Wintersteel (Cradle, #8)

by Will Wight

The “curse” of Sacred Valley wasn’t any kind of curse at all. It was perhaps the largest and most elaborate script formation ever created by mankind, spanning hundreds of miles and buried deep within the earth. That formation generated a suppression field that weakened everything that crossed its boundaries. At first, he had believed it was a security measure to keep Monarchs out. Now, he was growing certain that it was primarily intended to keep the labyrinth’s lone inhabitant starving. The father of the Dreadgods. Subject One.

There was one reliable way to defeat an opponent with superior raw abilities: skill.

Nine seconds. Longer than he’d thought. Maybe he’d wasted too much time after all.

“Well done,” the Monarch said. Dross raised a shaky limb, the end curled as though into a fist. [I…am…the greatest! My power is endless. Now please let me sleep.]

“You fattening that up before you eat it?” The Blood Shadow responded in its broken voice that still gave Yerin the shivers. “You…got to…hold it.”

“If you’re talking anyway, you should use more words than just one.” “No need…to be here. Rather…lose together…than win alone.”

[What’s so wrong with that? You could be the construct man! That would certainly be memorable!]

[You lied to me! That was so much harder than last time!]

“Did you think that I would let that go?” Malice continued. “Did you think I couldn’t reach you?” Her smile widened further into a fierce, maniacal grin. “Did you forget my name?”

He’d sensed the Hollow Domain. To him, it had felt like absolute emptiness. Like the death of the spirit. In his case, he was correct.

Lindon gave her a weary smile. “I’m here to punch a hole in the sky.”

He had trained against Sophara six hundred and forty-four times.

“That’s it! A bottomless pit, emptiness, endless…that’s it.” He pressed his fists together to her. “Gratitude.” She snarled and ran at him. “I am the end,” Lindon said.

“I manifested the Void Icon.” Eithan nodded to him. “Ah, but what symbolizes nothingness? A blank badge looks the same as one with no Icon at all, so rather than a picture, the ancients chose to write one character.” At Eithan’s will, lines appeared on the wintersteel badge, etching out one familiar word in the old language: Empty. Or, as they would say in Sacred Valley: Unsouled.

Retraining was always harder than learning the right way the first time.

“You just earned your eyes, and now you want to stare into the sun.”

“I am…the Points Sage.”