The only thing that prevented Lindon’s heart from being crushed was his iron will.
“We try again,” he said, but Ozmanthus held out a hand.
“He’s fixed,” the echo said simply. “A spirit’s personality is determined by their madra composition, their structure, and the way they choose to present themselves. If his composition is the same, and we have repaired his structure…then he acts this way because he prefers to.”
Ozmanthus shrugged. “I don’t mind it, myself.”
Lindon kept a grip on himself. He had lost Eithan today, and now he had lost one more hope of seeing Dross again.
His voice was cold. “I see. My gratitude for your help.”
Lindon even held his thoughts tightly so they didn’t hurt Dross. This was who Dross was now. Lindon had to get used to it.
Ozmanthus smirked at the giggling Dross, but he didn’t share any more of his thoughts. Lindon had more to ask, and he didn’t want to linger on the subject of Dross anyway.
“The Monarch, Reigan Shen, received the Soulsmith inheritance you left in this branch of the labyrinth,” Lindon said. “Did you leave behind another?”
“Not that I’m aware. I may have left one later in my life, but I wouldn’t know that, would I?”
Another disappointment, but Lindon supposed he had inherited the entire labyrinth. He couldn’t get everything. “Can you make another one?”
“A true inheritance is not a simple dream tablet,” Ozmanthus said dismissively. “I have neither the will, nor the clarity of memory, nor the months needed to properly curate a Soulsmith inheritance. There are many others remaining in the labyrinth, however. Take your pick.”
He seemed to look down on that idea. As did Lindon, in truth.
“Forgiveness, but I’d rather not settle for a lesser Soulsmith’s inheritance,” Lindon said. Ozmanthus preened, and Lindon noted that his pride hadn’t changed much in the intervening centuries.
That statement had worked to flatter the Arelius Patriarch’s ego, but it was also the truth. The generally accepted limit was that one person could only take one inheritance. It settled much deeper than an ordinary dream tablet; rather than simply adding memories, it was supposed to be like adding to your very identity.
There were records of Archlords or Sages taking in second and third inheritances after a century or so, but anyone who absorbed more than one inheritance too quickly inevitably suffered from issues with willpower or identity.
Lindon privately hoped that, with Dross’ support and his experience absorbing memories through his hunger arm, he could possibly take two Soulsmith inheritances. But that still made them valuable opportunities, and he didn’t want to waste one.
Ozmanthus pointed to him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to flatter me,” he said. “Well done. That sort of attitude will get you far.” He tossed hair behind his shoulder. “Clear your schedule, and I will be your guide to the ancient secrets of the labyrinth.”
“Gratitude. Is there a central dream tablet or a map that you can show Dross? I’d like some kind of inventory list, if such a thing exists.”
“By all means. I believe you’ve already been inside the control network, haven’t you, my immaterial friend?”
Dross drifted into a barely visible script at the base of the wall like water swirling through a funnel. [It’s an honor to become one with the world’s largest graveyard.]
Ozmanthus snorted. “This isn’t the largest.”
Lindon’s spiritual perception followed Dross, giving the spirit permission to continue through the labyrinth and tracing the shape of the place himself.
It was truly overwhelming how much was hidden in the labyrinth. Some pieces were dark even to Lindon’s senses, implying that there were corners he still didn’t control, and Dross couldn’t inspect every detail of the place. The spirit focused on remembering as much as he could, to be sorted and organized later.
The more Dross found, the more satisfied Lindon became. And he felt a childlike excitement. The situation was serious, with the threat of the Monarchs and Dreadgods looming over his head, but he’d cracked open the fattest treasure chest in the world.
As Lindon was searching through Soulsmith records on the outside, looking for an inheritance that might meet his standards, Ozmanthus began to speak.
“There are a few of my workshops that haven’t been plundered. Nothing terribly exciting, though I may have some early versions of my Penance lying around.”