“If they’re storing elixir underground, it has to be in a place where it wouldn’t decay,” Pirin said, turning in a circle and observing the catacombs. Between shattered walls, scattered debris of limestone and bone, and cracking ceilings, there wasn’t much sign of elixir storage. “On the Aremir estate, they kept the elixir near the shore and used seawater to cool it.”

  Then the old elixir stores might be near the rivers, said Gray.

  “Even then,” Pirin lamented, “it’ll be old. Really old.”

  So the chancellor was wrong? We could go ask him…

  “There has to be a reason.” Pirin rubbed his chin, then assessed the direction he’d come from. He’d turned side to side a little, but he didn’t need precise directions. If he headed left or right, he’d get closer to the rivers on either side of the city. Either the Senflow or the Eldflow. It didn’t really matter.

  Unless they only stored elixir close to one of the rivers, Gray complained.

  “Maybe I’d sense its presence?” Pirin tried to feel any weight on his soul, but there was nothing—not even a push or pull in either direction. His spiritual sight didn’t accomplish much either. But it was a large city, and he hadn’t had the same time to refine his new senses as other wizards at his stage.

  He’d just have to make a choice.

  “Senflow is faster, so it’d cycle through water quicker,” Pirin reasoned. “It’d be a better place to store elixirs.”

  So they set off to the left, first passing through the hole the Dominion wizard had torn in the wall, then taking as directed of a route as they could. The tunnels of the catacombs sloped deeper, avoiding busy streets above and moving with the curve of the ground. The tunnels stayed the exact same size, though different sections seemed newer, and some seemed older. Different architects built with different styles, but using the same materials. Sometimes, skeletons packed closer together, and sometimes, formed morbid arrangements of bones.

  They passed an altar with two long burnt-out candles and rotten corpses on the ground. They’d died relatively recently; shreds of dried flesh and sinew hung off their bones, the tatters of their black robes remained, and their bony hands still clung to knives they’d used to make ritual sacrifices.

  “Cultists,” Pirin whispered.

  You know who they are?

  “I can guess, that's all. Don’t know exactly what they were doing, but they look like cultists. Something bad happened here, and I don’t like it.” He nudged one of their arms. “Light bones. They were elves, too.”

  Guess they’re getting desperate. Even if they don’t show it.

  At that, Pirin picked up his pace until he could hear flowing water trickling over stone. It wasn’t deep enough to be a riverbed, but it was a sign.

  The catacombs expanded into a broad hallway of sandstone. Instead of skeletons, the walls boasted large bricks and thick pillars. It was wide enough for Gray to spread her wings across the whole hall, and the ceiling was slightly higher, with steeper arches.

  They’d just entered ancient ruins, not catacombs.

  “I suppose they repurposed something, after all,” Pirin said. He scratched the side of his head. “I suppose if the elves built the labyrinths, then there might also be remains of their old structures beneath the ancient capital.” As far as he knew, Vel Aerdeil had been the capital of Khirdia as long as it had existed.

  Thousands of years of wizard-kings ruling, all wiped out by a single death.

  “Though, it begs the question…” He chewed his lip. “Was Mransil III a Wildflame? And if he was, did they kill him, or did he die of old age? Thousands of years of elven strength, only to just…disappear?”

  Can you use the Memory Chain?

  “When we get out of here, I’ll try.”

  They followed the sandstone hallway. It didn’t branch or turn—except at the end, when it delivered them into a vast hall. Pale blue light rose from three basins at the center of the room, illuminating the room with a shifting glow. Sparks of Essence flowed through the air, hanging and twirling.

  The ceiling was higher, but the walls were bare and plain—save for shelves covered in barrels and clay bottles. But the basins demanded his attention.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Pirin knelt down. Each basin provided a faint spiritual energy from a distance—so weightless he could barely feel it until he got close—but the moment he knelt down and brought his core within three feet of the basin, a sudden weight pressed down on it.

  A runic script ran around the edge of each basin, powered by the energy of the elixirs, and creating an invisible veiling wall around the basin. But Pirin couldn’t make out any of the letters. They looked vaguely like the southern scripts Nomad had shown him, the pre-translated sutras.

  A secondary moat ran around the edge of each basin, filled with river water. It ran down from tiny aqueducts along the wall, flowing toward the basins and filling them with cold river water before cycling around to a drain in the floor. The constant moving water would’ve kept the elixirs cool.

  Are they strong? Gray asked.

  Pirin activated his spiritual sight and stared at the basins. They weren’t as bright as he expected—like looking at the edge of a torch’s flame—but given how long they’d been sitting here, it was good enough. And better yet, they were as pure as could be. He’d have no problem processing them and their spiritual energy quickly.

  “They’re strong enough,” he confirmed. “Now…we just need a way to carry them.”

  He set his void pendant down on the ground and activated it, revealing a hole in space with the shards of his sword and the broken remains of Neria’s control dagger, along with the old broken branch of the throne. Plenty of room for barrels and jugs.

  He ran to the edge of the room and picked up a barrel. It sloshed, and when Pirin opened its spigot, cloudy water poured out. It had probably once been elixir, but had decayed over the centuries.

  With Gray’s help, he dumped the old, unused elixir out from the barrels and filled them with new, fresh elixir. It might only last a few weeks within his void pendant, but once he had instructions from Nomad, he could use them—and that wouldn’t take any longer than a few weeks.

  Once he’d filled his void pendant with as many barrels of elixir as he could fit, he closed it and hoisted it back up. It was heavier than usual, and more than just physically—like the weight of all the elixirs, removed from their veiling field, were now weighing on his core directly. Without his foundation timbers, he worried his core would’ve bent out of shape or broken.

  But for now, they had everything they needed.

  “Now we’ve gotta find a way out of here,” Pirin muttered. He paced down the hallway, retracing his steps. The tunnels rose again, veering away from the rivers. The bottoms of flagstone streets hung from the ceiling.

  At an intersection—both in the catacombs and on the streets above—there was a grate in the center of the street, separating them.

  Pirin reached up, then used his enhanced body to jump up and grip the grate. He twisted and pushed until it popped off, then threw it to the side and climbed out into a deserted evening street. Gray followed close behind, squishing through the opening with her wings tucked at her sides.

  A cool breeze blew through the street, carrying ashy debris, and in the distance, the column of smoke still rose where the aftermath of the explosion blazed away. Pirin winced, but pushed the regret down. He’d stopped the Blaze before anything else like that could happen, and the city was as good as theirs.

  A patrol of Sirdian soldiers marched down the street. Immediately, they turned to face him, and a few ran over. “My lord!” one exclaimed. “What were you doing?”

  Pirin exhaled, then pushed himself up and brushed the dust off himself. “Sorry for scaring anyone. The Blaze is dead, and though there may be a few pockets of resistance, the city is ours. Now, I must get back to the chancellor.”

  With a few soldiers trailing behind as an escort (on their own will), he and Gray walked back to the Summer Palace on foot. No sense in flying. Even if Gray agreed to another flight, she had to be exhausted. No need to get either of them hurt.

  Finally, when he reached the front terrace of the palace, the escorting soldiers backed away and returned to their duties in the city. He took the stairs up two at a time, then stopped at a landing, where Ivescent, Nomad, and Marshal Velbor stood.

  “So?” Ivescent asked. “All we have are confused reports. Weapons cache detonating, just a plain fire, a purely Essence explosion. All conflicting.”

  “I killed the Blaze,” Pirin said. “Whatever resistance is left has no commander. I didn’t find any more weapons caches, but I do have elixirs.” He sat down and let his legs dangle along the gentle slope of the stairs out to the palace’s plaza.

  “Very good!” Ivescent then turned to Nomad. “How quickly can you get him to advance to wildflame? We just need to hold the city—”

  “No, chancellor,” Pirin said. “I’m leaving you in charge of Vel Aerdeil, along with Marshal Velbor and the army we have. Fortify the city, prepare for the worst, and try to gather as many Aerdians as you can. Wait for Marshal The?mir and Myraden.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to Dremfell, and hopefully, Nomad comes with me. Along the way, I can focus on opening my Inner Gates and advancing. When we arrive, we’ll hold off the Dominion army as long as we can.”

  “They have Unbound Lords with them…” Nomad warned. “I can’t save you from them again.”

  “That’s exactly why I need to be there. To them, our mortal soldiers and weavelings will just be ants to stomp. At least I can distract them.” He turned to Ivescent. “Chancellor, if what you’ve told me is true, then you want what’s best for our home. I am relying on you to bring the Aerdian army to us and turn the tide of this invasion. Hopefully, with Myraden and Marshal The?mir in tow.”

  Ivescent sighed.

  “Do I have your word, chancellor? When the throne blooms, you’ll come to our aid?”

  “Yes, yes. I will do it.”

  Unconvincing. But Pirin had no other choices. Perhaps Marshal Velbor would kick the chancellor into action, if nothing else. Pirin looked directly at the elven marshal. “Velbor? You’ll keep him in line for me, right?”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Velbor. “I will do my very best.”

  “You have a branch of the throne?” Nomad asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Pirin patted his void pendant. “Now…we need to get the Featherflight moving. It can’t wait any longer.”