“Yes.The ceremony will reach its peak when Sunan issues his formal challenge.His followers will be performing the ceremony, releasing the artifacts’ power to flow into him as the Brotherhood’s focused intention strengthens his spirit.”The Healer’s voice dropped lower.“He means to kill you.Not just defeat you.”
“I know.That is how it’s done in the Yam Khûmk?n.I learned that the hard way.”Connor narrowed his eyes.“The part you said about releasing the artifacts’ power.How is that done?”
“The artifacts are burned on an altar as the participants focus their intentions by chanting.”
A gecko called from somewhere in the rafters—a sharp, mocking sound that raised the hair on Connor’s neck.“That would be a tragedy.We must stop the ceremony from going forward.”
The Healer said nothing.The stronghold seemed to press in around them, centuries of tradition weighing like physical force.
Connor moved to the balustrade again.Lightning split the sky, revealing the jungle in a snapshot of silver and shadow.
Somewhere out there, Sophie was hunting the same enemies he was.A fragile thread between them, but a real one.“What can I do to prepare?”
“Clear your mind and heart,” the Healer said.His voice carried the weight of absolute certainty.“Meditate on the tiger’s-eye plinth before the men, where they can see you and surround you with power.Set your intentions solely on victory.”He paused.“And surround yourself with trusted comrades—though I know they are fewer without young Feirn by your side.”
“I had to send him.Sophie needs protection more than I.”
The Healer made a noncommittal sound, stroking his beard.“Train diligently all week.Use the healing pools beneath the temple to restore your body each night.Most importantly ...”He paused, as if choosing his words.The silence stretched taut between them.“You must commit completely to the Yam Khûmk?n.No divided heart.No dreams of another life.”
Connor’s hands gripped the stone balustrade hard.The rough surface bit into his palms, grounding him in the present even as his mind reached across oceans.“You’re saying I need to let her go.”
“I’m saying you cannot defeat Sunan with half your spirit elsewhere.He has spent years preparing for this moment, gathering followers, planning each detail.His commitment is absolute.”The Healer laid a hand on Connor’s shoulder.Heat radiated from the old man’s body, coiled strength that age had not diminished.“What isyourcommitment?”
Connor closed his eyes and saw Sophie’s face with painful clarity.
The way she’d looked at him that last morning before he left.Her hair tousled, gorgeous eyes sleepy, not knowing he was leaving to protect her from this world.Momi and Sean calling him ‘Uncle Connor.’Their laughter and young voices, so light and bright, couldn’t be more of a contrast to the measured discipline of these ancient halls.
Rain began to fall suddenly, fat drops splattering against the stone.The air temperature dropped, raising goosebumps along Connor’s arms.
“The Brotherhood went after her,” he said.“They’re in Hawaii right now.If Sunan wins against me ...”
“He will not stop with claiming the mastership,” the Healer confirmed.His voice was matter-of-fact, which somehow made it worse.“The Brotherhood sees her as your weakness.They will eliminate her and her family to solidify Sunan’s rule.”
In order to save Sophie, he had to survive.To survive, he had to win.To win, he had to become what the Yam Khûmk?n needed—not a reluctant leader with one foot out the door, but the order’s true Master.
A lightning flash—then thunder crashed directly overhead, the rumble rolling through the stronghold like the drums of war—followed by the roar of the rain.
Connor and the Healer stepped inside at last.Connor closed the door to the balcony, shutting out the storm.
“I understand what you’re telling me,” he said at last.
The Healer studied him for a long moment, then nodded.“Come.”
He led Connor through the stronghold’s maze of corridors.Their footsteps echoed off stone worn smooth by centuries of passage.They passed the Hall of Blades, where weapons from a thousand battles hung in silent testimony.Connor’s reflection flickered across polished steel—distorted, multiplied, fragmented.Like his identity, torn between who he was and who he needed to become.
The Healer stopped before a wooden door Connor had never noticed, carved with symbols that seemed to shift in the lamplight.The old man pressed his palm against a worn indentation, and the door swung open on hinges that made no sound.
The chamber beyond was simple: polished stone floors, a counter with a basin and ceramic jug, a wooden chest beneath it.In the middle of the room, a single wooden chair.Ancient weapons lined the walls, and lamplight twinkled off their surfaces, a parody of coziness.The air smelled of lamp oil and soap.
“Sit,” the Healer instructed.
Connor took the chair and its wood creaked beneath his weight.He watched as the older man gathered items from the wooden chest that looked old as the stronghold itself.A straight razor emerged first, its blade gleaming.Then soap and water in a bronze bowl that rang like a bell when the Healer set it down.Finally, a large white cloth in fine muslin that reminded Connor of a shroud.
“New recruits shave their heads when they commit to training,” the Healer said.His voice had taken on a ceremonial cadence.“It shows dedication, removes vanity, marks them as students.”His gaze met Connor’s, and in them was compassion mixed with iron resolve.“You have been Master for three years, but never truly committed.Always holding part of yourself back for a life that cannot be.”
Connor’s hand went to his blond hair, styled like the cyber security consultant he’d been in another life.He still remembered the pride he’d felt when he graduated training and no longer had to shave his head.
He closed his eyes and a memory of Sophie beside him in bed, running her fingers through his hair, swamped him.The memory was so vivid he could smell her, cutting through the stone scent of this ancient place.
