The journey moved at a leisurely pace, and when I thought about it, this was the first time — the twelfth ring notwithstanding — that I'd ever been this far from home. We'd long since passed the village where I'd fought the cultists and were still heading northwest. The capital was a long way off, so rather than waste time, I practiced on the wagon roof.

  The wagon itself was fairly large, one of many, and appeared to haul goods from a neighboring province into Varander — probably loaded up there, purchased new stock, and moved on. This trade caravan had absolutely no connection to that pair. They'd hired it to ship my family to the provincial capital, though I wouldn't rule out spies among the caravan workers.

  What those two "inspectors" actually were remained a mystery. One thing was certain — they wielded a type of power that was neither demonic nor spiral. Some rare elemental force, maybe? But even if so, my knowledge in that area was thin. And when I don't know something, I need to fill the gap. Later, though — once I had access to decent libraries. Ramuil had kept a good one, but that was off-limits now.

  Or was it?

  I had the gatekeeper's soul stone, and theoretically I could travel to the twelfth ring on my own. Open a passage and— No. Too risky. Last time, as a slave, I'd received a brand that chained me to the ring and kept me from dying easily. This time there'd be no brand, but I wasn't strong enough to face the wardens. The library was inside Ramuil's palace, and opening a portal there was impossible — the palace was shielded. Still, there was one very good reason to visit the twelfth ring: energy. The outer rings had zero demonic energy. I could only absorb it from the soul stones of killed demons. Down there, I could absorb it the same way I absorbed spiral energy here — through simple breathing technique. But I'd need to be careful, since my internal energies were now deeply interconnected. I'd have to strengthen both equally.

  Each new day started with basic meditation — drawing in the world's energy, distributing it evenly, using it to prime the power nodes that were ready to open. First priority was the Mountain Ascent and Light Step nodes. Those would significantly strengthen my legs and unlock basic stepping techniques.

  And to keep my spirit from outpacing my body, I trained afterward. From the outside it probably looked like I was dancing on the wagon roof. Sometimes I'd leap between wagons, working through basic hand-to-hand forms as I went. Given the roads we were traveling — often in atrocious condition — the wagons bounced and shook violently, which worked in my favor. I had to factor in the jolting, sharpen my coordination, and react whenever a wagon suddenly tilted or lurched.

  In the evenings or at night, when we stopped, I'd discreetly pull one of my remaining soul stones from a spatial ring and absorb its energy bit by bit. It was frustrating to do it this way, but otherwise someone might detect the demonic energy.

  After three days, we arrived at the first major town on the route — Vassadon — where we'd be stopping for two days. Some passengers left the caravan; new ones replaced them. Vassadon wasn't dramatically different from Daiward, except that back home the economy ran on processing. Ore was shipped in, and the factories refined it, smelted components, and sent them to the provincial capital by rail.

  It was all automated, streamlined production. But the worst part was that the local residents saw none of the benefits. Only the chosen few were permitted to touch or use such technologies on the outer rings. The railroad existed for one purpose — transporting factory cargo. Nothing else. I imagine plenty of people had thought about how nice it would be to just hop on a train and ride, free from the misery of the road. But it was impossible. Machines on the outer rings served a purpose, and could only be used for that purpose. Any attempt to build something using steam or electricity was punishable by death — unless you were a Keeper of Knowledge. The same applied to unauthorized use. Even combat orders couldn't use any of it without approval.

  In my old life I'd never thought about this. But coming back, I noticed. Even if a grandmaster of some order sat on an ore train without permission, he'd be executed. Regardless of achievements or status. Enforcers would be sent from the inner rings — powerful enough to obliterate any order.

  Our world had no shortage of machines. But they all served a single purpose: supplying the inner rings with resources. That was it. Meanwhile, artifacts powered by spiral energy were widespread, and the oversight on those was nowhere near as strict. The Keepers of Knowledge didn't care about spatial rings, transit gates, or other artifacts. But if you snuck onto an ore train for a ride — execution. Deliberately damaged a machine — execution. Built a steam piston — execution.

  Why?

  Control, I suspected. The outer rings were too energy-poor for truly complex artifacts. Only primitive constructs that posed no threat to the Lords' rule. But steam and electrical machines didn't care about energy levels. Let us ride trains and build steam engines today, and tomorrow we'd be assembling machines that rival the Eternals. And from the books in Ramuil's library, I'd learned that such machines had existed in the past. Before the cataclysm burned out the seventh through eleventh rings, severing the outer and phantom rings. Even on the twelfth, I'd seen the aftermath — though the worst of the destruction had barely reached that far.

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  The Lords could strip the outer rings of advanced artifacts like transit gates with a snap of their fingers if something displeased them. But machines were harder to eliminate. So they'd simply imposed severe restrictions. Maybe they would have banned them entirely, but given the sheer volume of resources shipped from the factories, that would've been difficult. The inner rings' demands were too vast for manual labor alone. Machines were a necessary evil.

  But I was getting sidetracked. If Daiward was a processing hub, Vassadon was a mining settlement where the ore was actually dug up. On the approach to town, we caught a distant view of an enormous quarry. And there were thousands of towns like this across the outer rings. Some mined metals, some gemstones, some raised cattle and wheat — all of it shipped straight to the inner rings.

  It was right around our arrival in Vassadon that Dad started improving. The medicines Mom had been giving him kept him asleep for most of the journey, but now I watched them help him out of the wagon and settle him into a folding chair so he could get some fresh air.

  "Dad," I called, jumping down from the wagon.

  "Hey, Nate." He smiled, and I shuddered inwardly at how gaunt he looked. Like he'd dropped twenty pounds and aged a decade. Probably side effects of the healing potions the doctor had prescribed. "That's incredible... Your eyes really are light now. I didn't believe Mom when she said... How did you do it?"

  "I think it's the age," I lied. "I created my focus earlier than anyone. Maybe my body was still flexible enough to overcome the damage."

  "I see..." He smiled. "I knew my son was a genius."

  "Dad... I'm sorry. All of this is my fault." I bowed my head. "Because of me, you almost lost your leg. Because of me, we were driven out of our home."

  "Nate..." Dad sighed. "I won't pretend the leg situation doesn't worry me. I'm used to working, and with an injury like this, I don't know when I'll even walk normally again. But I don't blame you for any of it. You hear me? Not one bit. If anything, looking at you, I'm proud of what I see. And I'm certain you've got a great future ahead of you. So don't lose sleep over my leg. Your old man is tougher than he looks."

  We shared a smile. I'd needed to hear those words from him.

  I genuinely blamed myself, but I'd lived too many years to let guilt drag me under. Just a new notch on my heart. And while the other wounds hadn't happened yet — and might never — that didn't erase the scars already there.

  "Thank you," I said. "And I'll do everything I can to get you walking properly again. I promise."

  I didn't fully know what the senior inspector had told my parents, but at least they weren't asking questions. I was already lying to them about plenty, and I hated it. Oddly, the hardest part of leaving was saying goodbye to Chloe. I'd gotten used to her whining and having someone to share my thoughts with. Sure, I had Zirgul, but that wasn't quite the same.

  Leaving Dad, I went for a walk around town. On closer inspection, Vassadon looked almost identical to Daiward. Same little houses, same narrow streets. Like I'd never left home.

  I found a merchant's shop quickly enough — it had a sign showing a little bag full of coins. I stepped inside.

  "We don't sell toys," the bald, thin, mustachioed man announced immediately, with zero warmth. Charming.

  "I can see your shop really rolls out the welcome mat for new customers," I shot back. "I'm not interested in toys. I need eye drops."

  "Kid, come back with your parents. I don't have time for—"

  Right. I was already annoyed by this kind of treatment. Zirgul slid from its scabbard and embedded itself in the counter, inches from the merchant's hand. The man produced a strange, squeaky sound — like his soul and his bowels departed simultaneously.

  "Got time now?" I asked.

  "Y-yes..." He went pale, apparently only now noticing the faint glow in my eye.

  "Excellent. So do you have the drops?"

  "Y-yes..."

  I waved my hand and Zirgul returned to the scabbard. The merchant exhaled in visible relief.

  "Which kind do you need?"

  "What have you got?"

  He brought out a box with a surprisingly wide selection. These drops could change your eye color. They cost a fortune and lasted about a day. Let anyone feel what it was like to have light eyes. But real warriors found it amusing at best. Sure, the drops changed the color, but a practitioner's eyes also glowed — faintly, from the energy flowing through them. You could always spot the movement of power. The drops just made eyes lighter. Nothing more.

  "These," I decided, picking the shade closest to my right eye. "And these."

  "Those are more expensive."

  "Not surprised," I smirked, glancing at the brown drops. Warriors could use those to disguise themselves, but again, you could sense a warrior's power without even looking. You'd also need to suppress your aura. "How much?"

  "Five senior spirals for the first. Nine for the second."

  "Steep," I shook my head. "I could use a discount."

  "That's already at cost," the man said, swallowing nervously as the sword rose slightly from its scabbard.

  "Is it?"

  "I'll sell both for twelve..."

  Still expensive, but I paid. I was getting tired of walking around with a bandage over one eye.

  I pulled out my coin pouch and counted out the money, handing over more than half of what I'd found on the cultists. The merchant exhaled with relief when the exact sum hit the counter. I took the vials and headed for the door.

  Next step: test the drops. I went back to the wagons, climbed inside, made sure I was alone, removed the bandage, and put one drop in my left eye. A couple of minutes later, I checked the result in Mom's small mirror. The redness was gone. The eye was now a pale blue. Slightly different from the right, but only just. If anyone noticed, I could blame the new focus. At least nobody would suspect that behind the subtly different shade of the left eye lurked something red.