Excitement thrilled within him. Was this cheating? But if so, who cared? He felt like it was working.
Down to a faint shimmer of flames, then up to a great incandescent roar. Down to a faint shimmer once more, barely enough to keep his Heart burning, then he flooded it abruptly again.
Something within his very essence trembled. No, in his Heart - he saw it shiver, the curvature of the sphere rippling as it began to change - only to run out of ambient mana.
Scorio blinked and extended his senses. He’d drained his room and the tunnel beyond dry.
Allowing his Heart to gutter, he leaped off his bench and then just stood there, so tense that he felt his body vibrating.
At the end there. What had that been?
Scorio ran his hands through his hair then dropped into a crouch and closed his eyes. He focused again on his Heart.
It hung before him, innocuous, inscrutable.
He’d come close. He knew. He knew it. For a second there he’d reached out and touched… what? The next rank? What it took to be a Dread Blaze?
A thrill of excitement coursed through him. Could it be this easy? What took others years, what some never overcame, could he just… will it to take place due to his Delightful Secret Marinating technique?
After all, he’d already been using this technique to amplify his abilities in combat, drawing more or less during times of stress to supercharge his body or his powers. He’d thought of it as cheating, but was it?
Had he been within a stone’s throw of what it took to make Dread Blaze all along? For it wasn’t one’s control of one’s reservoir that prompted ascension, it was one’s Heart’s receiving of just the right amount of mana as directed by one’s will.
Nowhere was it written that your reservoir had to be involved at all.
It was just that for every other Flame Vault out there, they had no choice in the matter.
Scorio’s eyes snapped open. If that was true, then his focusing on his reservoir as Druanna had commanded had been the absolutely wrong approach. He’d been neglecting his advantage in an attempt to make Dread Blaze the hard way.
“Naomi!” Scorio bolted out of his room to see her appear in her doorway, eyes wide. “We need to go to the caldera.”
“What?” She scrutinized him, then her eyes unfocused slightly as she scanned him with her mana senses. Her focus snapped back. “Why?”
“I need more ambient mana.”
“This place is saturated with… oh.”
“I used all of mine up. I need lots.” He scanned their common area, saw that he’d drained half of its mana already from his own room.
“Ambient mana? But you’re supposed to work on your reservoir access.”
“Am I though?” His grin felt wild, almost unhinged. “Come on!”
He tore out the room. Someone called out his name, a Great Soul approaching from the other direction, but Scorio just waved and sprinted on.
Sprinting wasn’t enough. He ignited his Heart and put on speed.
Naomi was fleet-footed just behind him. She called out a question, a second, then settled in to just keeping up.
Scorio swept through the tunnels like a vengeful wind. Out of the clusters and into a curving tunnel, through into the next spire, everything dark, and after a few wrong turns he spilled out into the very same caldera in which they’d fought Jaks and her friends.
Scorio slowed and came to a stop in the center of the cavernous chamber. He reached out with his senses and saw the daunting amounts of Iron mana that swirled slowly in a continuous vortex around the room.
So much. More than he could ever possibly need.
“Scorio!” Naomi came to a stop beside him. “Slow down. Stop. What are you doing?”
“My Delightful Secret Marinating technique.” He couldn’t stand still from excitement. “I’ve got far better mana control with it. Drawing from my reservoir feels ridiculously awkward compared to drawing from ambient mana. I was on the verge of something when I ran out of mana back in our rooms. But here?” He looked up at the swarming darkness. “Here, I’ll be fine.”
“You’re supposed to master your own Heart,” said Naomi. “Being a Dread Blaze means mastering your reservoir.”
“Does it? Does our Heart care? All it needs is mana.”
“What makes us Great Souls is our mastery of our own Hearts, Scorio. They said this over and over again in the Academy, it’s…” Naomi shook her head abruptly in frustration. “It’s the whole basis of everything we do. Now you’re just going to sidestep it? Without asking what it might do to you?”
“Who am I going to ask? Nox? Bravurn? Plassus? Nobody knows anything about this, Naomi. I’m in unprecedented territory.” Those words gave him pause. It was true. “Nobody’s ever used a Pyre Lord technique to become a Dread Blaze. Obviously. Nobody knows.”
“I’m sure somebody has.” Naomi put her hands on her hips. “You’re special, but you’re not unique. You don’t think anyone has ever used an Imperial Ghost Toad bath to do this? Ever?”
Scorio shrugged. “It wasn’t in any of the books I read back in the Academy.”
“The Emberling level books.”
“What do you want me to do, huh, Naomi? Go back to the Academy? Spend a year researching whether some Imperator five hundred years ago wrote down some notes about ascending to Dread Blaze?” He glared at her, feverish with desire to begin the process. “No. I’m going to try it. And if I rupture my Heart, or explode, or - or whatever, then I’ll do better in my next life.”
“Fine.” Naomi crossed her arms and stepped back. Only to relent, her expression softening. “No, I understand. I’m just… I’m just concerned.”
Which caused him to slow down. “I know. And I appreciate it. It’s just… I felt so close. Can you imagine? If this works? I’ll become a Dread Blaze after only being a Flame Vault for a little over a couple of months. How can I not go for it?”
“Just… be careful.” Naomi’s concern was plangent. “Alright? You don’t need to throw caution to the winds. Try it, and if it feels wrong, back away. Try again tomorrow. Alright?”
“Sure,” said Scorio, but he knew he didn’t mean it. He turned from her, raised his face, and closed his eyes. “Here I go.”
He reached out with his senses and probed at the Iron. It was turgid and thick here, great coiling loops, slowly revolving as if awaiting a blazeborn queen’s demands. Slowly, almost delicately, he visualized his will as a paddle and began to swirl the mana closest to him around and around, speeding it up, loosening it.
With a flicker of his mind he ignited his Heart, using his reservoir’s reserves. His Heart burst into flames, the Iron fire ghostly and gray.
That accomplished, he relinquished his draw on his reservoir, and began to feed Iron directly into his Heart from the swirling mass, drawing a slender rope into the flames.
For a moment he remained thus, content, allowing his Heart to feed itself directly from that source, and then he rose into his scaled form and began the oscillation once more. He narrowed the rope to a thread and watched his Heart simmer down, only to widen the rope to a great banded cord, thick as his waist, and felt his Heart burst into an inferno.
“By the ten hells,” whispered Naomi, awed.
Up and down, up and down. He strained to wrest the ambient Iron to his will. This would have been child’s play with Gold. But the Iron responded, always grudgingly, only to grow ductile and obedient at last.
His Heart ebbed and flowed. With each round, Scorio sought to stretch further into the extremes. To burn even less than the last time while maintaining reactivity, then to consume as much as he possibly could a moment later.
Power washed through him, causing his body to become feverishly hot. Sweat drenched his brow, ran down his back, soaked into his robes. His breath was deep and rapid, huge gasps as if his lungs had become bellows.
Too much power. He was burning too much mana without release. The urge to run in circles, to leap about like a rabbit filled him, but that was ridiculous, he’d never expend enough power that way.