The sun hovered on the other side of Comi’s towers. Elongated shadows stretched out past the city’s entrance.

  The towers were a great help to Quin and Onyl since they blocked the worst of the sun’s glare, a reversal of what happened that morning.

  Their watch over with, they waited for Conon who told them to meet back at the front. Ythan had yet to return from his mysterious journey.

  Quin thought the whole thing would take little time, but the day nearly came to an end. As calming as it was with his captain absent, the uncertain return gave Quin concern.

  He saw a new concern down a small road. In the distance were two people involved in some altercation.

  He paid less attention to the people who walked past him as his focus zeroed in on the dispute.

  When one person shoved the other and the downed victim raised their arms in mercy, he figured he needed to act.

  Quin took a step in direction of that road, then another. By his third step, a Cosondere beat him to the scene.

  Another Tyroviv appeared beside the two men. Once they stepped closer, the agitator turned away.

  Quin felt a little uplifted, but that lasted until the Cosondere kicked that the other person, likely a Yerp, out of the way.

  Quin sighed and shook his head. “What does ‘protection’ even mean? It’s obvious everyone doesn’t see it the same way.”

  No response.

  “What does protection mean to you Onyl?”

  Still no response.

  He turned to see Onyl just stand there as she stared down. Her brows rested on top of her eyes as they aimed at the ground. Her mind roamed somewhere else, Quin had never seen her so inattentive.

  He lightly palmed her shoulder. “Onyl? Onyl? Onyl.”

  She snapped out of it. Her brows rose and her eyes met Quin’s. “Yes? What is it?”

  “You looked like you were miles away from here.”

  “I was focused on my puppet.”

  “Puppet? Oh right, your shadow. Oh wait, your puppet.”

  She turned her attention back to her silhouette. Quin looked at his own shadow. He wondered what he could do to get it to move like hers.

  “If I wanted to learn shadow arts, would I have to stare at my uh, puppet too?”

  “Until you can control it, it will always remain a mere shadow. Furthermore, learning a new art is no simple task.

  “When it comes to your apt art, in your case wind, it comes across naturally.

  “Your aura naturally aligns with one of the conventional arts and thus it would take little effort to exert your powers. There is a certain comfort you would have with the nature of that art.”

  “So you’re saying it’s harder?”

  “Not impossible. Plenty of Sentar’i can use more than one art.”

  “What if I wanted to learn all eight?”

  Onyl’s face snapped at Quin with a scowl. “You would be lucky to learn three in your lifetime, let alone eight. Besides, if we have an apt art, then we also have a polar art.”

  “What’s that?”

  Onyl tilted forward in shock. Air traveled through her mouth before she snapped her fingers in realization.

  “Right, you are still new. Simply put, for you and wind arts, your polar art would be spatial. As a shadow artist, my polar art is ghost.

  “It is the art that stands in complete opposite to our apt arts. We can learn all the others except for our polar arts.”

  “So that’s impossible?”

  “Outside of myths, yes.”

  The sun dipped lower as the two expended more patience. As twilight approached, Quin thought about the Yerp travelers.

  He hadn’t seen them since morning and he felt certain none of his teammates checked in on them. No better time than the present, he thought.

  “Hey Onyl?”

  She closed her eyes and groaned. “What? What is it now Quin?”

  “Would you mind if I go see how the chroniclers are doing?”

  Eyes still closed, Onyl moved them behind her eyelids as if they deliberated behind closed doors.

  Finally, she answered, “Please do not get yourself killed.”

  Quin trekked along the main road to the inn where the Yerps checked in, a small quaint building no different from the rest. He had to double check to make sure he found the right place.

  Their room was just that with a water closet. Still a big room, it had enough space to give each of Yerps their own corner.

  It looked like a luxury even for Quin. He greeted the chroniclers and made himself comfortable.

  “We heard about what happened at the harbor earlier,” Mier mentioned from the side of a bed. “Good to see you made it out okay.”

  “I was fine,” replied Quin as he seated himself on a chair along a wall, the first time he sat all day.

  “It’s just a good thing there weren’t any Yerps in the harbor, even though all of it happened because no one was in the harbor.”

  Beside Quin in a similar chair sat Yach. Dozed off in his seat, it was the least abrasive he’d ever appear.

  “Yes, I suppose it was a good thing,” said Arty in his little corner as he organized notes on the floor. “Had it been open however, we could have found a better place. My first choice in rooms ended up unavailable because of the closure.”

  “Still better than the stables though, right?” Mier asked.

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Quin watched on as Arty composed a variety of different pages and books. Thoughts of the day swam inside his head. His mind drifted to the recent disturbance by the entrance.

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  The Sentar’i spirit, so constantly present. He wondered how it became so ubiquitous.

  “Hey Arty, you know a bit about the Sentar’i spirit right?”

  “About as much as a Yerp can, I guess. Another Sentar’i would probably have a better idea.”

  “Do you know who started it? Where did the idea come from?”

  “The Sentar’i spirit goes back a loooong ways Quin. Most likely, it stemmed from the one thing every legend derives from: the warrior king.”

  “The warrior king,” Quin repeated. “But isn’t he just some figure of folklore?”

  “It’s not like the Sentar’i spirit was drafted by some council and everyone agreed to follow it. Who else but the legend himself right?

  “With countless accounts displaying his utter dominance, it’d just makes sense that the strongest would impose such a philosophy.”

  Arty stood up. His eyes pointed ahead, but his sights were somewhere else.

  “Pronos,” he started. “A man without equal. A man who could do it all. He could move mountains with a simple push. He could change the environment with a single punch. He had the strength and aura to do as he pleased, and no one could stop him.

  “All eight of the conventional arts were at his disposal and he used them unlike anyone before nor since.”

  “When you say ‘at his disposal’, do you mean that he knew enough people who together could use the eight arts?”

  “No. He and he alone could fight using all eight arts. Some say he even mastered them all too.”

  “What about polar arts?”

  “This is what I meant when I said another Sentar’i would have a better idea. But so much has been said about Pronos. it’s hard to tell what is truth and what is myth. It’s safe to say that many Sentar’i try to emulate him and achieve a similar status.

  “From his philosophy down to his use of the conventional arts, they all want to apply it like Pronos. They all want to be like Pronos. The Sentar’i spirit likely derived from desires like that.”

  Quin placed up his mask and sighed. He sank his face behind his hands. An already daunting task became even more so.

  “So if I want to change perceptions, I have to be some sort of legendary figure?” he asked with a muffled voice. He then looked over to the snoozed Yach. Perhaps the crass Yerp had a point after all.

  Arty saw the uneasiness in Quin’s face when it appeared on his own.

  “Is this about last night?” he asked as he rushed over to the Cosondere. “Don’t let some myth get in the way of reality. Pronos was half-real, half-fable. You’re right here in the flesh. It’s still very much possible to change the world without all the conventional arts.

  “You can still master whatever art you use and I know there are Sentar’i who can master more. In fact, they’re called Masters of the Arts because they can use advanced moves. That’s what I heard anyway. So try and aspire for that and nothing lofty like some character in some story.

  “You know, plenty of things were said about Pronos that’s nothing more than apocryphal. They said he could communicate with animals. They said he was taller than a house. They said his aura displayed a variety of colors. Literally anything you could think of, and somebody will say it came from him.”

  “Wait, variety of colors?” Quin zeroed in. “Like red aura?”

  “Red aura. Green aura. Blue aura. Take your pick, but it’s all just a myth. Don’t think that it’s impossible to make change in the world just because of something like...the color of aura.”

  Arty went back to his notes as Quin went back to his thoughts. Thus far, he only knew one person who had red aura. Now he knew another, a semi-mythical figure.

  Except, the red aura wasn’t a fantasy. He wondered what else about Pronos wasn’t a fantasy.

  The whole time, Quin never put much thought into the red aura he occasionally saw. When he did, he found it unsettling as if it would sap him of his blood.

  He looked down at his hand where it flowed around freely the first time he saw it. He last noticed it in the Pit, though he felt like he might have seen it later than that. He couldn’t recall.

  He certainly hasn’t seen any other colors of aura though. If Pronos could change the color of his aura, then could Quin do the same? What if that was the mythical part? His mind raced with curiosity.

  He had a feeling the Aerviv would probably know a good deal about Pronos but if nothing else, Arty was a living encyclopedia.

  “You said a Sentar’i would know more about Pronos. Would you happen to know anyone in particular?”

  Arty dropped many of his notes. He turned to Quin with eyes and mouth wide open.

  “A-ah-honestly I’m flattered you think I’d have any sort of connection like that. I am but a simple Yerp though.

  “Although if any group of people had extensive notes on Pronos, it would probably be the Shanli over at the Academy.

  “Pronos and Lady Sexené were said to have close bonds. Maybe her students would have better sources.”

  The Shanli Academy. All Quin’s ever known about it stemmed from what his sister told him.

  A place where soul artists refined and learned more about their skills. A place where people practiced medicine and learned to be menders.

  That was the profession his sister pursued and the academy was where she said she’d go before he never saw her again. That fateful, dreadful morning.

  The distant and blank expression behind her smile. Her insistence on the academy allowing her entrance without the funds, funds she had to spend just to heal her brother.

  He rolled his fist as he thought who perpetrated the whole misfortune, Orpes. Had he never stood out, he would have never pushed Quin down a ravine.

  Then again, maybe he still would. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t at all if not for the Sentar’i spirit.

  The notion for a Sentar’i to “climb to the top” and be the best while at the same time do their best to keep everyone else at the bottom.

  Nothing about it made the world a better place, it only made a better place for those who zealously followed it.

  Quin thought about a life without the Sentar’i spirit.

  A world where special powers were used for the betterment of everyone in it, not as a status symbol that excluded anyone. If only the legends went differently.

  If the academy had more information about the Sentar’i spirit, then that was where Quin sought to be. His own spirits raised at the idea of a potential reunion with his sister, should she actually be there.

  If he had another chance to speak to Fyful, Quin would ask the Aerviv about any arrangement to get there. He could only hope.

  There were still things to do now and Quin brought his focus back to the present. He still had a mission to complete even if it was still on hold.

  Also, he couldn’t forget about his standing with Ythan. If the blue cloak’s regard for him remained low, not only could he be out of the team, but perhaps even lose the Aerviv’s goodwill.

  He had to make sure there wasn’t any doubt about his worth to the team. If not, he could be Sentar’i spirited away from the entire thing.

  Quin’s seat became comfier with every second. His vision blurred more and more until he eventually followed Yach and dozed off.

  Time passed, Quin leaned back against his seat deep in slumber with his mask laid on top of his head. Arty approached him.

  “Quin,” he lightly spoke as he lightly nudged. “Quin you got to wake up.”

  The Cosondere bobbed in and out of consciousness. “Huh...wha?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but your associates want to see you.”

  Quin finally woke up and found his bearings. The darkened room informed him of where the sun was or more accurately, wasn’t.

  Only he and Arty occupied the room now, Yach’s absence gave him a slight concern.

  He rose from his chair with a stretch. “Thanks for the heads up.” He walked up to the door when Mier opened it from the other side.

  “Oh, you’re heading out Quin? Well have a safe evening.”

  Quin covered his yawn before he covered his face. “Thanks. You too.”

  He allowed Mier entrance before he stepped out and the two Yerps were alone in the room.

  “Hey Arty, you said the people who can master more than one art was a Master of the Arts. What would Pronos be since he could master them all?”

  A side of Arty’s face rose with incredulity. “Are you dense? You couldn’t put it together yourself? Since Pronos could master all eight conventional arts he would simply be titled, the Conventional Master of the Arts.”