It was an emotional evening, all told, and I woke the next morning with the grogginess that only high passions can leave in their wake. I’d slept through the night, though it was dark when I woke; the autumn sun rising late into the morning at this time of year. Especially so in the Titan’s Crown, ringed as it was by dramatic mountain peaks.

  Still, as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stretched my back, hearing a few satisfying cracks and pops, I felt a fire begin to burn in my belly. I was ready, today was the day. Jorge had returned late last night, and while we hadn’t exchanged more than a few words of courtesy - ‘good night’, ‘see you on the morrow’ – I knew he had realised I was ready.

  It was no surprise then that as I entered the main room of our shared tent, he was waiting for me, steam curling from a mug in his hands and another resting carefully on the small table to one side. I took it gratefully and leaned against the central pole holding the whole canvas structure up.

  “Mornin’ Lamb, take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the divan I’d rested on yesterday.

  I shook my head though. “Can’t. Too excited.” I gave a sheepish smile at that, and he grinned in response.

  “Aye, understandable I suppose. I don’t quite remember my first class up, but I’ve seen enough over the years to know the young have no patience in its presence. Still…finish your tea first.”

  I took a careful sip, not wanting to burn my tongue, and the pleasant spiciness of ginger and anise contrasted against the turmeric and cardamom to form a lattice of flavour in my mouth. It was still less potent than the smell, but that was always the way with tea, and I enjoyed the simple ritual of it regardless.

  “How did you know I was ready last night? Are your mana senses that accurate?” I asked idly, trying to distract myself long enough to not gulp down the drink.

  He raised an eyebrow. “They could be, lad. Mayhap I can sense all that occurs within a thousand miles...” He see-sawed his hand back and forth as I had done the other day when describing my encounter with the baby Subakir. “…Or perhaps I just saw that spear on your belt and knew it was time” he finished with a smile.

  “Aye, you always were a keen-eyed bastard, especially for an old fella” I joked back, doing my best to imitate his thick brogue. It wasn’t a great attempt.

  “Okay, clear as day this isn’t helping to calm you down. With me, Lamb, let’s go for a walk.” So saying, he stood and strode from the tent, and I hurriedly downed the tea, strapped my weapon’s belt to my waist and slipped my spear into it.

  I couldn’t bear to leave the spear dangling from the central pole with my dagger and hatchet overnight, and it was easy to lay by my pillow in its smaller form, so I’d taken to sleeping with it. I would have to be careful who I told though – I could easily imagine ‘Lamb Spear-Snuggler’ becoming a name that stuck.

  We walked through the camp with a purpose, much as Jorge had sold it as a spur of the moment stroll to help calm me down. It didn’t take long for us to leave the centre of camp where most people slept, and as we weaved past traders setting up their stalls at the edge of camp, I heard the now familiar ring of hammer on anvil as Dansel of the Forge bashed some new weapon or piece of armour into submission.

  We soon passed the trade quarters, and I saw the tanneries further off down the hill, presumably far enough out that their noxious waste products didn’t pollute the main river that fed into the arena and its near-sacred waterfall. It was a dreary day, the sky overcast with clouds – the grey and stifling kind that blended every colour beneath them into a smeared mess rather than the nice fluffy kind that seemed to soar through the sky.

  I grimaced at the aftertaste of the tea, downed in a rush with the dregs now coating my tongue and mouth in an unpleasant, almost gritty tang. I spat to the side as we strode, and Jorge seemed to ignore the gesture, though I had thought he’d moan about ‘kids these days and their disrespect for good company’ or something as he was want to do from time to time.

  We journeyed on, down past the tanning pits and further down the basin, though we cut sharply to one side as we descended. Jorge was happy to fill the silence, rambling on in that charming way of his while saying very little of note. I knew today was the day of advancement though and couldn’t relax because of it. I was jittery, excited, nervous…a whole host of emotions were battling it out for supremacy in my stomach, and it made me a poor conversation partner.

  We reached the edge of the basin after around a bell of fast hiking, and then we were suddenly standing at the edge of the world. Or rather, that is what it felt like. We’d ascended to the Titan’s Crown through a steep gully shrouded in choking mist, and so hadn’t seen much of the structure from the outside. It was certainly an impressive ring of mountains surrounding a wonderous circular valley filled with lakes and natural wonders, but I’d not fully appreciated what a bizarre geographical structure it was until that moment.

  The Titan’s Crown was one single massive mesa. We stood above a cloud inversion, with banks of light grey and white swirling below us, cutting us off from the land below. As I stood there, seemingly at the top of the world, I truly understood for the first time what the barbarians meant when they called me ‘lowlander’.

  The impenetrable wall of cloud seemed to divide the world, and it had a profound effect on my thinking, even just observing it for a few moments. I was distant from all those below, not just physically but also emotionally and with an entirely different perspective. They’d never see the world as I did, hidden beneath the dense layer of cloud, and I felt as if I saw a truer, more real version of Tsanderos than they did.

  Of course, it was just a feature of weather patterns, or perhaps the gods’ whims, and I knew that while not exactly rare up here on the Titan’s Crown, a cloud inversion wasn’t a standard sight. But still, it had a profound effect on me. I span around, taking in the mountains at my back crowning this ancient basin, and the clouds that hung above even them.

  Was there a world above those dark and ominous shadows too? Could there be someone just like me, looking down at the clouds below them and wondering how few people below ever got to see the world as they did at that very moment? Maybe it went on and on forever; endless worlds trapped between layers of cloud.

  Wouldn’t that make those on the ground, rooted to the earth, the most unique though? Lowlanders then would have a unique perspective among the ranks of cloud-dwellers. Something to ponder.

  Or not. This was, after all, an entirely made-up world I had created in my mind, and no matter how long I spent fantasising about different configurations of reality, I couldn’t wholly distract myself from this day’s purpose and promise.

  It was an interesting contrast though. Grey-white clouds below, fluffy and agile as they scudded across the sky while darker, heavier ones rolled far above in an entirely more ominous way.

  “Hell of a view, aye lad?” Jorge remarked, and I was dragged back to the moment once more.

  “Aye, you could say that” I replied, and Jorge glanced at me sidelong before snorting.

  “You’re in danger of sounding like an old git if you keep stealing my words, Lamb.”

  I laughed, and then gestured around us. “So…what’s the plan?”

  “Down” he said simply and conjured a rope from the air. He paced around until he found a suitably massive boulder, and slung the rope around it a few times, tying off a complex knot with enviable ease before slapping me on the shoulder and walking off the edge, rope in hand.

  I shrugged to myself, knowing I was going to get the information when I needed it, and not a moment before. We abseiled down a few hundred meters – Jorge’s rope was impressively long and seemed not to run out no matter how far we travelled. I made a mental note to ask him about it later, knowing full well I’d forget about it and never bring it up again.

  We found our rest in a hollow in the rock, and it took all of my trust in Jorge to follow him in as it started to narrow into a tight tunnel that I could barely squeeze my shoulders and hips through. He was a fair bit shorter and slimmer than me, and so didn’t have much of an issue navigating the tight confines of the twisting passage, but I was in a near-panic the entire way.

  I’d never been particularly claustrophobic as far as I could tell, but consistent bad experiences underground were piling up and my subconscious was starting to take note. Before it could become a real problem though, the view of Jorge’s wiggling boots was replaced by blessedly open air, and I wriggled my way of the tunnel entrance and into a large chamber.

  It was at least twenty meters in diameter, and you could have easily stacked two Alkers on top of one another with room to spare before hitting the uneven ceiling above. The centre of the cavern was where my eyes were drawn though, and Jorge stood before me and waved his hands to one side in a dramatic flourish.

  “Behold, my little Lamb – The Cursed Waters of the Titan’s Crown!”

  He was referring of course, to the pool that lay in the centre of the chamber, ice-blue water lapping at the edges of the…basin? Bowl? I didn’t know how deep it was, given the water’s near opacity, and so struggled to categorise it in my mind. There were steps carved into one side that descended into the pool though, and a raised ring of stone around the edge that looked almost like a headrest.

  “A magical heated bath?” I asked, perplexed. I stifled the urge to spit to one side again, the sour saliva in my mouth making me grimace around the words.

  “I suppose you could call it that, if you wanted to ruin the ambience,” he replied, shooting me a reproachful look.

  I sighed in response, trying to psych myself up for what I knew to be coming. “Is there anything in it?”

  “Water.”

  We both stared at one another for long moments until he relented. “No, lad, nothing nasty in there. They’re called the Cursed Waters because of the effect they have, not because of what lurks – or doesn’t – within them.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I grimaced again, running my tongue around my teeth and feeling the gritty film. Jorge continued on, but his voice was starting to drift over as if from further away, despite him standing right before me.

  “Right lad, this is it. You get in the pool, and let its magic do the rest. Stay in as long as you can – half a bell should be enough, but it never hurts to be thorough. Although...well, this will hurt to be thorough, I suppose. No helping it though, some things just have to be faced with a grimace. I can see you’ve got that part down, at least. Tea starting to kick in right about now, I’d wager.”

  I frowned at him, concerned to see him wavering back and forth as if through a heat haze. The effect was just subtle enough that I couldn’t be sure if it was really happening, or just a trick of the light.

  “Drop your weapons and armour, lad. Best if you’re minimally clothed for this – the waters can break down even the sturdiest tools given enough time. That’s it, in you go,” he said as I shed my belongings and walked unsteadily over to the pool.

  I climbed down the steps and nestled myself within the strangely warm waters. It was as if a hot spring bubbled up from below, for the temperature was well above that of the air of the cavern.

  I leaned my head back against the ridge of stone behind me, and stared up at the ceiling, steam rising in lazy swirls from the surface of the water to dance before my eyes. It took many breaths before I began to feel something.

  It started slow, an awareness that not everything was right with my body. My feet began to prickle. A slight tremor in the muscle of my calf as it flexed of its own accord. My hip wasn’t quite at the right angle and needed popping back into place as if during a good stretch. An ache in my lower back, persistent and nagging as if I was afflicted with what Jorge said was sure to be a future malady of mine if I didn’t cool down properly after hard sparring sessions.

  These feelings, these little niggles in my body, began to grow. They spread to every limb and burned in a way that I was so used to but had never experienced all at once. Tendons in my ankles protesting as if strained by bad foot placement, skull aching as if I’d bashed it against a wooden beam.

  Jorge’s soft voice filtered down to me, and it was obscured and distorted, though I could still make out the words. “Lamb; just persist. I’ll be here watching over you. You just need to hold on until you’re ready. Remember – the pain isn’t real. Nothing will break. Just persist.”

  My eyes began to drift close, the effort of watching steam eddy above me in its strange patterns causing the ache behind my eyes to increase, and for a single moment I felt blessed relief as my cool eyelids covered my eyes. Then they started to pound in a familiar rhythm with the rest of my body.

  My heartbeat was strong within my chest, and it felt as if every muscle and sinew beat along with it. The discomfort began to give way to true pain soon, and I was hit with a surge of sympathy for Nathlan as he must have felt to wake in a hospital bed with his body newly broken.

  The only sounds were the heavy breaths I took through my nose, dispersing it throughout my body and hoping that the breathing techniques taught to me by Vera would have some effect at reducing the strain.

  The occasional ripple of water eventually stopped, as I realised that moving into new positions didn’t help abate the slowly increasing agony coursing through me. I tried to retreat from the physical sensations; to visualise the dam that Jorge had described. I could almost see microfractures forming throughout the immense wall of spiritual starlight, and I had the mad thought to use Faultline to widen them.

  But no, that was purely an analogy by my old mentor. The dam did not exist, and unlike my soul-space that walked the boundary between real and imagined but that I could affect and alter, this was purely a metaphysical conception.

  The pain seared its way along my limbs, curling in towards my chest and climbing its way up to my skull in incremental steps. It felt like a malicious creature, clawing its way up my body and leaving lines of agony where its talons had been.

  But that would imply that it moved, and that was the mind-bending thing about this pain; it never moved. It never abated. It progressed throughout my body but never retreated from where it had passed. Like a canny general leading an army of implacable warriors, it took territory relentlessly and would leave garrisons behind over every inch to reinforce its new dominion.

  I tried to open my eyes once more, though they felt gummed shut by something. I eventually managed to muster the strength to do so, and the steam above now obscured the ceiling. Something within the eddying condensation reminded me of mists upon a mountain; the way they moved as if with a life of their own, their patterns just strange enough to appear random but always able to hide exactly what you were looking for behind their mocking faces.

  My tongue felt fat and heavy in my mouth, sitting there like a toad on a lily pad. I tried to move it, but the slovenly thing refused. I blinked as I saw a shape appear within the steam, but it was gone when my eyes opened once more. Fire wended its way through my guts, and I whimpered.

  The pain isn’t real. You are the sovereign of your body. I repeated the words to myself, my inner critic for once staying blessedly silent. It became a silent mantra, repetition enforcing the belief until I was almost convinced. But my tongue still wouldn’t move within my mouth, and my eyes now refused to close.

  More shapes swam into focus, patches of darker hues within the opaque mist that covered the room. I tried to frown when they didn’t vanish like the others, but my forehead stayed wrinkle free, my brows under the control of something that was not me. My mind cowered within its protective shell of bone, seeking escape from the torment, and when physical escape failed, it moved on to the next best option.

  When sleep finally came for me, it did so with crooked fingers and wicked claws. As always, there was no warning. One moment I was awake and staring at a steam-shrouded ceiling, the next I was in the midst of a conversation with a disembodied spirit. I should have struggled to keep up, perhaps seeking to replay the last few moments of conversation to give some context, but any rationality I may have had while conscious had been swiftly deposed by now.

  I was dreaming, and here we were all under the dominion of my subconsciousness.

  “I know you hear it brother...the call” The spirit spoke, trickling its intent into my mind, one word at a time. “No. No, do not speak. I see it writ large upon your soul. They are calling to you, brother.”

  I stared around in confusion, partly wondering where the voice came from, but mostly just seeking an end to the grey monotony that obscured my vision. Flashes of trees appeared, looming shadows whipping by as I whirled, but rather than help resolve the landscape, they somehow added to the mire of confusing inputs I was attempting to process.

  “Do not fight it, brother. I know you. I see you.”

  My pleas for clarity were left unanswered, and my feet would not carry me in any direction other than around. For an eternity I danced in circles to the tune of the spirit. Reminding me. Admonishing me. Begging me.

  “Hush now. Still your tongue and listen. Let them in. Heed their call.”

  My perspective started to shift, and I felt the sensory overload start to abate. Sensations shifted, ordering themselves into neat groups that I could begin to comprehend. The smell of loamy earth, freshly turned by the rain and beginning to warm in the morning sun. The gentle tug of wind on my hair, begging me to slow my movement and instead drift alongside it for a time. The cool feel of damp dirt compressing beneath my feet, contrasting against the occasional sharp prick of a pine needle angled just right to catch me.

  With the earthly senses came understanding. A spirit followed me, dripping its honeyed words into my ears, sharing its will with me in an unequal exchange I could not partake in. It scuttled around me, always outside of my awareness but never quite gone.

  “Something approaches the gate, brother. There is knocking at the door, and no one left to answer.”

  With the gradual return of my senses came awareness. Of what I was experiencing, and of what I was missing. My blood began to sing in my veins as I stared wild eyed at the world around me – grey with flecks of shadow.

  “Something is coming, brother-mine. Who shall answer if not you?”

  Mist. Damp, thick mist that eddied around me, teasing at shapes as I tried ineffectively to pierce its veil. I needed to see, I needed to know. The spike of fear that drove through me at the thought finally returned control of my feet to me, and I took several quick steps forward. The need to confirm what was out there, for better or worse, was overwhelming. I stumbled through a forest of massive pines, flinching at each one that loomed towards me out of the mist.

  “Are you one to abdicate responsibility? What drives you if not your duty? No. I see you brother, and I know your soul.”

  The mist began to recede with every step I took. The trees no longer loomed, instead visible from a dozen meters away. Colour began to return as the cloying, choking mist released its stranglehold on the forest. Greens and browns bled into the world, the dappled gold of sunlight filtering through a sparse canopy above to stain everything with a gentle hue. And above me I felt a shadow stir.

  “You feel it don’t you, brother? The singing in your blood. That need to know, insistent and aching. Listen to it.”

  The spirit continued its whispering, and I continued my journey, ever onwards, seeking an end to the forest and an answer to my questions. Just like my earlier shift from the waking world to this new one, I emerged at the tree line and burst free of the forest abruptly. I heard bells in the distance.

  The trees at my back disappeared from my awareness. Irrelevant now. The world stirred and the mist whirled higher. I craned my neck upwards like a baby chick eager for food. Blind to the scale of what lay above, inconsequential as the trees at my back, and oh so delicate in the face of all before me.

  The mist rose like a wall from the ground to the sky, so tall that even with my skull nearly pressed to the back of my neck, I could barely see the end of it. And yet, something stood above even that vast fog bank. Something stretching from horizon to horizon, bathed in the golden light of the morning sun that I could not see but could somehow feel all the same.

  Peaks so titanic they appeared to split the very sky in half. Behind them mountains even larger loomed, their tops obscured by cloud or the turning of the earth, so that only a section of their majesty was left uncovered.

  There was more I could not see, but I could feel it all the same. A thrum in my bones, as if my body recognised its own insignificance and trembled before the titanic range above me. The scale of it all made my head ring.

  The spirit appeared at my back once again, goading me with its siren voice like a chorus of multi-toned bells chiming in harmony.

  “The mountains sing to you, brother. Will you heed their call?”

  “Easy lad, easy easy easy.”

  Jorge’s gruff voice was close to my ear as I returned to the realm of the waking. I opened bleary eyes and saw him leaning over me. The familiar lines of his weather-beaten face crinkled as he watched me come to.

  “Whaa?” I asked, and while I was pleased to note that my tongue was my own once more, it didn’t seem to have its usual dexterity, causing my question to come out as more of a groan than anything else.

  “You did good, lad. Take a moment to catch your breath. The Cursed Waters are a tough experience to overcome, and that tea takes a while to wear off.”

  Something about that sounded wrong, but I was a little too out of sorts to really notice the implication at that moment. Instead, I propped myself up on one elbow and took stock. I still remembered Jorge’s voice as he told me the pain wasn’t real, and it seemed the old bastard had spoken true.

  Indeed, I felt fine physically. Every ache and pain and agonising tear I’d felt earlier was just a distant memory, and I felt fresh vitality surging through me as I became reacquainted with this enhanced body of mine.

  Mentally, I wasn’t as fresh. The pain may not have been caused by real injuries, but that didn’t mean the sensations themselves hadn’t existed. Just because my fingernails were all in place didn’t mean I hadn’t felt them peeled off all at once.

  Thoughts coalesced slowly, but eventually they did catch up, and I realised that Jorge must have slipped me some sort of psychedelic, likely to help manage the pain. I thought of that strange dream again; colossal roots of bedrock deep within the earth, supporting a range of titans that strode above the edge of the world. It seemed a little too real to be simply the result of some earthly drug. Too profound in its truth.

  A strong hand gripped my shoulder, and I was drawn from slow thoughts back into the real world. “You with me, lad?”

  At my hesitant nod, he continued; “How’s it all feeling? Body working, mind rolling all smooth, yeah?”

  Another shaky nod and I stood, accepting his arm up gratefully. “Yeah, yeah. All good,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “How long was I out? Scratch that – how long was I in there for?”

  Jorge started to answer, but I became distracted by the ringing in my head halfway through and tuned him out to focus on the system notification.

  Ancestry evolution completed.

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