The next day, Ember finally managed to make some progress. He spent the entire trip up until their camp breakdown overflowing. It was a painful experience, and while he wasn’t physically aging, at least on the outside, he felt older internally. It was a very odd feeling—like the insides of his body were changing ever so slightly.
On the bright side, his cup was getting larger. In his mind’s eye, it wasn’t physically bigger, but it could handle more of the liquid being filled. Finally, he managed to weaken the torrent. It still dripped, but it was manageable, and the threat of overflowing was almost nonexistent.
By this point, the trees had completely changed. There were no more sequoias—just the typical large-leafed trees he was used to seeing back home. There were a few more travelers on the road now. They were less than a day away from the sub-city.
Ember opened his eyes and excitedly looked at Chris.
“I did it,” he said. “I’m holding it.”
Chris gave him a genuine smile. “That’s great. I was getting worried with how much you were overflowing and how often you were dipping into your own life force. The fact that you finally managed to stop it is really good progress.”
Ember let out a laugh he couldn’t contain. “Holy shit, I did it!”
It was the first time he’d ever managed to control ichor in any capacity. He could still feel the coolness lingering in his chest and thought about maybe trying to use his sword’s ability.
Chris, almost as if he’d read his mind, said, “Don’t even think about it. That summons meteors, and by accident, you destroyed an entire building. If you summon one now, you might destroy more than just that. Especially now that your cup’s bigger. It means you can hold more ichor, which makes your attacks stronger.”
“So what do I do now?” Ember asked. “It’s just… sitting there.”
It was a cold feeling in his chest, getting slightly colder with every passing second. He winced.
“All right,” Chris slowed the cart, “Take a breath and imagine the ichor flowing out of your mouth.”
Ember thought it was strange, but he did as Chris said. He took a deep breath, and as he breathed out, he imagined the ichor rising from his cup, through his throat, and out of his mouth.
To his surprise, the cold sensation followed the same path—and a visible stream of frost exhaled into the air. It took several seconds before the final wisps of vapor left his mouth, but when it was done, he sighed in relief, the coldness in his chest gone.
“Oh, that felt weird.”
Chris nodded. “It usually does. More often than not, when you use your ability, you’ll have leftover ichor in your system. You have to find a way to expel it. Otherwise, it’s possible you could literally freeze from the inside out.”
“And if you overflow? Do you have to do the same thing?”
Chris shook his head. “Not really. It’s not exactly the same situation. When you overflow and then stop, the ichor kind of auto-drains—it’s hard to explain without you feeling it yourself.”
“So how big can a cup get?”
Chris shrugged. “As big as you want, I guess. Of course, the higher you get, the harder it is to overflow, and the more effort it takes. But there’s no real limit… at least, I’ve never heard of one.”
Chris looked like he wanted to say more, but stopped when he saw what was ahead. A blockade.
A group of six people lounged across the road, their horses tied off nearby. Most of them wore armor and expensive-looking gear. None looked happy to see them.
The man who stepped forward—clearly the leader—was dressed in full plate armor, a large war hammer strapped to his back. All of them wore helmets. Their faces were hidden.
He held out a hand. “Stop.”
Chris frowned. “I didn’t hear anything about a guard outpost.”
“That’s because it isn’t one,” the man replied flatly.
Oh, Ember thought grimly. We’re being robbed.
Chris sighed. “Is it really necessary for you to be robbing travelers? Aren’t we all strugglers in the frontier?”
The man laughed—a cold, empty sound. “You clearly don’t understand how the frontier works, kid. Out here, anything goes. And we mean anything.”
Ember didn’t like the tone in his voice. Apparently, neither did Chris.
Chris hopped off the cart, surveying the men. “I advise you to step aside,” he said coldly. “I honestly thought humans would be the least of my worries out here.”
The armored man took a step forward. “Then you’re naive, boy. The monsters are just the outside threat. The true monsters are the people in the frontier. Now hand over everything you have before we have to get handsy.”
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Ember slid off the cart, sword still sheathed. Okay, we trained for this.
His mind flashed back to the hours of sparring during camp. He wasn’t good, but Chris had told him his reaction speed was far above most people’s. That would have to be enough.
He stepped beside Chris as the other five men gathered behind their leader. Ember couldn’t stop his hand from shaking. Can I really kill again? Do I want to kill?
“Or,” the man said, “you could pay us, and we’ll gladly let you go by.”
Chris shook his head. “Sorry, but we don’t have the money to spare, so—” He drew his sword and raised his shield. “If you really want to fight, we can. But I’ll warn you now—I’ve already reached Transitional.”
Ember didn’t know what that meant, but apparently it meant something, because several of the men stepped back, suddenly uneasy.
“Transitional?” the leader scoffed. “Yeah, right. Like someone like that would be out here, on this side of the frontier.”
“Don’t believe me?” Chris said, lowering his voice. “Try me.”
Tension crackled between them. The leader stared at him for a long moment, his eyes flicking toward Ember and the sword at his side. After several seconds, the man lunged, pulling his hammer off in one movement. It was so fast Ember could barely see it.
Chris didn’t back down. He tapped his shield, and a blue aura surrounded him. A distinctly different move from the shield wall he had shown Ember before.
The two met, and the warhammer came down in a fast and violent arc. Chris brought his sword up and let the hammer end slide down till it touched the hilt. Faster than Ember could follow, Chris flicked his blade down, the warhammer thumping into the ground, followed by Chris forcing his sword into the dirt, trapping the head with his hilt and slamming his shield into the man's chest. He stumbled back, his chest plate dented, hands empty.
The robbers were silent for several seconds, the leader clearly stunned at the maneuver. Chris ripped his sword out and flicked the dirt off, pointing the tip at the leader. A few seconds later, the leader responded.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “You can pass.”
Chris nodded and motioned for Ember to get back in the cart. “Let’s get out of here—quickly,” he whispered.
They climbed in, and Chris wasted no time moving on.
“Shouldn’t we stop them or something?” Ember asked. “They’re highway robbers. Innocent people will have to deal with them.”
Chris snorted. “Please. We’re not heroes. There’s no point fighting if we don’t have to.” Ember stared at him and then back at the robbers, the leader retrieving his hammer and staring daggers at the cart. It felt wrong for Chris to just leave them there. He was so much stronger. But ultimately, he moved on to his next question.
“You said you were a Transitional. What does that mean?”
Chris scratched his head. “You remember how I mentioned cups getting bigger over time?”
Ember nodded.
“Well, there are… certain breakthroughs, I guess you could call them. They’re categorized. I don’t really want to go over it now, but just know that I’m pretty strong.”
“Uh-huh,” Ember said, unconvinced. He wanted to ask more, but Chris didn’t look eager to elaborate. Ember had learned by now that when Chris didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t.
So he just went back to staring at the road.
That night, Ember made a discovery that shook him to his core. He was doing his usual training with the sword, Chris tending to the fire. It was a magical night, the moonlight illuminating everything. Now that they weren’t under the large tree's canopy, the moonlight was more prevalent and brighter than ever. After finishing his practice swings, he plopped onto his stool, drinking from a nearby waterskin and staring at the strange twinkling sky, the stars disappearing and reappearing. His eyes searched the sky, but something was missing. Outside of the strange stars, the night looked wrong.
There’s no moon. Ember frowned. That can’t be right. He looked at his sword. It was clearly reflecting moonlight, but there was nothing in the sky. Gazing into the forest, pillars of light streamed between the branches. He stood quickly, alarmed.
Chris caught his movement and was in combat mode, pulling his knife out, “What’s wrong?”
The traverser pointed ot the sky, his eyes wide with disbelief, “There’s no moon. Where is it?”
Chris lowered his weapon, confusion on his face, “What’s a moon?”
Ember gaped at him before realizing they might call it something else in this world, “The giant white ball in the sky at night. The source of the white light?”
Chris continued to look at him, confused, “What are you talking about? That’s just the nightglow.” He shook his head and returned to the fire, mumbling about how weird he was.
Ember’s eyes remained on the moonless sky. But how? There’s clearly moonlight, but no moon. What is wrong with this place? Isn’t it a reflection of Earth? The map the guildmaster showed me that we are definitely on the North American continent, so why is there no moon? How does life even exist here?
He shook his head. How does moonlight exist? Ember couldn’t help but feel goosebumps rise on his arms. Something was wrong with this world, and he didn’t know why.
The next day, it didn’t take long to reach the sub-city—maybe another hour or two. Ember chewed on the lack of a moon but came to no conclusions. It made no sense to him, but he decided it was a topic left for a better time.
As they got into view of the outpost, Ember did a double-take. It was far from an outpost. It looked almost as big as Basintown.
“Is this supposed to be an outpost?” Ember asked skeptically.
“Yeah,” Chris grunted. “I was expecting something a little more rustic.”
The city walls were tall and made of expertly crafted white stones. Blue flags decorated with a silver serpent flapped in the wind, and the gate was a mix of wood and metal. A long line of travelers waited at the gate, which, unlike Basintown’s, was closed. Guards patrolled the walls, and at least six stood at the entryway.
Chris stopped the cart just before the line. “Wasn’t expecting this,” he muttered. “You usually only see this kind of setup in big population centers, not the frontier.”
“Must be a popular place, I guess,” Ember said.
Chris shook his head. “Maybe. But it’s not the worst thing in the world for us. At the very least, we’ll be able to find work if nothing else.”
“Work,” Ember repeated flatly. It was a word he’d dreaded back home—and now here he was, job-hunting again. And I thought fantasy worlds were supposed to be filled with adventure and whimsy. Maybe I should have spent more time reading the depressing stuff.
“Don’t look so glum,” Chris chided. “We’ll go to the guild hall and grab some quests off the board.”
“Yay,” Ember said sarcastically.
Chris just shook his head as they settled in to wait.
