Yig had grown used to waking up with a little sheep licking his face—a scheme Spartan had devised to wake her master. It hadn’t bothered him before, and it didn’t bother him now. He sat up and petted her, only for her to dart out of the room toward the sound of cheer.

  The room he’d slept in was simple: just a bed and a desk by its side. Aside from those, there was nothing to distract him from the plain, old stone walls surrounding him—walls that could easily be mistaken for those of a tomb. The only source of light came from the exit: a large, arched, open doorway.

  Quinlou’s face popped into his mind, and he cringed. It was something he’d rather suppress. But then again, he’d done the same with Mona—and that had done him no good. He gave Spartan another pet, an offering she gladly accepted. Yig smiled.

  We’re doing it, Mona, he thought. We’re on an adventure.

  A pang of guilt followed the thought, and his mind wandered back to Quinlou.

  Yig stepped out, and after a few turns—guided by the sound of joyful conversation—he arrived at the dining room.

  Master Silver, Master Nil, Blū, Oy, and Sil sat around a table, surrounded by half-empty bowls that left the surface cluttered. One plate held a few remaining pieces of bread, while others carried soups and dips, most of them nearly gone.

  Yig tilted his head and pointed at his ally.

  “When did you get here?” he asked Sil.

  “When you were out cold. When else?” Sil replied.

  “Yeah, but… did I tell you I was coming here?”

  “Nope.” She scooped up more red beans, the spoon clanking against her plate. “That was real helpful of you, by the way. I told you to get some rest before adventuring. Trying to get rid of me, by any chance?”

  Yig shook his head and pulled out a chair. “Nah, arguments like this are more fun than being lonely.”

  Blū raised an eyebrow as Yig sat down. “You could’ve asked before you sat.”

  “Calm down, Blū,” Oy cut in. “We let him sleep in the back for four hours straight. I think it’s fair to assume he can eat.”

  “Thanks.” Yig leaned across the table and grabbed a piece of bread. At first, he nibbled it casually, but the crumbs sparked a sudden awareness of his hunger—and he began scarfing it down.

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  “Don’t worry about it,” Oy added. “He’s just grumpy because of the last few adventurers who passed through.”

  “That punk Timothy was straight-up taking advantage of us,” Blū muttered through clenched teeth. “Some hero he was.”

  “As dangerous as it is to let either of you think you’re right,” Silver said in a flat tone, still focused on his meal, “I did let that Timothy boy overstay his welcome.”

  “Ehh, typical of a Tornairy,” Blū said, sealing his point.

  “How have I done so far?” Yig asked, scanning their faces for a hint of approval.

  “Probably driving them out of their minds,” Sil said with a smirk.

  “I think you proved plenty in our spar,” Nil added. “Many would’ve run.”

  “Why would I? It was obvious I couldn’t—even if I tried.”

  Nil smiled.

  “Speaking of, how’d you make more of yourself?”

  “That’s just my technique.”

  “Could you teach me? I mean, is it even possible?”

  “No. That technique is mine and mine alone. I can’t teach it to you.”

  Yig tilted his head in confusion. “What about the Stearna? They can pass their techniques down, right?”

  “The art of stealth is not the same,” Silver said, his voice booming no matter how casually he tried to speak. “The original creator spent time developing a way to pass his techniques down—time not all of us have had the luxury of.”

  “Can I make one?” Yig asked with a smile.

  “We should probably clarify,” Nil said. “When we say techniques, we’re talking about one’s Levula—or ‘the manifestation of one’s thoughts.’ There are plenty of techniques one can invent using aura, but both the stealth art and my duplication are Levula.”

  “Right, so a Levula lets you do special stuff with your aura?”

  Nil—and the rest of the table, for that matter—seemed hesitant to answer. “I suppose,” Nil said, “in an extremely simplified sense.”

  “Why don’t they talk about that in Sharirun, Sil?”

  She shrugged. “Why would we? We all practice the same way.”

  Yig nodded slowly, trying to appear thoughtful when really he was just giving himself time to understand. “Right. Because the guy who made the Stealth Arts had a Levula that let him pass it on. So can a Stearna get their own Levula?”

  “It would be difficult if they already practice the Stealth Arts,” Silver added. “It’s always harder once someone’s style has been shaped by another’s Levula. In some cases, no Levula is needed for a style to be passed down. Sometimes, just a deep admiration for another’s technique can cause someone to develop a similar Levula—one so alike, it’s practically the same.”

  “Can someone have two?”

  “Anyone can,” Silver said. “That doesn’t make it easy. One can’t manifest themselves twice—it would just develop the same Hugr. A person has to change significantly to gain a second one, and that’s a path rarely taken willingly. And with all that time spent trying to gain another, a man could have just further perfected his first.”

  Yig glanced quickly at his arm, doing his best to be discreet, then looked back up at the table. “What if someone was born with a Levula?”

  “Sounds more like a curse to me,” Silver said—and the rest of the table agreed.

  Yig didn’t like the sound of that. Pulling in plates and scraping from bowls, he quickly built a sizable meal from what was left and devoured it.

  “Eat well,” Silver said. “You’ll need the energy for tomorrow’s training.”