Cyrdel lay on his back, eagle-spread. He stared up at a ceiling filled with red dots. Except they weren't dots. His vision cleared just in time to show him the creatures looming above him, hanging from the ceiling using their claws.

He sat up and rubbed his face. What happened? Why was he on the ground?

A vague memory of a black torrent rushing towards him flashed across his mind. After that, nothing. His mind swirled. Holy Nira, did he pass out?

If Ravalee saw him now, she'd probably die from laughing her guts out. Cyrdel's fists clenched, his nails scraping magrora as he did. What's with this test?

He should hurry. Time wouldn't stop just for him. Finish this test quickly. He stood up and rubbed his rear. What was he even being tested on? His ability to wrangle beasts?

Cyrdel craned his neck up at the mass of black above him. Why were they just gaping at him? Weren't they going to eat him?

One of the creatures growled at him and Cyrdel averted his eyes. Okay, they hated eye contact. Cyrdel blocked his eyes with his hand as he sped past the assembled beasts. He felt hundreds of eyes pinned at his back. Would he die if he made a sudden move? What made them stop in the first place?

Laxonis are extremely territorial, Mister Voice said after a while. You did a good job of lowering yourself instead of roaring in defiance.

Should he laugh at that or cry? He felt like doing the latter. Was Mister Voice mocking him because he passed out? Should he just take that statement as it was? Maybe. He'd reserve more dignity with that. Besides, it's not like he could "roar" in defiance when he could barely hold his scream when the creature landed on him.

He sighed.

"Am I worthy of Cochraim now?" he asked almost like an impertinent child that never had proper palace training. His father would probably slap the wonders out of Cyrdel if he heard his son now.

Mister Voice seems amused. No, it's too easy. You have not learned

Cyrdel spread his arms. "Too easy? I almost died!" he twined his fingers atop his hair.

Their claws are not poisoned so you should be alive. Mister Voice said. It's just the natural way of things in this cave.

"Me getting killed is just the natural way of things?!" Cyrdel yelled in the dark, his voice bouncing along the cavern's walls. Behind him, he heard a rustle of leather. Gods.

If you choose it to be. If Mister Voice had a shoulder, Cyrdel imagined them to have shrugged. Continue on. Perhaps the real test will come your way.

Cyrdel muttered under his breath as he trudged forward, picking up a gross femur along the way. Despite the smell of rotting flesh, it's at least good for swatting leaves and other unwanted stuff away.

He had been walking for forever. His foot started to hurt; his stomach growled. He lost count of how many times he had to push his glasses up his nose as it kept sliding down his sweaty nose.

The stocky air reminded him of the summer days he spent on the workshop. The forge would be lit up and the windows closed to prevent the smoke from scattering towards the main wing. He would work, then, ignoring the sweat dripping from his chin. He would only stop to take a break or when the forge needed more coal.

Cyrdel's gut twisted. At least, he was busy back then.

Right now, as the heat beat down on him as he walked, all he could think about was how unproductive he was. Time's gone and wasted and he's still stuck in this infernal cavern with demonic creatures.

It's not just the laxonis that accompanied Cyrdel in this cave. Various animalistic cries echoed in the darkness as he walked. Leaves rustled and claws scratched against the rocks. Blurs of gray and beige darted around in his periphery every five minutes.

Twice, something small and fast zipped by his ear, leaving a perfect cut on his cheek as it did. Several times, he had to step aside so he could avoid stepping on a sleeping creature. Once, a creature the size of manwaris blocked his path and he had to squeeze through fur and flesh to continue on.

Cyrdel felt like unleashing a string of curses at this cave, at Mister Voice, and at the world. This journey better teach him something rather than being less hesitant to pick up the first femur he encountered. Ravalee wouldn't stop grilling him of details of his test when they saw each other again.

If they see each other again.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Cochraim, huh? What wonders awaited him there? Would he get to have a nice shower? He sniffed his clothes and scrunched up his nose. Oh, Ravalee wouldn't like that.

Where was she now? Cyrdel hoped she was having a better time than him. He prayed to Nira for Ravalee to make it out of this mess without a scratch. He didn't know what he'd do if she didn't.

The varichria's face flashed across his mind. Reeca, as Xanthy had called her. Cyrdel had never seen her before but he felt the need to defend her against the Court's accusations. Why? Was it because Miss Vivenca asked him to? What happened back there that didn't now?

Mister Helgase's face greeted Cyrdel's thoughts next. Even without speaking, Cyrdel could tell that the human had some formal training. He had seen Mister Helgase talk to the Court members during the night festival in Jered Axilia. Cyrdel had seen the human charm the trousers off the Court and the other nobles by simply opening his mouth.

Why would Mister Helgase choose to leave Cardina to come to Alkara? How come he could leave his kingdom and pursue what he wanted to? Cyrdel sighed. He had wished to be like the human when he first met him. How nice would it be to just pack a satchel, take Ravalee, and get out the Palace? How nice would it be to be able to forget he had a duty towards Alkara, a duty that he didn't want?

Master Lewel would be a better king than Cyrdel, anyway.

The throne was not just for him. He belonged in the forges and with his inventions. It hadn't taken him long enough before he started rejecting whatever his father lectured him about maintaining the legacy. He would help his people in the best way he could and that is through inventing. Not sitting on a chair.

Of course, he didn't dare tell these reservations to Ravalee. A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. Who's to say she didn't know it already? She's a powerful thyminka, one to rival the priestess in the Temple of Memory.

Still, Cyrdel wasn't blind to how proud Ravalee was of him whenever he attended ceremonies or whenever he performed the duties fit for the Crovalis, For all Cyrdel knew, that's probably the only version of him that Ravalee loved.

In the end, it's between his passion and his duty.

That's why Cyrdel adored Miss Vivenca and her head-on method of dealing with things. It must be nice to have that guts. Perhaps, that's why he listened to her when she pleaded with him to defend Reeca.

His eyes widened. Of course. He drew his strength from other people. A quick look at the darkness around him reminded him of his current predicament.

He's alone.

Cyrdel stared at his hand as he halted. All his life, he wished he could rely on his magic to do things. Yet, he wasted literal years of his life focusing only on one aspect of his synnavaim while letting the others rot at the back of his soul. He wasn't strong nor was he a wide reader. He couldn't even figure out how to counter the spell his father used whenever he would get too angry at Cyrdel.

Only his inventions granted him the strength he couldn't have gotten from anywhere. Take that away and Cyrdel was just a shell of who he once was. Even when his father frowned upon his method, Cyrdel survived a lot of things with his inventions working for him. He didn't know what his life would look like without his gadgets.

He coughed. Well, looks like he's living that life now.

Fear threatened to shut down all his functions and encouraged him to curl up in a corner. Animal cries kept assaulting his ears from all directions .He lost count of the times he glanced up at the ceiling, dreading the time the laxonis decided to attack again. His grip on the femur tightened every minute that passed.

He wished he was with Ravalee right now.

Was there an end to this? He wanted to call on Mister Voice again, to demand a way out. He didn't sign up for this. The varichria did. He's allowed to have free passes.

He considered turning around and walking the rest of the way out. It didn't matter if he had to walk miles as long as he made it out of the Pilgrim Road alive. He wouldn't step a foot inside caverns ever again.

A deep growl emanated from somewhere beyond him. Cyrdel froze and hefted the femur like a staff, earning him another whiff of the rotting flesh still attached to it. It didn't help when he realized that those bits probably stuck to his palms and dug into his nails.

Before he could gag, the monster stepped out of the shadows and charged at him.

The ground shook as a creature twice the size of the manwaris sped for Cyrdel. Its hide brushed the ceiling, taking with its fur some uprooted vines and debris from the cavern's dome. Cyrdel scrambled out of its way, pressing himself into the walls. His mind ran through the list of the Umazuran gods he had ever read about, muttering his prayers to each one.

The smell of rot entered his nostrils. Soft tufts of wool brushed against him, leaving curly strands in his clothes. When the creature roared, it sounded like a bleat. Was that a wooller? No. Woollers weren't as big as estates. They didn't have teeth as sharp as swords and as long as Cyrdel's arm. Huge hooves glinted like stadian gems in the dimness of the cave.

Cyrdel panted; his breath came in short gasps. His palm throbbed from grasping the femur hard. In the scant light of the cave, two glowing eyes were trained at him. The creature huffed, pawing the ground. It's going to charge.

Cyrdel did the only thing he could think of—he ran.

He immediately regretted it. The monstrous wooller could run as fast as a dagrine and Cyrdel hasn't any proper experience in running for his life. He's sure to ask Miss Vivenca for some tips when he sees her again.

If he saw her again.

Cyrdel was thrown forward as his boot caught an exposed root. He rolled just in time for the wooller to snap its teeth at his hair. The femur dug into his chest as he straddled it. Run. Just run. Did his head just feel a bit lighter? Did the wooller just eat his hair?

Holy Nira.

The fear that pounded on his temples was what kept him moving despite his stiff legs. Ironically, it was also the one egging him to just give up and die. The wooller roared again, shaking the entire cavern and almost making Cyrdel's ears explode. Vibrations spread from Cyrdel's head down to his toes.

This was beyond him. He needed someone. Ravalee. Miss Vivenca. Hell, he'd even settle for Just June even though he didn't trust the guy. Get him out of this!

Debris rained down on him as the monster sheep rammed the walls. The cavern shook and cracks spread from a dent in the rocks. Cyrdel wanted to slap some sense in that fanged snout. The laxon might fall from the ceiling and doom them all!

He didn't have the time nor the strength to do that though. The wooller raised its head from the wall and turned to him. Cyrdel stifled his scream. What good would screaming do, anyway? He turned and resumed his marathon. He plunged deeper into the caverns.

Cochraim, show yourself! Cyrdel wanted to shriek at the darkness. Let this torture be done! Should he sing a song to summon the waterfall? Come on, maybe the infernal body of water liked a little ballad to its name?

He's losing it.

The sheep roared again, encouraging his legs to run a little faster. Deep, thudding steps echoed behind him and he didn't dare look back. Someone save him!

Cyrdel ran, the creature charged, and they went deeper into the cavern that had no end. At one desperate moment, Cyrdel threw one of his trappers and as expected, it didn't do anything. He continued running even when his side started hurting. He was gasping for air and his limbs felt like it's turning to stew.

Without his consent, his body stopped moving. He plopped down; his energy was spent. He stared at his limbs and at the wooller charging towards him. Come on, move!

The creature towered over him, its shadow a foreboding sign of what's to come. It opened his mouth, giving Cyrdel a great view of rows and rows of sharp teeth. Cyrdel closed his eyes. It's the end. Farewell Umazure. Farewell Ravalee. In the darkness, he prepared for the pain.

You're not actually giving up, are you? Ravalee's voice rang clear in his head.

Cyrdel's eyes flapped open. He barely dodged the sheep's mouth as it sailed for his face. He rolled and his back slammed into the cave's opposite wall.

The creature growled and charged at him. He dashed away from the wall the last second, making the sheep slam on it. The rocks gave a shuddering groan. Debris broke free from the ceiling to drizzle upon him.

He started running again.

Ravalee. All these years of being together, he'd never heard her speak except through his thoughts. He helped her communicate through a language of signs that he invented for her. He'd spent years making up and teaching her the gestures and for now, he's the only one who can understand her. Hearing her voice in his head awakened something in him.

Sure, Ravalee's not with him right now but she'd always be a part of his life. She's not really gone. She's still with him. He didn't want to disappoint her with this pathetic display of running from a monstrous wooller.

He should be the person whom Ravalee adored— the one who stood at Council trials, the one who endured beatings from his own father, the one who defiantly pursued his passion despite persecution. Cyrdel needed that person right now.

He needed to stop looking for people who could help him. He alone must be enough. He's the Crown Prince, for Nira's sake. A huge, monstrous animal shouldn't scare him. Master Travar's face was more hideous than a few fangs and Cyrdel faced him everyday.

Cyrdel gave a shaky laugh. An idea popped into his head. He must really be losing it. It wasn't going to be pretty if it didn't succeed. He's going to kill himself if he gets himself killed. Maybe Ravalee would too.

He stopped running. He turned around, extending his hand as far as he dared. The wooller's roar rattled his bones but he stood his ground.

Cyrdel forced himself to think of the charging animal as his father whenever he uttered a spell that threw Cyrdel across the room. The Court's harsh words thrown at Ravalee and Miss Vivenca's existence rang in his head. The booming footfalls of the beast faded in his ears, replaced by the scalding words of his father, telling him to cease inventing.

He inhaled a deep breath despite the stench. "Stop," he commanded.

The creature skidded to a halt, its chest inches from his outstretched hand. Then it disappeared as if a wind snuffed it out.

Cyrdel's legs buckled underneath him. He planted his hand on the nearest wall to keep himself upright. His chest heaved enough to replace a piston in a carriage engine. His stomach churned.

Sometimes, a little confidence in yourself is all you need, Mister Voice's presence turned the air a bit bearable to breathe in. Cyrdel had never felt so happy hearing someone else's voice even if it was from a spirit in a cave of horrors.

Continue to Cochraim's waters and complete your test. Your soul is fit for the Temple for its ability to accept fear and use it to find strengths.

Cyrdel could have cried with joy when he got into another cavern where Cochraim lay. Bright white light shone from the water, turning the temperature levels lower. Where was this cold when Cyrdel was running around?

Mister Voice spoke again. Draw water from the White Fall. Further instructions will be provided once you rejoin the other Pilgrims.

"Are they alright?" Cyrdel inclined his head in the air.

Mister Voice paused for a second before answering. They're alive.

Cyrdel sighed. That would have to do for now. He almost dropped the chalice when it sparked to life in his hand. Where did it come from?

Then, he shrugged. He was speaking with a voice from a cave. He had just witnessed a creature as large as a house disappear in front of him. What harm can a chalice appearing in his hand do?

Cyrdel's eyes followed Cochraim's water as it trickled from oval basins arranged like steps. He knitted his eyebrows. He couldn't figure out where the drop started. It was like the basins were just there.

He knelt by the bank, swatting the leaves aside for a clearer view of the water. Even in the dim light, its milky texture was hard to miss. Did it have a milky taste?

He shook his head with a chuckle. His job was to draw water, not drink from it. The chalice went into the pool and the sudden cold shocked his hand.

The water wasn't thick, contrary to how he thought it would feel like. It's just normal water but white. Cyrdel smiled in relief as he drew the chalice out of the pool. His world darkened.