Garden of Madness - Chapter 4

Aliotas

“For I have stood amongst the swirling of the Spores, felt their kiss upon my skin. For that alone I am a man changed.”

Upon impact from sufficient height, water was no better than stone. Senna had told him so once, as they looked down over the sea from the cliffs back home.

“I want to drift down, just break the surface and cool off.” The heat had been stifling that summer. Dram was stripped down to nearly nothing, still baking while he dreamed of cold ale and a shivering, salty bath below.

“Sounds lovely in theory,” Senna agreed, staring at him, head resting on her knees. He wondered once again why she was so insistent on missing the view sprawling over the ocean before them. That was why they came here, wasn’t it? “But the impact would be a rude awakening. Is that what you want, Dram? To wake up?”

Her face contorted, golden eyes burning red, the color draining from her cheeks, a gaunt pallor stealing the life from her as her hair bled from black to white. “Do you want to wake up, Dram?” she asked again, her voice wrong, rough, all the sweetness suddenly sapped. “Wake up, Dram.”

“Wake up!”

Air assaulted his lungs, ejecting the water that had been lodged inside. He sputtered, rolling over to cough and retch until his throat was raw and his ribs felt close to breaking from the effort. Hard wooden planks below—a dock. A hand rested on his shoulder, which he shook off as he rolled to a sitting position. There were numerous eyes trained on him, faces all contorted with varying degrees of worry. The most prominent was the one that hovered over him, blotting out the sun, hair alight in a white halo.

It was Senna’s warped face. Dram let out a yelp and scrambled back on his hands before nearly tumbling off the dock.

“Calm down,” she said. Her hand gripped his ankle and pinned him to the dock.

Slowly, he ran through the last few things he remembered. The Leviathan. It had wrecked their ship and sent them hurtling into the harbor. Aevar had summoned a wave to push them farther inland, away from the raging beast. Impact had been painful, enough to knock him out, but not so bad as a fall from the heights of the cliffs back home would have been. Now he was on a dock, the pale majesty of Aliotas looming up over him. Most of the faces that stared down at him were familiar. Aevar was looking rattled, but there was a light in his blue eyes, a thrill.  Dram also recognized Eylia, Lucian, and the older man glowering behind them. He was one of the Captains of the Essence Guard—Thell, that was his name.

Then there was Asmilla. Red eyes, white hair, and pale skin stretched tight. It gave her face a hollow, sunken look, but her smile was warm. Without it, Dram might have thought he was in the Garden. But admittedly, he was glad to see her.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, pushing himself to standing but not resisting as Asmilla caught him. “The Leviathan?” he asked, looking back out to the harbor where an entire broken ship and several bodies were being recovered by a smattering of skiffs.

“Dead,” Aevar answered, pointing out to the mouth of the harbor where the head of the serpent was resting against one of the protruding rocks. No longer thrashing, still at last.

“Emil? The crew?”

“Those who weren’t killed in the initial attack are fine. They’re being treated for their wounds.”

Dram looked to the group. The five other Hallowed he didn’t know were all about his age; they stared at the beast as if glad to not have dealt with its rage.

“Quite a spectacular entrance,” Captain Thell said. He was a burly man, hairless save for a neat, brown beard. Every contour of rippling muscle was thrown into relief with the low light. His eyes were hard, his tone unsympathetic. “But you are the last to arrive and training waits for none. We will begin tomorrow morning. You’ll be there or be on your way back home.” He turned and swept off the docks, beginning the long walk up the hill that wound endlessly up to the palace.

Dram stared up as he shook the aftereffects of Alasce and drowning from his mind. Despite the fear that rushed down his chest into his gut, he had to admit the city was majestic.

Aliotas erupted from the mountain on which it lived. With the lengthening light of the evening, the pale façade was thrown into stark contrast. The effect was dizzying, stripes of light and dark competing with one another for space. As the city rose, it lost much of its density, the upper levels dominated by the palace, standing imperious over it all. Lower down it was a jumbled mass of edifices that seemed to grow atop one another like some fungus, each budding from each.

“What a joy,” Aevar droned, watching the captain disappear into the markets that buzzed with the excitement of their entrance.

“Not perhaps your best introduction,” Lucian taunted. “Captain Thell seems the sort of man to make his mind up quickly and never change it for fear of the effort involved.” He looked about the same as Dram remembered, a little taller and leaner through the years, but the same dusty gray hair. Along his left cheek ran a pale scar that curved down toward his mouth, giving him a permanent smirk. “Good to see you, Dram.”

“Likewise, Luce,” Dram responded. He had always been wary of Lucian. His cousin had an unusual manner of speaking, a bookish sort that seemed to be reciting lines from some obscure drama. It should have been a warm reunion, but something about the moment carried an unwelcome tension. Perhaps it was just the exhaustion coloring the interaction with a sharp anxiety.

Then he faced the others, waving slightly and attempting a grin. “Dram sol Verias.”

“There will be time for introductions,” Asmilla said, helping him walk as they all ambled off after the captain. “We have a way to go before we sleep.”

They all started upward in an awkward gaggle, ignoring the curious eyes that accosted them. It wasn’t until they were on one of the switchbacks cutting through the heart of the city, overlooking the wreckage, that Dram appreciated quite how far Aevar’s wave had carried them. Ahead, Aevar set the pace up the hill. Another pang of jealousy ripped through Dram, and he shook off Asmilla’s help.

She scoffed but let him go. “Don’t expect me to help you up if you begin to roll your way back down.” Then she shouldered past and left him to bring up the rear, his body screaming for respite all the while.

***

Food had never tasted quite so good. Or if it had, Dram couldn’t remember when. He tried to appreciate all the advantages he had, but without ever wanting for much, it was often easy to forget. Privileges became rote by experience, mundane by repetition. Nearly drowning after taxing his body so severely with Alasce had been more than enough to stoke his hunger.

The ten of them ate in silence, all gathered around an oval table that was overstuffed to sate their every craving. Whole roasted gull, smoked boar, dozens of fruits, vegetables, and cheeses were arranged in a rich, artistic tapestry when they arrived. They had made a ruin of the masterfully crafted meal, but food was meant to be eaten, not stared at.

“Shall we give introductions another chance?” Aevar asked, slumping back with heavy lids and a satisfied sigh. It was all Dram could do not to bristle. When had Aevar gotten so strong, so sociable? When had the small, nervous boy he had once met been replaced by the man who now sat before him? Had he been sneaking in more training while Dram had been off with Senna? Or had this gap always been there, just never given an opportunity to make itself apparent? He had done more than Dram in their initial skirmish with the Leviathan. Then he had summoned the wave that saved them while flying through the air, and still he sat there hardly more exhausted than after a day of training back home. Being Blessed by Tritum meant Aevar did not suffer drowning, but Dram still felt the gap widening between them.

“Feyle vor Aureli,” the dusty blonde girl beside Aevar said. It was difficult to look at her for too long. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, porcelain and composed in a manner that was almost uncanny. She spoke softly, meekly, but it was the name that surprised Dram the most.

“Like Ende vor Aureli?” Dram blurted. It couldn’t be a coincidence that she shared a name with the other Captain of the Emperor’s Essence Guard. The man at the head of the Sons of Silence.

Her eyes were cast down, but she decided a quick answer was best. “The very same.” The silence lingered for a while until the boy next to her broke it.

“Jaxim arc Otani.” He was nearly twice as large as Dram, shoulders carving a wide swath of table space to either side. Short hair, gnarled hands, and sinewy arms all hinted at a deeply physical upbringing. He hadn’t stopped eating, not even while he spoke, manners clearly the least of his concerns.

“Lilith lev Aliri.” Stark red hair and piercing blue eyes that spelled mischief. She couldn’t have been more diametrically opposed to Jaxim: short and slight, but in command of her knife in a way that made Dram anxious. Her name was familiar as well. Lord Ima did not have any direct heirs, but a vast number of siblings, making Lilith undoubtedly connected to the royalty in Lev Lathi in some way.

Lucian was next, Hallowed of Ralian, Goddess of Emotion, though one wouldn’t know it looking at him now. His face had hardened since they were children. “Lucian ral Elorian.” Was it a twitch of his lips as he looked at Dram, or simply the candlelight dancing off his scar?

“Eylia fel Amara.” Fel Fori sat due west of Ral Riala in the north. And though their lands were separated by a vast expanse dominated mostly by the Garden itself, Dram saw many similarities in her features to those of his own people. Indeed, now meeting her for the second time, Dram wondered how few generations they would have to retrace their lineage to find a common ancestor. Were he to have had a sister, he guessed she would look much the same as Eylia. Aevar was beaming across the table at her.

With a pang of embarrassment, Dram realized he was staring. Clearing his throat, he looked around at the rest of the table. Heat rose within him as his eyes darted to Lilith. “Dram sol Verias.”

“Asmilla mor Ulvium.” She perked up to Dram’s left, eager for her turn. Eyes shifted and a few of them fidgeted with their cutlery. Morous—God of Death—garnered begrudging respect from nearly everyone. The people from Mor Marova, however, were often regarded with oblique tolerance; it was one thing to pay tribute to a God, especially a God of Death, but it was another to actively worship life’s end with such fervent mania. Morous was a savior to some. He kept people from the clutches of Madness or Oblivion. Still, Life was seen as far preferable to Death.

“Calas mil Andris.” Slight, shy, hiding behind a mess of hair and spectacles. He was only a few years Dram’s junior and yet he seemed much younger. The girl next to him spoke quickly to spirit the attention away, eyes similarly bespectacled, but more focused, more engaged.

“Althalas dal Andris.” The far south of Arvindas had always been enigmatic, but one family having connections in two lands and both producing Hallowed who looked so similar couldn’t have been a coincidence either.

“Siblings?” Jaxim asked.

“Twins,” Althalas answered. That raised more questions, but she was not forthcoming with answers, and they all hoped another would take the lead in probing.

When none did, the introductions rolled on. “Aevar tri…” He hesitated and Dram cringed. “Fallian.” They smiled across the table at one another. Dram wouldn’t have been upset if Aevar claimed the Verias family name; he only worried that Aevar might represent the name better. But then again, Dram had never thought himself right for the rule of his land and people. It was an ever-impending responsibility, but one that fit him poorly.

Jaxim finished eating and laid down his utensils gently. “Well met, all. I’ll see you out in the practice yard.” He pushed back noisily, grinding the wooden legs into the stone below before they sighed in relief, now free of his bulk. With a few more pilfered fruits, he shuffled out of the hall, leaving them in another awkward silence.

“So do you and Ende—”

“No.”

Aevar pulled his gaze away from Feyle as she gave her curt reply, the room deflating further. They all secretly gave thanks that they had not been the ones to ask the question and receive the rejection. Of course, being siblings with the Captain of the Essence Guard wouldn’t award her special privilege; the process for Hallowed to join the Garden Guard was a time-honored tradition that was purely based on merit.

Or so they claimed.

Captain Emil’s words rang in Dram’s head. In the frenzy of the attack that had ensued, he had nearly forgotten the doubt that the man had sown. Though, now that he was here, Dram could hardly imagine anything more grand. To be one of the greatest Hallowed, to win favor with not only the Lords and Ladies and those back home, but with the entirety of the Empire. To serve as the bastion of defense against the ever-present onslaught of Madness—the idea was intoxicating.

“Tomorrow will be here soon,” Dram said, standing and working hard to not show the effects of his rushing head. He had taxed his body too far in the last day, and now that he was fed, the payment of rest was due. “We should get some sleep.”

He stalked out before realizing that he had not been shown to his room. He hardly knew where he was, let alone where he was meant to go. Thankfully Asmilla followed behind him and directed him to their quarters.

They were well set into the mountain, below the palace, corridors and rooms expertly carved into the limestone. The halls were all well-lit, adorned with various pieces of art, pottery, sculptures, many of them depictions of the Gods themselves. Finally, they made their way into an alcove that held ten doors, each bearing a likeness of one of the Gods from whom they received their Blessings.

Thankful that he would have his own space to sleep, Dram opened the door behind Solis’s illuminated figure, steered himself directly to the bed, and let the sounds of the waves far below work themselves into his dreams.

***

After a night of sleep that felt near-death in its depth, the morning turned restless. Visions of Leviathans, swirling serpents, hungry and intent, kept waking him. Finally relenting to remain in the land of the wakeful, Dram rolled up and sat on the side of his bed. The room was larger than he had anticipated, a whole nook in the corner by the window furnished with another makeshift bed and a wall of assorted books, the binding on which looked more than a little dated. Decorative, perhaps. He flipped through a few to find them written mostly in some archaic scrawl that was impossible to read.

Outside, the same breeze that had carried them on their journey from Sol Septis was sweeping up the cliffs, carrying the gulls through their morning flight. The sun was just turning the sky a gentle gray. It would be some time still before they were expected to be at the training grounds, so he decided to explore.

Thankfully there was a change of clothes in his size, and he was able to wash up quickly before wandering through the halls. There was no better way to get familiar with a space than to get lost within it.

The lower levels of the palace were all halls and stairs. He stood atop another endless staircase and finally located a foyer that led directly to the heart of the palace. Dram had been here to learn the ins and outs of court with his father years before, but every memory aside from the grandeur of the place had faded. The ostentation was nearly blinding; everything from the floors to the ceiling and all the artifice between was white and gold. Only the occasional painting along the wall gave any contrast to the scene.

“Difficulties sleeping?”

Dram whipped around, his head still spinning as he took in his silent companion. “Apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” The woman had copper skin and short, dark hair. Her brows were raised slightly in question.

“I didn’t hear you coming,” he explained. Was the woman anyone of import, and if so, should he bow? “I’m Dram.”

“Dram sol Verias, yes. I am Elena sol Dravis.” Dram narrowed his eyes, but she answered his question before he asked it. “We have not met before. But rest assured I know you.” There was a glint in her eye as she said it.

“Right.” Would all his interactions in the Capital be so veiled? Did his own kept secrets project onto others? “You’re Hallowed, then?”

“I am.” She took slow steps down the stairs, a long gown swaying as she moved. Dram had the sudden urge to take a step back. “I am one of the Elders, though my age does not agree with such a title. I will be your instructor during your time here. However long that may end up being.”

It was not said as a threat, but the statement sent a fresh jolt of anxiety coursing through Dram’s stomach. “Any advice?” His voice lacked conviction. Not a strong start when trying to impress his new mentor.

“Listen much, work hard.” She leaned close to him then, lips far too close to his ear for comfort. “And remember there are no friends here.” Then she pulled back and painted on an innocent smile before waltzing up the stairs as if she had just delivered glad tidings.

Dram walked in the opposite direction, opening the massive front doors, startling the guards out of their nearly somnambulant defense.

The courtyard stretched impossibly long to either side. A pool cleaved through the center of a well-groomed garden. Eleven figures stood sentry over the water. Five Gods to a side; their likenesses were everywhere here in Aliotas, almost cloyingly so. As he walked around to the front, he peered up at the kind, maternal face of the lone Goddess in the center. Alios, Creator, Mother of the Gods, Life Itself. He stared back for some time before moving off, though with each look back over his shoulder, her eyes seemed to follow him. It spurred him farther away from the palace.

Fresh air inflated his lungs before being expelled back out, each new rise of his chest slowing his heart just a measure. The city sprawled down, leveling off into the harbor like a slow, jagged landslide. From up so high, it was a deeply familiar vantage to Sol Septis, one that should have made Dram feel at home, at ease. But it was not home, and Dram was not safe.

The people of Aliotas were out in droves, milling about much in the same way they had been when Dram and the others walked through the city the night before. A diaspora of people from all over the Empire, those who had made the exodus from their homelands or whose ancestors had prospered in some industry or another. They had all moved to the protective heart of the Empire, escaping the reach of the Garden here at the end of the world. Life had been pushed to the very edges of the continent during the Hallowed War. Rarely did people endeavor to creep back inward.

There was little and less made within Aliotas, other than the decisions that dictated the way each respective Lord or Lady governed their own land, but it attracted those who had made something of themselves in their homelands, nonetheless. Like drew to like, Dram supposed.

Down below there was a disturbance by the docks. He couldn’t see it until he moved out along the ridge that served as gate to the harbor—in this way too it was like Sol Septis. Out beyond the cliffs, the sea was as calm as it had been their entire trip, but now the passage into the city was riddled with specks of white. Sails.

Tracing a worn footpath out to the ridge, Dram made out the source of the commotion: the Leviathan. Easily over a hundred spans long, it was now coiled in on itself, likely a reaction to its slow death in the shallows. It was blocking all passage in and out of the harbor. Now that it was dead, Dram almost felt bad for the creature, but the memory of it bearing down on them renewed his thanks that it was gone.

Numerous ships were stalled, anchored in formation while they waited to pass. Only a few approached the massive corpse. Even up this high he could hear the wet sounds of its body being cut through, clearing the passage piece by piece.

His stomach threatened to turn, and when he spun away, he was startled yet again by two more silent figures.

“Told you he would be out here sulking.” Aevar flashed a giddy smile as if the day before had not even happened. As if he had not gone through the same ordeal as Dram. As if using the Alasce and saving them all had truly been nothing to him. Beside him was Eylia, her hair as dark as Dram’s own, eyes light green and appraising.

“I’m not sulking,” Dram mumbled. He meant to sound more convincing, but the sight of the Leviathan distracted him.

“Quite a sight,” Aevar said, looking over the ledge, a note of pride in his voice.

“Do you relish having killed it?” Eylia asked, tone giving no hint as to which way was safer to answer.

He shrugged, unbothered. “It was either it or us. I wouldn’t seek out something in its own habitat just to hunt it down, but I won’t weep for killing what aims to kill me.” He looked at Dram then. “Still hard to believe we disturbed it so. They’re usually docile unless you threaten their nests.”

“Perhaps they had one near where you were crossing,” Eylia offered.

“So close to the shallows?” Aevar shook his head. “I suppose stranger things have happened.”

“How are you so alert?” Dram yawned. “You did more to stop the beast than I did. It gave me a proper thrashing.” He hoped he had worded it delicately enough, keeping any hint of accusation from his voice.

“It was invigorating.” Aevar’s eyes were alight. “I hardly slept, probably an aftereffect of all that Alasce. I’ve never used that much before. Have you?” he asked Eylia.

“Lord fel Astiri still hasn’t lent me much, but I’m hoping they let us train with it soon.”

“Do you think they will? What do you think today will be like?”

Dram shook his head. “Let’s go find out.” 

***

Jaxim was still eating as he sauntered into the training grounds: a wide, sandy space surrounded by rows of seats on all sides and towering walls above. It was set into the cliffside beside the palace in such a way that Dram hadn’t noticed it at first, but once inside, it felt oppressive. He tried not to think about all the blood and sweat that had been spilled below their feet.

All around the edges of the arena stood racks filled with various weapons all blunted for training. At least they wouldn’t be spilling each other’s blood. Yet.

Their two captains stood resolute in the center of the arena. Thell’s eyes followed Jaxim. His jaw worked as if he were concocting the perfect string of curses to yell. Beside him, Captain Ende spoke first. “Welcome to Aliotas. I see some familiar faces.” His eyes passed over all of them evenly—his sister included. His face was just as starkly symmetrical as Feyle’s, though a long scar stretching from the right side of his forehead to the left side of his jaw gave him a more human quality.

Now that Dram had met them both, the similarities were impossible to miss, but it was clear there would be no favoritism displayed during their trials. At least not in the open. Dram was beginning to question everything about the process and they had hardly started. He vowed to not get too mired in that line of thinking. Once you start believing there are enemies everywhere you look, enemies will be all you can see.

Ende spoke with strict authority. “You have all been granted the great honor of being tested for a chance to join the most esteemed group of Hallowed this Empire has to offer: the Garden Guard. I would like to impress upon you all what you already know: the Garden is a threat. The Tainted still exist, and while we have reached a moment of stasis in our struggle against Madness, the future is only secured through our continued efforts.

“For this reason, we must ensure that each subsequent class of Hallowed that are offered up to us by the Gods themselves are fit for the task. If we deem you worthy, you will be the shield that defends the entire Empire against the encroachment of Madness. You will be the ones that sacrifice above all others to ensure that we never lose this protracted war.

“I know you can all think of someone or something worth fighting for, worth defending. Your family back home, your pets, or even just that lovely baker that always gives you an extra sweet roll.” His lips twitched, but Dram couldn’t discern if it was humor or simply a random quirk. “Whatever that reason may be, hold onto it. Remember it when you are tired, when you are beaten, bent, and broken.

“We will not go easy on you in this training, and the subsequent trials are not for the faint of heart. You will be pushed, tested to the edge of your limits and beyond. But as long as you remember your reason, every hardship can be endured. No matter how long it takes.”

Ende finished, regarding them all once again. Dram’s shoulders tightened, his back straightened. He was compelled to hold his chin up higher simply by virtue of Ende’s words. He liked the man, he decided, a captain he would gladly follow into battle.

Captain Thell was another sort entirely. “How lovely, sentimental even. I could give one of the ten Gods’ shits about your reasons.”

“Couldn’t,” Lucian muttered under his breath.

Thell glared, then continued. “I have been tasked with forging you from these supple masses slinking before me into tempered steel. It is a job that I have done and done well since you all first learned the sweetness of your mothers’ tits.

 “I don’t care if you like me, I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care how you feel, ever. I do not want to see you all try, I do not want to see effort, I simply want results. Train, become better, pass the trials, or leave, simple as that.”

There was merit in what the two of them together would bring to prolonged, intensive training. But that didn’t make any of them warmer toward Thell. Each new sentence grated against Dram, making him itch to move. To fight.

“Ten Hells,” Aevar whispered, voicing Dram’s own thoughts.

“Today is an assessment, and as much as I would like to fail you all when you inevitably disappoint me, even I understand that we all must start somewhere. So—” Thell cast his arm about the arena at all the weapons that awaited them “—let’s see what you have. We’ll start with unmoving targets.”

Behind them stood a row of dummies, stuffed with straw and covered with old armor. Long, lanky, with deep vermilion eyes painted as if to mimic the Tainted themselves.

They all took a lap around the arena, grabbing the various weapons, testing them for feel and weight. The general air of tension that had been rising during Thell’s speech dissipated with each swing. There were more common weapons favored across much of the Empire: swords, spears, halberds, axes. All things Dram had trained with in the past, though most formal combat training was done with swords. Then there were the oddities: tri-tipped knives that looked suited for catching longer weapons and close-quarters combat, curved blades that were to be set against one’s forearm, even a massive warhammer that was cumbersome to lift and would be nearly impossible to swing.

Jaxim took pride in being the only one to swing it with ease and stalked off toward one of the dummies, intent on leveling the thing. With one fierce swing, he caught the blunted spike against the dummy’s chest, ripping the leather, shattering the wooden base, and sending a plume of straw through the air.

They would eventually learn how to fight as a unified cadre, but it was hard not to feel a twinge of competitive anxiety at the display. Thankfully, Ende offered a counterargument to raw strength. “Just as each person is better suited to each weapon, there will be situations that necessitate a different approach. Ones with nuance.” He slipped a small practice blade from his side and danced quickly around Jaxim, landing a barrage of feigned cuts punctuated by one actual punch to the chest that sent Jaxim to the ground. “This is why you will all be working with each of these. You don’t need to master everything, but we need to see competency, proficiency. Set to it.”

And set to it they did. They each took up a space in front of one of the ten dummies. Jaxim propped the one he had destroyed back up lamely with a spear through its chest, driving it into the ground. They all laid out a pile of various weapons beside them and went to work, clumsily sparring with the straw men as if they would soon awaken and fight back.

Dram was excellent with a sword; most of them were on account of their upbringings. But beyond that, they all gravitated toward different secondary tools. Lilith and Feyle favored wielding small weapons. The twins, Althalas and Calas, were far more adept than Dram would have guessed upon meeting them. They also favored smaller knives. Their feet moved quick, but their strikes lacked conviction.

Jaxim, Lucian, and Aevar all relied on their size and reach, preferring longer, heavier weapons and fierce, definitive strikes. Asmilla relied on constant movement and precision, dancing through her strikes. Eylia picked up a bow and some round-tipped arrows and sailed them deftly at the head and heart of her dummy.

Altogether, they were a capable bunch. The silence from the captains was hard to judge.

Dram finished his last effort with the warhammer before writing it off entirely as impractical, then ordered his weapons by preference. The sword carried a familiar weight and balance, though the small hatchets had allowed for a variety of strikes—the catch between the head and handle well suited to stop an oncoming blade.

“Do the Tainted use weapons?” Eylia asked, regarding her bow with reverent eyes.

For all the talk of the Garden and knowledge of what lay within, there were scant details of the Garden Guard’s encounters. Visions of Tainted, Dram’s own people, running through the streets of Sol Seris flashed and were quickly blinked away.

“How would you fight if you were Mad?” Ende asked as if the answer were simple.

“Any way I could,” Asmilla replied.

“Every way I could,” Lilith agreed, the two of them sharing a grin.

Aevar made a face at Dram as if to reinforce the notion that their new cadre mates were both on the knife’s edge of Madness already, but Dram felt an odd comfort in having them on his side. If they were, in truth. The dynamics of their coalition depended greatly on the circumstances of their trials, whatever those may be. All they knew for sure was that not all of them would make it through. So, they must work together, learn to like one another, but not become so attached as to become distractions from their ultimate goal.

Of course, Dram had other reasons for being in Aliotas, ones he could not claim as his own.

But perhaps even those could be better served through success in the trials.

Besides that, he wanted to be in the Garden Guard for a personal reason, one that was becoming clearer by the day. There could be no better place to learn how to destroy the Garden once and for all.

No, Dram had no intention of failing. He would make it through. Whatever it took.