Blake waited for Mingel at the entrance to the makeshift arena. After a few minutes, he began losing hope. Maybe she’d already gotten out already, and he’d been too slow.

  But then, out the corner of his eye, from a side entrance to the tower, he noticed the flicker of her cloak. She rushed out a side entrance, clearly trying to avoid being seen. For a moment, he considered just letting her go, but then decided that it couldn’t have been about him—the last time they’d spoken, they’d parted on pleasant terms.

  So he stayed close, racing after her. She was heading toward Centertown, taking the surface roads and ducking through crowds. A few lesser sects were having a turf war close to the centertown gate, so she turned, taking a winding route through an adjacent non-Blended district, before finally entering Centertown.

  Blake thought he was going to struggle to keep up, but with the ‘Light Body’ half of Serpent’s Cloak, he practically floated through the city. He swung on bars and sprang off hanging debris, keeping close, but mostly out of sight to someone who wasn’t looking.

  As they approached a different entrance to Centertown, and as Blake perched atop a shelter lattice, his cloak fluttering in the breeze, Mingel disappeared. She was using her Augmentation technique to catch the wind. At first, he thought she was going to pass through the wall and simply emerge in Centertown.

  But the breeze was blowing back toward him.

  In their practice, he’d gotten used to her appearing behind him. He whirled around, keeping steady despite the shifting grate beneath him. It wasn’t perfectly stable, and being three storeys off the ground, it would be a mildly painful fall. Very, very mildly. He might have a bruise on his shoulder or something. The embarrassment would probably be worse, but why was he worried about—

  Mingel emerged, standing in front of him, a dagger drawn. Blake pulled back his hood and held up a hand. “It’s me,” he whispered.

  “You were following me?” she replied.

  “I watched your fight. I just wanted to talk. But then you ran. Why were you running?”

  “Are we always going to be stuck asking each other questions?” She tilted her head and took a few steps back, then slotted her dagger back into her bandolier. “Asking, and never answering anything.”

  “Yeah, I followed you,” Blake said, shaking his head.

  “Why shake your head when you said, ‘yes’?”

  “Okay, no, I said ‘yeah,’ not ‘yes’. But either way, it was more like a sigh. Disappointment, tiredness, I dunno. I just didn’t sigh. I’m tired of it.” He shook his head again. “That’s not important.”

  “You still haven’t told me why you have unlimited mana.”

  “You sound awfully hostile tonight,” Blake replied. “What’s wrong, Mingel?”

  “You are not answering my questions.”

  He stepped back and leaned against the crumbling wall of a building behind him. “I was actually coming to tell you about that,” he said. “I need help with something. But then I got sidetracked by you, you know, running away from something. I wanted to help if you needed it.” He glanced at her rank seal. Tempering six. Almost to Foundation, but she’d beaten contestants in the arena who were stronger than her. He had to keep his guard up.

  “My mother has been looking for me,” Mingel replied.

  “Ah. The Assassin.”

  “I don’t know what she wants, but it can’t be good. I thought you were one of her men.”

  “The redcloak didn’t give me away?”

  “I have been a little…flustered as of late.”

  “Right. So why go to Centertown?”

  “I have an application for a small artisan’s guild. As a guard for their convoys. They transport goods through the Mists. I am to report on my progress in the tournament, because I am competing against other candidates to get into the guild.”

  Blake nodded. “Well, I won’t keep you. Is this a manaship guild?”

  “Yes. If I have enough victories in the lower tournament, I will get myself aboard the manaship. At least, for a few days of the week, when I’m not guarding convoys.” She paused, taking a step toward the edge of the railing, then swayed for a few seconds. “But you were going to tell me your secret.”

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  Blake cast her a smile. “In part. I need your help with one of my advancement tasks, and I think you can help with it. I mean, you already sort of are. But I think it needs to be more official.”

  “Is it a marriage proposal?”

  Blake went red in the face. “No! Absolutely not. I mean, not that I wouldn’t, but—” He cut himself off and rubbed his forehead, debating how much to reveal. “Because I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you? No. See, my…vital energy, we’ll call it that for now, comes from a different source. I derive it from my relationship with my surroundings, rather than by slowly absorbing ambient mana. And if I can get others to follow me and my cause, then it will help.”

  “I thought I had already joined you,” Mingel said.

  “Well.” Blake chuckled. “You’ve certainly been helpful, and we’ve worked toward mutual goals. But I have a dream now. Something more than just getting strong and punching mana cultivators in the face. When I take the manaship and travel elsewhere, would you come with me? Would you fight for that end with me?”

  Mingel was quiet for a few seconds.

  “You’ve certainly been helpful,” Blake said. “If you don’t want to join me, you don’t have to. But I could use someone like you firmly on my side.”

  Mingel nodded. “I would fight alongside you. I’ve seen what the mana cultivators do. This society cannot be fixed from within. We need to make something new. Something better—like you’ve dreamt of.”

  Have her swear an oath, Ethbin said. The Way won’t count her as in your service unless she swears an oath.

  What oath? Blake shot to Ethbin mentally. Mingel raised her eyebrows and stared at him like he was insane. His expression had probably changed, and since he hadn’t responded, the silence was beginning to drag on awkwardly.

  An oath for a Secret Society, said Ethbin.

  Blake’s lips thinned.

  There have been a great many Secret Societies throughout the ages, the old man said. They’re an invention from the South, but the point remains. The older southerners, when the Cohongs took over, built Societies for the Preservation of Culture, fearing what the Cohongs would do. There is an oath to swear to join one, too, and it is a soul oath—unbreakable without extreme consequence. Subsequently, there is an oath to enter the service of an Honour Cultivator, which is similar enough to the oath to a Secret Society to be workable.

  Blake nodded, which probably looked weird to Mingel. The awkward silence persisted, but she didn’t run. He said, “I’m starting a Secret Society. We’ll be the first members. I need your oath. A soul oath.”

  “You know about soul oaths?”

  “Should I not?”

  “The Nords don’t like commoners knowing. If one tries to make their landmaster swear a soul oath, for example, it forces them to actually commit to making repairs. Or honouring their word in any other way.”

  Blake tilted his head. “I hear things from time to time.”

  “What’s the oath?”

  “Well…” He winced, realizing he didn’t actually know how to go about making a soul oath.

  Tell her what I tell you, Ethbin said, and Blake sent him a surge of gratitude. I hereby swear on my soul that I will serve the Society for whatever you want it to be called and its leader. I understand that he will do everything in his power to protect me and build a new life for us, and in turn, I will do everything in my power to assist him. I will fight for him, and if necessary, I will die for him. I understand that he will do the same, and if either party is in breach of this oath, his or her soul will collapse.

  Blake told her, “ ‘I hereby swear on my soul that I will serve the Society…of Creation and its leader. I understand that he will do everything in his power to protect me and build a new life for us, and in turn, I will do everything in my power to assist him. I will fight for him, and if necessary, I will die for him. I understand that he will do the same, and if either party is in breach of this oath, his or her soul will collapse.’ ” After saying it, he worried that he was accidentally going to trigger a soul oath with himself, but apparently, you couldn’t do that.

  “Society of Creation?” Mingel asked.

  “That’s what we’re going to be doing. It seemed fitting.”

  “Very well,” Mingel said. She locked eyes with him, and they flared a darker turquoise than most mana cultivators’ eyes did. They were almost emerald. She repeated the oath to him with absolute certainty, then reached out.

  Take her arm, Ethbin said. And seal the oath.

  Blake reached out and clasped Mingel’s forearm. A faint tingle of invisible energy rolled between them. Mingel didn’t seem to feel it, but to Blake, it was like a gong had rung inside each of his bones.

  And it was coming directly from his siphon. His entire echo rattled, vibrating and filling his body with a rush of resonance, like his echo had latched onto a deeper principle of the universe.

  If the Way was universal law, and the true determiner of how Honour worked, then he must’ve just aligned his echo with the Way somehow. He wasn’t just making it resonate—he was making it understand Honour by feeling the soul oath complete. As he held Mingel’s forearm, his rank seal adjusted, displaying three pillars in its wax.

  “It’s done?” Mingel asked. “You have advanced.”

  “Yeah,” Blake said. “I wasn’t sure if it was going to happen right away, and I don’t exactly know what this does for my foundation, but…I’ll figure it out.” He let go and pulled away. “I’ll be seeing you around. What do you say we keep up our meetings? I’m sure we could both use the sparring practice.”

  “Let’s make it once a week,” Mingel replied.

  “And if you need help with anything, let me know.” Blake grinned. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”