water, making the eels scatter in panic.


    I hang in the air, untouched by gravity.


    Water spills from my boots and hair.


    Castor tries to push himself up, but the current pulls him back down. Water streams from his hair, his clothes. Blood trickles from where the eels'' teeth pierced his skin. The Skathrith''s hunger spikes at the sight, sending waves of urgent need through our bond.


    Take. Take! Everything.


    Through squinted eyes, I watch Castor''s Skathrith dissolve, breaking apart into motes of light that stream into my own blade.


    The power rush is immediate. Intoxicating.


    My Skathrith drinks in its fallen brother''s essence, growing stronger with each passing moment. Castor lies in the bloody water, weaponless. Defenseless. The hunger builds, urging me to finish what we started.


    More. Eat. More.


    The Skathrith''s whispers thunder through my skull, a crescendo of hunger and violence. My hands shake with the need to strike, to consume, to grow stronger. Castor lies before me, vulnerable in the bloody water.


    His face is so much like his sister''s own.


    And, for a moment, it is her I see.


    She stares up at me.


    Her platinum hair spreads across the frost-covered ground. Her eyes are filled with confusion and something else I can now read—fear.


    There is a small scar above her left eyebrow that I have seen once before.


    I close my eyes, letting Horizon''s Breath flow through me. The form brings stillness, like the moment before dawn breaks. Silent Sky settles into my bones, quieting the storm of need that rages through our bond. The Skathrith fights against it, but I hold firm.


    "No," I breathe.


    The blade wails above me. Light explodes outward in a radiant wave, turning the murky depths crystal clear. The eels scatter, their luminescent bodies streaking away like falling stars. The chamber fills with a pure, white radiance that pushes back the shadows and silences the whispers of hunger.


    Water gurgles as hidden drains activate.


    I descend into the knee-high water as conquest made flesh.


    The level drops rapidly, leaving Castor and me standing in spreading puddles. His chest heaves with each breath, blood seeping from dozens of small wounds where the eels struck. He stares at me, pain and confusion warring with something deeper in his eyes.


    "Finish it, demon!" His voice cracks.


    "No," I whisper in a voice that seems to come from the chamber itself.


    "You must," he wails. "You''ve taken everything. My Skathrith. My sister."


    Movement catches my attention.


    Binah emerges from the darkness.


    Her gaze wavers, just for a moment, as though she sees something in me she cannot reconcile. When she steps forward, it is tentative, her hands trembling as if reaching for someone already slipping away.


    "Please," the little boy sobs. "It hurts. I''m broken. Finish it."


    I raise my hand, blink back hot tears.


    The question I asked uncle Titus rises unbidden:


    “What if… what if I am not ready?”


    I remember his eyes narrowing. I remember his lips thinning.


    “Then you will break," he said. "And Malkiel does not weep for the broken.”


    Binah takes a step toward me, then stops, as if held back by invisible chains. The chamber falls silent except for the soft patter of draining water and Castor''s ragged breathing.


    A silver light sheafs my hand.


    "Tell her," Castor says, smiling through a face marred by blood and sadness. "Tell her I died bravely. Tell her … tell her I approve."


    I take a halting step forward.


    Malkiel does not weep for the broken, but I do.