It was night, and Liolil was strumming lazily on a cheap lute. The others were going about their pre-turn-in rituals. Covens was whittling, absorbed in the act of putting blade to Oak. Cradow was chewing contentedly, occasionally casting unsure glances at the small silver pouch in his left hand. Pravin was putting more wood on the fire. Once he was satisfied he sat beside Covens, then took out the pouch of chocolate and offered a piece to Covens in what may have been a peace offering. Covens took it gratefully.

Vaskir was having a mental breakdown. There were so many swords that went unmaintained; how was he meant to get to all of them? Liolil had done him a great service, giving him all the weapons he could find in his cart—not that it was enough. By Vaskir’s guess, they amounted to less than 0.001% of everything he would have to get to. But it was a start.

Vaskir drew another shortsword from the pile. This one didn’t even have a scabbard and looked to have been looted from a battlefield. Vaskir got to work, carefully removing the bloodstains, morally, starting with the rust seemed wrong. He finished and placed it carefully on the pile.

‘There are already more than 30 blades there, Vask. Maybe take a break?’ Pravin said. Vaskir’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. Pravin nodded and patted the air in a calming motion, the same way you would try to placate a nervous dog.

‘He’s deep in it now,’ Covens said, taking Pravin by the shoulder. ‘All that Chi inside him is working its way deeper in. It’s safest to let him stew for at least 1 day and night, it’ll let him get used to the sensation. The shock of the breakthrough won’t be half as bad.’ Pravin nodded, feeling like a distressed mother being consoled. He looked back at Vaskir, who had taken to massaging a blade, working the iron with his thumbs. Liolil came to the rescue.

‘I think that’s enough for now, young man,’ Liolil said, taking the sword from Vaskir. Pravin realised that they had not explained what was happening to Liolil.

‘He must think Vaskirs lost his mind,’ Pravin thought. Liolil once again picked up his lute and began to play a sweet, lilting melody. It seemed to calm Vaskir.

‘Do you know much about blades?’ Liolil asked. Vaskir nodded.

‘I was taught a lot about them by a collector, Moloch,’ Vaskir said. Now that his hands were unoccupied his right leg started bouncing nervously. ‘I’ve always wanted to see a Parradin blade, or something ceremonial and royal. There’s only so much depth of craftsmanship in stock longswords, despite the variety.’ Vaskir continued to blather on about swords for another 20 minutes, going into detail about Gralosian royalty and their strange finger knives.

‘You get the first watch,’ Covens said. ‘In fact, do you want all the watches?’ Vaskir nodded. Ten minutes later everyone was asleep, and the campfire flickered into embers. Vaskir added more fuel, then decided that the wood that Pravin had gathered would not last through the night. He wandered into the jungle.

The moonlight shone cold. Vaskir’s breath misted, a small white cloud that quickly dispersed, reminding Vaskir of his cultivation. He wondered if the world was using them to cultivate, everyone’s breaths giving life to the gaia that surrounds them. Vaskir chuckled, gaining an insight into how religions formed. The energy in his stomach gave rise to unnatural productivity. By the time the sun rose he had picked the camp's immediate surroundings clean, leaving a truly massive pile of sticks beside the campfire. Pravin woke first to the sight of the stick mound.

‘What in the…’ Pravin said and cast his gaze to Vaskir, who was napping on top of the pile like a fat, super productive, beaver. Pravin rubbed his eyes then looked again. Nope, still there. He slapped Cradow’s leg, waking him.

‘Wha? What, what’s happening? What in the…’ Cradow said, seeing what Pravin was seeing. He slapped Covens' leg.

‘What time is it?’ she asked, bleary. She looked around and saw the stick pile. She giggled, then turned around and went back to sleep. All the commotion had woken Liolil.

‘Yall aren’t normal, are you?’ he asked from his place inside the cart, peeking his head out.

‘We need to Ascend him,’ Cradow said urgently, ‘now!’ Vaskir woke up to the sound of voices.

‘What’s happening?’ Vaskir asked, yawning. The same energy was in his stomach, but Vaskir did not feel the burn of productivity that it created the day before; much like a frog in a pot, slowly being boiled, he did not feel the heat.

‘Cultivate!’ Cradow said. ‘Now.’ Vaskir grunted in derision.

‘I need more sleep, it’s barely sunrise,’ Vaskir said, then looked down to see what he was sleeping on. ‘What in the hell?’ he exclaimed.

‘Vaskir,’ Cradow said seriously, ‘I will book no arguments here. You need to cultivate.’

‘Brook,’ Vaskir corrected. ‘You will brook no arguments.’ Cradow grimaced and scratched his head.

‘No. I’m pretty sure it’s book,’ he said. Covens opened her eyes again. She had had the craziest dream that Vaskir was a beaver and was ruling from a throne of sticks. She turned to see what the commotion was about.

‘Oh sweet grace,’ Covens thought. ‘I’m going to die because of these people.’ By the time everyone had woken up, Cradow had pulled Vaskir off the stick mound.

‘Good,’ Cradow said. ‘Now strip.’ Vaskir arched an eyebrow, now fully awake and somewhat embarrassed.

‘He’s right,’ Covens pitched in. ‘You’re going to want to be in your naturals for what comes next.’ Vaskir sighed and started stripping. Pravin flicked a queen at him once he started undoing his belt and a fight almost broke out. Five minutes later Vaskir was cultivating peacefully, naked apart from his underwear. Covens and Cradow took a few steps back and Pravin followed them warily.

‘He’s not going to explode, is he?’ Pravin asked.

‘Nah,’ Cradow said, picking his teeth. ‘But the first Ascension is pretty disgusting.’

Vaskir took in his surroundings: the smell of the fire, the feel of the weeds and mud underneath him, the cool breeze; already warming up with the coming day, and the sound of bugs and distant hollering. He brought everything inwards.

The room was perfectly white. As he released his focus, the newly accumulated energy had nowhere to go. Vaskir opened his eyes. Covens, Pravin, and Cradow took another step backwards. There was pressure inside, like a kettle about to boil. The energy that had infected him yesterday surged within him. Briefly, Vaskir felt like he could lift a mountain, or spit on a god.

‘Focus!’ Covens shouted. ‘Use that energy to create a container! You’ll know how.’ Vaskir was grateful for the advice and imagined a scabbard inside his body, a scabbard slowly being filled with melted iron; a casting for a blade perfectly fit for that sheathe alone.

Pravin stared, open-mouthed, as pale, pale light began to emanate from Vaskir’s pores. It was only a flicker, lasting no longer than a second, but Pravin saw that there was now something more within Vaskir’s body, within all Ascendent’s bodies, that the average mortal did not possess.

Cradow and Covens took another step back. Pravin stumbled forwards, amazed. Liolil, who was spying on the group from the safety of his cart, grimaced as Pravin walked forward.

‘That was amazing!’ Pravin said. ‘What happens—’ Black slime shot out from Vaskir’s body, an oozing ichor that coated everything within 5 meters of him. Vaskir heaved, falling forwards onto his hands. His vision was covered in darkness, like he had just dived, open eyes, into a murky swamp. He started retching.

Pravin wiped the ooze from his face, the smell was like fox musk and saltwater, a combination that Pravin felt could not be more terrible. He held down his vomit and stumbled back to the others.

‘Stay the fuck away from me!’ Cradow said. Covens said a politer derivation of the same. Vaskir felt like he was on the verge of vomiting, that bile was building at the back of his throat but he just couldn’t let it out. Finally, he just opened his mouth and squeezed. He felt the build-up shift and slowly push up his oesophagus. His eyes watered as a thick black mass made its way out of his mouth. Covens looked away; preserving Vaskir’s dignity, Cradow took a mental picture; so he could appreciate this moment for the rest of his life, Liolil happily munched on another mushroom; eyes glued on the free entertainment, and Pravin vomited. The entirety of the mass exited his mouth, falling to the ground with a wet splat. Vaskir took a deep breath and felt chunks of something still stuck in his throat. He coughed them up, little black cubes of congealed… something.

‘That,’ Vaskir said. ‘Was fucking awful.’ Cradow stood up on his toes to get a better look at Vaskir’s impurity mass. He whistled, Vaskir’s was bigger.

Vaskir could feel something that he couldn’t before, three light pressures, like friends standing just outside your front door. He mentally reached out to the brightest and felt a sensation that he could only describe as a greeting.

‘That’s me,’ Covens said. ‘You just said hello like an Ascendant.’ Vaskir looked up at her. He was still oozing black gel from his pores. Some of it came out like small, wriggling worms. Others, a thick gravy. His nose, especially, was a mass of thin black worms, making it look like a pinecone. Covens let out a small scream of disgust. Cradow was grinning, feeling somehow cleaner after watching Vaskir expel his impurities. Cradow threw Vaskir a towel and a bottle of water.

‘Remember,’ Cradow said,’ you want to lightly dab, not smear. The last thing you want to do is push any of that back in.’ Covens retched. That was the single most disgusting thing she had ever heard.

An hour later Vaskir was finished with his clean-up and was wearing clothes. He felt like a new man. He smiled and thought back on how the week had started, fighting that insane battle at the supposed bandit camp. His smile disappeared. He remembered it, not only that—he remembered it perfectly. Every second, in blazing detail, came alive in his mind.

‘Seven and a half intelligence,’ Vaskir muttered. ‘Above the human maximum.’ He shook his head. This would take some getting used to. He went back to the group. Pravin was nursing a water bottle, eyes distant. Vaskir touched him on the shoulder.

‘I don’t want to be an Ascendant if it means vomiting up a black worm,’ Pravin said.

‘Tough shit,’ Cradow said, climbing back into the cart. ‘Yours is going to be the biggest, just so you know. You’re like, twice as big as any of us. That just means that there are twice as many impurities in your body. Huh. I wonder if anyone’s ever choked to death during their first purification.’ Cradow shrugged. ‘Guess we’ll find out.’ Vaskir sympathised with Pravin. Vaskir would have been unsettled as well, had Pravin Ascended first and bleed black ichor from his eyes. Which is something which he had done, and Cradow thought was very cool.

‘Let’s get back on the road,’ Vaskir said. ‘Fun times over, we’re being hunted.’

‘I’m being haunted by the memory of that slug. What did you even do with it?’ Pravin asked. Vaskir had buried it. He balanced it on the tip of a spare scabbard, borrowed from Liolil, to transport it.

‘It’s gone, Pravin,’ Vaskir said in the same tone of voice as a father guaranteeing his son that there were no monsters under his bed. ‘It’s gone.’ He rubbed Pravin’s back.

‘Get in!’ Covens called out from the front of the cart. She had taken claim of the spot beside Liolil, enjoying the old man’s company as he told tales of his youth. Vaskir picked Pravin up by the shoulder and manipulated him until he was sitting in the cart. Vaskir had never thought Pravin to be so squeamish. After he had vomited out that worm he had actually quite enjoyed the experience. It felt as if all his aches and worries were flowing out of him. Vaskir grabbed onto a handle and tried to lift himself into the cart alongside Pravin, instead, he ribbed the dark Oak handle off the cart and stumbled back, shocked at the sight of it in his grip.

‘You’re paying for that,’ came Liolil’s voice from the front.