Lindon began to cycle Blackflame, because the power in the walls was still growing. Whatever the labyrinth was coming up with, it was strong.
[This is that echo technique, which you wouldn’t need me to tell you if you ever bothered to pay attention to your own spiritual sense.]
Lindon thought back to the ghosts that Ziel and the others had faced. “How much stronger is this one?”
[It’s always a rough estimate, your senses not being precise enough to have a numerical measurement attached, but I would say that if those were an incomplete shell of a Herald’s Remnant, this is a real one.]
Lindon even felt ripples in reality that suggested authority was being exerted. He readied the spear Midnight; even if the death madra would be largely useless against a technique Forged of madra, the sheer force in the instrument would help him.
Eithan clasped his hands behind his back, looking…fond. “You know, even as a child, all I ever wanted was people to grow with me. Every extraordinary thing I ever accomplished, I left behind another friend. And the world celebrated.
“That’s not limited to advancement, you understand. When you see deeply, to the point that Monarchs clash over your advice, what does another Underlord have in common with you? Your peers are Sages and Heralds, and even they treat you like a stranger.”
Hunger madra coalesced in the hallway, and Lindon prepared himself to face it as Eithan spoke.
“I wanted to raise up peers. In theory, it was possible. If you started from the beginning, you can raise a generation of truly unparalleled sacred artists who would never leave each other behind.”
“Congratulations,” Lindon said firmly. Blackflame materialized in his hands. “Yerin and I, at least, would never leave you behind.”
Eithan walked beside him and gave Lindon a brilliant smile. “I know. I’ve never been happier.”
Lindon wondered if Eithan wanted to fight together as the strongest hunger echo finished Forging.
Wind passed through the tunnels. Not a forceful wind, as Lindon had expected. Nothing violent. A cool, thorough, gentle wind that picked up every speck of dust and carried it away.
A solid, black-and-white version of Ozmanthus Arelius strode out of the shadows. At this age, he looked like Eithan’s brother. His hair was bright, his smile small and subtle. And across his shoulders, like another sacred artist might carry a spear, he carried a broom.
There were no overwhelming fluctuations of madra, but Lindon’s spirit still trembled. This was a dangerous opponent.
But one still more dangerous waited ahead.
“Leave him to me,” Lindon said.
Eithan turned back again, surprise evident on his face. “You want me to face Reigan Shen on my own?”
Ozmanthus didn’t take advantage of his opponent’s lack of attention, but rather waited politely.
“Apologies, Eithan, but I saw you fight earlier. He’s weakened, and you could break through to Sage at any time. Go face your family’s killer.”
Eithan sighed and held up a hand for Ozmanthus to wait. The Broom Sage looked a little surprised, but dipped his head in acknowledgement.
Then Eithan turned to face Lindon entirely. “Everyone misunderstands me. Reigan Shen isn’t the one I’m trying to surpass.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He is.”
Ozmanthus Arelius waved.
Lindon felt like the more he learned of Eithan, the less he knew, but he kept his attention focused on the enemy. “Then let’s face him together.”
“Yes, of course! If you think he’ll allow that.”
Lindon was about to ask who Eithan meant when Ozmanthus Arelius put a hand on the labyrinth wall.
This echo was far more solid than the others Lindon had seen. It even carried a measure of the original’s authority.
Authority over the labyrinth.
Lindon gathered his concentration, but he was too late. The hallway blurred around him…and he found himself facing a dead end. The ramping hallway sloped down behind him.
Powerlessly, he slapped a palm against the stone. “I think the heavens are playing a joke on me.”
Dross laughed uproariously. [Weep! Despair! No matter what you do, you end up alone!]
Lindon turned to face down the hallway. “I’m not alone. I have you.”
Dross’ laughter faded.
This hall was soaked with was the most concentrated hunger madra he’d ever sensed. The tunnel walls glowed a soft, eerie gray-white. The mummified hand in his pocket pulsed in time with the light, even through the silver metal sealing it off.
Lindon’s right arm ached and started to twitch. He forcibly suppressed it and began to walk.