[The Twining] 14. The Dark Temple (Patreon)

Hours later, the duo had fought against more swarms of tier two monsters, but never anything as powerful as the serpent. They were exhausted but undeterred.

Ros saw the end of the featureless water first. Fifteen minutes later, Isen could finally see the dark smudge that parted the glowing fathoms and disappeared into the cavernous ceiling.

Isen had no idea what it was, even as they drew closer and more of the dark mass came into focus.

“It reminds me of a temple,” Ros said, voice contemplative.

Isen frowned. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“I’ve only walked in temple ruins,” the beast confessed. “This structure looks intact.”

The enormity of the maybe-temple only became clear over time as the building’s silhouette remained small and indistinct. It was very far away; that it was visible at all to a lesser second tier cultivator like Isen was a testament to its grandeur.

The two were on edge as the distance to the building decreased, though nothing attacked them. If anything, the closer they came, the less monster life they sensed, and the stronger the misdirecting force. Isen stared at the dark building ahead but directed Ros in different directions. If they tried to simply swim forward, they’d never reach their destination.

“Even seeing it in front of me, I fear I would never reach it,” Ros said. “Such a magnificent working of magic.”

Isen, too, was filled with anticipation. Whatever this place was, it was protected by a potent spell that turned away even a beast at the peak of the core consolidation stage. Opportunity wafted around him, muffling the ever-present stench of danger. They had made it through the golden lake. Perhaps they had even made it to the center of the depths.

Eventually they reached the structure. There was a pier made of nearly seamless stone blocks. Tied to it was a skiff fashioned from dark wood, the rope that held it in place little more than a thin braid.

Ros pulled itself up onto the pier and approached the fortification. It was a marvel carved from ebony stone, as though someone had polished the glimmering crags of the cave ceiling. The ceiling had hung low in the vicinity, preventing the duo from seeing the building’s upper half from afar. Standing before a staircase fit for a line of a thousand men, they saw the full span of its splendor. Four titanic pillars buttressed the upper dome of the building, which sloped into a tall, thin spire riven by violet streaks of energy. Isen’s first impression was of a captured storm. Rather than crackling and flashing, the light flickered like a candle flame, tame yet chaotic, undulating in unpredictable directions. It filled him with an intense sense of foreboding that was muted by the distance.

Ros traversed the steps—each the height of Isen—with grave caution. In the shaded pavilion between the pillars and before the archway, a textual inscription was carved in the floor, accompanied by the icon of a flame embraced by a book. It was unintelligible. Frowning, Isen considered the books in the rucksack. He was confident this language was either different from all of them or written in a heavily stylized script. The penmanship was flowery and condensed, with ornate loops and thin, scrawlish zigzags that appeared often overlapped.

Whatever the message, Isen didn’t think it was ominous based on the icon. Ros walked over the words, gaze focused on an archway that led into a dim room. It was conspicuously devoid of ambient energy, as though it permitted only solid matter passage.

They walked to the right and left, all the way down, only to find that each side opened to a treacherous drop into the water. Opportunity buzzed everywhere, but still… the danger hadn’t disappeared. Not knowing what it was or where it could come from disturbed Isen.

They did learn one thing—there were no other openings into the vast building.

With only one clear place to go, they reposed before the arch. Isen retrieved his pants from the sack hanging around Ros’s neck, though left everything else with the beast. He wasn’t sure they would be able to exit the dark temple the same way they’d entered it, so he wanted to bring everything along.

They cycled, replenishing the energy spent traversing the lake. Isen was pleased with the strength he felt in his core, a lingering remnant of imbibing the tier three blood.

“Ros,” he began, “why do you not share your blood with me, if it would make me stronger?”

The beast lowered its head to gaze at Isen, its glowing golden eyes captivating. “Blood is power,” it said. “How easy would it be to nourish the weak with the blood of tyrants if such advancement came without penalties. Blood runs free from our veins, inexhaustible so long as we live. But imbibe the blood of a being more powerful than yourself, one that is alive, and you run the risk of your path being swayed by theirs. Once is fine. So is twice. But a third, or fifth, or twentieth time…”

“Why does being alive matter?”

“Because, child, it is a matter of will and intent. Blood is not just blood. It is the tempered foundation of your being. That truth is shone in the colored blood of monsters.”

“What does it mean for a path to be swayed?”

“For monsters, it manifests as mutation. As for humans, I am uncertain.”

Isen paused. “So, if I drank your blood daily, for a prolonged period, I would… become more like you?”

Ros let out a low grumble. “Not in any positive way. Partake of my blood and you might grow scales across your eyes, or your spine might shift, forcing you to walk like a beast with all the wrong proportions. The mutation process is reversible, but very difficult.”

“But… what about once?”

Ros blinked. “Why do you want my blood?”

Isen didn’t fully understand why himself. “Something will happen when we enter that room,” he said simply. “You said that sharing blood forms a bond, of sorts—binding two wills. If we were to separate, I wonder if such a bond could be used to find one another again.”

“Only if we both willed it,” Ros explained. “Otherwise, it would wither and disappear.” Ros grunted and swept its taloned hand before Isen, each claw the size of a leg. “If you’re serious, do as you wish. Just this once.”

Isen stepped closer and ran his left hand over the beast’s clawed hand. He let the sixth sense guide him on where to press the fourth-tier dagger, somewhere that would bleed freely with a small, shallow prick of the knife.

He stabbed his guardian. Ros didn’t show any reaction, the beast stoic and watching Isen expressionlessly. A dribble of blood flowed from the wound. Isen breathed deeply, then kissed his lips to it. He drank Ros’s blood, feeling the strength of the monster’s tempered body. It was qualitatively worse than the honeyed divine blood, but was sweeter than the serpent’s, a bit smoother.

He pulled away. Ros retracted its limb and licked it clean.

“I don’t feel any different,” Isen admitted. “Should I?”

“Close your eyes.”

Isen did. The mist wafted around him.

“Clear your vision completely. Cycle. Sense the blood in your veins. See if you can sense mine.”

Isen tried but couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t even know how to sense the blood in his veins, much less differentiate Ros’s blood from his own. “I can’t,” he said softly.

“For me, it is different. I sense your will resisting mine.”

Isen’s eyes snapped open. “It did work, then.”

“If we are separated, I will find you.”

They cycled for another half hour before Isen stood and knelt before Ros’s feet. “It’s time for us to go. No matter what happens, I want to convey my thanks for everything.” He stood and looked the beast in the eyes. “I hope we escape this place. But more than anything else, I hope that trusting me will help you go farther than you could have gone on your own.” He laughed without humor. “I told myself that I wouldn’t be held back by my fear of betraying such trust. But I am so afraid, Ros.”

“I told you once already, Isen. Cultivation is a race. You may run it with companions, allies, and even enemies. But ultimately, you run it alone. You are not responsible for me. If I follow you, it is not out of pity or to make you feel important. It is not because I am stupid or wish to end my existence.” It bent its head down, its forehead lightly bumping Isen’s body. “It is because of what you can do and who you are.”

“Who I am?”

Ros’s golden eye—as large as Isen’s chest—was barely a foot away and seemed to stare straight into his soul. “It is perhaps the most important thing of all.” Without saying anything else, Ros stood and faced the arch.

Isen hurried over. Beyond the threshold they could hardly see anything, the room oddly indistinct. It was as though their minds couldn’t process what lay beyond. More magic.

“Together,” Isen said, one hand pressed to Ros’s front arm.

And they walked through.