"I have been thinking on each layer of your core, and have devised three evocations to try." Cliae unpacked their tablets atop a rock and sat near the cliff's edge. The clean sea breeze ruffled their cloak, bending the fine blonde hairs that had begun to sprout.

"Your hair grows quickly," Skippii observed.

"Oh," they said, running a hand over their scalp. "Thank gods my beard does not."

Skippii sighed. "I'm going to miss having hair."

"I suppose it doesn't survive the flames."

"Only the tunic," he said. "Be grateful that does."

Tossing his headband aside, Skippii dug his toes into the earth and drew in his thaugia. Ever since awakening his powers upon the Sleeping Mountain, he had taken to walking barefoot. It seemed to provide a better connection with the source. His souls had grown tough, and callouses had sprouted on his brow, knuckles and joints. Something was altering his body; he awoke each morning to a new, minute change. All the better, he thought, to become a weapon of the enemy's bane. But how long before he resembled something inhuman?

"Are you listening?" Cliae asked.

"Sorry." He shook himself. "What did you say?"

"Sometimes, I have seen your Eruption Aura create ash in the air. In the beginning, you formed mists."

"That was when I couldn't control it properly," he said.

"Yes, but what if you could do so intentionally? Sort of… release the heat into the air and let it build up a cloud. Could you do that?"

"Maybe I could," he pondered.

"An obscuring cloud," Cliae continued eagerly. "It may protect you against enemy projectiles, or even a whole group of us, if you could spread it far enough."

Skippii nodded. "It's worth trying, but it's not going to kill a god."

Cliae pursed their lips. "Not much will. But I don't think it would be wise to neglect a wide scope of evocations. We will face many trials before the final one. And hasn't your ordinatio served you well so far?"

"No, of course, you're right. Sorry, it has served me well. I was being dismissive."

"Remember, you may grow stronger vertically, with depth, or laterally, with complexity and guile."

"Got it," Skippii smiled. "I'm on the same tally. Come on, tell me what else you came up with."

Seeming appeased, Cliae picked up another of their tablets and summarised their notes.

"Your Lava Essence–what have we seen of that on the surface of things? Your Boiling Blood is internal, and Metalurgic Warp… that happens within an object. But, my thinking is, what is the flame element of your Lava Essence? What does it look like in the naked air? Does it have a form? A physicality? Could it be summoned?"

Gazing out towards the sea, Skippii focussed inward on his core. Its middle layer burned a liquid orange in his veins, but perhaps he could draw it forth and expose it to the air. What might happen?

"I like it," he mused. "Good ideas. You have a third?"

"The callouses on your hands," Cliae said. "They gave me a clue for another, and I have named it already. I hope you don't mind."

"Let's see if I can evoke it first," he chuckled.

"Basalt Gauntlet," Cliae said. "Similar to your Blazing Strike, only evoking your Magmatic Core instead."

"Yeah," Skippii nodded. "That sort of thing would work well against a construct. Brute force, when flames don't have an effect."

"And perhaps as armour," Cliae said. "But that may come next."

"You have been busy, haven't you?"

Cliae grinned and dipped their head bashfully.

Bringing forth his Magmatic Core, Skippii surged with a solid ruby energy. With each breath, he delved deeper into the earth, seeking its compression of power. Within him, it solidified–glowed ruby red, then expanded outwards. Each other layer of his core receded to a thin crust. Then he directed the thaugia into his fists. He watched as flames danced over his fingers, and his heart's pulse pounded in his grip. But the Magmatic energy would not come forth–it could not rise beyond the surface layers of his core.

For a time, he pressed it this way and that, seeking to find a gap so as to bring it to the surface. But however thin his Eruption and Lava layers became, a membrane remained, and they held their place.

Stolen novel; please report.

All the while, he relayed the sensations to Cliae. "It's not easy."

"We've haven't tried something like this before," Cliae said.

Skippii ground his teeth and directed his attention elsewhere into the ground. There, his Magmatic Core ruled supreme. With a command, he could shake the earth or bring rock to bear. But within his flesh, other powers shared the domain.

Skippii unclenched his fists and released his focus. His Magmatic Core diminished, and a balance of power was restored to his core. "Let's rethink this."

"Flashfire Trap," Cliae said. "How does that work?"

"I bring my Eruption Aura to the surface," Skippii said, and demonstrated. "Then, by touching the earth, I fill its surface to the brink with power. But I don't let it burn. Not yet. It feels like a thread is tying me to that spot. Watch."

Where he touched, the long grass wilted and a thin vapour rose from the dirt.

"Now I can step away, and I can still feel it, like… How should I describe it? Like a fish on the end of a line. I feel it tugging at me. It wants to be free, it wants to explode, but I won't let it. Unless."

He snapped his fingers and a sudden fire engulfed the grass. As quick as it had sprouted, it died down to a crackle.

"The finger-snap was just for show," he winked.

"And Rockfang feels similar, correct?"

"Like pulling on a chain to release a trapdoor," he said.

"What if…" Cliae pondered a moment. "Cover your hands in mud."

Skippii did so without question.

"More than that," Cliae said. "Really cover them."

Pressing his fist into the earth, Skippii delved deeply. As a well draws the bucket of water, he commanded the superheated sludge of the earth's innards to its surface. Steam rose into his face, and he felt it soften in an instant. Sinking his fist up to his wrist, he withdrew a daub of oozing earth. Then, to mimic a kiln, he swathed it in flames. His Eruption Aura burned in tandem with his Magmatic Core, and soon, the dirt hardened into a gauntlet. He shaped it with his will, flexing his fingers to fit his form. And as it solidified, he held it up for Cliae's inspection.

There, in the chronicler's eyes, was the same look of fascination as the first day they had practiced his ordinatio together.

"Wonderful," they breathed. "Test it."

"May I?" He approached their seat.

Cliae moved aside, and Skippii pounded the boulder. It clanged like a hammerstrike, and minute sparks flickered over his knuckles. Again and again, he struck the rock. His gauntlet chipped and cracked, but suddenly a fissure cut through the boulder and a chunk of slate came free.

"It works," he grinned. "But it could be improved."

They trained together until early evening, when Cliae retired to their library for study. Skippii remained by the cliffside, meditating on the other evocations they had suggested. Lastly, he revisited the evocation he had conjured upon the Sleeping Mountain's peak: his attempt at replicating its temple's guardian constructs. Moulding the earth into a snake-like shape once more, he breathed power into its body.

A thin light came to life within it. As he set it down on the earth, he fought to retain a connection. But by moulding it, he had removed it from the body of his power. The mud-snake's power faded as a candle coming to the last of its wax. Skippii sighed and tried a dozen more times until he was surrounded by the cold, ropey cylinders. He was missing something… Time to change the method.

Forming a new snake out of a clump of mud, he carefully kneaded his power into its core. The snake wriggled to life, and he commanded it aloud.

"Rise up my arm."

Its head probed and wrapped around his wrist. Skippii felt the warm smooth mud gliding over his skin.

"Come. Rise."

Slowly, it found its way, winding up his forearm to his elbow. There, it rested.

At least he could command it while he maintained the connection.

"Lower to the ground," he said, and placed his palm to the earth. The snake obeyed, and stretched out onto the grass, and slowly as it slithered away, grew cold and died.

"That'll have to do for now," he said, rising to his feet. The sun had dipped behind the highlands and the seaward sky turned a deep blue. He could have remained all night, practicing the evocations, but it would do his body no good. He must still obey its command for sleep and nutrition. He was still human.

Outside the city, pyres of the dead smouldered in the dampening air. As he rose onto Nerithon's battlements, the first spots of rain touched his cheek. The corpses of cyclops had diminished where they lay amongst rubble. Slaves laboured day and night, butchering and carting the meat through the city streets like a train of ants. Now, their job was almost complete. But their toil would not end there, if ever it did.

"Bona-vera." Arius came from the shadows, silent as an owl in flight, and perched beside him. "How do you feel?"

"Good," he said quickly. "How are you?"

Arius looked right through him, the sharpness of his expression unbending. "Answer with consideration, young Skippii."

Nervously, he turned back to the city. How did he feel? It seemed like a foolish question to demand a more complex answer for. He felt like he needed to get stronger. He felt like the world was expanding beneath his feet, and each step he took carried a larger weight than ever before. He felt like the entire Ninth Legion might one day come to rely upon his strength. He felt…

"Wary," he sighed. "Scared, maybe."

"What are you scared of?"

"Failure. Not death, just… failure."

"Good," Arius said. "Then you are not a fool. This game, that we play, it must be played perfectly. Listen to your heart, Skippii, for it may inform the pieces in quiet times. There is a place for iron in battle, and a place for softness–for the bending and forging–in times of peace."

Skippii let his wisdom sink in, and they stood together for a time, sharing one another's silent company. A strong wind sailed over the rooftops, ruffling the legion's banners atop the wall. The stench of Nerithon was fading, and storm clouds gathered above. But beyond, upon the sea, an aura of silver light shone. As they stood in silence, it grew, parting the clouds above. Before long, moonlight shimmered off the calm waves, and something floated there, coming closer.

"Ships," Skippii said. "White banners, I think."

"White, trimmed red," Arius said, squinting. "And marked. I see the symbol of Hespera, and Junorix. The others are too distant to tell."

"You can see that far?"

Arius' lips sharpened as he turned his keen eyes on Skippii. "I see more than you suppose, and reveal less than what I find."

"You would warn me though, if an arrow came my way," he joked.

"I would be the first," Arius grinned.

"Magi," Skippii said, turning his attention back to the boats. "From Auctoria."

"Come to rebuild the city."

"They're sooner than I imagined." His voice wavered with a nervousness he hadn't expected. Of course, it was not missed by Arius.

"You think they will figure you their enemy?" he asked.

With a deep breath, Skippii expelled his anxiety. "No. I think those days are over. At least I hope they are. I shouldn't be nervous, I know. We all want the same thing. But… persecution stings still, a little." "Why don't we inspect their craft tomorrow," Arius said. "We will make acquaintance before unfavourable rumour can spread."

"Okay," he nodded. "I like that strategy. Let's tomorrow morning meet our new guests."

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