Chapter Twenty-Nine: Frost Dragon Wings

  Ash ducked a swinging blade, weaving through the homunculi as he attempted to use a technique. He had wanted to use it before attempting to retrieve the flag, but Amalia had nixed that plan.

  "You need to be able to call upon techniques in the heat of battle," she had said, her voice carrying the same unyielding certainty that had marked all of her teachings.

  Now, surrounded by animated wooden soldiers with blank faces and very real weapons, Ash was beginning to understand why. Theory and practice were worlds apart, especially when sharp implements were whistling past your ears.

  Pushing his elar out of his body was proving harder than he first thought it would be. In quiet meditation, with nothing threatening his life, he would have found it easy. But focusing on not getting smashed in the face by solid wooden swords, spears, and staffs was making it really difficult. His concentration scattered each time he had to dodge, each time his attention was pulled in another direction.

  He moved under another blade, feeling the air displacement ruffle his hair as it passed within inches of his scalp. But he couldn't dodge the staff that caught him in the side with brutal force. He was spun away as agony tore through his ribs. He cried out, clutching his side, the pain sharp and immediate. The effects of his elar flared up in response, nearly overwhelming him with sensory input.

  He groaned, his control slipping as his mind struggled to process both the pain and the heightened awareness his elar brought. A wooden foot smashed into the same area the staff had hit him, his body rolling across the hard ground as more pain lanced through him like a fiery spear.

  He screamed, tasting dirt and blood. For a moment, the thought of giving up flashed through his mind. This was too much, too soon. He wasn't ready.

  But then a curious thought forked into his mind, not entirely his own. Images followed it: his uncle standing up to certain death, his face resolute even as the shadowy figure approached; the people on his farm dead, their bodies lying where they had fallen; pools of blood soaking into the earth, turning it dark and wet.

  Was he going to give up now? That thought seemed to ask. Was he going to lie there and accept defeat when so much had already been taken from him? When there was so much left to do?

  Ash looked out from the corner of his eyes, seeing Lilith looking at him with unblinking eyes, burning like green fire with determination. Her tiny dragon form was tense, ready to spring forward if needed, but she remained where she was, trusting him to rise again.

  Ribs pulsating with pain, Ash focused his mind, rolling away from another attack. His body protested every movement, but he pushed himself to his feet just as more homunculi closed in. The animated statues possessed no emotions, yet Ash felt an aura of menace from them anyway. Their blank wooden faces seemed to mock his efforts, their movements relentless and unceasing.

  There were at least a dozen surrounding him now, with even more spread up the hill, waiting their turn. He hadn't even made it ten feet up the slope. Though they were only about as fast as any mortal without elar, which should have given him a slight advantage, their sheer numbers negated it. For every one he evaded, two more seemed to take its place.

  He moved around them, one hand clutching his injured side. His ribs might be broken, or at least badly bruised. Every breath sent fresh waves of pain through his torso. Once more, he tried to push his elar outside himself, concentrating on the image of it extending beyond his skin. But as soon as he tried, the light-cursed statues seemed to sense it, closing in with renewed vigor. He was starting to believe they could sense when he tried to do anything with his elar and redoubled their efforts to hit him.

  The throbbing agony in his side didn't do him any favors, either. It made it hard to breathe, let alone focus on manipulating his elar.

  His uncle had died quickly to that mysterious stranger at his farm nearly a month past, but there hadn't been defeat in his eyes. Even in those final moments, facing something he couldn't possibly overcome, Uncle Derrick hadn't given up. He had stood tall, sword in hand, ready to face whatever came.

  If he wanted to reach bronze rank, if he wanted to become strong enough to hunt down that man with cinder eyes, he had to deal with the pain. Had to push through it. Gritting his teeth until they ached, he drew more elar from his winter-cold elan, intensifying the feeling of elation that accompanied it. He increased what he could sense, not sharpening his perception but rather broadening it, hearing and smelling even more.

  The ever-so-slight creak of the wood from which the homunculi were formed became a symphony to his ears. The smell of stone and dirt filled his nostrils, distinct and complex. He could taste the dust in the air, feel the minute changes in temperature as the wooden soldiers moved around him.

  But it also made him slightly faster, his reactions sharpened by the flood of information. He was able to get away from the immediate assault, creating a small bubble of space around himself. In that brief respite, he bent his mind toward pushing out his elar, concentrating on moving the cold from within out around himself like a billowing cloak of winter frost.

  Nothing happened.

  His frustration, coupled with the shock because he had done exactly what Amalia had told him to do, was enough to distract him for a crucial second. That distraction cost him dearly as one of the homunculi closed the gap and bashed his shoulder blade with a heavy wooden club.

  "ARGH!" The pain was excruciating, radiating from his shoulder throughout his entire body. The feeling of his shoulder blade being crushed brought him to his knees, unable to support his own weight. His vision blurred, and tears sprang to his eyes unbidden. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the burning water from his sight before the next attack came.

  Red pulsated like a fat leech in his mind, demanding surrender. Give up. Lie down. Accept defeat.

  His nails dug into his palm, breaking skin. Blood welled up, warm and wet against his cold fingers.

  No.

  He wouldn't give up. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

  He drew more elar, desperation driving him to pull harder than he ever had before. The numbness of winter poured through his veins like liquid ice, flooding every part of him. His body shook with the effort of containing so much power. A high-pitched growl rolled through his mind, a warning he was too desperate to heed.

  Pleasure like lightning rode through him, mixing with the pain until it became a discordance of feeling he couldn't control. Too much. It was too much. His senses overloaded, his mind unable to process the contradictory inputs.

  His head hit the ground with a dull thud. Darkness closed in from all sides, wrapping around him like a soft blanket promising relief from pain.

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  He succumbed to it.

  _____________

  "I wondered when you might do that," Amalia said, her voice cutting through the darkness that enveloped Ash's consciousness.

  Ash's eyes slowly blinked open, struggling to focus. His body immediately reported to him that it was sore, tired, and thoroughly unhappy with recent events. Every muscle ached with a deep, bone-weary fatigue that made even the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.

  As his vision cleared, he noticed Lilith lying unmoving beside him in her dragon form. Her scales seemed duller than usual, her breathing shallow. Just like that, he couldn't care less about how he felt.

  He was wide awake as he bolted to her side, ignoring the protests of his battered body.

  "Lilith!" He placed a hand on her side, feeling for the rise and fall of her breathing. His heart hammered in his chest as he waited, terrified of what he might not feel.

  Ash blew out a breath as he sagged, tension draining from his shoulders. She was breathing! Her small chest rose and fell regularly, though slower than usual.

  "Your dragon is merely tired, but it could have been worse," Amalia said, standing over them both with her white staff in hand. Her violet eyes revealed nothing of her thoughts, but her voice held a note of warning.

  He shot her a look, mouth agape with sudden realization.

  "What? Why did this happen?!" The question came out sharper than he intended, edged with fear and guilt.

  "Because of you, Master Lorcan."

  No words came from him. He looked down at Lilith's small form, then back up at his teacher, who stood impassive as stone. A cold weight settled in his stomach.

  "I did this?" His words sounded hollow, empty of everything but dawning horror.

  Amalia nodded once, a small, precise movement.

  "Yes, you did. I am glad you feel ashamed. Unlike what happened at the farm, this is your fault."

  The storyteller didn't sound angry, but her words may as well have been hammer blows for how they struck him. Each syllable drove the guilt deeper, hammering it into his heart like a nail. She went on, her voice calm but unyielding.

  "Can you not put it together? You drew too much elar. You and Lilith," she pointed at the dragon hatchling with her staff, "are connected. You share an intimate bond, one you do not yet fully understand. While she may not share your pain, your elan and elar are connected. When you draw too much, you risk dying. That means she also dies. Or, when you knock yourself out by drawing near your limit, she, too, goes unconscious."

  Ash looked at his dragon, really looked at her. She seemed so small and vulnerable lying there, her wings folded against her body, her tail curled around her. He placed a hand on her tiny form, feeling the warmth of her body and the smooth hardness of her scales. She was depending on him, trusting him, and he had nearly killed her because he couldn't control himself.

  "I am sorry, Lilith," he whispered, closing his eyes against the sudden burning sensation in them. "I won't let it happen again."

  "I once met a man long ago with hair like wildfire and eyes as green as your young dragon's there," Amalia said suddenly, her voice taking on a distant quality, as if recalling something from the far past. "He told me something I committed to memory. Determination is important, but in battle, you need control and focus far more. Perhaps you will find this useful as you attempt the trial again. Right now."

  Ash's head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief.

  "Are you crazy?!" The words burst from him before he could stop them. His body was still screaming with pain, and Lilith had barely begun to stir. "We're in no condition to try again."

  "Perhaps, how would I know if I am?" Amalia replied, her voice holding the barest hint of dry humor. "I will give you an elar potion, but it will not make your body any less sore." She produced a clear blue potion from within her robes, the liquid inside glowing softly with its own light. She handed it to him without ceremony.

  He took it with reluctant fingers and uncorked it. The liquid smelled of lightning and winter pine. He drank it in one gulp, wincing at the bitter taste. It didn't ease the dull ache in his muscles or the sharp pain in his ribs, but he felt his elar reserves replenish. Lilith began to stir beside him, her green eyes fluttering open to find his cold blue ones. She blinked once before snorting a small puff of smoke in what he took to be annoyance.

  Ash couldn't help but laugh, relief washing through him.

  "Okay then, I guess I'm ready to try again." His voice was stronger now, steadier, though his body remained a catalog of aches and pains.

  He stood, facing the homunculi that still dotted the hill. They had returned to their original positions, motionless once more, as if waiting for him to begin anew. He stepped to the base of the hill, steeling himself for what was to come.

  The wooden monsters burst into sudden life once more, their limbs creaking as they moved toward him with deadly intent.

  Ash rolled his stiff neck, feeling the vertebrae pop. This time would be different. This time he would succeed.

  Then he began to draw his elar, more carefully than before, pulling just enough to enhance his senses and speed without overwhelming himself.

  _____________

  It was still hard, the task no less daunting than it had been the first time. But he tried to focus his mind, drawing on lessons learned both from his failures and from his successes. Amalia had forbidden him to use his sword, and thus, the clarity of focus that came to him naturally while he held a blade eluded him.

  The sword had always been an anchor for him, a conduit through which his thoughts became clear and purposeful. Without it, his mind felt scattered, like leaves blown by an autumn wind. Trying to recall that feeling, Ash pictured himself holding a sword, his hands curling around an imaginary hilt, his body moving through the forms as if he had one.

  He partially succeeded. He couldn't recall the perfect clarity that came with an actual blade in his hands, but he got a piece of it, enough to sharpen his focus to a usable edge.

  That was enough. It had to be.

  Focus came to him, shaken but not broken this time, as he avoided the wooden soldiers. Their attacks seemed slower now, more predictable, as if his near-failure had taught him something essential about their patterns.

  He didn't try to engulf himself in his elar as before. That approach had failed twice now, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake a third time. Besides, Lilith was pushing thoughts into his mind, suggesting a different path.

  She showed him an image of a dragon soaring through the air, wings spread wide and glorious in the light of a new day. The joy of flight, the freedom of movement, the power inherent in those majestic wings.

  Yes, that's right, Ash thought, the image resonating within him. Not a cloak or a shield, but wings. Extensions of himself, focused and directed.

  His elar surged forth as if eager to fulfill that image, responding to the clarity of his intent. Instead of trying to push it out in all directions at once, he concentrated on his back, visualizing the power flowing out from his shoulder blades.

  Elar pushed itself out of his back, manifesting as swirling winter blue and silver-white ice with veins of crystalline purple. Billowing from his back, the power morphed as if winter itself were shaping to his will, taking form according to his desire.

  Frost detonated from him in a wave of cold, coating the front row of soldiers in layers of rime. Their wooden limbs creaked and slowed as the cold seeped into them, their movements becoming sluggish and imprecise.

  Lilith let out a shrill cry of joy, her small form bouncing with excitement. Her approval flowed through their bond, warm and encouraging.

  He now had frost dragon wings billowing from his back, radiating cold power. They weren't physical in the traditional sense; he couldn't feel them as he would arms or legs. But he could sense them nonetheless, an extension of his will and power into the physical world. The air around him chilled, his breath misting in front of his face despite the temperate conditions of the chamber.

  Ash grinned, exhilaration rushing through him. The wings responded to his thoughts, flaring wider when he willed them to, folding closer when he needed to maneuver in tight spaces. With each movement, frost spread from them, coating nearby surfaces in delicate patterns of ice.

  "I did it," he breathed, unable to contain his joy. "I actually did it!"

  A homunculus charged him, wooden sword raised high, but Ash simply flared his wings, sending a wave of intense cold at the animated statue. Frost immediately covered it from head to toe, freezing it in mid-stride. With a casual push, Ash toppled it over, where it shattered into frozen splinters against the stone floor.

  Another approached from behind, but without even looking, Ash knew it was there. He could feel the disturbance in the air, could sense the movement through his newly manifested wings. He whirled, wings spread wide, and the homunculus was instantly coated in a thick layer of ice, immobilized.

  With growing confidence, Ash made his way up the hill, leaving a trail of frozen homunculi in his wake. The wings grew stronger with each use, more responsive to his will, more devastating in their effect. What had seemed an insurmountable challenge just moments ago was now almost trivial.

  At last, he reached the top of the hill, his frost dragon wings flaring dramatically behind him. The flag waved before him, a simple gray banner that had been his goal all along. With a triumphant smile, he grasped it in his hand, feeling the rough fabric between his fingers.

  "Well done, Master Lorcan," Amalia's voice came from behind him. He turned to see her standing there, her expression as unreadable as ever. But for just a moment, he thought he saw a flash of something in her violet eyes. Pride, perhaps? Or satisfaction?

  "The technique suits you," she continued, her gaze taking in the wings that still billowed from his back, radiating cold. "Frost Dragon Wings. A powerful enhancement technique indeed."

  Ash couldn't help the wide smile that spread across his face. His first technique. His first real step toward becoming the adventurer he needed to be, toward gaining the power to protect what was his and avenge what he had lost.

  Lilith bounded up the hill to join him, her small form practically vibrating with excitement. She bumped her head against his leg, a gesture of approval and affection.

  "Thanks, Lils," he said softly, reaching down to stroke her head. "Couldn't have done it without you."

  And it was true. She had shown him the way when he was lost, had guided him when his own attempts had failed. The bond between them was growing stronger, deeper, with each passing day.

  As he stood there, flag in hand, frost wings shimmering behind him, Ash felt something he hadn't felt in a long time, not since that terrible night at the farm.

  Hope.