NOVEL NEXT Chapter 64 - Traditions (Revised)
The Fourth Layer's streets had gone still.
The crowd of bronze-ranked Dhrokari youths stood arrayed across the street like a living barricade. Dust curled faintly at their feet, stirred by the hum of Mana and ego.
Their leader---the same short girl that dual-wielded daggers---stepped forward. Her tone came sharp and practiced, too polished for her age.
"It it true? The Chieftain himself took you under his tutelage?"
I said nothing.
The murmur rolled through the onlookers like wind over sand.
"Word travels quickly," she continued. "They say the Outsider trained in the Courtyard of Tenacity… under Intisak's own supervision."
She smiled, "A rare honor. One many of us have spent years chasing."
A few others barked low laughs.
"I'll issue my challenge here. My wager---your position as disciple. If you lose, you forfeit the right to stand beside our Chieftain."
More voices joined in, overlapping. But their words were heat without direction. I had no reason to accept. There was nothing to gain from it.
I adjusted the axe on my shoulder.
"I refuse," I said simply, and stepped past them.
The crowd went silent once more. And this time, not even the youths spoke.
The air seemed to flatten, the entire street holding its breath.
I walked forward. One step. Two. Sand shifted softly beneath my boots, as I stepped back onto the black-stone-paved ground.
Behind me, Horus scrambled to follow, expression pale as he caught up.
The first voice to break the silence was a strangled, disbelieving whisper.
"…He refused?"
Then another: "He refused?"
And another. And another. The whispers turned to mutters. The mutters to disbelief, to argument.
We turned down the next street without looking back. I had nothing to prove to these people. The only person I was concerned about proving anything to, was Intisak himself.
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Horus's voice dragged my out of my thoughts as we walked through the winding alleys and back to the Layer's Arteries.
"T-The Chief...did he truly make you his disciple?"
I looked to the boy, unsure why this was such a shocking topic of discussion.
"It is temporary," I said.
"S-Still!" His tone pitched higher, caught somewhere between excitement and panic. "You don't understand what this means for the Shavrak!"
"What does it mean, then?"
Horus faltered. "I-It is not my place to say."
I glanced at him. His hand twitched toward his chest, the faint outline of the already-healed cut on his hand lighting up below the street lamps.
I could've pressed him---used the bond to force the truth out of him with a single command.
But the boy's throat worked visibly as he swallowed. Clearly aware of how helpless he would be if I did.
I let the thought go. If it wasn't his place to say, then it wasn't my place to ask either.
"Fine," I said. "Just take me to the healers."
We stepped back onto the Layer's Arteries not long after. The golden grains rippled under our weight, carrying us forward with the same steady, effortless pull as before. Light flickered along the walls---reflections of the surface mirrors above, fractured into shifting patterns.
Our pace quickened, but not enough to outdistance the echoes behind us.
"...They're following," Horus muttered.
I didn't need his words to know that much. My second awareness had been watching them closely---the same fourteen presences, moving just out of reach, keeping their distance but never stopping.
Voices rang out across the tunnel then:
"Coward!"
"Afraid to face your betters!"
Their words bounced off the curved walls, hollow and harmless.
I didn't bother responding. Why entertain such pointless efforts?
The Hall of Restoration stood apart from the market streets---a vast structure carved from a singular, colossal block of that same black sandstone, and rather than the runes I'd grown so used to seeing everywhere, the surface of this block was etched with geometric patterns instead. Thin streams of golden light, like machined veins feeding into the heart of the building.
A crowd had already begun forming outside by the time we arrived.
"The Outsider!" someone whispered. "He's here."
Dozens of eyes turned as we crossed the streets, but finally entering the Hall, the air within changed.
The Hall was quiet---eerily so. The faint hum of the geometric patterns filled the space, steady and low-pitched. Rows of figures in pure white robes moved with deliberate calm, their faces hidden behind layered veils with only narrow slits for sight.
The scent of herbs and clean oil replaced the dust and spice of the streets.
One of the veiled clerks approached, bowing slightly.
"How can the Hall of Restoration assist you today?"
I nodded back at her, "The Chieftain sent me here...told me to recover my Mana best I could."
I saw the clerk's eyes visibly widen into her slitted head covering, before returning to normal a moment later.
"Follow me."
We moved deeper in, the hallways growing brighter the further we went. The walls gave way to open chambers lined with shallow stone beds, each surrounded by hovering sigils that pulsed a pale green.
Clerks worked in pairs---some holding patients down, others channeling mana through outstretched palms. The air shimmered with faint green light as torn flesh knit itself back together, wounds sealing without a trace of blood. It reminded me greatly of my own gift, except with the absence of that green light.
Horus slowed beside me, watching.
"Is that… healing magic?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yes. One of the oldest Magical Laws. But difficult to master, and even harder to progress. Not many pursue it."
"Why?"
"Because it doesn't win battles." His tone carried a quiet reverence. "Dhrokar find honor in combat. The path of a healer earns no glory. Those who follow it do so because they truly believe in it."
I studied the healers a moment longer. Their precision reminded me of technicians—no wasted motion, no hesitation. Each gesture had a pattern, a measured economy of force.
The clerk leading us stopped near an open ward.
"Wait here. I will bring a healer."
She bowed slightly and disappeared down one of the adjoining corridors.
I leaned the axe against the wall, arms folding loosely as I scanned the rows of sigils. Horus fidgeted beside me, the movement of his sword knocking softly against his back.
Outside the Hall, I could hear the growing crowd—the same fourteen, joined now by dozens more. Their voices bled faintly through the sandstone, restless, growing louder.
I sighed, They aren't going to give up, are they?
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Above the city, carved into the lens-lined dome of the cavern ceiling, was the Grand Chamber of the Elders, a place where those at the top overlooked all they ruled, a place where no sound from the city could reach.
A long stone table stretched across the center, flanked by ten seats---five on each side. The air was heavy with heat and incense, thick enough to dull breath.
At the table's head sat Intisak. His back was straight, his presence filling the space more than his size ever could.
"…You shame our traditions," one of the Elders was saying, voice brittle with contained fury. "Taking an outsider as disciple? What will the High Table think when word spreads beyond our walls?"
"The people already know," another added. "He trains in our sacred Courtyard, walks freely through our layers. Will you invite him into the Archives next?"
A third slammed his palm against the table. "The Archives are forbidden to all but our own! Even I have not—"
"Enough."
Intisak's voice cut clean through the noise.
The room fell silent.
He looked down the length of the table, gaze passing over each face in turn.
"Entry into the Archives," he said slowly, "is at the discretion of the Chieftain. My discretion. Not yours. Not anyone else's."
The words carried no heat---only weight.
"He has not proven himself to me," Intisak continued, "but if he does… then he will have achieved what no one amongst our own have managed in decades. That alone would make the choice justified."
An elder near the center leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "And if he fails? If your faith in him leads to ruin? What if he is one sent here by Concord? To take what is ours?"
"Then I will bear the consequence," Intisak said simply, his expression darkening "Just as I always have."
The chamber went silent. They meaning in those words were undeniable. Their Chieftain had bore too much already.
Another Elder spoke this time, calmer, more measured, "You risk fracturing the Clan, Intisak. The younger ones already challenge him. Their dissatisfaction is palpable. Obsessive, even. They only see their Chief favoring an outsider over his own."
Intisak eyed the man who spoke. An old friend of his. One who's advice had never failed him.
"Let them see, Galanar."
Intisak stood. The chair scraped against the stone, the sound like a blade unsheathing.
"The Shavrak were meant to roam free. To carve our strength into the world---not be chained to the land as we have been."
He set his hands flat on the table. "That boy is the first spark I've seen in years that might set us free again. Outsider by birth he may be, but do not forget, he has passed our initiation twice over, and surpassed every Silver-Rank amongst us despite being significantly younger."
Several of the elders bristled, jaws tightening.
Intisak's gaze hardened.
"If any of you think to stand in the way of that," he said, voice lowering, "I will not stand by and watch."
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then he turned, sweeping his fur cloak behind him, and strode out of the chamber.
The heavy doors closed with a hollow boom.
Silence lingered in his wake, thick and unresolved.
Several of the elders exchanged dark looks, muttering low under their breaths.
One of the elders, seated near the far end clenched his fists beneath the table.
"So be it," he hissed to himself "If the Chieftain will not guard the clan's honor…"
He looked up, eyes narrowing.
"…then I will."