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Chapter 75 - High Spires and Steam

The wind up here didn't just blow—it bit.

It cut across my cheeks like a cold razor, slipped under the collar of my coat, and roared in my ears until it was the only sound in the world besides the creak of rope and the low groan of old stone beneath my boots.

From this height, the city of Graywatch didn't look like a place people actually lived—it looked more like some elaborate board game, all neat squares of streets and the tiny silhouettes of carriages crawling along their tracks.

The cathedral's rooftop was far less neat. It was chaos masquerading as architecture, a sprawl of spires stabbing at the clouds, gothic arches that might have been romantic if I weren't standing on them, and now—because Salem had apparently lost all sense of reason—an improvised obstacle course strung like a spider's web between the highest points. Narrow beams swayed ever so slightly, ropes hung at unnatural angles, and platforms seemed designed with the sole purpose of making me question whether gravity was negotiable.

Salem stood across from me on a beam as if the entire world below didn't exist. His boots were planted with that unnerving confidence he carried into everything, and his hair—dark, unruly—whipped across his face in the wind.

The smirk on his mouth was infuriating, that particular blend of mischief and malevolence that told me he was going to enjoy watching me suffer.

Leaning lazily against a nearby spire was Rodrick, arms crossed, saying nothing. His eyes followed the wind more than me, and yet I could tell he was paying attention. Rodrick always paid attention. That man could be in the middle of a nap and still notice if you breathed wrong.

I tried not to let my gaze dart too obviously from one hazard to the next, but the one of the checkpoints alone made my stomach tighten. A ring of metal no wider than my fist ring dangled from a platform at the very edge of a spire—and beyond that, my eyes landed on the problem. Somewhere on the far spire was another ring, glinting faintly in the morning light like it knew I'd never touch it. The two were separated by a gap so wide it looked more like an accusation than a challenge. 

I glanced back at Salem with what I hoped passed for a casual smile.

"You know," I called over the wind, "I could just… not do this. Save us both the trouble. I'm quite fond of living, and my bones have grown attached to staying in one piece."

"You'll be fine," he said, which is the kind of phrase only sociopaths and bad gamblers use. His smirk deepened. "Today you'll learn the basics of Incarnic enhancement. You're not going to survive the Solarian Crucible without it."

"You sure I can't just… talk my way through the Crucible?"

"No."

Well, it was worth asking.

He stepped closer, his voice cutting through the wind with that controlled, deliberate cadence he used when explaining something deadly. "Incarnic enhancement works by gathering energy inside your Astral Nexus, then directing it into a specific muscle group. Once the energy is concentrated, you activate the enhancement with a verbal command—'enhance.'"

I tilted my head. "That's it? I say 'enhance' and suddenly I can leap across rooftops like you?"

"No," he said, almost kindly. "You'll still be terrible. Just… terrible with style."

I nodded as if this was perfectly reasonable. "And where, exactly, is my Astral Nexus?"

He gave me the look you give a child who's just asked why the moon doesn't fall out of the sky. "Your Nexus is at your core—just below the sternum. You'll feel it when you focus. Draw the energy from there, push it into the muscle you want to enhance. For now, you'll only be able to handle one at a time."

"One at a time?" I raised a brow. "So if I want to jump far, I have to enhance my leg, and if I want to hold on to something, I'll have to switch to enhance my arm? Sounds… inefficient."

Then a thought hit me and I frowned. "Wait—does this mean I'm going to have to say the word 'enhance' every single time I do it? Because that sounds like the sort of thing that's going to get me mocked right before someone kicks me off a roof."

"Welcome to being a beginner," Salem said. "Eventually, you won't have to say the word at all. You'll make your enhancements on instinct. But for now? You will say it. Every time. And if you forget, you'll fall."

"Wonderful. Love the stakes."

He ignored my sarcasm and turned toward Rodrick. "Get into position."

Rodrick didn't ask for clarification. He just nodded once, then vaulted over a narrow beam and disappeared down the far side of the roof like it was nothing. I watched him go, part of me hoping he was just leaving to make tea and part of me knowing he was not.

Salem turned back to me. "You'll run the course before the cathedral bells sound. Every ring you collect, loop around your arm. Miss a ring, you start over. Fall…" He let that hang, though his smirk said the outcome would be memorable.

"Fall and I die?" I guessed.

"Fall and I catch you," he said. "Probably."

"Wonderful."

I stepped up to the first checkpoint, the small ring swaying gently in the wind. Salem didn't signal immediately; instead, he let the silence stretch, the wind whipping harder, the ropes creaking, until my heartbeat had worked itself into a nice, frantic tempo.

Then finally, he said, "Go."

I leapt forward—not gracefully, not with any kind of heroic flourish, but with the kind of determination usually reserved for last-minute shopping. My boots hit the beam, the wind clawed at my coat, and I reached the first ring with a satisfying clink of metal against my fingers. I looped it over my arm and kept moving.

The next two checkpoints were kinder: a quick duck under an arch and a sidestep onto a platform, both requiring balance but not much thought. Three rings now. I could almost imagine this being doable—until I hit the first vertical climb.

The spire loomed above me, its stone pitted and uneven, jutting out in jagged ledges that looked like they'd crumble out of spite if I put too much weight on them. Then, without a second thought, I started climbing, fingers digging into cracks, boots scraping for purchase, feeling the strain build in my arms with each pull.

Halfway up, the next grip was just out of reach. I dangled there, the wind pressing against my back, and thought about how far it was to the cobblestones below. This seemed like the kind of moment Salem wanted me to have—when instinct wrestled with fear. I closed my eyes, pictured that strange, undefined space beneath my sternum, and imagined drawing something out of it—heat, pressure, a kind of internal weight.

It felt... ridiculous to say the least.

Still, I pushed that sensation into my left forearm, gritted my teeth, and said, "Enhance."

The grip of my hand tightened instantly, tendons straining with new force. I lunged upward in a one-armed mantel, grabbed the next handhold, and swung my other arm up before the momentum could toss me backward into the void. My heart was hammering, but the laugh that escaped my throat was real.

Reaching the top, I snagged the ring and let my eyes flick toward the real challenge. The gap between the two spires looked even wider from up here, the wind howling through it like the city itself was laughing at me. I swallowed, then gathered energy again, forcing it into my right calf until the muscle buzzed with tension.

"Enhance," I whispered, and jumped.

What followed was a disaster.

I knew I wasn't going to make it the moment my boots left the stone. The far spire seemed to drift away rather than closer, the wind yanking at my coat, my arms flailing for a handhold that wasn't there. The only thing louder than the rush of air was the very articulate scream forming in my head: I'm going to die.

Then something blurred in my peripheral vision, and suddenly I was not falling alone. Salem's arm locked around my waist, his other hand catching a jut of stone as he landed against the side of the cathedral with absurd, impossible grace. The wind tore past us as he kicked off again, vaulting upward in a series of bounding leaps that defied everything I understood about physics until we were back on the rooftop.

He set me down like I weighed nothing.

"Enjoy the view?" he asked.

"Oh, immensely," I said, flashing him a grin. "It's been far too long since someone carried me like a damsel. We really ought to make a habit of it."

He rolled his eyes and stepped back. Somewhere below, the first toll of the cathedral bell rang out, deep and resonant, vibrating up through the stone beneath my boots. I glanced at the rings looped around my arm and then back at the course. At least five more checkpoints waited out there.

"That's it?" I asked. "Time's up? That's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," Salem said, though his tone suggested he was perfectly aware this was cruel.

I was still sputtering about how absurd the task was when Rodrick emerged from the far side of the roof, brushing dust from armor. He glanced between us, then at the course, and said, "Want me to show you how it's done?"

I gave him a short sigh, "Go ahead, embarrass me."

Salem switched places for this round, manning the bell tower. Rodrick rolled his shoulders once, eyes scanning the course like he was memorizing every twist and turn of a blade before driving it in.

The air felt tight. The kind of tight that stretches moments into miles. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until Rodrick kicked off without warning, the sound of his boots hitting the first beam sharp enough to make me flinch.

And then he was gone.

Not gone-gone like Salem's ridiculous sonic vanish, but moving with a kind of deliberate speed and control that made the course look like it had been built for him. Every motion carried that infuriating mix of grace and challenge, like he was saying, yes, I can do this, and also yes, you'll never catch up.

When he hit the first spire, I expected a climb. What I got instead was three enormous, ground-eating leaps that took him up the thing like it was nothing more than a decorative pillar. The last one carried him to the very tip where the stone tapered into a narrow pole, and for a second, I swore he'd overbalanced. Instead, he wrapped himself around it, spinning once in a tight, controlled arc before letting the momentum carry through his body, muscles snapping into motion as he launched himself into open air.

Straight for the next checkpoint.

My jaw may or may not have dropped.

The rest of the course fell away under him in a blur of movement—vaulting narrow beams, swinging under a rope to hook his feet on a passing platform, snatching checkpoints one after the other like they'd been placed there to amuse him. His pace slowed near the end, a stumble here, a breath there, but he crossed the last section just as the bells above our heads boomed out their judgment.

Rodrick landed on the roof again with that irritating catlike quiet, grinning at me in a way that made me want to throw something, and gave me a light slap on the back.

I curled inward as if he'd just punctured my pride with a dagger. "You've been training with him how long?" I muttered, already dreading the answer.

Rodrick's grin only widened. "A few months."

A groan escaped before I could stop it. "A few months. Right. And somehow I have to catch up to that in… what… six days?"

"You'll probably do fine," Salem said, emerging back unto the roof. "You have more practical experience than you give yourself credit for, and you learn fast. Faster than most."

Which was flattering, in a 'don't get too comfortable' kind of way.

We descended from the roof together, the obstacle course fading behind us into a lattice of shadows and wind-whistled beams.

That night, the cathedral's bathhouse was as steamy and dimly lit as I remembered—stone walls darkened with age, the air heavy with the scent of heated mineral water and faint herbs. I'd sunk deep into the water with Jules on one side, Elian on the other, and Hollow perched awkwardly across from us like a man trying very hard not to be present for whatever disaster was about to unfold.

Jules was, naturally, the first to speak. "So," he drawled, "how's our little acrobat? Make it to the first checkpoint before you fell on your pretty face?"

I gave him a flat look and sank deeper until the water lapped at my chin. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."

Which, of course, meant he grinned and leaned in closer.

I tried to ignore him, focusing instead on practicing the new Incarnic trick Salem had shown me—gathering energy from my Astral Nexus and trying to split it into more than one muscle group. My entire body was tensed in concentration. Energy poured, yes, but it stubbornly flooded only into one arm, refusing to divide no matter how much I coaxed. Jules, being Jules, chose that moment to start nibbling lightly at my ear, sending a shiver down my spine that absolutely didn't help.

And then—because the universe loves comedy—Salem walked in.

Completely naked.

I jumped so violently that water splashed straight onto Jules's face, who hissed like a drenched alley cat and scrambled back to safety. I forced my eyes to stay very much above the waist, sinking low in the bath as if the stone rim could shield me from reality.

"You need to relax," Salem said, his voice annoyingly smooth, like this was just a casual social call.

"I'm failing at this," I said bluntly. "I can't split the energy. It's like my body's wired for one muscle at a time, and I don't have the control to—"

Salem sighed, the kind of sigh that implied you're making this harder than it is. He stepped forward until he was standing just behind me, the water parting around him. Then his hands closed around my arms—firm, steady, grounding. "Relax."

The word carried weight. More than it should have.

I let out a breath, cheeks heating, my pulse a little too quick for comfort. Closing my eyes, I focused again on the flow of energy, drawing it from my core, trying to direct it into both arms this time. It was harder with Salem's presence pressed so close, his hands guiding me, and—gods help me—something else brushing faintly against my thighs in the warm water.

Then his touch shifted, slow and deliberate, his palms trailing lower until they cupped firmly around the base of my hips. The heat from his hands seemed to seep into me, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected. My shoulders loosened, my back uncoiling as the last of my tension bled away into the water. For the first time all day, I felt the taut line of my focus give, and I let it.

Then somehow, impossibly, the split happened. Energy surged into both biceps at once, a balanced, pulsing warmth. My eyes snapped open, twisting to glance back at him.

Salem's lips curved into a quiet smile. "I knew that'd work on you."

"Shut up," I muttered immediately, turning away—only to be met with Jules and Elian clasping hands, giggling like they'd just paid front-row seats to a scandalous play while Hollow tried, and failed, to hide his blush behind one hand.

Salem drifted back to the edge of the bath, lounging like nothing had ever happened. I dragged a palm over my face, wondering how exactly I'd ended up living in a circus of beautiful lunatics.

And yet, beneath the embarrassment, there was the quiet, solid fact that I'd done it. A tiny victory, yes, but still a victory. Tomorrow, though… tomorrow would come with it's own set of challenges. Challenges far more... diplomatic. 

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