"Was that some kind of Terran mating ritual?" He gestured vaguely with his hands, clearly still processing what he'd witnessed. "The skirt was so... short. And there was so much skin."
Cass slugged him in the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble sideways. "Ow! What? It's a legitimate cultural question!"
The whole Katie situation had been a disaster from start to finish. After some seriously awkward convincing, she'd finally gotten changed back into normal clothes and helped make coffee like nothing had happened. The outfit—which she'd apparently spent two weeks crafting herself—was now safely stored in my soul-space. Hey, the craftsmanship was genuinely impressive; no point letting that go to waste.
Turns out she'd been trying on the finished costume when I'd walked in. Pure accident on my part, though Malcolm's expression suggested he'd need therapy to process what he'd seen. Or maybe a cold shower.
"It's complicated," I said, trying not to laugh at his shell-shocked expression. "You really need to get out more, Malcolm."
"She made that entire thing herself," Cass said with genuine admiration in her voice. "I've known Katie since we were kids, and I had no idea she could sew like that. The attention to detail was incredible. I wonder if she’d make me one…"
The pyramid loomed ahead like something out of an ancient nightmare, its massive stone blocks fitted together with a precision that made modern engineering look sloppy. Each block was easily the size of a small house, and the entire structure radiated wrongness that made me shudder.
Valor stirred in my chest like a guard dog catching a scent. , it seemed to growl, the warning reverberating through my bones.
I'd walked past this monument dozens of times over the past month, dismissing it as just a bizarre piece of Sentarian architecture. But now? The air around it felt thick and electric, like the moment before lightning ruins someone's day.
Wide stairs carved from red stone led up to a massive circular door that looked like it could withstand a nuclear blast. A single Sentarian guard stood at attention, his hand locked in some complicated gesture that matched the countless statues scattered throughout the plaza. His bone-white carapace made him look more sculpture than person.
"Amituofo, Revered One." The guard's voice had that formal cadence I'd grown used to hearing from Sentarians—like every word had been carefully weighed before being spoken. "This one applauds your restraint. Allowing the Elders time to confer shows wisdom beyond your years. You are expected."
I blinked. Expected? I'd been stuck helping at the Winter's farm for nearly a week straight and hadn't even mentioned wanting to visit Arryava until this morning over breakfast. Unless...
"Oh. Great. So I can go in?"
That definitely wasn't the reaction Chas had prepared me for. I'd been expecting to be turned away with diplomatic apologies, maybe some ceremonial nonsense, possibly having to argue.
"Only the Revered One may enter under her command," the guard said, sounding apologetic while maintaining military bearing.
I turned to my friends. "Guess I'm flying solo on this one..."
The guard cleared his throat delicately. "The command included your familiar and the Luohan, Revered One."
Red perked up at that, ears swiveling forward with interest. Right—Luohan. That's what Arryava called Ted. It means a spirit guardian, but Ted insisted he was so much more than that. The problem was, Ted couldn't manifest without Winchester nearby, and I wasn't about to test my cracked Vajra. Last time I'd tried, golden sparks had been leaking from the fracture like radioactive honey.
"Alright then." I pulled a metal canister from my soul-space and handed it to Malcolm. "This is for Chas—his special brew with added cinnamon. I'll catch up." I paused, feeling the wrongness from the pyramid pressing against my aura like invisible hands. "Actually, this might take a while. Meet back at Doreen's?"
Malcolm nodded, storing the canister with practiced ease. "Use the Manascript if something goes sideways."
The concern in his voice was justified. Mo-Lei had always felt safe, peaceful even. But whatever was radiating from the pyramid ran counter to everything about this place. It was like finding a loaded gun in a church.
"Thanks, Malcolm." I glanced at him. "You feel it too, don't you?"
He smirked, though tension lingered around his eyes like worry lines. "You forget I have an aura of my own. Nothing as ridiculous as yours, obviously, but effective enough to know when something's off."
I'd honestly forgotten about Malcolm's aura—a subtle warmth that he used to navigate the world, almost like spiritual echolocation with heat. Far more refined than my sledgehammer approach of slapping everyone in the face with safety.
The massive door rolled open with a grinding sound that vibrated through my bones. What waited beyond assaulted every sense I had and invented new ones just to overwhelm those too. I didn’t need Valor to tell me that something immensely dangerous was going on inside. Something so powerful my idea of the word seemed insufficient.
Gold leaf covered every surface like someone had sneezed wealth all over the walls. Light bounced between countless floating orbs, creating a disco ball effect that would've made the seventies jealous. Tapestries hung from the vaulted ceiling in colors that did battle with the surrounding gold, depicting scenes that hurt to interpret—like someone had asked M. C. Escher to design a Buddhist fever dream.
The moment Red and I crossed the threshold, reality hiccupped. That same disorienting snap I'd felt entering Sylvarus or stepping into spirit realms—the sensation of crossing between worlds without moving.
I glanced back as the door ground shut. Cass and Malcolm were still visible through the narrowing gap, but they looked wrong somehow. Distant. Like looking at them through frosted glass.
The door sealed with finality, and mana crashed over us like a tide.
"We're in a tower," I said aloud, testing the words against the impossible space.
A presence brushed against my aura—gentle but unmistakable—and suddenly an old man stood directly in front of me like he'd been there all along. Human at first glance, with white hair and a beard that belonged on a mall Santa, but his pointed ears were pure fantasy. Not quite like Dawn's long, blade-like ears, more like Dara's gentle points. His robes could've been stolen from a rainbow, all vibrant patterns that reminded me of Arryava's iridescent carapace.
"Took you long enough," he barked, then immediately softened. "Apologies. I'm Randall."
He extended his hand as if we were meeting at a business conference instead of inside an impossible tower hidden in a pyramid. His grip was warm, solid, surprisingly normal.
Then he turned to Red, and his entire demeanor shifted to something almost reverent. "Be at ease, Wandering One. You need wander no longer."
Red's ears perked forward, and I felt the tension that had been coiling in him since we'd entered simply... evaporate. Not the first time someone had said the cryptic line to my familiar, but it never got less weird.
"Hi Randall, I'm..."
"An Eidolon?" His eyebrows shot up like they were trying to escape his face. "Well, that's new. Haven't seen one of those in... actually, I've never seen one personally. 'Revered One' indeed."
"Wait, you can tell?"
"Oh yes, any spirit would notice immediately upon touch. You feel more real than anyone else in my tower—like everyone else is a photograph and you're the actual person." His smile turned knowing, almost mischievous. "Bit disconcerting, honestly."
"So this is definitely a tower."
"What a ridiculous question. Of course it is." His grin widened conspiratorially. "Though perhaps we keep that particular detail between us, yeah? Bit of a secret. Can't have everyone knowing the Sentarians have their own pocket dimension."
He waved his hand with the casual air of someone adjusting the thermostat, and ornate orange doors materialized in the middle of the hallway. They swung open silently, revealing what lay beyond.
"Come on then, she's waiting. Fair warning—she's not alone, and the company is... tense."
I stepped through into a space that made the golden hallway look understated.
The circular chamber stretched up into a domed ceiling that seemed to capture actual sunlight, casting rainbow patterns across everything. Alcoves lined the walls like theater boxes, and at the far end, Arryava sat on a raised dais like a queen holding court. Her iridescent carapace shining in the light in ways that made her look carved from living gemstones, antennae curved over her head in graceful arcs that reminded me uncomfortably of Lu Bu's crown.
But it was the audience that stole my breath.
Sentarians filled every wall recess—dozens of them in colors I didn't know were possible. Where most Sentarians were bone-white, these displayed every hue imaginable. Some looked more beetle than humanoid; others resembled entirely different insects, all maintaining that unsettling blend of bug and person. Their robes shimmered like oil on water, and many wore elaborate masks that obscured their features.
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A shudder ran through me despite Valor's steadying presence. The Sentarians were supposed to be peaceful, spiritual, benevolent. But the energy radiating from this gathering felt like standing next to a nuclear reactor—controlled… tentatively.
"Ben Crawford." Arryava's voice carried her playful undertone that always made me nervous, like she was in on a joke nobody else understood. "I am thrilled you came."
Dozens of alien eyes fixed on me from every direction. The weight of their attention was almost physical, pressing down like gravity had just increased twofold.
"Sorry I didn't come sooner." I approached the dais, trying to keep my voice steady despite feeling like a mouse at a cat convention. "Who are they?"
Arryava's laugh echoed off the dome as she stood, gesturing grandly to encompass the entire chamber. "There's no need to whisper, Ben. These are the Sentarian Elders, here to ensure I do nothing too... helpful." Her mandibles spread in what might have been a smile if smiles could cut glass. "They were quite displeased when I in the Caretakers' faces and raised you to Seeker. One who holds a Vajra, no less!"
She was performing now, her words aimed as much at the assembled Elders as at me. Testing boundaries, pushing buttons.
"What made it worse," she continued, voice dripping with false concern, "was their absolute fury when I named the Hollowflame in Sylvarus. Even though it was already there, corrupting everything it touched." Her tone grew serious. "It cannot be coincidence that an echo of our lost home appears on Ark. And then..."
The world exploded in pain.
A sound that wasn't a sound drove me to my knees, hands flying to my ears even though that did nothing to stop it. My aura didn't just flicker—it ceased to exist, snuffed out like a candle in a hurricane. The world dissolved into pure conceptual compliance.
Absolute bullshit wrapped in philosophical pretension. Some kind of suppression rune cranked up to eleven, designed to beat compliance into anyone stupid enough to resist. Which I was actively doing.
Blood trickled from my nose, warm and metallic. I pulled a rag from my soul-space and wiped it away, forcing myself to stand despite the conceptual weight trying to crush me flat. Red pressed against my leg, his warmth the only thing keeping me anchored.
"Indeed, you've guessed correctly." Arryava's giggles felt obscene given what they'd just done to us. "The Collective works together to suppress me, though they must choose their battles carefully. We may speak freely about anything else." She paused, head tilting at an angle that insects shouldn't be able to achieve. "My friend Ran'daleth Sa'mornival Vel'thandir tells me something fundamental about you has changed."
Spirit names were apparently designed by someone who hated both pronunciation and brevity.
"Randall?" I managed through the lingering pain.
"Indeed." She began descending the stairs, her pace quick and purposeful. With each step, the conceptual pressure intensified exponentially.
My knees buckled. I clenched my eyes shut as consciousness started slipping away like water through my fingers. The alien concepts pressed harder, trying to rewrite my understanding of reality itself.
When I forced my eyes open, Arryava stood directly in front of me, her antennae extending toward my temples like questing fingers. The moment they made contact, everything went white.
"Ben Crawford, you must not return to Sylvarus. Something ancient has infected that place, and I cannot..." Arryava's words died as she took in my soul-space for the first time, her cat-like eyes widening with something between awe and disbelief.
The circular chamber felt smaller with her presence, more intimate. Her antennae twitched as she catalogued every detail—the smooth stone walls that felt more real than reality, the soft light that came from everywhere and nowhere. Her gaze fixed on Winchester, the cracked staff resting against my storage area like a wounded soldier refusing to fall.
Then she turned and found Ted and me staring at her with identical expressions of 'what the fuck.'
"How the hell are you here?" I asked reasonably.
"Heya, bug lady," Ted added with his characteristic wave, like soul invasions were perfectly normal.
Confusion flickered across her features—actual, genuine bewilderment from someone who usually knew everything. She made a sound that was part cough, part cricket chirp.
"I thought we would have limited time, but..." She paused, studying Ted with new intensity. "You are no Luohan. A Lingdao?"
Ted shrugged with casual indifference. “I’ve been called worse.”
"I... This one apologizes for intruding upon your domain, Revered One." Arryava bowed her head, and the playfulness vanished completely. Pure reverence radiated from every gesture. "She understands now."
"Understands what?" I demanded, tired of cryptic bug-people speaking in riddles.
Arryava's mandibles spread in that unsettling smile. "Why the Shi'an are interested in you." She gestured toward the gateway leading to my soul's courtyard. "I feel as if I've leaped from a pond into an ocean. And you've become an Eidolon? During Sylvarus? That surge of mana that rippled through the Astral like an explosion..."
The memory hit me—overwhelming power, my existence expanding beyond physical limits, reality bending around me like it was asking permission to exist. "That's when it happened. Though whatever I did seems to have damaged Winchester."
"Incredible." Her voice dropped to an awed whisper.
She approached Winchester with the careful reverence of someone handling religious artifacts, crouching until her hand hovered millimeters from the cracked shaft. Golden sparks had crystallized along the fracture, frozen like lightning caught mid-strike.
She exhaled, the sound carrying centuries of regret. "Of course. Nothing short of Heaven's Tears could repair a Vajra. It cries out for aid that I cannot provide."
Standing, she placed her hand over her heart in what felt like a genuine apology. "I regret that the Sentarian Collective possesses no Aurum, nor am I aware of any among our allies. Perhaps our mutual friend among the Oathbound might know something."
"You think Grace will help?" The memory of that woman's casual display of terrifying power made my stomach twist.
"The Oathbound will do much for the sake of karma." Arryava's giggle carried actual warmth this time.
"Can you even contact her? What about those Elders and their suppression bullshit?" My temples still ached from their conceptual assault.
"Ah." She waved her hand dismissively. "They seek to prevent me from destroying them to protect my people."
I stared at her. "Like... killing them? All of them?"
She nodded matter-of-factly. "The Elders are remnants—already dead, merely echoes in our collective’s tower, clinging to existence through sheer stubborn refusal to fade. They cannot understand that our history contains weapons others need. If Hollowflame exists on Ark, it must be carved from reality and destroyed without mercy or hesitation. Knowledge remains our best defense against threats that exist beyond normal comprehension."
The casual way she discussed genocide—even against her own already-dead Elders—made me shudder.
"How convenient that we can speak freely here." Her demeanor shifted, words tumbling out faster like she was racing against time. "Though I'd prefer to avoid that path if possible."
She moved closer, urgency radiating from every gesture. "Hollowflame is wildfire that cannot be stopped once ignited. Like mana burning, it grants immense power to those who embrace it, but it will consume their soul inevitably, without exception. You've seen what it does to spirit realms—complete annihilation." Her mandibles clicked together in agitation. "This was our weapon against the Shi'an in ages past. It is a disease, Revered One—one my people found irresistible until it nearly destroyed us. You must not return to Sylvarus. Your soul is unprotected. I fear you must leave Ark entirely. This world is likely doomed. Do not look... back..."
Her words trailed off as her concentration wavered. Her antennae drooped like wilting flowers, then suddenly snapped upright as she stared over my shoulder with something between shock and reverence.
I turned, following her gaze.
Dawn stood in the doorway like she'd always been there. Ethereal, luminous, impossible, and absolutely present in a way that made everything else look like shadows.
"He is protected." Dawn's words carried a finality that ended arguments before they started. A knot in my chest I hadn't realized was there simply... dissolved.
Arryava stepped forward urgently, but Dawn raised one delicate hand. "Do not cross the threshold. Do not make blind mistakes."
Arryava froze inches from the doorway. "You're actually here?"
"A memory," Dawn said simply. "But enough."
I looked between them, frustration building. "I'm going to need some explanations here. Arryava? Dawn? Anyone want to tell me what the hell is happening?"
Reality snapped like a rubber band.
I gasped as air rushed into my lungs, the physical world crashing back with jarring suddenness. Arryava flew backward from our connection, her body tumbling across the floor before crashing against the stairs with enough force to crack stone. Minutes compressed into heartbeats—an entire conversation collapsed into a single moment of real time.
The oppressive conceptual weight that had been crushing us was gone. Not diminished, not fighting back—completely absent, like it had never existed.
Arryava sat up, laughing with genuine delight that echoed off the domed ceiling.
"How terribly inconvenient for the Elders," she said, rising with fluid grace while brushing dust from her carapace. "We'll be leaving now. I have a garden that's been neglected for weeks, and Ben has an Academy to attend."
She gestured casually, and a door appeared in the wall that definitely hadn't existed moments before. Through it, I could see stairs leading down to street level—a straight shot out of this conceptual nightmare.
I followed her outside, Red padding beside me, and immediately felt the difference. The clean air of Mo-Lei hit like a physical relief after the suffocating atmosphere inside. Arryava took a deep breath, the kind people take when they've been underwater too long.
A dozen Sentarians materialized around her like concerned relatives, their movements coordinated and protective. One draped a brown and gold robe around her shoulders while others checked her for injuries with soft clicking sounds that might have been a language.
"Thank you, Ben Crawford. This changes everything." She turned to face me, that playful tone returning but carrying genuine gratitude. "I know you want explanations, and you'll have them, along with my help contacting the Oathbound about your Vajra. I'll meet you in Sylvarus when I have something to offer karma."
Before I could form a response—before I could demand answers about Dawn, about the Sentarian’s history with Hollowflame, about any of it—she was gone. Her retinue swept her away in a flutter of robes and concerned fussing, leaving me standing alone in front of the pyramid looking like someone had just explained quantum physics using interpretive dance.
"What the fuck just happened?How'd the bug lady pull that soul-space thing? And how does she know Dawn?
"If you're asking me, who the hell am I supposed to ask?" I said aloud, earning curious looks from passing Sentarians, who probably thought I'd cracked under the pressure.
The plaza had returned to its usual peaceful evening rhythm. Gardens were being tended, smaller Sentarian children played between the statues, life continued as if cosmic threats and soul-invasions were just regular problems. The contrast made my head spin.
Minutes ago, I'd been discussing existential threats and reality-consuming fire. Now I stood in a peaceful plaza watching monks water their flowers.
Red pressed against my leg, offering his steady warmth as an anchor. He seemed just as confused as I was, which was oddly comforting.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. We'd been inside for maybe thirty minutes real-time, but that conversation had felt much shorter. Could time move differently in a tower? And what about my soul-space? Was that even the weird part after everything else?
Whatever. Malcolm and the others would be waiting at Doreen's, probably wondering if I'd come back more powerful like last time I’d visited her.
I started walking back toward the surface, my mind churning through the fragments Arryava had dropped. Hollowflame—a reality cancer that granted power while eating souls. The Shi'an—known as the Caretakers—had wiped out the Sentarians who turned to using weapons that broke reality. And Dawn... somehow Dawn was important enough that her presence had shut down an entire collective of angry ghost-elders.
My to-do list was getting ridiculous:
Figure out what Hollowflame is, and where it came from
Learn more about Dawn and her connection to the Sentarian
Get Winchester fixed with these 'Heaven's Tears'
Survive the Academy and the tournament
Try not to die or get kicked off the planet
Make beer with Cass
I was looking forward to only one of those things.
The walk back to Doreen's gave me time to think, which honestly might have been worse than not thinking. Every answer I got seemed to spawn three new questions, like some kind of hydra made of confusion and cosmic dread.
Oh well, it couldn’t get much worse.