Scorio remained quiet, testing the quality of the mana carefully as he went. He’d hoped for areas saturated in Copper or Iron, but found nothing but the endlessly flowing Coal, too insubstantial to nurture a large colony of mana feeders, too thin to even warrant coming here to train.
The Academy was barren, devoid of any signs of habitation, and only rarely did they come across scraps hanging from walls which might once have been tapestries or faded and badly worn murals, depicting indistinct heroes from that bygone era. Occasionally they stumbled across badly rusted metal fragments trapped under rocks, or the rare piece of wooden furniture that would collapse into dust and fragments if they touched it.
The cumulative effect was one of melancholy; the farther they walked, the more Scorio wondered if this wasn’t the future that awaited all of Bastion. Ten years, supposedly. That was all they had before every ward and even the new Academy became haunted copies of this desolation.
“Up ahead,” whispered Leonis. “The Aureate Hall. It opens to the basilica.”
They emerged from the narrow side corridor into the hall proper, and if Scorio squinted he thought he could recapture some faint echo of its former grandeur. The brilliant yellow light of Amber now poured in through the cracks in the ceiling high above, causing the floating motes of dust to glitter, and desiccated trees that centuries past had tried to grow here stood in all their brittle glory, rising from the ruined stone floor, their branches marble white.
“So eerie,” said Lianshi softly, turning in a circle to take in the large hall’s ruined splendor. “If I squint, I can almost see it… I wonder why they copied the layout so slavishly?”
“Must have meant something to them,” said Leonis, sandals crunching on the stone fragments. “But the double doors are there. Let’s take a look at the basilica proper.”
“What’s that?” asked Scorio, staring at a huge mosaic that dominated one wall. It was greatly faded, pocked with fallen stones, but the art was still striking; a tree dominated the center, its trunk banded by different materials, with fiends and heroes gathered around it.
“That’s the Path of Ascension,” said Leonis. “That’s right. You’ve not seen the one we have in our Academy.”
Scorio drew closer, drawn by the majesty of the mosaic. “Path of Ascension…” Half of the tree was its root system; these wound and coiled beneath the trunk like huge snakes, with the lowest tips gleaming jet black, then the band above a reddish-brown metal—
“Those are the ranks we ascend through,” he blurted out.
“He’s a quick one, he is,” said Leonis in amusement.
“Coal, then Copper…” Scorio traced the bands of colors as they rose up the roots. “Iron, then… is that Bronze? Silver, Gold…”
Lianshi stepped up beside him to gaze at the tree. “It’s the path we all follow. We start as Chars, lowest of the low, but then ignite our Hearts and become Cinders, leaving Coal for Copper. Then, as Emberlings, we burn Iron, only to move on and become Tomb Sparks and burn Bronze. Flame Vaults burn Silver, and finally Dread Blazes who burn Gold.”
Scorio drank in the sight. “Char to Cinder, Emberling to Tomb Spark, Dread Blaze to… Pyre Lord?”
“Pyre Lord,” confirmed Leonis, moving up on his other side. The base of the trunk that corresponded to that rank was a glittering green gemstone. “Sapphire. That’s where ol’ Praximar’s at. You can’t get higher and remain in Bastion.”
“Then what?” Scorio’s gaze rose higher to the sapphire band.
“Blood Baron.” Lianshi’s voice was hushed. “Few get so far. Above them are the Charnel Dukes like the White Queen with their Ruby mana.”
Scorio’s gaze rose higher, to the branches of the tree which glittered even now with glass-like beauty. “Is that Diamond?”
“Diamond,” confirmed Lianshi. “For the Crimson Earls. And the leaves—see those hundreds of grooves? They’re empty because Noumenon is too precious to waste on a mosaic like this. The final and most potent form of mana, found only at the Pit of hell itself.”
“Imperators.” Leonis’s voice had become grim. “Only been seventy-six of them in the whole history of Bastion.”
“Huh.” Scorio stepped back and took in the whole tree at once. “From Coal to Noumenon. Why is everyone up to Dread Blaze merely the roots?”
Lianshi’s tone turned wry. “Because supposedly it’s only once you ascend to Pyre Lord that your true journey begins. Everything before that is just preparation.”
Scorio wheeled to stare at her. “Preparation? Even Dread Blaze?”
She shrugged apologetically. “That’s when we Great Souls start developing our true powers. Shrouds, Ferulas, and such-like. We’ve not yet covered that material in class.”
“But I can’t wait to get mine,” rumbled Leonis. “Speaking of which, we done admiring the artwork? I thought we came here to find treasure.”
“Sure,” said Scorio, following after him toward the huge double doors. He looked back at the tree. His gaze lingered on the Coal-black tips of the roots and the copper band just above. The knowledge of how far he had to go was both dizzying and dismaying. “Let’s get to exploring.”
The trio crossed the massive hall, footsteps echoing with each brittle crunch, until at last, they reached the giant-sized doors. One lay askew on its hinges, as if wearied by the centuries and trying to catch its breath. Through that gap they stepped, and into the vast basilica, the huge dome floating so improbably overhead, the light of Amber pouring in through the forty or so narrow rectangular windows that encircled its base. Other tall windows punched into the massive walls along the flanks provided further illumination, but the room was so cavernous that even this light failed to dispel the twilight feel of the chamber.
“Look,” said Lianshi, reaching out to grab hold of Scorio’s arm. “The biers.”
Scorio saw them, hundreds arranged around a ruined Archspire, their surfaces resplendent as if they alone had been untouched by the ravages of time. Many were toppled over, a good many crushed by the collapse of the upper half of the Archspire or the falling of huge stone blocks from overhead, but here and there, he saw some that remained pristine, gleaming with mesmerizing allure.
“What is that?” hissed Leonis, raising a finger to point at a great web that was stretched across a quarter of the huge chamber, each strand as thick as Scorio’s wrist. The light of Amber caused a few segments to glow as if the strands were made of glass hidden under centuries of dust.
“Whatever made it is long gone,” said Lianshi after a tense spell of silence. “No spider or whatever made it would let their web fall into such disarray.”
Scorio released a sigh. “I’d hate to have arrived here a century ago when the spider was still in residence.”
“With a web that big?” Leonis let the question hang as he pressed on. “Hey, look. No dust on the undamaged biers.”
He was right. All those which had been damaged or crushed were faded and dilapidated like the rest of the buildings, but those which had miraculously survived the test of time shone as if recently wiped down.
“What does that mean?” asked Lianshi, trailing her fingers over one. “Perhaps they still collect ambient mana in some way?”
They approached the Archspire, and as they drew closer Scorio caught sight of the upturned and in-curled legs of the web’s owner on the far side of the basilica beneath its web.