“We’re going about this the wrong way, aren’t we?” I asked Nydarth.
“No, sweet man, you are not. Flight gives you wings, and wings are useful for more than simply lifting yourself into the air. They can help you glide to a graceful landing, for example.” Nydarth made an amused sound. “You remind me of hatchlings fresh from their eggs.”
Kegohr stomped angrily on the floor. “Hells, this is hard.”
“We simply need to work at it,” Vesma said encouragingly. “It’s like anything else. From what I’ve seen, this is the kind of technique that even a Master takes years to learn properly. Yo Hin being the rare exception.”
“I think it comes down to the Vigor we’re using,” I said. “Our reserves aren’t large enough to use it consistently. Guildmaster Xilarion draws his power from his environment.”
“What about Yo Hin?” Kegohr asked.
Vesma shrugged. “Maybe he can do the same thing with the environment that Xilarion can. But where would he have learned it?”
“Maybe the same place he acquired Flight technique,” I replied.
“Here?” Kegohr grunted.
“That would make Yo Hin centuries old,” Vesma said. “And he was the youngest out of all the initiates.”
“Stranger things have happened,” I said. “But let’s focus on our task.”
I projected my Vigor into the Flight technique again and lifted myself into the air by about three inches. The source of my power dwindled rapidly as I struggled to stay airborne. Nydarth chuckled in my head as I cut off the flow of Vigor and dropped to the floor again.
“If I can get off the ground, it’ll be a miracle,” Kegohr grumbled good-naturedly.
“Miracles occur every day,” said a stranger behind us.
The monk chuckled with a nasal twang as we turned to face him. He stood at around 6’2”. Gray stripes shot through his otherwise entirely white beard. Wiry muscle rippled over every inch of his frame as he gestured toward us with a smile.
“Breakfast is about to be served, esteemed guests. You would do us a great honor by sitting and eating with us.” He bowed with a practiced flourish and smiled again. “I am Archpriest Tymo. It is a pleasure to meet each of you.”
He led us to a door on the right. Kegohr’s stomach snarled audibly in the echoing hall, and he cringed as I shot him a grin. Augmenting was tough work, and it took a balanced diet, meditation, and focus to truly reach your potential in the art. My own gut growled at me as we followed Tymo into a low-ceilinged room. Red tapestries hung from every wall, and dozens of medallions and bells dangled from the roof above the table. The table itself was very long, low, and there were no signs of chairs or even cushions anywhere.
Kumi, Mahrai, and Faryn greeted us with smiles as we filed through the doorway. Kegohr struggled to fit his massive legs under him as he sat down beside Vesma. Kumi leaned back for a kiss as I passed, and I obliged her before settling down between Faryn and Mahrai.
Tymo the Archpriest sat at the head of the table. He turned, picked up a tiny wooden mallet, and struck a gong beside him. Ten monks appeared and ducked through the doorway to the dining room, each carrying wide trays of steaming rice, noodle soup, and ornate teapots accompanied by small cups.
The monks of Dying Sun were almost impossible to tell apart. The shaven heads, snow-white beards, and gaunt features marked them as ancient ascetics. They didn’t speak as they laid the meal before us. I thanked them before they retreated to the other side of the table to join Tymo. They bowed their heads and moved their mouths in a wordless prayer of thanks to the spirits.
Faryn poured out cups of tea. The sound of rapid eating drifted across the table to us, and Tymo smiled at me as I watched the monks devour their food like starving dogs.
“We always eat rather quickly,” Tymo explained. “My brothers and I have lessons to prepare and many tasks to attend to throughout the monastery. To sit back and relish food is to take away the time given to us to fulfill our duty to the gods.”
“We are grateful for your hospitality,” Kumi said.
“Please, eat at your own pace. You are our honored guests.” Tymo joined his brethren in wolfing down a plate of rice.
I sipped at the tea, and fresh Vigor surged through my veins at the taste of it. My eyes widened. Faryn laughed at my expression, sipped at her own cup, and fished a bundle of noodles out of a nearby bowl of soup.
“It’s brewed from a special strand of herb only found in the mountains,” Faryn explained. “I’ve heard tell of it before but never had the pleasure of tasting such a potion. It’s called thimbleleaf, and among the Augmenters of old, it was quite a common drink.”
“Why don’t they have it at Radiant Dragon?” Kegohr asked.
My mind flashed back to one of my first missions as an initiate. Hamon Wysaro had used a potion with similar properties to restore his Vigor while I raced him toward a fiery den of lava-blooded monsters.
“It’s likely rare and difficult to source,” Kumi pointed out. “It’s dangerous to obtain, and exposing guild members to danger just to recover Vigor faster is not a worthwhile endeavor. At least, not often. Perhaps if Radiant Dragon was restored to its former prominence, then it would be worthwhile.” She hummed in pleasure as she set down her cup. “It is delicious though.”
Mahrai and Vesma didn’t waste time with talking, both chowing down like they hadn’t eaten for months.
The steamed rice was lightly salted, sprinkled with an herb I didn’t recognize, and tasted delicious. The noodle soup beside it carried a pleasant tang of spice and filled my stomach with a comforting warmth as I used it to wash down the rice.
The monks finished
