“Wow Maiz, so soon? Did you bring flowers?”

The void stretched out in all directions around Maiz. He would have called it ‘endless,’ but that didn’t fit. There was simply nothing there, nothing to perceive or even imagine in the darkness. The only thing in the not-space was Riala, looking at him with a small smile on her face, purple eyes glowing.

“Can I bring flowers here? Actually, why is it that I brought my clothes but I don’t keep my bracelet or the knife I was--”

Maiz stopped talking, looked down at himself, and flushed. His hands flew to cover himself, but Riala had already looked away, laughing.

“This place is a little weird. The Seven have powers over reality and planes of existence, but humans don’t. It’s one of the few divine abilities they all share, and it bleeds into their connection with you!” Riala sounded like something between a Scholar and a tour guide. Not that Maiz had met many tourists in his life, but a few of his more fanciful books included stories of tourists from the Ulterion empire, travelling the world and occasionally causing trouble for the heroes. “I would say more, but there’s the whole ‘symmetrical information’ thing, remember?”

Maiz was rather preoccupied with his lack of clothing, finding it hard to look in Riala’s direction even though he’d already seen her turn her head. Still, he chewed on what she’d said, trying to ignore his discomfort.

“My connection to Viselys creates this place, so...” His eyes widened, then closed. He focused on the image of himself, paying special attention to his clothing. He concentrated for a solid few seconds, until the thought felt almost real--the same way he visualized his mana. He opened his eyes. He was still naked.

“What, did you try wishing your clothes back? That’s the right track, but you have to go deeper.”

What in seven hells? The longer he stayed like this, the worse his embarassment become, and he shuffled awkwardly backwards. Nothing changed. Right, endless, meaningless void.

“I questioned why I had my clothes, and then they vanished.” Maiz considered. He hadn’t visualized himself naked, he’d just… questioned. Realized. So it wasn’t a matter of imagination, but belief. He had to believe that he should have clothes on again, not just that he wanted them back.

It took longer, and it felt something like pushing through the voices for his Naming ritual. In the end, he couldn’t differentiate why he should have his clothes, but not everything else he’d been holding when he went to pray, so after his period of focus and reimagining, he was holding a dagger in his left hand, and his healing bracelet dangled on his other wrist. He suddenly felt the grime and sweat from the battle return to his skin, and his clothes clung to him, sticking uncomfortably.

But he had clothes, and that was worth the discomfort.

“Got it.”

Riala looked back at him, a cheery expression on her face.“Excellent! You know, I’m glad you figured that one out, it’s… not something all the champions get.”

Maiz frowned. The way she’d phrased her explanation, it seemed obvious that it was his power, or rather the portion of Viselys’ power that he carried, which created this space for them to converse. Even if that hadn’t been clear, he probably would have figured it out based on the fact that his own question had led to the loss of his clothes. The only way another God-Chosen wouldn’t notice was if they weren’t observant enough to question the strange rules which seemed to govern their attire in this void-space. Or, probably, any number of other foundational beliefs of the place, such as why--

--Maiz stopped himself. Best not to play with anything too dangerous.

“Hold on, so when I’m… here, aren’t I also in the real world?”

“The Seven have powers over reality and planes of existence, but humans don’t. It’s one of the few divine abilities they all share, and it bleeds into their connection with you!”

Maiz frowned. “You already--”

Riala sighed, and her eyes flashed at him. “The Seven have powers over reality and planes of existence, but humans don’t. It’s one of the few divine abilities they all share, and it bleeds into their connection with you.”

She’s repeating herself on purpose? Maiz thought for a moment before memory and understanding converged. The trial. He’d spent hours, maybe as much as a day, in the test to get his Name, but Father Gavrel hadn’t commented that the Ritual had taken any longer than usual. So the gods’ abilities with reality somehow bent time.

“Wait, so can they… reverse time? Or is it like they make parallel rivers that run at different speeds? Or--”

“--I can tell you, but you’ve barely got enough favor for that, and I’d have to tell the others as well.” Riala looked seriously at him, and something immediately told Maiz to drop the line of questioning.

Still, he wondered. If he was somehow making this space, was there more he could do with his power? Perhaps even use it in the real world? But if that were the case, then wouldn’t there be more examples of such magic from ancient God-Chose--

“The godsdamned Path?”

Maiz wished he could sit down. Actually… he sat down. It didn’t change anything about his position relative to Riala, but it made him feel better as he considered. He’d wondered how something so massive could possibly be contained in a single building before. Was it somehow the result of these spatial powers Riala was talking about? If anyone could use such abilities intentionally, it would be Maiz’s predecessor.

Riala looked somewhat exasperated, but also… proud? Anxious? “Do you really want me to answer?”

Maiz sighed. Enough messing around. “No, sorry. But I do want to know if you’ve heard from the other God-Chosen.”

She gave a sharp nod, but her eyes were sympathetic. “One other God-Chosen confirmed that they have met no others.”

Maiz winced. This had been the most likely scenario, but it was discouraging. Frightening, even, because it meant that the other five had probably met at least one other God-Chosen each. That was five competitors in a better position than Maiz, or at least further along in this strange game than him. They could just have been bluffing. But the very fact that they didn’t want the information seemed to indicate that they were better off than him.

“Thanks, Riala.”

She flashed him a smile, teeth stained purple by the light of her eyes. “No problem! Now, you’re… almost out of favor.”

“What? You mean--”

“--yeah, you don’t really have enough standing to call me again until you do something incredible! I would ask if you had questions, but…”

Maiz nodded. For all that he was in a difficult position, there was little he could get out of Riala with the limited information he had now. Better to save it. “Thank again.”

“Sure!” Her smile turned almost sympathetic. Was that fear in her eyes? “Just be careful, Maiz. And good luck.”

In a flash, he found himself back in the Purple Room. It took a moment to get over the disorientation, but he was already thinking. He’d learned some interesting things, but not about the problem at hand.

The Temple Adepts had launched an attack on the army’s supply tent. It had failed because of the strange enchantments protecting the tent, ones that the Adepts had never encountered before. Maiz had some idea of who might be responsible for those--after all, it appeared that one man was behind most, if not all, of the army’s peculiar weaponry. And Maiz was beginning to wonder if he didn’t know the nature of the man’s title.

The beginnings of a plan were stirring in Maiz’s head, but there was a large variable to account for. Still on the ground, covered in sweat and grime, he settled into a meditative pose.

He retreated into the landscape of his mind, calling on the feel of smooth flowing water and a whisper of chill wind. He focused on the strange, almost unreal feeling he got when he watched a Sandwraith move, as though every motion was a coincidence of the wind’s motion instead of the intention of a living creature. He felt the ideas coloring his mana with every breath, until his pool felt completely saturated, and then he let out a long sigh of magic.

The pattern described in the text about the Shadowcloak was incredibly simple, just a sheath of mana at the level of his skin, anchored directly to his pool so that it didn’t need to be contained in a rigid structure. With the level of mana manipulation required by his Spellsword abilities, he found this part childishly simple.

When nothing happened, he considered stamping his foot. If he wasn’t cross-legged on the ground, he might have done it.

Need to get this done now.

It wasn’t just his plan--he was also wasting valuable experience with every battle he took part in because he didn’t have his feat completed. His abilities had begun to plateau, and though his constant runs of the Path helped, he was hamstrung by his constant proximity to Hugan, Lila, and Ziya during most of his training time. Ascending to the Journeyman realm would give him more insight into his abilities, even more than the jump from Novice to Apprentice had. He needed to complete his feat.

That wasn’t to say the other issue wasn’t just as important. The plan he had--more of a possible plan if anything--relied heavily on stealth. He needed to scout, and he needed to move without his friends or superiors noticing. When was the next raid? Two days. From what Lila and Juya had said, it didn’t seem like he’d have many more chances to do what he needed to, and if he took too long, the Temple might be lost regardless.

What’s the godsdammned problem? He’d tried elemental influences, physical, abstract--hells, he’d gone out of his way to face the Sandwraiths again, sure that it would give him some insight into Shadowcloak. The text had called it the mana of ‘spirit and death.’ What could he do to understand something so vague?

Oh. Right.