49th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

  Obsidian was nervous. It was almost impossible for something world-shaking to happen again during his and Newt’s spar, but a part of his hind brain kept asking, ‘What if?’

  It was a foolish notion, and yet the wary gazes of countless elders focused on them reinforced Obsidian’s absurd fear. Newt was handling the situation well, all things considered. The only sign of his nervousness was the death-grip he had on his glaive, manifested through white knuckles and tense muscles.

  “You ready?”

  Newt nodded, and Obsidian lunged forward.

  The sudden move caught his opponent by surprise, as did the speed with which Obsidian swiped at Newt’s skull with his stego mace. That barbed mace-head whistled through the air, and without an elder’s supervision, Obsidian would never have dared to wield it so recklessly in a friendly match.

  He could already see his one-move victory when Newt leaned back, letting the mace scream less than an inch from his nose and blow his hair and robe back.

  Suddenly, earth sank under Obsidian’s foot. He sent a surge of spiritual energy to stabilize the ground only to find the earth refusing his request. Someone else was controlling it.

  Crap!

  Embarrassingly, a third realm earth cultivator tripped. Mortified, Obsidian flung himself to the side, twisting his body as the glaive slashed towards him. The move might have fooled the other disciples, but each instructor paying attention to their match knew the truth.

  He had tripped. After regaining his balance, Obsidian swept his heavy mace sideways, and the massive weapon smashed into the shaft of Newt’s glaive. The momentum should have disarmed most other third realm disciples, but Newt barely staggered, his glaive challenging Obsidian’s strike.

  Sword-wielders used situations like these for dramatic, intense standoffs to inspire the cheering crowds, but Obsidian found himself overextended and out of balance, his winning blow paving the way to his defeat. Newt capitalized immediately, yet mercifully.

  He grabbed the mace with his hand gloved in black spiritual energy, emanating the aura of volcanic rocks, and pulled. Obsidian was easily twice as big as Newt, he was a large man, and Newt was a very skinny boy. Despite this obvious advantage, Newt pulled him forward like a doll and the bigger man crashed to the ground.

  Once more, Obsidian regretted his choice of weapon. A sword would have served him better, but earth-attributed cultivators instinctively favored massive weapons. Oversized clubs, mauls, sledgehammers appealed to them more than blades.

  I wish I had a dagger, he thought as Newt neutralized his weapon and laid the butt of his glaive on his shoulder.

  “My loss,” Obsidian said, and Newt offered him a hand to get up.

  He took the offer, even though no cultivator would ever need help getting up. He eyed Newt’s glaive and nodded in appreciation.

  “It seems sturdy, but I didn’t expect it to be so steadfast. And I didn’t expect you to be so strong,” he added after a moment’s hesitation.

  Newt smiled and scratched the back of his head. “There were some benefits in turning into a human torch.”

  “Yes, and they were greater than expected,” said Elder Alabaster.

  Newt simply smiled at his master, but Obsidian bowed, taking her words and appearance as a tactful dismissal.

  To his surprise, the elder addressed him, “Stay here, Disciple Deeproot, I wish to discuss your next mission, the time you have to take one is growing short. Many important people in the sect are aware of your obligations, but none mentioned an extension to your deadline, meaning there won’t be one. You must take a mission and complete it by the end of the Season of Fire. That or accept your demotion.”

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  Obsidian gulped despite himself and looked at Newt. Given Newt’s strength, the two of them should be able to complete a simple mission, if they picked it correctly and made no blunders.

  Just as he started liking his chances, Elder Alabaster continued, “Unfortunately for you, this is the busiest time of the year, as far as missions are concerned, and the Chamber of Instruction has none left.”

  Obsidian frowned. He had never heard of the Chamber of Instruction running out of missions before. Then his frown deepened when he saw Newt’s hand moving towards his heart.

  Will he explode again?

  “Don’t panic, Newstar,” the elder said. “I managed to dig up a mission for you, but don’t thank me yet. Your mission will be in the Valley of the Lost.”

  Obsidian shuddered, believing he had misheard. Newt was smiling, so Elder Alabaster could not have said what he heard.

  “What is the Valley of the Lost, Master?” the smiling boy asked, and Obsidian was once more certain there was something wrong with his ears. Nobody ever sounded cheerful when discussing the Valley of the Lost.

  “It’s a mist-plagued danger zone deep within the sect controlled mountain range, just beyond the sea.” Elder Alabaster pointed eastward, and Obsidian found himself looking in the direction, despite the surrounding jungle blocking his view.

  “Valley of the Lost is a natural trapping spell formation. You can get in from any location the fog touches, but no matter how much you roam it, there is only one exit. Even more senior cultivators can walk right past the exit and never know they missed their chance to leave the area.”

  Newt opened his mouth.

  Obsidian expected a lot of things, confusion, protests, questioning Elder Alabaster’s sanity, maybe asking how they could leave such a place once they entered. But he never expected Newt’s avid interest.

  “Do we know how it works?” the boy asked with stars in his eyes.

  “The formation is equivalent of a ninth realm spell formation. Anyone who enters will be stuck, but the difference is in the realm of those who enter. The higher the realm, the more the person or spirit beast moves towards the center of the danger zone, getting trapped in the depths of the formation. Visibility and spiritual sense are muffled, so there’s little in terms of landmarks that can aid you, and with your instincts dragging you deeper, leaving without a special compass attuned to the exit is next to impossible.”

  Obsidian expected Newt would finally understand the true horror of the danger zone; anyone who lost or damaged their compass was stuck in it. The boy was either stupid or did not care, as he kept asking more and more technical questions with ever-growing enthusiasm.

  “Enough questions.” Elder Alabaster placed her fists on her hips. “If you wish to know more, visit the library, it’s time for your lesson now.”

  Obsidian excused himself and went to meet Ceros for their sparring appointment. He walked across the island, towards the eastern training field, hardly noticing the merciless sun baking his skin.

  “How did it go, Obi? Did you beat the kid?” Obsidian’s friend asked instead of a greeting.

  Obsidian looked at him, his mind still struggling with the lethal prospect. Suddenly, he recalled that he had lost a sparring match against a child.

  “He’s freakishly strong, Ros. I hit him with everything I had, but he barely flinched.” Obsidian paused, admitting he lost to someone a quarter of his age was embarrassing to say the least, but there was no hiding something that happened in the full view of the public. The best he could do was soften the blow by telling his own side of the story, which he did in several sentences.

  “But that’s not important now,” he said, and Ceros folded his arms and grinned, his mischievous raised eyebrow saying, ‘Sure.’

  “I mean it. I have to go on a mission or go back to outer sect, something you did twice already, but the problem is the mission.”

  Ceros looked at him, his expression torn between making fun of Obsidian and fear that the mission might actually be as serious and as terrifying as Obsidian hinted.

  “Fine. What did you get?”

  “The Valley of the Lost.”

  Ceros blinked, his jaw slack. “The Valley of the Lost?”

  Obsidian nodded, and Ceros sucked a breath between his teeth. “Listen, Obi, going back to outer sect isn’t as bad as it sounds. It’s practically a vacation, a chance to rest and recover before trying for the inner sect and all its associated stresses once again.”

  Obsidian bit his lip. The lie was a pleasant one, an easy escape from his current situation, but on the other hand, maybe his current situation required a drastic measure. Just maybe not as drastic as the Valley of the Lost…

  “If we go back to being outer disciples, even if I do bounce back, Jasmine will never recover. She will remain an outer disciple forever, her realm stuck. She would die in a couple centuries.”

  Ceros was selfish, for all his jokes, advice, and help, the one he was helping was ultimately Ceros. He was a trustworthy friend, one driven by self-interest, but honorable and true to his word and the deals he made.

  Obsidian knew the man would never understand the bond he and Jasmine shared.

  He clenched his teeth and looked Ceros in the eye. “I won’t abandon her. We’ll make the climb together, or die trying.”

  Getting those words out made Obsidian feel better than he had in a long time.

  “Thanks for listening to me.” He slapped Ceros on the shoulder. “See you later, I have to talk to my new teammate.”

  He turned around and trotted off, leaving Ceros dumbfounded.

  “Oi! Obi! Our spar!”