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Web of Blades - Chapter 8: Into The Darkness
🕑 Added 2025-12-06 15:15:00 +0000 UTCKalden spent the next few days training in the courtyard with Kenzo’s disciples. Unfortunately, these were all Corded Masters with years more experience, so it felt more like a thrashing than anything else. His body didn’t bruise easily these days, but his ribs still ached with every breath. He’d also become intimately familiar with the courtyard’s stone floor.
Things were truly different here in North Shoken. His opponents moved with a grace he’d never seen back before. They were always three steps ahead of Kalden, even when he used his Cloak to predict their moves.
Perhaps if Akari were here . . . but no. Their combined power meant nothing if their enemies separated them. They had to learn how to stand on their own. The timing wasn’t ideal, but it never would be.
Besides, Kalden wasn’t here to win duels. He was here to win battles.
On the third day, he and Zukan boarded his father’s airship for the Shadow Garden. Kenzo was already waiting on board when it landed, and the disciples directed Kalden straight to his private office.
The ship’s interior sported a modern Shokenese style. Dark wooden panels lined the walls, carved with geometric patterns of blades and mana techniques. Polished hardwood creaked beneath his boots, and amber crystals shone from small holes in the ceiling.
His father’s office sat near the center of the ship. Kalden knocked once on the sliding door, the sound barely audible over the hum of gravity mana.
“Enter,” came a deep voice from the other side.
Kalden pulled open the door and stepped under a curved wooden archway. The room was smaller than he’d expected—just large enough for a desk and three chairs. Then again, airships weren’t known to waste space. His father sat behind the desk with his back to the wide glass window, his silhouette sharp against the bright morning snow.
Then, without warning, the airship chose that exact moment to take off.
Kalden braced himself on the nearby chairs for support. The mountains tilted outside the window as the ship banked upward. But the floor remained perfectly level beneath his feet. The chairs weren’t even bolted to the floor.
Must be an artificial gravity field. He’d known such things existed, but most airships didn’t waste the effort.
“You sent Dawnfire to Cadria,” his father said without preamble. The mountain peaks drifted past the window, sliding by like waves in a frozen sea.
“I did.” Kalden let go of the chairs and placed his hands behind his back, trying to match his father’s calm composure. “We’re looking for a man named Caster Serrano. He’s the only living space artist who can make a portal to the Abyss.”
Kenzo’s brow furrowed, but it seemed more thoughtful than disapproving. “Dawnfire knows where to find him?”
Kalden nodded. “The Sons of Talek are looking for him, too. We had a small window to act, so we took it.” He resisted the urge to explain more. Too many words could make him sound desperate for approval. He’d made the right choice with the information at his disposal. It wasn’t his fault if his father had withheld something.
“You did well,” Kenzo said after a short pause. Then he gestured to one of the padded chairs in front of his desk. “Sit.”
Just like that? Kenzo had never shared his plans to leave this planet, but Kalden had assumed he had something specific in mind. Had he really not planned this far ahead? Kalden took his seat and waited for his father to explain.
“I agree that we need Serrano,” Kenzo said. “But this complicates things. I’d planned to share a dream tablet with Dawnfire and her mana spirit.”
As he spoke, the air beside his desk split with a line of silver light. Kenzo reached his hand into the pocket space and retrieved a shiny, rectangular object, about the size of a book. A grid of sigils covered the front and spine, pale violet in the morning light.
Kenzo placed the dream tablet on the wooden table between them. “Lin Shirin was developing a technique for restoring lost memories.”
Kalden frowned down at the tablet. “I thought those techniques already existed.” He and Akari were living proof of that.
“You misunderstand me. Elend Darklight’s technique didn’t restore your memories. It began a long process that let your brain recover them on its own. This”—he tapped the tablet with one finger—”is a single Missile technique. No dreams. No revelations.”
“Sounds too good to be true,” Kalden said.
“It was. Our enemies had Lin Shirin assassinated before she could use this. And I can’t find another dream artist who can comprehend the technique, much less execute it.”
Kalden considered that for several heartbeats. “What if I learn the technique? I have a strong foundation with telepathy.”
“Sending information won’t be enough. Only a dream artist can change a person’s mind.”
“You mean dream mana,” Kalden corrected. “It doesn’t take a dream artist to wield that.”
“What do you suggest?” Kenzo’s tone was skeptical, but not entirely dismissive. “You won’t find any potions of sufficient quality.”
“A Matrix technique,” Kalden said. Converting an aspect outside your body was surprisingly simple. A sigil grid could change the mana’s molecular structure, and an artist of Kalden’s caliber could form those sigils in midair. Such a feat would be difficult, but no more so than creating a Second Brain.
“The new mana won’t respond to your channels,” Kenzo said.
“But it will respond to my Aeon soul.”
The office fell silent but for the distant hum of the gravity generators. Outside the window, a flock of birds scattered from a mountaintop, their wings dark specks against the snow.
“An interesting theory,” his father said. “But it’s unprecedented.”
“That’s not true,” Kalden said. “Thane and Relyn Solidor used this to wield space and time mana. I saw it during the Battle of Koreldon City.”
Kenzo raised an eyebrow, the first genuine surprise he’d shown all day. “Is that how they do it?”
“The Solidors lack traditional souls or channels,” Kalden said. “It’s the only thing that makes any sense.”
Kenzo hummed in consideration. “You’ve given this some thought, I see.”
That was true. Kalden’s martial prowess had been adequate by Espiria’s standards. Here, it was barely sufficient to survive practice matches against Kenzo’s disciples. It was the same lesson he’d learned that first day in Raizen’s class when he’d dueled Tori. The same reason he’d become a knowledge artist in the first place.
Kalden couldn’t beat these blade artists at their own game; he could only become the best version of himself. That meant doubling down on his unique strengths.
“Very well.” Kenzo pushed the tablet across the smooth wooden table. “It will take you several months to master this. Fortunately, you will have nothing but time in the Shadow Garden.
~~~
An hour later, their ship landed at the base of the Zorayens, a mountain range that divided the Zekuro Province from Vosaki in the southeast. Snow billowed up around the vessel, coating the windows in white before sliding away.
The ramp unfolded from the ship’s port side, and Kenzo’s entourage filed out in front.
The entrance to the Shadow Garden loomed at the base of the cliff, less than a quarter mile from the landing zone. Two stories high with stone pillars on either side, it looked like the door to an ancient tomb.
Zukan walked ahead with Kenzo’s disciples, while Kalden and his father trailed a few paces behind.
“Any last-minute advice?” Kalden asked as they trudged through the snow. A burst of wind drove ice crystals against his exposed face, but he resisted the urge to cross his arms.
Kenzo’s eyes drifted down toward the leather pouch on Kalden’s belt. “Stay on your guard. Don’t forget that the Ivory Fox died for that technique.”
Kalden nodded. The Great Concord prevented fights between Mystics, but that rule didn’t apply to the Masters of the Clans. “Anyone in particular I should watch out for?”
“Avoid any encounters if you can help it,” Kenzo said. “The young Masters of Sanako and Raizen have you outnumbered two to one. And Nekasa is closer to the vault by several dozen miles. There’s a good chance they’ll be Corded before you.”
Normally, it was considered dishonorable for a Corded Master to attack a non-Corded. Almost as bad as a Master attacking an Artisan. But these were called War Gardens for a reason; there were no rules.
“Only the blades of your ancestors will accept you,” Kenzo continued. “Don’t attempt to take anything else during your trial. And don’t allow your companion to step foot within the Vault.”
Kalden opened his mouth to say he already knew this, but his father held up a hand to stop him.
“It bears repeating,” he said. “Many foreign retainers attempt to earn Veilcords of their own. Not one has ever succeeded.” He shot a glance at Zukan, who stood near the entrance of the cave. “And dragonborn are known for their greed and hubris.
Kalden would never attribute those qualities to Zukan, but he still planned to pass on the advice to his teammate. Many powerful mana artists had survived the journey to the Vault, just to be overwhelmed by their own greed in the end.
They walked the next few minutes in silence, passing beneath the massive stone archway into a dark corridor. The stone floor was polished to a mirror shine, revealing every footprint and drop of melted snow. Sixteen hooded figures stood at the hall’s far end, with a wall of pale blue mana filling the passageway beyond.
The Keepers were Grandmasters, but they didn’t serve Clan Trengsen, or any other family from the Zekuro Province. Instead, they spoke for the Iron Regent himself. Even the Mystics had no choice but to obey their rules.
Kenzo stopped walking at the center of the hall, taking his place in front of his four disciples. Kalden and Zukan set off alone toward the Keepers.
“Who approaches the Shadow Garden?” a hooded man asked in Shokenese. He had a deep voice that filled every corner of the chamber.
“Kalden of Clan Trengsen,” he replied.
“Zukan Kortez,” a deeper voice rumbled from his left. “Retainer of Clan Trengsen.”
Kalden held his breath as he waited for the Keepers’ judgement. No dragonborn had ever entered the Shadow Garden, or any War Garden for that matter. Even his father couldn’t predict how they might react. He also couldn’t stop them if they barred Zukan passage. It only took eight Masters to threaten a Mystic in a Twilight Veil. The Keepers had twice that number.
Fortunately, the hooded figures chose not to comment on Zukan’s presence. Things might have been different if he were a Master, but an Artisan posed no threat to the other aspirants.
“What do you bring with you?” asked a second Keeper, Her voice was like a gust of wind through an icy canyon.
Kalden held out his empty hands and recited his next line. “Nothing but knowledge, and the clothes on my back.”
Their mana washed over him like cold water, piercing through his clothes to examine his belongings. A space artist paid special attention to the leather pouch on Kalden’s belt. Fortunately, he carried nothing but dream tablets and extra clothing. The two things the Keepers permitted.
“The Shadow Garden awaits,” a third figure said when the others had finished their scan. “May you find what you deserve.”
The sixteen Keepers stepped aside in perfect synchronization. The wall of mana faded behind them, and Kalden and Zukan stepped forward into the darkness.
