I nodded, looking around absentmindedly. “Where is Neya?”
Bater waved a hand dismissively, his attention already darting toward the distant corridors. “You will see her at the Gauntlet soon enough.”
I shifted uneasily, the memory of her calculating stare prickling at my skin. “I do not think she likes me very much.”
Bater’s hand paused in his pocket. “Neya can be… weary.”
“Why would she be weary of a mortal?” I asked, my voice tightening. “I am a guest here, not a threat.”
Bater gave me a long, pointed look. “Neya is one of the most important women in Umbral, Kaelia. Aside from Eladaria, she holds the highest status in this city. She has bled for that rank. She has worked a century to carve out her place.” He started walking, gesturing for me to follow. “She does not want to see that power diminished because the rhythm is shifting.”
I shook my head, walking fast to keep pace with his long strides. “I would never do that. I have no right to her status.”
Bater let out a short, dry laugh that echoed off the obsidian walls. “You have every right.”
My brows furrowed, my steps faltering. “Why?”
“Come,” he said, his amber eyes sparking with a sudden, serious glint. “I will explain during the tour. You need to understand the ground you are standing on before the Gauntlet begins.”
“What is The Gauntlet?”
He grinned. “It is the training grounds where Talon has requested we begin your instruction.”
A flicker of excitement stirred in my chest.
“Come.”
He led me toward the center of the plaza, where several Veythar stood gathered around a massive crystal rising from the stone floor. The thing pulsed slowly, its deep violet light beating like a quiet heart.
The figures surrounding it did not carry tools.
Instead their hands hovered inches above the crystal’s surface, fingers moving in slow, controlled motions. Threads of shadow and light drifted between them and the stone, bending and twisting until the crystal’s edges began to sharpen into elegant new shapes.
“They’re raising a spire for the Western Quarter,” Bater said, folding his arms loosely as we watched.
“No hammers?” I asked.
He huffed a soft laugh.
“We could use them, but it would take a lifetime.” His gaze returned to the glowing crystal. “Stone listens better to power.”
The crystal pulsed again, the light inside it brightening as the workers guided its shape higher.
“It takes patience,” he continued. “A little strength from each of them. Give the stone a piece of yourself and it gives something back.”
I watched the slow, careful process, the immense focus on each of their faces.
“That’s how Umbral grows,” Bater added with a small shrug. “Slowly. Carefully.”
We moved on, slipping deeper into the winding streets.
“We are creatures of the dark,” he said after a moment, glancing sideways at me. “That much the surface world gets right.”
He gestured toward an open chamber carved into the cliff wall. Inside, a lone Veythar stood surrounded by driftingshadows that curled around his arms like smoke. His hands moved through the air in smooth, precise motions, weaving the darkness into thin shapes that hardened slowly into solid forms.
“A Shadow-forger,” Bater said. “One of the better ones.”
The figure lifted a finished object from the swirl of darkness—a small, curved tool that caught the faint violet light.