"Again," Skippii said.

Tenoris assaulted him without reserve. Wielding a club, he swung at Skippii's head and midsection. Bobbing and weaving, he easily avoided the blows, empowered by an enhanced Boiling Blood. He remained within Tenoris' range, goading the big farmhand's rage. His face was brimming with focus as he swung the club, then, in a flash of frustration, he lunged and grabbed Skippii by the arm. A blow swiftly followed, but Skippii thrust out a Blazing Strike and caught the club, smashing it with a single punch.

"I had you," Tenoris panted. "You have cheated."

"You had nothing." The two of them laughed, locked in a wrestle.

All throughout the evening, they sparred as Skippii tested his enhanced abilities. His energy felt infinite, drawn from the volcanic mountainside; as fit as Tenoris was, he could not keep up into the night. As the sun set behind the mountain, he rested. Cliae took over, armed with a parchment and pen which Eirene had gifted them.

"I have been thinking about this ability of yours, Blister Arrow. Can you show me it?"

The scribe handed him a basket of stones which they had collected from the mountain path. Taking one, he drew his energy into a compressing fist. He felt the rock turn soft in his hands, glowing white-hot through his fingers. His fist shook with strain to contain the orb as its heat surmounted. Tossing it into the air, they watched as it joined the stars, then slowly fell back to earth, glowing yellow, then red, then a dim orange as it plummeted out of sight.

"Indeed useful," Cliae said. "It reminds me of something… you might not like it." They chuckled nervously. "It's similar to an ability which you described the Ürkün magi having, at the farmstead."

Skippii recalled the heretic throwing stones empowered by black magic. One such had dented his willowcore shield, which Fulmin had later patched with a coin Orsin had provided–the same coin he had used to defeat the third stone guardian. "Maybe it was inspired. I wasn't really thinking like that. I was just trying to survive."

"Oh, no, I don't mean…" Cliae stammered, their familiar timidity making a return. "I don't mean to imply anything?"

"Huh? What like?"

"Forgive me, legio, but the subject of heresy has been a sensitive topic for you of late."

"Oh," he exhaled. "I suppose it has. That's my folly. I'm sorry. Don't worry about it now. Speak freely. What have you been devising?"

"Must you grip the stone in your fist to melt it?" they asked. "Can such an ability be used on an object too large to grip such as, say, a lock in a door, or the blade of a sword?"

"Maybe," Skippii pondered. "But not in the same way. Not to melt it fully."

"No," Cliae agreed. "To warp it. A lock, malaligned a fraction, may remain shut to its key. A blade whose edge is softened and loses its razor, becomes merely an ingot again. There might be many applications untold."

"Okay," he said. "I'll need something to practice on."

Just as he spoke, Tenoris appeared from inside the temple carrying a bundle over one arm, and a reinforced chest under his other. Dropping the bundle at their feet, the blanket opened up to reveal an assortment of metal objects: candlesticks, tools, pans and three crooked ancient notched swords.

"The hermit said anything that helps is ours to take."

"So you rinsed her out?" Skippii laughed.

Through the evening, he set Cliae's theory to the test, grasping the objects in an open palm, attempting to apply the same compressing magia which worked to create a Blister Bolt. Summoning from his Lava Essence was distinct. Reaching beneath the earth's surface, he found a turmoil of energy–thrashing lakes and subterranean storms. Drawing upon that magia with a breath, his blood churned in sympathy, their currents bound to one another. His heart raced as thoughts fled him, and exhilaration surfaced. A need to act–akin to anger. But he quashed it, for now, concentrating on the evocation. At times, his anger could serve a purpose, but he would do well to choose the right moments.

Holding a bronze blade without clenching it, he witnessed it take upon a golden orange glow. Letting go, it cooled rapidly. He tested its edge, which Tenoris had sharpened on a whetstone. It was still deadly. The heat had not been directed properly. Focussing once more on the source, he drew a breath of Lava Essence and expelled it into the sword. But as he did so, he focussed on its extremities, pouring heat over the edge of the blade. There was a noticeable sheen to the blade's edge, and a slight dullness at its centre.

He wrestled with the evocation for hours, moulding his magia into submission. Finally, as the moon shone on the temple courtyard, he presented it to Cliae. Clenching the magia of his Lava Essence in his fist, he slapped the sword's blade–quick, as he might on the battlefield. He sent a wave of heat through the blade, which rippled towards the edges, there pooling in an intense white glow.

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While it cooled for Cliae's inspection, Skippii moved onto the chest which Tenoris had procured. Positioning his palm at the lock, he expelled Lava Essence, warping its shape, causing its arch to droop and refuse the key.

"It's blunt, alright," Cliae said, inspecting the blade's edge. "Metalurgic Warp. That's what I'd call it, anyway. I'm not sure if Oyaltun will name it the same."

"I name it," he said quickly. "She gives me the ability to read the symbols. And other useful things like nightmares. But nothing more. She doesn't control my mind."

"I understand your wariness with the Gods," Cliae said. "But I don't think Oyaltun is malevolent. From what Eirene taught of history, she's quite the opposite. She gave humankind the gift of sentience."

"You don't know what it's like," he sighed. "She can get inside my mind whenever she wants. She changes what I see. What else could she do? How else could she manipulate me? And for what? For her goals. Not mine."

"She led us to this spot," Cliae said softly.

He sighed deeply, feeling the frustration in his blood simmer low. "We shall see. I should be grateful that one of the Gods likes me. According to Eirene, I might have to contend with all the rest some time soon."

There was a pause, in which the air about them grew cold.

"Surely not?" Cliae said.

"Yeah, who knows." Skippii averted his eyes from the heavens, tossing a stone over the cliffside, focussing on the sounds of its fall.

"Oyaltun watches us now, I think. She blesses this place. She has blessed you."

"Ah, don't start with that," he said. "If Tenoris overhears, we won't hear the end of it. I've had enough of Gods for one day."

As his companions bedded down for the night around a campfire in the courtyard, Skippii remained at a small distance, meditating on the source. Deeper than his Lava Essence was his Magmatic Core–a vast ocean of power enough to submit expanses and shape mountains. He possessed only one ability with this energy: Seismic Quake. It had always been the most unstable weapon in his armoury–the most difficult to control.

Drawing upon it, the energy rumbled in his gut, vibrating the ground beneath him. Within him, he felt the ruby of his core glow alight. But where before it had only been as large as a rock, now, it shone throughout his torso, alighting his core.

With a steady breath, he drew in more, then released it back into the earth. The sensation felt like a baritone trumpet ringing in his ears, growing louder with each breath, rattling his skull. He felt dizzy with exertion, but fought to contain the volatile magia, letting it trickle up through his feet and back down into the ground.

Dripping with sweat, he opened his eyes. His stomach was sore from tensing and his shoulders slouched with exertion, but the echoes of a fire flickered inside him; he felt no fatigue, nor willingness to quit. This was his most immediate task. He needed to develop an ability which would allow him to combat enemies the likes of the stone golems, and he had decided that his Magmatic Core was the way to develop it.

But as the hours crawled by, and no revelation came to him, Skippii decided to make himself useful. Eirene had catered for the three of them, digging into her meagre supplies, and making use of the wolf he had brought, but there were a lot of essentials missing. Taking up a basket, he exited the temple's high grounds down its long fissured staircase, coming upon the two stone guardians at its base. The stone constructs had not budged since his entrance into the temple a few days prior, but his heart beat a fraction faster as he passed between them. He half expected them to flinch or pounce, and wondered if these were the same kind as those he faced in the Trial of Rupture? They certainly looked the same.

Reaching out, he rested his hand on the shoulder of one. The stone was cold, but at its heart, he detected an ancient ember, the likes of which no wind nor rain could put out. Could these golems be animated in the same way as those others? Could he do it? Skippii withdrew his hand, cautious not to energise the ember into a flame.

Sweeping the thought aside, he ventured into the forest beyond. Trees sprung from the rocky verge, which fell steeply onto a hillside. There, the forest thickened as the hill drove gradually towards a valley in the distance. With his firelight to guide the way, Skippii explored the forest quietly, foraging for the ingredients which he recognised and knew were edible, and some which he had seen Eirene use earlier that night. It only took him one glance and a brief inspection to identify a plant–that was a skill of his mother's which she'd passed on to him.

Many of the shoots were fresh and fragrant, however, it was too early for berries and too late into the chill for mushrooms. Engrossed in his simple task, he began to forget where he was, and what he was doing, and simply focus on his honest search. The Gods and Primordials could have their War of Heavens, but if he and his companions didn't eat right, they'd know about the next morning. Gradually, the guise of Skippii, Son of Cor, caught on the branches of the underbrush and slipped away, and Skippii Altay revealed himself sheltering below.

Smiling to himself, he returned lightly to the temple grounds. Strolling through its halls, he allowed his mind to encircle his quandary, as an eagle encircles its prey from the sky. He needed to forge an ability from his Magmatic Core that was unlike Seismic Quake. He had to control the magia somehow, and shape it into a direct and powerful tool. But the Magmatic layer was the hardest for him to control. Perhaps that's where he was going wrong, and he need not seek to control it at all, but rather call it forth and shape its current.

"The water of a fall is not so powerful as the water of a spout." Skippii spoke aloud the words which Thales had once taught him. He should not control the stream, but merely direct it.

Returning to the courtyard, he sat away from his companions not to disturb their sleep, and drew a trickle of his magia, cycling it with his breath. The Seismic Quake was a sudden expulsion of energy. What if, rather than push his magia into the earth, he tore it away suddenly like wrenching a lure and heavy catch from the waters? Perhaps if such magia were concentrated on a single spot, unlike the scope of Seismic, he could make better use of it. There was a limit, after all, to how much he could draw upon in a single breath. However, that limit seemed to be expanding each day, and more so since his attunement with Cor.

The sky was a grey blue when the first of his company rose to greet him.

"Bona-morn," Cliae yawned, stretching beside him. "Haven't you slept?"

"Haven't had to," he said.

The scribe raised a brow skeptically. "Is that wise?"

Skippii began to protest, but his mind faltered for the right words. Though his body felt rejuvenated, his mind was beginning to dull. There was only so much extra stamina that his magia afforded him.

"I won't make a habit of it," he conceded.

Smiling softly, Cliae gazed at the easterly sky. "Come, if you would. I found a good spot to watch the sunrise."

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