“And that is why you should always have a full understanding of the effect you want your technique to-” Sathis stopped mid sentence. He inclined his head slightly, as if gathering himself.

  “It’s time Erich,” the cinderborn finished, his voice somber.

  Erich blinked, shifting his seat slightly on the rocks as he cocked his head at his instructor.

  “Over the past week I’ve lectured you on magical theory and the best methods for creating and improving martial art’s techniques,” Sathis said slowly, pausing at the end as if building up toward something.

  “Yes?” Erich replied. “The lectures have been useful, but I can’t get over the fact that we’re trapped in a cave in the middle of the unclaimed lands. A head full of theory won’t stop me from dying of dehydration and being eaten by a monster.”

  “Don’t worry,” Sathis said with a weak chuckle. “I don’t expect you to survive by theory alone.”

  Mana pulsed around the cinderborn, dull red and burning hot. Erich jumped to his feet, taking a couple hasty steps backward as the energy around Sathis continued to swell. For a moment, he shone as bright as the sun, and nostalgia twinged in Erich’s chest. It’d been almost a year and half since he’d seen daylight.

  Sathis reached down, pushing the rocks that covered his lower body away with a casual brush of his hand. Erich, breath hissed in his mouth as he saw the cinderborn’s legs for the first time since their initial encounter.

  They were battered, almost to the point of incapacitation. Gashes, at least two exposing bone, covered the limbs. Sathis skin was barely visible through the dried blood that caked his lower body.

  “Oh my,” Erich began, only to catch himself as another pulse of heat filled the cavern.

  Sathis hopped up and down, seemingly unaware of the bad shape his legs were in. A broad smile split his face.

  “That’s better,” the cinderborn said, his voice placid and content. “I’m sorry if you have felt my teachings to be deceptive or insufficient Erich. I was forced by my circumstances to hoard aether, but for better or worse I have reached the point of no return. My image has finally truly broken. I have less than an hour to live, and any mana that I spend now will never come back. It is time for your final lesson.”

  Erich’s throat bobbed silently. Suddenly, his mouth was bone dry.

  “I did not lie to you,” Sathis continued calmly, walking over to where his sword was planted in the rock floor and removing it easily. “You will need to forge your own sword style eventually, and I hope that our lessons will serve as an important building block toward that end. Unfortunately, I cannot train you in your greatest gift, your absurd affinity for the lightning element. What I can do is give you the tools you will need to use your elemental fire in order to escape the unclaimed lands.

  “Watch closely Erich,” the old cinderborn said lightly, “I have the mana to go do this twice. I need you to ingrain every movement in your mind.”

  “Do wha-” Erich began only for the words to freeze in his throat.

  Sathis lunged forward, thrusting his sword into the empty air. It was a simple motion, a bunching of the muscles in the shoulders, timed perfectly to coincide with his footwork, but the artistry of the moment took Erich’s breath away. The stab didn’t need to be complex. There was no unnecessary flourish of the sword, no twirling pirouette or pointless jump into the air. Just a step and a thrust, almost faster than his eyes could track.

  Mana raced down the length of the blade, erupting from the tip in a flicker of light that resembled the crackling flames dancing above a bonfire, searing its target from the inside for a fraction of a second before disappearing entirely.

  The cinderborn pulled back his sword, holding it in a two handed grip at about waist height, angled toward an unseen opponent. Mana coursed down Sathis’ arms and his blade flashed upward, blocking an imaginary downward slash and angling it to the side before, reversing course and chopping across his illusory opponent’s chest with enough force to send a shiver down Erich’s spine.

  Sathis continued his demonstration. One move flowed into another. Each untamed and ferocious, but also with the precision of a dancer. Erich’s awe wore off, and cold analysis took over.

  He couldn’t help but feel regret once again. The difference between a low and high affinity sword style had never been more apparent. The gap between them was a wall. No swordsman could bridge the difference, regardless of talent.

  It was like an artist, trained only in ink and paper for their entire life being exposed to color for the first time. Elegance and violence balanced easily in each stroke of Sathis’ sword as he demonstrated the art.

  The cinderborn’s dark skin glistened with sweat, seeming to glow with the same orange light as his eyes. Sathis stopped, chest pumping for breath. Fifty moves. Each set to handle and respond to a different attack or mistake by an opponent. Erich couldn’t help but burn them into his memory.

  Then, Sathis started again. This time, he moved slowly, almost languidly, as he repeated the same actions. The tip of his sword glowed orange like an ember, leaving an after image in the air as it traced out each of the slashes, parries and stabs that made up the martial art.

  After each attack, Sathis paused for half a second, letting the glowing lines that marked his motions hang in the air for a second before moving on to the next form.

  Erich licked his lips as he watched the master’s movements. Suddenly, it all snapped together. One second he was looking at Sathis perform fifty distinct blocks and thrusts, the next, even with his eyes closed Erich could see how the moves connected, each transforming seamlessly from one to the next.

  Without needing any instruction from Sathis, he picked up the hilt of his broken sword and began to mimic the cinderborn’s movements. Mana, burning hot and as violent as a wildfire rushed down his veins, wrapping his arms in a dim orange light as Erich went through the motions.

  His blocks and strikes weren’t anywhere near as precise as Sathis’. After all, the cinderborn was an expert with a lifetime of practice behind him. Still, even without a proper sword, Erich could feel the power and efficiency of the sword style. Every blow moved faster and hit harder than anything he’d ever managed with his old image.

  The heat in his legs and arms spread throughout his body, the mana etching the sword style into his muscles and bones. It felt more natural than when he had learned the Swaying Willow Blade. Despite the complexity added by the martial art’s advanced tier, each swing came to him like he had practiced it a thousand times over. All of his previous efforts had been like swimming upstream, struggling against a raging current in order to claw his way to some sliver of success. Now? Erich was simply letting himself go and following his instincts, letting his body act on its own.

  He completed the final move, opening his eyes. Sweat rolled down Erich’s heaving sides, but he felt more energy coursing through his body than ever before. A particularly reckless part of his mind told him to leave the cave and start running, that he could outrun every scavenger that lived in the wasteland between the battle lines with ease.

  “Good,” Sathis whispered through a worn and scratchy throat. “You’ve learned Magma Blossom perfectly on the first try. Despite your monstrous talent I was still worried. As skilled as you are, I doubt that you’d be able to survive what’s to come without a sword style to fall back on. It’s just an honor that the first one you’ve learned belongs to my family.”

  Erich looked down at his master, and the breath caught in his throat. The mana that had been keeping Sathis upright was long gone. The cinderborn’s age was readily apparent. His coal black hair was now silvery white and the deep creases of wrinkles framed his dim amber eyes. They flickered up at him like the embers of a dying fire, struggling to survive even as the last of their fuel burned away.

  Sathis’ legs oozed blood, new wounds open and weeping alongside the bruises and gashes that had marred them before. Despite everything, the martial artist was still clutching onto his sword with enough force that the knuckles of both of his hands shown white.

  “Come here Erich,” Sathis said, nodding tiredly toward a rock that sat next to him. “I don’t have much time, and there are still a couple of things that I must do for you.”

  Erich swallowed. The Sathis that he had spent the last week learning from was nothing but a shadow of his former self. The confident half smile, the vibrant energy that seemed to animate the martial artist, all of it was long gone. All that was left was an old man in a broken body struggling to take shaky breaths.

  He crouched down next to Sathis, the hilt of his broken sword clattering to the stone as Erich put both hands on the man’s forearm.

  “Are you all right?” Erich asked, leaning in close to inspect Sathis’ wrinkled face and rapidly dimming eyes.

  “No,” Sathis replied, the faintest memory of his cheerful smile flashing across his face for a fraction of a second. “This is the end for me, Erich. No amount of wishing or effort will change that. I won’t be able to teach you any longer and I won’t be able to see my family ever again. If I’ve come to accept that, you should learn to accept it as well.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Erich didn’t reply. There wasn’t anything to say. He’d only known Sathis for a week, but it felt much longer than that. Every minute of every day had been spent talking with the old cinderborn or sleeping. It felt like he was about to lose Harold all over again.

  “Now give me your arm Erich,” Sathis began, only to break down into a fit of coughing that almost dislodged his death grip on his sword. “I don’t have much time left and the last bits of knowledge are more important than anything else I’ve taught you so far. They are what will keep you alive long enough to reach the front lines of the Confederate Army.”

  Erich released Sathis and extended his arm toward him.

  “Turn it over,” the warrior said, “wrist up please.”

  Erich rotated his hand, eyes not leaving Sathis’ tired face.

  “This will hurt,” Sathis cautioned, “but it will be over in a moment.”

  Erich nodded, clenching his jaw as Sathis’ sword began to glow dark red. He could feel the fire attribute mana flowing up and down the blade, but it seemed sluggish compared to what the cinderborn had demonstrated before. The last dying embers of what had once been a roaring bonfire.

  Sathis turned his sword on its side, touching the flat of the blade to Erich’s forearm just below the wrist. There was a flash of pain and a hiss, Erich wasn’t sure if it was him, or his searing flesh. Then, it was gone, leaving nothing more than a strange dark mark on his arm and the sickening scent of charred flesh.

  The old cinderborn collapsed back to the ground, sword clattering from his hands. Sweat beaded his dark cheeks and his chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, utterly spent after his mana expenditure.

  “What-” Erich began only for Sathis to cut him off, his voice barely even a whisper.

  “This is your apprentice mark, Erich.” Sathis nodded toward the burn on his arm. Now that Erich looked closer, the brand was actually a sigil, a flaming eagle clutching a sword in its talons. “It will let anyone who inspects it know that you are an apprentice of the Takkmor family. An important thing if you want to live a life in the Confederacy other than that of a war slave.”

  Sathis chuckled, only for the laughter to quickly devolve into another coughing fit that wracked his frail body.

  When had his body become frail? Erich felt a tightness in his chest. Sathis had never been frail. The martial artist had a strength and life to him that was impossible to deny. He was a force of nature that could overwhelm anything that stood in its way. To see him as a dying old man was-

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Sathis said, as if guessing Erich’s thoughts. “I’ve lived a good life. I wish there was a longer road for me to walk, but this is a better ending than most warriors earn.”

  “But this isn’t the end for you Erich,” Sathis continued. “I know that we’re almost out of food and water and I know that you’ve been concealing how little you have left from me.”

  Erich stirred, trying to defend himself. He hadn’t wanted to worry the warrior. After all, Sathis had gone without sustenance beyond that first drink of water for the entire time that Erich had spent with him. It wasn’t right for him to complain and heap his own problems atop the martial artist that was clearly suffering more than him.

  “You are drinking my water and eating my food,” Sathis said dryly. “Of course I’d know exactly how much I packed. We have hidden ourselves away here far longer than I intended to stay.”

  “There is a way out of here, and that route has food and water along the way,” he promised, the faintest glimmer of his usual mischievous nature stoking the light of his dim eyes. “Of course, the path is dangerous and miserable, there are no assurances to be found on that road, but I can promise you a fighter’s chance at survival.”

  “I am an officer in the Confederate Army,” Sathis explained, “but I serve a dual role. I am also one of the individuals that helps smuggle Gliara’s Milk to the Empire. This spire is often used as a transfer point. Unfortunately, I suspect that your major found me because of that.”

  “The good news,” he continued, “is that cinderborn agents travel here often enough that the path here is marked and well traveled. The bad news is that you will have to descend the spire’s stairs in order to find that path.”

  “To hell,” Erich responded gloomily. “You are asking me to descend into hell?”

  “Specifically into a valley that runs from this spire to a spire behind confederate lines,” Sathis replied. “The water will be brackish, and the food will be the sulfurous flesh of the imps and lesser demons that dwell in that valley, but it is periodically cleared by martial artists so there should be no intermediate or greater demons in the valley. If you are quick and smart about things, I have all confidence that you will survive the journey.”

  “I’ve only heard stories,” Erich said with a frown, “but from what I’ve heard a single imp is as strong as a first tier martial artist. In hell they are supposed to appear in swarms. Never mind that lesser demons are between second and third tier in strength. The road might be safe for you, but to me, it is a borderline death sentence.”

  Sathis shrugged.

  “Then you can stay here and starve or wander out into the night. If you don’t move, you die. If you journey through hell, your new physique and Magma Blossom will give you a chance at survival. Plus-”

  The cinderborn smiled. Erich couldn’t help but notice the faintest trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his master’s mouth.

  “Plus, demons and imps are rich in aether. Many warriors are too timid to journey into hell. It’s clearly a dangerous place, but it is also your best chance to grow stronger. It is both a trial and an opportunity Erich. I trust that you can do more than survive. If it’s you, another tier is well within your abilities.”

  Erich bit his lower lip. Sathis was right. Every other option was certain death. His fight with the scavenger had taught him that he was stronger than he thought he was. If standing still was a death sentence, he might as well descend into hell. The worst that could happen was that he die with a sword in his hands, a fate that was still better than slowly starving to death on the surface.

  “Now,” Sathis said, his breathing labored. “Before I took you on as an apprentice, I told you that I would have two selfish requests for you when the training came to an end. Unfortunately, I think that it is time for me to make the first of those requests.”

  “Of course,” Erich replied, extending an arm and resting it on Sathis’ shoulder. “I can’t make any promises, but you have taught me so much that it would be beyond ungrateful of me to not hear you out.”

  “I knew you had the heart of a warrior,” Sathis responded, a cloud of pain crossing his eyes. “Ever since you offered me a sip of the water that you should have hoarded for yourself, you showed more honor than many who were born into sword families.”

  Erich accepted the praise silently, eyes locked on his master’s face.

  “Erich,” Sathis said formally. “As my only apprentice and a witness to my death, I ask that you engage in the rite of mathliss, the rite of honorable burial, for me.”

  “My body is nothing but flesh,” the cinderborn rasped. “A husk to cast off once I am finished with it. That can safely be left in this cave for the scavengers.”

  “But my sword is my life and my honor. Decades of my life have been spent alone with it, perfecting my craft. It is the dream of every honorable swordsman of the confederacy to die in combat and to have their sword returned to their family estate where it can be interred along with the masters of the past. That is the rite of mathliss.”

  “Of cour-” Erich began only for Sathliss to cut him off.

  “I don’t want you to agree without knowing the full extent of what I’m asking. Mathliss is not a simple rite. My family’s estate does not lie in Tempest, the world on the other end of this bridge. We are from Cinder, the homeland of the cinderborn. More than that, Mathliss is a pilgrimage. You would not be able to use a horse or a wagon for your journey. Unless you can tame a monster, I am asking you to literally walk across an entire world.”

  Complicated feelings swirled in Erich’s gut. Sathis was asking for years of his life. Walking across a world would be dangerous, painful and difficult. Still.

  Sathis wheezed. The cinderborn looked old and broken. He was fading rapidly before Erich’s eyes.

  There was nothing for Erich to go back to. There was nothing for him to travel toward. His life was a blank slate without purpose or direction. Not only did he owe Sathis everything, but the old man had also offered him a calling. A way for him to add meaning to the aimless disorder of his existence.

  “Of course,” Erich repeated himself, this time with more assurance behind his words. “It would be an honor to return your sword to your family home.”

  “Good,” Sathis said, his body slumping slightly as the tension left it. “But that means that you’ll be meeting my wife and children someday.”

  Sathis coughed again, a dark hand covering his mouth as spasms wracked his body. When the hold man took his hand away, the palm was stained with blood. Erich didn’t say anything.

  “You know Erich,” Sathis mused, his eyes dimming a little further. “I thought my greatest regret was going to be that my family wasn’t here to see my honorable death. I still regret that, but as I’m laying here, I’ve realized that it isn’t what I miss most.”

  “Erich.” He looked up at the human. “I’ve lived a full life full of wonderful memories, but what I will miss is the memories that I won’t be able to make. Of my son founding his own sword house. Of my daughter breaching the tenth tier and reaching the rank of sword master. Of my grandchildren. It is selfish of me, but I wish that I could survive a little longer, even as an invalid. I want to see their struggles and triumphs. I want to see how they bring honor to the Takkmor name.”

  A lump grew in Erich’s throat as he watched the wistful look on Sathis’ face. Knowledge, unwanted but unavoidable, swelled in his chest with unshakable certainty. His father had never spoken of him like that and he never would.

  Sathis shook his head, his eyes clearing for a second as he regarded Erich once again.

  “It is time for my second selfish request, Erich.”

  “What is it?” The words were practically torn unwillingly from Erich’s throat. “What can I do for you master?”

  A serene smile plastered itself across the cinderborn’s pain, overwriting and erasing the near constant grimace of pain that had afflicted the old man since he had shown Erich the Magma Blossom.

  “It’s only been a week, but you finally called me master,” Sathis whispered happily “That alone almost makes all of the suffering worth it.”

  “Erich.” Sathis extended his sword toward Erich with shaking hands. “A swordsman cannot commit suicide. It is a grave dishonor and a waste. Now that I’ve released my aether, my only fate is suffering and madness until eventually I die. It is traditional when a master reaches this stage for their apprentice to kill them, harvesting the last of their aether and putting them to rest.”

  “But-” Erich began, hand frozen halfway toward accepting the weapon.

  “But nothing,” Sathis scoffed. “This is my second and final selfish request, Erich. Please, let me die with honor.”

  Erich took the weapon, turning it over in his hands. When he looked back down, Sathis’ eyes were closed, a placid smile on his face.

  He lifted the sword, his hands automatically shifting to the double-handed grip of the Magma Blossom sword form. Indecision roiled briefly in Erich’s stomach before he dismissed it. With a deep breath, he swung the sword downward with all of his might.