How the hell were we going to clear a path up the empty air to reach her?
I stared up at the cliff face of the living mountain, the red eye burning in the dark above it. The raw, red pustules of her exposed flesh sat recessed deep in the black stone, hundreds of feet above the tilted beach. There was no slope. There were no handholds.
My spirit well was still an empty, cracked bowl sitting at zero. I couldn't cast Feather Step. I couldn't throw a chain. I couldn't pull a single extra spirit out of the Nave without paying the toll.
But essence wasn't the only currency that paid that toll. The Overdrive had taught me that much. I just had to be willing to tear my own soul apart to cover the invoice.
I closed my eyes, reached inward, and took hold of the iron doors of the Soul Sanctum.
