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Chapter Text

Iteration 00645 Earth

Police actions… That is what those invaders decided to call it. How dare they? As if their assault on innocent lives was merely an exercise in maintaining order. The words dripped with arrogance, a flimsy shield to deflect the weight of their atrocities. They could not bear the responsibility for their own actions. Yet here he was, facing the consequences. His heart was heavier than the body wrapped in white cotton, and he gently lowered it into the earth. His grandson's small form disappeared beneath the dark soil, each handful a cruel farewell as he said his final goodbyes.

He stared at the pale white as dirt began to swallow it. His hands trembled, and his knuckles were raw and bloody from digging.

"Should've been me," he whispered, shedding a tear hot with anger and grief.

A hand rested gently on his shoulder. "Sinar," the man, his best friend Akhan, whispered behind him, having finished helping to bury the child. "We need to go."

Sinar did not move. "Go where?" his voice broke. "My family is all dead. Our village was reduced to ashes by their flamethrowers. Men, women, and children gunned down like animals." His eyes fixed on the grave, the weight of his loss pressing on his chest.

"We rejoin the army. We take the fight to them. Make them answer for this," Akhan waved at the grave. "This wasn't some police action . This was a calculated massacre. This was military aggression!" Akhan seethed as he spat out his words. He took a moment to calm himself. "Let's get back out there. Just like old times."

"Akhan," Sinar said, shaking his head. "We're old now. Our fighting days are behind us."

"Then we use what little time we have left and die killing them," Akhan replied, gripping the shovel in his hands tightly. "But we need to go. Two men alone in this jungle will be happily gunned down by their patrols."

Sinar took a moment to stare at the patch of dirt among the grass, strengthening his resolve. "Then let's go die. Let's make them bleed even if it'll cost our two old lives."

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"Forward without fear!" Akhan yelled as Sinar sprung to action, jumping out of the bushes they were hiding. Their target was a convoy of enemy trucks struggling through a rugged, narrow path. The pothole they had created had done its job.

Sinar darted towards the first soldier he saw with a blade in his hand. The soldier was a young man, barely more than a boy. Raising his rifle too slowly, Sinar's blade sliced through his arm. The young soldier screamed in anguish.

"You should've never come back, little boy!" Sinar spat before driving his blade through the soldier's chest. A fleeting thought passed through his mind: somewhere, the boy's parents would be devastated for their child would not be returning home. But the memories of Sinar's children and grandchildren, lifeless and wrapped in white cloths, crushed any mercy.

Before Sinar could turn to face the other soldier, he heard an explosion and instantly knew Akhan had achieved his task. Sinar was thrown away by the force of the blast. He lay still on the ground, awaiting the bullets that would be coming to quicken his death. He and Akhan had achieved their target, contributing to their small part of a bigger goal.

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Iteration 110 Cradle

Current time

Wei Shi Lindon had died. He had felt the cold grip of finality when he saw his legs lying next to him. And then, impossibly, a messenger from the heavens descended and made him whole again, stitching his body together. Now he had a goal: find the sword sage's apprentice and leave Sacred Valley to save it. Thirty years. That was all the time he had before the dreadgods would come and destroy Sacred Valley.  

Lindon stood at the centre of the arena. Everyone was silent, and hundreds of eyes fixed on him. Most were filled with scorn and disdain.

Lindon bowed to the box with representatives of the four schools. "Honored elder of the of the Heaven's Glory School! This one begs for one more chance to prove himself!"

The crowd erupted, with hundreds of protests and outrage at what Lindon had requested. Some even laughed at the audacity.

In the box above, a boy dressed in white and gold stared Lindon down with cold, calculating eyes. The boy stood; he was short, but he stood tall. The arena went silent almost instantly. The elder's gaze bore into Lindon. A drop of sweat ran down Lindon's head at the cold eyes staring at him.

The elder spoke a single word. His voice was as high as a child his age would be, but it carried both strength and experience. "Why?" he asked.

Lindon swallowed hard. "Wei Jin Amon is to become a disciple of your school. If this one manages to force him out of the ring or make him admit defeat, surely this one has demonstrated his own value. I request a place in your school under these conditions." Lindon spoke out loud nervously.

The boy elder did not hesitate. "No."

Lindon's hopes died with one simple word. He was about to make another plea, but the elder spoke again.

"I'll allow you a place in our school," the elder announced, the crowd murmuring in surprise. "But the one you'll be facing is me ."

A collective gasp swept through the arena. Lindon silently baulked at what the elder said. His right hand fidgeted on the glass marble in his pocket. Before he could answer, the Wei elder intervened.

"Forgiveness, Elder Whitehall," the Wei elder stepped forward, his disapproval clear. "This unsouled needs to learn his place. When we return to the village, I'll discipline him for his transgressions."

"I do not remember speaking to you, Elder," Elder Whitehall said coldly, his gaze never leaving Lindon.

"I accept," Lindon replied before he could think twice.

Behind him, he heard his sister, Kelsa, gasp. "Lindon, what are you doing? He's a Jade!"

Kelsa continued to speak but Lindon was no longer listening. He stared nervously back at the small elder.

"Based on how you're staring at me," the elder said, a faint smile formed at the corner of his lips. "It seems you think you stand a chance."

Lindon did not.

"Of course not, Elder Whitehall. This one is simply honoured to have the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn from a powerful Elder like you." Lindon tried to appease the Elder. He did not even need to lie. The fear in his voice was genuine. But this Elder was not so scary when compared to a dreadgod.

Elder Whitehall did not reply. Instead, he leapt from his platform, landing in the arena in front of Lindon. He stared at Lindon calculatingly and frowned.

"Defend yourself," the Elder said. And he attacked. Fast.

Lindon saw the fist coming towards his face and lifted his arms to block. His forearms broke, followed by his nose. Loud gasps of shock came from the crowd. Some were satisfied that the unsouled was put back in his place, while others scoffed that a Jade Elder was beating down an unsouled.

Elder Whitehall said nothing to the audience as he stood over Lindon. "Do you admit defeat? There is honour in knowing when you are beaten."

Lindon tried to get up, but his legs were swept under him immediately. With his face lying on the arena floor, he muttered silently. "No," he first said to the Elder. " Be free."

The emerald hornet remnants shattered their prison underneath the arena. "Attack." As one, the swarm of remnants attacked Elder Whitehall. The Elder, caught by surprise, took a step back. But he was a Jade and recovered quickly. Scorching streaks of light tore through the remnants one by one until none was left.

Lindon lay on the arena floor with his arms broken and his legs refusing to move. Lindon watched through one eye as the elder approached him and bent down close. Lindon thought he saw a smirk.

"What's your name?"

"Wei Shi Lindon," Lindon answered, attempting to lower his head in respect. But even that sent a spike of pain.

"Eat," the Elder spoke softly so only he could hear as the Elder placed a hand over Lindon's mouth.

Lindon felt a tiny ball cupped in the Elder's hand and swallowed it. From the outside, it looked like the Elder was silencing Lindon. Lindon felt a spike of madra entering his core before he lost consciousness.

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Lindon woke up slowly, blinking his eyes to clear his vision. He expected sharp pain all over his body and was surprised he found none. He tried to move his arms but found them to be tightly wrapped in scripted bandages and in a sling. The sun shone brightly above him. He shuffled slightly, feeling softness underneath him.

"Good morning, sunshine," a high-pitched voice called out to him.

Lindon, recognising the voice, immediately sat up and tried to bow. Not realising he was on a thousand-mile cloud, he fell. With his arms tightly bound in a sling, he fell face first. Lindon recovered quickly, ignoring the brief pain, and bowed. "This one greets Elder Whitehall. Please forgive this one for wasting the resources of the Heaven's Glory school and the precious time of the Elder."

Sitting on a carpet by a small table, the Elder chuckled and then began to laugh. Lindon, caught on the wrong foot by the Elder's laughter, simply remained bowing.

Elder Whitehall continued to laugh for some time before stopping. "You're a funny boy, Wei Shi Lindon."

Lindon, still unsure of what to do, bowed deeper.

"Oh, stand straight, you fool," the Elder ordered.

Lindon complied immediately.

Elder Whitehall watched his face. "Damn," the Elder said. "Your face does make you look like someone looking for a fight."

Lindon was about to bow again and ask for forgiveness, but the Elder waved it away. Elder Whitehall picked up a paper from his desk and began to read. "Wei Shi Lindon, son of Wei Shi Jaran and Wei Shi Seisha, and younger brother of Wei Shi Kelsa. Born an unsouled and tried to cheat his way to a badge several times, it seems."

Lindon could feel his sweat slowly dripping, and that was not due to the temperature.

"And yet here you are, a Heaven's Glory school student."

Lindon had to take a moment to let the words sink in. "You took me in as a student?" He asked, forgetting all sense of proper decorum when speaking to his betters.

"Yes, I did," Elder Whitehall replied, placing the paper he held back on the table. "Do you know why disciple?"

"This one does not dare to claim to understand Elder's wisdom," Lindon bowed.

"The Elder commands the disciple to seize bowing," Elder Whitehall said, annoyed.

Lindon immediately straightened. Feeling very uncomfortable by the height difference, he lowered his head slightly.

The Elder looked up to meet Lindon's eyes. "Because you refused to bow to your betters and admit defeat."

Lindon really did not know whether this was a compliment or a warning. His sweating redoubled.

"Because you have the mind to find and do whatever it takes to win." The Elder smiled. "Even if it means cheating."

Lindon's sweating tripled.

"But tell me, Lindon," the Elder continued. "What is driving you to these extremes?" The Elder asked curiously. "And don't lie to me; I'll be able to tell." Then, the Elder's face grew severe. "And I hate liars!"

Lindon was sweating so profusely that he would not fault anyone for thinking he was a water construct. Lindon thought of Suriel, the heavenly messenger. Whatever she saw, she must have known that he could go through this.

"A heavenly messenger showed me the destruction of Sacred Valley," Lindon muttered quickly before he could begin to overthink and prolong the awkward silence. He told of the coming of Li Markuth, Suriel, how she reversed time, the dreadgods, the monarchs, and what he'll need to do next to save Sacred Valley. Everything else he kept secret.

Lindon thought Elder Whitehall would accuse him of being mad or even a liar. Instead, the Elder remained silent as he listened, stopping Lindon occasionally to clarify certain things.

"Forgiveness if this one's story is unbelievable. But this one swears he has been telling the truth," Lindon added.

"Honey and Poison," Elder Whitehall muttered softly, clenching his fists. "And what did the heavenly messenger say you must do now?"

"I need to leave the valley," Lindon said.

"Because there you'll be able to reach gold," Elder Whitehall finished Lindon's sentence.

'Beyond Gold' was the right answer, but Lindon did not correct the Elder.

"Here," Elder Whitehall threw a small piece of wood at Lindon. The wooden piece hit Lindon's chest gently, and Lindon fumbled to catch it. "Bring it to the lesser treasure hall. You can exchange it for an item there."

"This one is grateful for Elder Whitehall's benevolence," Lindon bowed.

Elder Whitehall ignored Lindon, gesturing him to get going.

Lindon did not move away. He looked left, right, then behind him.

"Why are you still here?" Elder Whitehall snapped.

Lindon stood to attention. "Umm, Elder. I don't know where we are," Lindon nervously said, not even knowing which mountain he was on.

Elder Whitehall raised his eyebrows. "Oh."

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Whitehall faced the tall white tower standing before him in the dead of night. He entered the tower silently, carefully veiling his spirit to remain undetected.

He counted the steps one at a time as he climbed the spiral staircase up Elder Whisper's tower. He lost count after the first four hundred. He reached the top of the staircases and faced the door to Elder Whisper's chambers.

Whitehall knocked on the door three times before cycling his madra, releasing it lightly against the door lock. The lock spun open, and Whitehall pushed. Elder Whisper lay on the ground on his belly behind the scripts on the floor, watching Whitehall enter.

"Isn't this a surprise," Elder Whisper drawled, his voice a low, melodic murmur. "Returning so soon, only a day after leaving the Wei clan territory. Surely, you aren't here just to visit this old fox?" His purple eyes twinkled, and his tails flicked lazily.

Whitehall placed a wooden bucket in front of the Elder Whisper. The scent of fresh fish filled the room. "I have questions I felt only you would know the answer to." He gestured towards the bucket of fish. "I brought snacks."

Elder Whisper chuckled, "You know how to keep an ancient fox entertained after all." The fox reached out and swallowed one of the fish whole. "Go on, I'm listening."

"How do you reach Gold?" Whitehall asked, his voice carrying a hidden desperation.

"I see your ambition never faded after all," Elder Whisper said, his sharp eyes narrowing. Whitehall could swear Elder Whisper was smirking. "And here I thought you learned your lessons already? Your body certainly did."

Whitehall's jaw tightened. "Yes," Whitehall answered, not bothering to respond to the rest of what Elder Whisper said. "Mistakes were made, mistakes that I intend to correct."

Whitehall's lifeline was in shambles, and he could feel it. The sword sage could have helped him, but that path was closed now. But gold, gold would save him. He had read that advancement would always enhance the body.

"Please," Whitehall bowed at the waist. "Tell me how to reach gold?"

A soft rustle came from his right. Another Elder Whisper materialised, identical in every way to the first. "And what makes you think I know the answer?" he asked.

Whitehall did not falter. "You're older than even the oldest man's grandfather in Sacred Valley," he answered, still bowing. "If anyone would know, it would be you."

A third Elder Whisper emerged to his left. "I can tell you one thing," it said.

The first Elder Whisper, still devouring the fish, turned his gaze upward. "As you are now, you'll never reach Gold."

Whitehall grimaced. "I expected that. Tell me what I need to do."

"Why should I?" The second Elder Whisper sneered, circling Whitehall. "Aren't you the brightest young talent in this whole valley? The young striker who rose to become the youngest elder of Heaven's Glory school. The one rumoured to have bested the School's Patriarch in a spar."

"Rumours are just rumours," Whitehall replied. "And to answer your first question. Honey and Poison."

All three Elder Whisper turned their attention to Whitehall, sensing there was more to Whitehall's words.

"Elaborate," the first Whisper said. "If I find it interesting," Whisper left it at that.

Whitehall stood straight and took a deep breath. "It's a saying from when I was growing up. They say fate always has two hands behind its back; one holds honey, and the other holds poison. We'll never know which one shall be handed to us. I believe I have been handed the honey so far," Whitehall clenches his fist, and his voice dropped into a whisper. "But the poison is on its way."

Elder Whisper's eyes gleamed. He leaned closer, tails flicking. "Interesting indeed."

Chapter Text

2. Bastard

Whitehall left the base of Elder Whisper's tower in his thousand-mile cloud. The sky was still dark except for the light from Samara's ring. He was not sure if only a few hours had passed or if it had already been more than a day. Being around Elder Whisper had distorted his sense of time. He hated illusions, but he had learned to respect its power. Elder Whisper had given answers to Whitehall's questions, albeit infuriatingly vague. That ancient fox either enjoyed speaking in riddles or had turned senile and knew less than what it wanted everyone else to think.  

As he approached Heaven's Glory above Mount Samara, he heard the distant echoes of shouting. The school buzzed with chaos. As soon as he landed, he intercepted and grabbed a disciple passing through. The disciple had an iron badge with a shield carved onto it.

"What happened?" Whitehall asked, his voice was steady, but the girl flinched.

"I... I don't know Elder Whitehall," she gulped, nervous from suddenly being yanked by an Elder. "Word is there's been an attack. Elder Rahm was injured."

Whitehall released the girl and immediately sped towards the Medicine Hall. He smelled blood and medicine as he got close. Inside, he found Elder Rahm being treated by a healer. Cuts covered all over Elder Rahm's body and one of his arms was ruined.

"Who did this?" Whitehall demanded. He could tell the healer wanted to protest, but something told her she should not.

"The Unsouled," Elder Rahm panted. "And the Sword Sage's disciple."

"Bastard," Whitehall cursed. "Did they mention where they're going?"

"They flew towards the ancestor's tomb," Elder Rahm said between ragged breaths. "I'm sure that's exactly where they went. She probably thinks her master is still alive."

Without another word, Whitehall turned and left the medicine hall. He released his Thousand-mile cloud and launched into the night towards the Ancestor's Tomb. As he approached, he first saw a male and female Heaven Glory jade meant to guard the tomb sprawled on the ground like discarded dolls. Then he saw a battle between the Sword Sage's disciple and a silver humanoid remnant. The remnant was so lifelike that he had to take a second look to ensure it was not the Sword Sage himself.

As he landed, the remnant of the male guard began to rise, and Whitehall sent a beam of light to destroy it. He approached the body of the female guard first, pressing two fingers on her neck. She was still alive, yet barely.

"Swallow," he ordered, placing a pill against the woman's lips. The woman hesitated. "Hurry if you want to live." She finally complied and swallowed. Whitehall, too small to carry her, dragged her body into a hut nearby, placing her inside.

As he stepped outside, he noticed Lindon with a large pack on his back, hiding behind a boulder, watching the fight between the remnant and the Sword Sage's disciple.

Whitehall fired a beam that singed the stone next to Lindon's head. Panicked by the sudden attack, Lindon yelped and fell backwards against the boulder as he turned to face him.

"What is the meaning of this, Wei Shi Lindon?" He demanded.

Lindon raised his hands in surrender. "Elder Whitehall. This one is helping Yerin to absorb her master's remnant to advance to gold."

Whitehall took a moment to digest what Lindon had just said. "I see." Anger rose in Whitehall's belly. "And which part did it require you to maim Elder Rahm?"

Lindon put his fist together and bowed. "Apologies, Elder Whitehall. There was a... misunderstanding. Elder Rahm attacked before we could explain."

Whitehall's jaw clenched. Of course, Rahm would do that. There was a reason he was placed to guard the treasure hall instead of being sent out. He tended to be hostile towards everyone who was not part of Heaven's Glory.

Whitehall considered the situation. "I'll make you a deal. I'll leave the apprentice to advance unmolested. But once she absorbs the Sage's remnant, you both leave."

"Of course, venerable elder." Lindon bowed deeper. "This one can only thank the Elder for his generosity."

"Ugh," Whitehall expressed his tiredness as he approached the boulder and knelt behind it next to Lindon, watching the fight between the disciple and the remnant.

He was amazed at what he saw. The fight was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was so fast that he could only see sparks from the clashing swords. He previously felt that he did not stand a chance against the Sword Sage's disciple, and now he knew it for sure. Then, with his two own eyes, he saw the disciple advance. It was a slow process, but each time the remnants and the disciple's swords clashed, part of the remnant was absorbed into the disciple's spirit. Slowly, the remnant's body grew fainter, more transparent. The disciple's advancement was complete as the remnant was finally fully absorbed. The disciple stood tall; a silver sword arm gleamed as it grew from her shoulder.

She turned her attention to Whitehall.

"I know you," she pointed her sword at him. "You were one of them. The ones who killed my master."

Lindon slowly turned to face Whitehall, gulping nervously.

"Your boyfriend and I made a deal," Whitehall said. Lucky for Yerin, the blush of her cheeks was covered in blood. "I leave you to advance unmolested; in return, you two shall leave immediately."

"Unlucky for you, I did not make that deal," Yerin said defiantly, still pointing her sword at Whitehall.

"Reinforcements are on the way," Whitehall said. "You don't have much time left. You may kill us all eventually. But Lindon over here," Whitehall pointed to Lindon with his thumb.

"Please don't leave me here to die," Lindon winced, begging Yerin.

After a moment, Yerin sheated her master's sword. "Bleed and bury me!" She cursed. "You better hope we never see each other again," she pointed at Whitehall with her finger. "Next time, I'll cut you."

Lindon immediately summoned his thousand-mile cloud and flew towards Yerin, hauling her up through sheer strength. "Forgiveness, Elder Whitehall!" he yelled, flying away as fast as possible. "She didn't mean it!" Yerin said something in protest, but she did not fight Lindon's hold. And soon, the thousand-mile cloud disappeared in the distance.

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Whitehall watched the entrance of the Ancestor's Tomb. The entrance had collapsed entirely, sealing the Sword Sage's body inside. Many of the School's Elders had hoped to find the Sage's treasures, believing he had brought them to his grave. Whitehall thought otherwise. Credible eyewitnesses mentioned that the Sword Sage carried no pack or chest as he entered the tomb. The Sage must have hidden it somewhere only the apprentice could find. Judging by the size of the pack Lindon was carrying, Whitehall reckoned he was right.

Whitehall cursed the Sword Sage silently. If only that man treated the people of Sacred Valley with more care and respect, then maybe he would not be dead and buried. All that is left for Whitehall is to do it the hard way.

Whitehall made his way to the guard hut, finding the jade he had saved awake and leaning against the entrance wall. She pressed her fists together and bowed.

"This one thanks the Elder for saving her," she thanked Whitehall.

Whitehall closed the door behind him and sat on the floor, his back resting on the door. "What's your name, disciple?"

"This one is called Nasiri Sadi," the disciple bowed.

Whitehall recognised that name. "You related to Elder Nasiri?"

"He's my brother," she answered, and an emotion Whitehall could not discern flashed across her face. "Was my brother," she corrected.

'Of course, she's related to that idiot of an elder.' "I'm sorry for your loss," Whitehall said.

Sadi looked nervous as if she had something she wanted to say or ask, but she did not dare. "Thank you, Elder," she said after a moment of silence.

Whitehall crossed his legs, sat down, and began cycling. He replayed the apprentice's advancement in his mind.

"Umm, Elder." Sadi started softly. "Did you kill the apprentice?" she asked, watching Whitehall's clean robes and comparing them to her tattered ones.

"No," Whitehall answered a matter of factly. "I let them go."

Sadi winced.

Whitehall opened his eyes. "You think it was cowardice?"

"I wouldn't dare to," Sadi began speaking but was cut off by Elder Whitehall.

"She killed every iron our school sent after her and bested two jade guards of the Ancestor's Tomb, including you. And a few moments ago, she had advanced to gold."

"Gold!?" Sadi exclaimed. "I wouldn't dare to question Elder's judgement, but surely Elder could be mistaken."

Now that she mentioned it, Whitehall resigned and began to laugh. He had gained so much new information today, so many new things he had witnessed, and so little time to process it. "I know what I saw, Nasiri. If only you could've seen it. She absorbed her master's remnant into her spirit and grew a sword arm."

Sadi said nothing, processing what the Elder had just said.

Whitehall, exhausted as he was, did not bother with formality. "I'll tell you something for free, Sadi. Outside Sacred Valley, gold is nothing. Even a child can be gold. We call those people barbarians, but they see us as insects. It makes sense now why the Sword Sage didn't care for us."

Nasiri did not like what she heard. Her whole life had been dedicated to her advancement, and now she was told that a child in the outside world easily achieves more than she ever had.

"What do we do now, Elder." She asked.

"We wait for the reinforcement from the School," Whitehall answered.

"That was not what I meant," she scoffed and regretted it immediately. "Apologies, this disciple had putten her words wrongly. This disciple wants to know ... "She was not sure how to put the right words together.

"I know what you mean, Nasiri Sadi. I have plans, of course," Whitehall said.

I , she noticed he used. This meant Elder Whitehall had no interest in involving the school. "May I know what your plan is?"

Whitehall eyed her. "And why would you want to know that?"

Sadi clenched her fists. "The apprentice swatted me like a fly. She didn't need her sword to cut my staff in half."

"You want revenge?" Whitehall asked.

"No," Sadi shook her head. "I don't want to feel helpless. So if your plan involves advancing to gold, I want in."

Whitehall nodded. "I can respect that." He thought for a long while after, not saying anything. Hearing the movement of thousand-mile clouds coming closer in the distance, he made up his mind . "I would need you to swear on your soul. As a warning, we will be working behind everyone in Sacred Valley. The Elders here are too proud to ever agree with us."

She knew instantly what her answer would be, but she had to ask. "And if I don't swear on my soul?"

"Then either you swear on your soul to never reveal our discussion intentionally or unintentionally, or I'll kill you now." Whitehall shrugged.

"I'll swear anything you need me to," she said.

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Whitehall flew towards Heaven's Glory on his thousand-mile cloud, with Sadi flying beside him. Most of the reinforcements had remained behind at the Ancestor's Tomb to try and clean up the mess. And find whatever treasures they could find once the entrance was cleared , Whitehall was sure. Just as he was sure that the other Elders at the school were salivating with greed once they knew that the remnant was no longer a problem.

Two iron disciples greeted them when they landed.

"You," Whitehall pointed to the one on the left with a hammer on his badge. "Take Sadi to the Medicine Hall, and tell Elder Rahm she gets to pick any treasure she wants from the treasure hall."

"Yes, Elder Whitehall," the disciple joined her fists and bowed.

Whitehall was about to ask the other disciple why they had not left immediately but paused when he noticed their expression.

"What is it?" He asked the iron.

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Whitehall stepped into what remained of the Lesser Treasure Hall, noticing broken glass and blood splatters in the now-empty hall.

Bastard stole everything

Chapter Text

Whitehall sat in his office, hands on his face. He knew this day would be coming. The day when the poison would come, yet it had come so soon. And now he wished it would never come. He was so tempted to continue 'business as normal', but with everything that had happened, he could not bet on the future of Sacred Valley on a foundation sacred artist and the apprentice of a sage.

He looked at the two spherical constructs on his desk, his hands trembling. "Time to go back to war," he muttered. He tried reaching for the orbs, but his hand trembled as he got closer. Cycling his madra to calm himself, he reached out for it.

Someone knocked on his door before he could reach it. "Who is it?" He asked.

"It's me," Sadi answered.

"Come in then."

Sadi entered Whitehall's office, shutting the door behind her. Whitehall activated the privacy scripts in his office, making it almost impossible for anyone to spy on their conversation. Sadi raised an eye.

"The walls talk," Whitehall shrugged.

"Can you imagine the scandal that could cause?" Sadi smirked.

"Hah!" Whitehall laughed for the first time in a while. "You with an eight-year-old elder?"

Sadi took a seat across the desk and pointed at the two constructs. "What's that?"

"Took you long enough to get fully healed," Whitehall said. "How long has it been? Two, three months?" He asked.

"Four," Sadi said, raising four fingers.

"Well, then. I guess now would be a good time to tell you about what will happen."

"Go on," Sadi remarked. "I've been waiting for long enough."

Whitehall shrugged. "Remember the disciple that was with the Sword Sage's apprentice?"

"The Unsouled?"

"Yes, him. His name is Wei Shi Lindon. He told me he was visited by a messenger from the heavens, who showed him the future. In thirty years, we will be under attack by a dreadgod."

"Dreadgod?"

"Yeah. Remember those dreadbeasts that have shown up ever since the Sword Sage arrived?"

Sadi nodded.

"Imagine a bigger one, worse and larger than Mount Samara."

Sadi grimaced.

"Imagine one where even a thousand Sword Sage would not be able to defeat it, fighting together."

Sadi's expression worsened further. "And did Wei Shi Lindon tell you all this?"

"I didn't sense he was lying," Whitehall answered. "But our good old fox helped me fill in the blanks."

Sadi nodded; indeed, Elder Whisper was more trustworthy than some unsouled.

"So what now?" She asked.

"I've been thinking," Whitehall said. "And I need your opinion on this. What?" Whitehall asked when he saw Sadi giving him a strange look.

"Didn't expect you to want my opinion," Sadi explained.

"Hey, you've known me long enough to know I don't operate that way." Whitehall pointed a finger at her and narrowed his eyes.

"Fair enough," she replied, raising her hands in peace. "What do you need my opinion for?"

Whitehall crossed his arms. "Elder Whisper told me that in our current state, we might be able to reach gold after about two or three decades outside Sacred Valley. And only if we spend every second of our lives dedicating ourselves to advancement."

"Outside Sacred Valley?"

Whitehall shrugged, "Fox said we needed to leave to reach gold. He didn't elaborate on why. But it makes sense, considering Lindon said he needed to leave." Whitehall waved his hand. "Anyway, that's not the point."

"And the point is?" Sadi asked.

"The point is both Whisper and Lindon said that we needed to reach beyond gold if we ever dream of even peeling dead skin off of the dreadgod."

"So," Sadi said, clamping down her surprise. "There's a beyond gold, after all."

"Yes," Whitehall said, shaking his head. "And in our current state, we'll never reach beyond it even if the heavens dropped us a pill."

"And why is that? Isn't every child out there gold?"

Whitehall took a deep breath and exhaled. "Because our foundation is flawed and is working against us."

Sadi hung her head on the back of her chair, sighing. "Tell me we can fix it."

"We can," Whitehall said. "And this is where I'll need your opinion. We'll need to empty our spirit and shrink our cores forcefully." Whitehall paused. "Yes, it's exactly what you think. We'll need to start over our advancement from copper."

Sadi sighed. "You're a disgraced Elder for failing to defeat an apprentice, and I'm a disgraced Jade for failing to defeat an apprentice two to one. So obviously, no one will listen to us if we ask for help."

"Exactly," Whitehall snapped his fingers.

"So," Sadi continued. "When do we start?"

"As soon as possible, of course. But the question is, where should we do it?" Whitehall asked. "We could do it in Sacred Valley, where we will be relatively safe and could slowly advance back to Jade after one and a half decades. And get our names further dragged through the mud for returning to copper, of course," he added.

"Or?" Sadi asked.

"Or we leave Scared Valley in our current state, reset our advancement out there, risk ourselves being killed by an insect, and advance to gold in a quarter of that time."

"We do have thirty years," Sadi said.

"You do," Whitehall corrected her.

"What do you mean?"

Whitehall sighed, stood up, and faced the window. His back faced Sadi, and his hands clasped behind his back. "Whatever I did had cost me. You've heard the rumours," he stated. "I have a decade or even less before my body disintegrates. And that's me being optimistic."

"I feel like you already made a decision," Sadi said.

"No," Whitehall shook his head and turned to face Sadi. "You're my backup plan. If you want to stay in the valley and advance, I'll guide you to the best of my abilities and tell you everything I know from Elder Whisper. I'll make plans which I expect you to finish after I'm gone. If we leave in our current state, we will need to be extremely lucky, which is unlikely."

Sadi remained silent, thinking. "You saw how the Sword Sage treated us," she finally said. "To him, we were a waste of space. No one will come to our rescue. We can only rely on ourselves." Said clenched her fists. "We can't spend more than half of our time left to reach gold if we must go beyond it. I'm more inclined to leave now. We should gather everyone that can be trusted; I may know a few people."

Whitehall nodded. "I agree. However, there's no one else we can trust. Tell me someone who wouldn't rat us out to the other Elders on a whim."

Sadi grimaced. Greed. She knew it well; they would be ratted out when someone thought they could receive a reward. "You don't trust many people."

"Not when it comes to this," Whitehall said. "I told you because I respect your drive. Even then, I bound you with multiple soul oaths. You're already in too deep to back out now. I've been able to steal treasures now and then to speed up your recovery. But since we're about to go against the whole school. We might as well steal everything."

"Fine," Sadi agreed. "Give me a few hours to gather my things, then we can leave."

Whitehall raised a hand. "Not now," he said. "All four schools are currently still on high alert. If we're going to do this, we'll need to prepare carefully. This," he gestured towards the two orbs on his desk, "Will absorb all our madra and empty our core. After we reset to copper, we must immediately refill our madra to fend off whatever dangers lurk out there."

Sadi eyed the orbs, noticing Whitehall's grimace when he spoke. She knew the orbs would not be pleasant.

"We'll need to set traps and create a route to escape, not to mention getting everyone used to seeing us together without raising suspicions." Whitehall pulled out a map.

It could have been a better map, but it is detailed enough. It showed mainly Sacred Valley but with a few islands outside of it. She never knew they were this close to water.

"I got this from the few merchants who occasionally trade with us. Cost me more than a year's stipend, but it'll be worth it.

Sadi eyed the map. "We should go out through here, placing a finger west of Sacred Valley. I know the forest well. I can set the traps and clear our escape route."

"Good," Whitehall. "Hoping you would say that."

"You knew where I was going to point? She asked skeptically.

"Oh no," Whitehall said, smiling. "Believe it or not, I never really explored Sacred Valley."

—————————

Whitehall entered the Elder Whisper's room.

"It's been a while," Elder Whisper said. "It has been two months since your last visit. Can't say I don't enjoy the company."

"Forgiveness, Elder Whisper," Whitehall pressed his fists together and bowed. "I've been busy."

"Children these days," Elder Whisper mused. "Only come looking for the old when they need something."

Whitehall placed the bucket of fish in front of Elder Whisper before retreating to allow the fox to eat.

"Tell me, child," a second Elder Whisper spoke from his side. "What knowledge do you wish to know?" Elder Whisper smiled. "Not that it seems you need much of my help as of late."

"We're leaving soon," Whitehall told the fox. "Just wanted to tell you," He smirked. "Not that I needed to tell you."

Elder Whisper laughed, which came out as a bark.

"I came here for your blessings," Whitehall said. "And to ask if you wish to come with us."

The main Elder Whisper stopped eating and turned to watch the valley below in sadness. "My place is here, Whitehall. My bonded entrusted this place to me; thus, I must remain."

Whitehall had expected the rejection, yet he still wanted to ask anyway.

"But you do have my blessings." Elder Whisper said and saw that it meant a lot to Whitehall.

"Thank you," Whitehall said, bowing low. Very low.

"I hope we meet again, Sinar," Elder Whisper said.

Whitehall bowed once again and left.

—————————

Sadi crept out of her room in the middle of the night, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. She wore her standard outer robes, hiding the armour she and Whitehall had stolen underneath. A few other disciples spotted her, but none batted an eye. She had often been going to Whitehall's chambers in the night this past year. At first, some people were suspicious, and she was questioned by Elders who saw her sneaking out. But now, no one bothered to ask her.

After all, she was a Jade, and Whitehall was an Elder. The rumours started to irk her, but their plans had borne fruit. No one questioned where she was going or her plans for the night. She did not knock on Whitehall's door; instead, she used her madra on the handle, automatically unlocking the door for her.

"Got everything?" she whispered as she entered.

Whitehall was arranging the most essential treasures for their journey. Sadi unfolded the cloth she had been holding. Since last year, she had gathered several robes, sowing them to make a makeshift backpack. A very large backpack.

Whitehall has a slightly smaller bag pack, which he begins filling with the treasures they have stolen so far . She began attaching the clips to the giant backpack and activating the scripts to strengthen it.

"Didn't expect you would come up with the idea to steal everything for ourselves. Not with all your charity missions," she remarked.

"Tried to help when I can," Whitehall shrugged. "Gotta take a page out of the original run-aways though." He had long since admitted that maybe that bastard had a point.

Having completed his mental checklist, Whitehall placed the smaller backpack on his back. "Ready?" He asked.

"I've been waiting long enough," Sadi answered.

"Let's go."

—————————

They walked together, Whitehall leading the way and Sadi following from behind. A few disciples saw them and bowed to Elder Whitehall as they passed. They reached the lesser treasure hall. Whitehall knocked on the door.  

"The treasure hall is closed!" He heard Elder Rahm yell.

They had not expected anyone to be inside this late, but they had planned for it.

"It's me, Elder Whitehall."

"Heh?" Elder Rahm said beyond the door, scrambling to unlock it. "Elder Whitehall, what brings you here this late at night?" Elder Rahm said as he opened the door.

"We have something for you, Elder Rahm."

Elder Rahm eyed the two. "It looks like you're about to rob me with the bags you're carrying."

Whitehall chuckled. "Oh, come on, Rahm."

Elder Rahm began chuckling, too. "Come inside already," the old Elder said, moving out of the way.

Whitehall and Sadi entered the treasure hall. "We developed a pill for you, Rahm." Whitehall gestured towards Sadi. "It was my apprentice's genius." He then gestured at Elder Rahm's missing arm. "Took a while to work, but we can bring back your arm."

Sadi pulled a pill from her pocket and tossed it to Elder Rahm, who caught it with his remaining left hand. "It'll take a while to grow back, maybe a couple of months to a year," Sadi said.

Elder Rahm looked at the pill, conflicted. "I... You've done more than enough for me, Whitehall. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't even be here." The older Elder rolled the pill on his palm. "I can't accept this."

Whitehall smiled. He had always liked Elder Rahm. The older man was rough around the edges but always did his job to the best of his abilities.

"Please, Elder Rahm. The School should've treated you better for your decades of service."

Elder Rahm sighed. "Over the past year, I have finally accepted that I'll never have my arm back. Now," he held the pill up, " you gave me this."

He tossed the pill back at Sadi. "My pride can't accept it."

Sadi frowned. This was not going to plan.

"How about an exchange then," Whitehall suggested. He could work with this. "How would that sound?"

Elder Rahm frowned. "As long as you don't give me a mockery of an exchange."

"Don't worry. I am requesting something of you that is slightly dangerous and will probably anger the other Elders. How does that sound?"

Elder Rahm smiled. "Perfect. What do you need?"

"Lindon's family," Whitehall said. "I want you to protect them while I'm gone. Free them if you have to."

"And why would I want to help the family of the Unsouled that did this to me?" Elder Rahm pointed to his missing arm.

"Because they had nothing to do with it. You know it. I know it. And you're getting your arm back," Whitehall said sternly.

Elder Rahm sighed. "Fine, I'll keep them safe. And that's only because you're the one that asked." He turned to Sadi. "And what about you, apprentice? What do you want?"

Sadi had not expected it. "Me?" She asked.

"Your master said it was your genius that made this pill. I won't accept it without giving you something in return." Elder Rahm crossed his arm and stump.

Sadi thought about it and had an idea. "My brother's knives. I would like to have it."

Elder Rahm nodded, went to the archway separating the lesser treasure hall from another, and placed a hand on the wall. He grabbed a Jade token similar to the wooden ones used for the lesser treasure hall and tossed it to Sadi. "I've disabled the scripts for the greater treasure hall. The token will ensure the defence construct recognises you."

Sadi pressed her fists together and bowed. "This one thanks the Elder."

Elder Rahm looked uneasy when she thanked him. "The Karambits are towards the back. Just be careful there. It's the greatest of our treasure halls."

Sadi left the two Elders and went through the archway, passing by another treasure hall on the way to the second archway where the greater treasure hall was.

"You should take it now," Whitehall said, bringing Elder Rahm's attention away from Sadi. "The pill," Whitehall tossed it back to Elder Rahm. "The first time you take it may cause instability in your spirit. It's better that I'm here while you take it if anything goes sideways."

"And where will you go?" Elder Rahm asked. "Now that I mentioned it, you said you'd be gone."

"Secluded training," Whitehall said. "Ever since last year's festival, I've been rethinking my advancement."

Rahm smiled fondly. "And here I wondered if your drive from advancement had disappeared. Can't say I missed it."

"It had for a while," Whitehall answered. "But I realise now that I need it more than ever."

"I hope you succeed, my friend." Elder Rahm said.

"You really should take it now," Whitehall suggested. They were running on schedule.

"Fine, fine," Elder Rahm said, looking at the black pill once before closing his eyes and swallowing it.

Whitehall approached Elder Rahm, placing a purple pill on top of a glass display case of one of the treasures. "Take this when you wake up. The pill will rejuvenate your madra and vitality."

Elder Rahm looked at Whitehall, confused. "Whaaaddd?" he tried to ask, but his voice came out slurry. His legs collapsed underneath him, and Whitehall caught him.

"I'm sorry, Rahm, but I'll have to beat you up." Whitehall winced. "Just a little. And don't forget about Lindon's family, yeah."

Elder Rahm tried to say something, but his eyes slowly closed, and he fell asleep. Whitehall placed Elder Rahm gently on the wooden floor and went to follow after Sadi.

Sadi was busy filling the large pack with all kinds of treasures she could find. Whitehall noticed a pair of knives were attached to the back of her hips. "That was smart," Whitehall said. "Did you know the knives would be in the greater treasure hall?"

"Of course," Sadi replied, continuing to fill her pack. "I asked for it after my brother passed. It was a family heirloom."

Whitehall bit back his tongue. "Sorry again for your loss. I can only imagine what losing a brother would be like."

Sadi sighed, not expecting the topic to come up now. They would be living together for the foreseeable future and probably be dead in the next few hours. 'Eh, why not?' she thought.

"I know you publicly called him an idiot," Sadi said. "You called all the Elders, who wanted to go after the disciple, an idiot."

Whitehall cringed. "I mean... She was innocent."

"I agreed with you, for the record," Sadi said. "But greed got the better of my brother."

Whitehall sighed. "For what it's worth. I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

"I know," Sadi nodded. "I know what you did for many of the people of Sacred Valley." She paused her work and turned to face Whitehall. "And some of those people you helped were close to me," she smiled. "For what it's worth, I trust you."

Whitehall smiled. "Thank you."

—————————

They slowly crept out of the treasure hall. Whitehall had checked on Elder Rahm one final time to ensure that the pill was working and did not cause any long-term problems. Elder Rahm was bruised and battered, but other than that, he was fine. The night was still dark as they moved through the shadows of buildings and trees. Once they reached the mountain cliff, they activated their thousand-mile clouds and flew down under the cover of the trees.

"That went surprisingly smooth," Whitehall commented.

"Don't-," Sadi said but was immediately cut off by a roar behind them. "Say that," she finished.

They looked back and saw a shadow growing larger and larger. "This way!" Sadi yelled, pushing her thousand-mile cloud forward and leading the way.

The shadow was gaining on them, and not interested in finding out what beast it was, Sadi threw several scripted papers into the air behind them. The paper touched several trees with scripts she had etched in the last few months. The trees burst in an explosion of madra. The burst of light revealed a twisted-looking bear with a jaw expanding like a snake.

"Keep throwing it!" Whitehall yelled.

Sadi kept throwing the scripted papers behind her as she swerved through the preplanned route with Whitehall on her tail. She was running out of madra fast as she pushed her cloud faster. "I need madra!" She called out.

"Take it," Whitehall threw a pill right in her path.

Sadi caught the pill with her teeth and swallowed, cycling the injection of madra through her spirit. Suddenly, she heard another roar behind her, followed by complete silence. The roar was not one of intimidation but sounded like fear.

She was about to ask Whitehall when he flew forward next to her with a finger on his mouth. She understood what he meant. Stay silent . She nodded. They moved through the trees quietly. Finally reaching the end of the mountain range and through the forest, they went out to a beach. Sadi turned back to see the mountain and Samara's ring glowing above it. It looked beautiful.

Sadi felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Whitehall pointing. A giant sword was stuck on a mountain in the middle of the beach. Whitehall silently pointed in a direction, and she nodded and followed. They stepped off their thousand-mile cloud under the cover of trees at the threshold of the beach and forest.

"Who can wield such a thing?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know," Whitehall replied, staring at the giant sword. "But I wouldn't want to find out."

"I feel like we eventually will if we're going to make it beyond gold," she muttered.

"It'll be a good weapon to fight the dreadgod," Whitehall said as he set up their tent.

"How'd you kill the bear-snake?" She asked.

Whitehall shivered. "I didn't."

"If it wasn't you, then who did?" She asked; chills ran down her spine from what predators they had just passed through.

"In the dark forest, the hunters must be careful," Whitehall said, looking deep into the forest. "For in the dark forest are other hunters like them. If they find another hunter, there is only one thing to do. Eliminate them."

"Stop doing that," Sadi hissed.

"Stop what?" Whitehall asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Monologing and freaking me out," Sadi said.

"Oh," Whitehall said. "I just mean there's a lot of predators in the forest. If one is found, no one knows if they're friendly. Therefore, the best case for them is to eliminate it and find out later."

Sadi shook her head. "Yeah, I get it."

Chapter Text

Whitehall woke up to a feeling of dread. Every fibre of his body screamed danger. He tried to get up but found an invisible pressure pressing down on him. Whatever it was, they needed to run. He opened his eyes and found Sadi staring back at him, her eyes wide with fear.

The pressure came and left every other second. One second, they could breathe, and the next, the air was stuck in their lungs. After a while, Whitehall and Sadi gained a read on the rhythm of the pressure, and with great effort, they both managed to shift towards a sitting position.

It came in flashes, but they saw a red light high up in the middle of the ocean shooting through the air. The next was an earth-shattering roar of a beast. A serpent rose through the water, blasting a blue breath across the sky before promptly stopping. An invisible force then smashed the serpent down back into the ocean.

Then, the two felt it, too. As if the heavens had sent them an order and their will would be followed. "Down." Then, both of them were pushed back down into their mattress. Whitehall could not breathe, and he soon went unconscious.

—————————

Sadi woke up to the sound of music, which confused her. She gripped the knives on her back, and she saw Whitehall, also awake, looking through the entryway of their tent in suspicion.

They slowly approached the tent's entrance, the soft melody of ringing metals getting louder.

The music stopped. "Come out, you two; I mean you no harm," a rough voice called out. Whoever he was, his voice sounded more friendly than cruel. "That knife of yours would do you no good," the man said before continuing to play his music.

Sadi and Whitehall turned to face each other. Sadi shrugged. "He could've easily killed us if he had wanted to," she whispered.

"I won't," the man called out to them.

Sadi shrugged and stepped out, followed by Whitehall. They both pressed their fists and greeted the man. "This one is honoured to meet you," they both said.

The man was large and muscled, with thick hair covering his bare upper body and a large, unkempt, greasy white beard. He sat on a log with a large handpan on his thighs. He eyed them weirdly. "You two look way too clean," he said.

"We only made it here last night," Whitehall said, bowing.

"When they said there were interesting people out here, I didn't expect the two of you." The man said, more to himself than to Whitehall or Sadi. Whitehall felt a sharp pain run through his body and winced. Judging by Sadi's expression, he reckoned she felt it, too. "Really didn't expect the two of you."

"We were honoured to have watched bits of your battle last night," Sadi said, bowing.

The man turned his attention to his handpan and started tapping the metal surface. "That wasn't me," he said.

Whitehall and Sadi looked at each other, unsure what to say without causing a hint of disrespect.

"You two are lucky my friend took an interest in you. You both were almost dead when I found you," the man said.

"Thank you for saving us, honoured one," Whitehall said.

"Beast King," the man said. "Everyone calls me the Beast King."

"This one, thank you, Beast King," Sadi said.

"This one, too," Whitehall said.

"Enough of that," The Beast King said. "Why are you both out here?"

"We descended from the mountain last night and were chased by a beast," Whitehall began.

The Beast King raised his hand. "I know where you came from." He pointed a thumb backwards towards the forest. "My friends already told me. I want to know why you are out here?"

'Friends?' Sadi thought. 'Could he be?' She looked to Whitehall, who she knew was also thinking the same thing. She signalled him to say something.

"Umm," Whitehall began. "Honored Beast King, your friend, another Heavenly Messenger, told us that a dreadgod is coming for us. We were told we must leave our valley and advance so that we may return to save it."

The Beast King stopped playing his instrument and turned to watch them with one long eyebrow raised. He first looked surprised, confused, thoughtful, then confused again. "And what did this heavenly messenger look like?" he finally asked.

"She was wearing white armour that moved like water," Whitehall answered, remembering what Lindon had told him.

The Beast King stretched his neck closer so that his face filled Whitehall's view. "And did this heavenly messenger tell you about this dreadgod?" Considering Whitehall was in an eight-year-old's body, The Beast King's brown nose was almost as big as Whitehall's face.

"No, honoured Beast King," Whitehall answered. "She told one of our disciples."

"And you believed him?" The Beast King asked, not moving an inch.

"I confirmed some of what she told him with one of our eldest members. A sacred beast we call Elder Whisper." Whitehall nervously answered.

The Beast King leaned back and nodded affirmatively. "Yes, a Sacred Beast can always be trusted. What animal is this Elder Whisper of yours?"

"A white fox," Whitehall said.

"Good," The Beast King nodded more eagerly. "Haven't met one of them in a while, but their intentions are usually true." Then, The Beast King stopped nodding and frowned. His face grimaced, and smoke started coming from his nose and ear. "STUPID ABIDAN! ALWAYS RUINING EVERYTHING!" The man pointed accusingly at the sky. "IF THIS IS YOUR WAY OF RECRUITING, THEN YOU'LL NEED TO TRY HARDER!" Having finished his rant, he turned to his two guests. They were sprawled on the floor, covering their ears in pain.

The Beast King righted himself and coughed. "You two can get up now."

Whitehall and Sadi stood up, trying to hide the ringing pain in their ears.

"Come with me," the Beast King grumbled.

Whitehall and Sadi looked nervous. "Where are we going, honoured Beast King!?" Sadi asked.

The woman was yelling, but the Beast King did not blame her. His rant had damaged her ears.

The Beast King smiled. "Other Heralds and Sages always have apprentices. It's probably about time I got some." Then he waved his hand. "Eh, I sort of already have one. But he's a bit boring and depressing," He muttered. He clapped his hands, a bit too hard by the grimace of his two new apprentices. "Enough question, been away long enough already. Stupid dragons need to be reminded I'm still alive."

Whitehall and Sadi bowed. "We are grateful for your help, master," they both said.

"First rule," The Beast King barked, raising a finger. "None of this overly-respectful stuff."

The two stood straight up, arms on their side. "Yes, Master!"

The Beast King sighed in disappointment. He turned towards the forest and whistled. Two giant flying scared beasts birds descended from the sky, landing nearby.

"Dagon, Rota," the Beast King greeted the sacred beasts. "Meet," he paused and turned around to his new apprentices. "What, are your names again? I forgot to ask."

—————————

The Beast King strolled through his forest. It was not officially his, and he never claimed it. But he ruled here anyway. Having settled his two new apprentices, he made his way towards the patch of forest where he rarely visits.

"I saved your cripples!" He yelled at the trees above.

"We thank you for your help, Beast King." A Golden Bird descended and bowed.

"Yeah, yeah," The Beast King said calmly. "I owed you anyway."

"Friends don't owe each other," The Bird said.

"No, we don't," The Beast King said, smiling. She had protected him from the dragons, taking him in when he was a crippled boy. This was the least he could do. "They told me interesting things," he continued.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Were you aware the Abidan went down and greeted them personally?"

"No," the bird said slowly.

"I thought that was why you asked me to save them."

"Our divination showed us that they will play an essential role in the future. Some small, some large, but of critical importance."

"They said the Abidan told them a dreadgod is coming for their valley."

"Then we'll need them for the fight to come. I don't know why. But I am sure of this," The Bird stated.

"Their Elder seemed to agree. Their Elder Whisper, a white fox, gave them his blessings."

"Whisper," The Bird said fondly. "I have not heard that name in centuries."

"A friend of yours?" The Beast King asked. "They said he still resides in the cursed valley."

"He would be, wouldn't he," the bird nodded. "Honouring his bonded sacred artist's wishes even centuries after her death."

The Beast King took a seat on a log. "I feel this is the start of a story."

"Not today, child." The ancient golden bird said. "It's an old, long tale. One that I wish not to divulge."

"That's too bad," he replied, lying on the log and placing a grass blade on his mouth. "I took them in, by the way."

"You'll make the Dawnwing train them?" The bird asked curiously.

"Nah, not Zeal?" He snorted. "He'll make them depressed just by talking."

She gave him a curious look.

"I'm feeling of giving them a bit more personal touch," he mused. "That way, at least, they'll gain something with their depression."

"Good, good," the golden bird said. "Bring them to me when they're ready." Then, she flew away.

"Yes, Master," he muttered respectfully.

—————————

"So," The Beast King said, holding a round construct. "You two made this to empty your cores and reset your spirit to copper?"

"Yes, master," Sadi said.

"And who thought this was a good idea?" The Beast King asked.

Whitehall gulped. "I did."

The Beast King nodded in amusement. "Not bad. Not bad. But too easy!" He yelled, but not loud enough to hurt his pair of cripples.

"I'll reset you both, don't worry," The Beast King continued. "I'll set you right." He pointed at Whitehall. "But first, Whitehall. What's wrong with you?"

Whitehall gulped. "I tried to find a way to prevent ageing. So that I'll have more time to advance. To reach gold," He said shamefully.

The Beast King snorted. "Even that snake over there is low gold," he pointed to a purple snake on a tree. "The only reason it's not attacking you is because I'm here. You're a foolish little man." The Beast King shook his head disapprovingly.

Whitehall squirmed.

The Beast King sighed. Maybe he was being too hard on them. 'Wasn't he also just a cripple when the sacred beasts took him in?' "Lucky for both of you, I am more Sacred Beasts than human. We don't leave our young to face the wild alone when they're not ready."

The two apprentices nodded, relieved.

"But," The Beast King pointed out. "We abandon those sick or have a high chance of not surviving. Which, the case for both of you, are the ones that show no drive."

The two apprentices nodded more furiously this time.

"Good," The Beast King said. "Now, show me what you can do." He took a few steps backwards, his arms wide.

The two apprentices looked at him, confused.

"Are we meant to attack you, master?" Sadi asked.

"Obviously," The Beast King snorted. The apprentices looked at him, still unsure. "HURRY UP, OR I'LL START STRIKING!" He yelled, this time loud enough to hurt them.

A light beam shot at The Beast King, who took it straight onto his chest. It did nothing to him. An arrow of light came immediately after and struck the same place. Again, it did nothing.

"Enough," The Beast King said. "You both use a light path, yet you use it as if you're on a flame path. Light arrows? Really?" He asked his apprentices disappointedly. "A copper dragon's breath would at least tickle me, but this?" He gestured. "I felt it less than if a fly landed on my hair."

The two apprentices looked down to the ground. Nervously? Embarrassed? Angry maybe? He really should spend more time with humans. Other than Zeal, of course, that man is more one-dimensional than an ant.

"Did your previous master never teach you anything?" The Beast King asked.

"No," Sadi answered. "They would set us on a path and leave us to develop our own way of fighting."

"They value their techniques a lot," Whitehall added.

The Beast King looked at his apprentice, baffled. "You've got to be kidding me. You're an Elder, aren't you? Surely you don't think the same way." He pointed at the smaller apprentice.

"No, master. I mean, yes, I was an Elder, but I didn't share the same mindset as the others. I received some pushback from the other Elders, so I had to do things more subtly. More slowly," Whitehall replied.

The Beast King sighed, which produced a gust of wind around him. "Might as well start you both on a clean slate. Come on then, let's empty those cores."

Whitehall shuffled his feet. "Master?"

"What is it?"

"Is it possible to change one's madra aspect?" Whitehall asked, which surprised both Sadi and The Beast King.

"You want to change your path?" The Beast King asked curiously.

"Yes," Whitehall replied. "Recent events have made me think of things differently."

"There are ways," The Beast King started. "But it'll cost you your advancement. Few sacred artists would want to restart decades or even centuries of hard work." Then, the Beast King smiled. "But you're restarting anyway. Oh, this would be interesting." He rubbed his palms together in excitement. "I always wanted to witness this."

That made Whitehall very nervous.

"What path were you thinking of?" The Beast King asked, still excited.

"Poison," Whitehall replied.

"Oh, that's perfect," The Beast King muttered. "What better way to take down a foe stronger than you."

Whitehall nodded in approval.

"What about you?" The Beast King asked Sadi. "Still sticking to light?"

Sadi nodded. "I quite like the light," she said.

The Beast King rubbed his hands even more furiously, getting increasingly excited as the gears turned in his head. He started cackling. "You two will be a menace of a duo when I'm done with you."

Chapter Text

"Keep firing!" The Beast King ordered his apprentices. The two apprentices were draining whatever madra they had left onto an ancient tree. The tree absorbs light madra, using it as sustenance to grow. So it was a win-win situation.

The Beast King's two apprentices were bloody and beaten, and their bones fractured everywhere. He needed their bodies near broken, but not their minds. They will need it soon. So, instead, he had put them to work hunting some minor sacred beasts. Well, minor for a herald. He had a True Gold crow watch over them quietly while he went to hunt some dragons.

After a week, he returned to see his two projec-, apprentices. His apprentices. He returned to see his two apprentices finally looking like a sacred artist of the wasteland. Bloody, bruised, and with clothes no better than rags. He could not be happier.

Should've got me some actual apprentices sooner, he thought. No wonder other sages and heralds love to do this so much.

"I know you still have some madra in there!" The Beast King yelled. "Do you two want to stay a cripple!?" He yelled again.

"No, Master, No!" They yelled in unison.

"Then keep firing!"

"Yes, Master!" They yelled again in unison.

He did not know when they started speaking to him like this during training, but he was okay with it. He enjoyed it a bit, to be told.

"My mother can do better than that! AND SHE'S DEAD!" He hated that woman.

"Yes, Master!"

Their cores were emptying rapidly, and The Beast King was amazed by the rate at which they kept firing. Most sacred artists would have dropped at this point. He should give his apprentices more credit and thank the golden bird for sending him to them.

Once he sensed that the two had barely a drop left in their cores, he exerted his will to stop them. Their arms remained extended in a shooting motion, but their firing stopped. "Sit," he ordered them. They dropped like a sack of rice.

He lifted the round construct using wind aura and placed it before his apprentices. "Use it now."

Too tired and drained to argue or even feel afraid, they activated it, and the orb showed a white light. As soon as they touched the construct, they twisted in pain and screamed.

"Focus," The Beast King ordered. "You have to be empty any madra remaining, or you'll be crippled forever and die within the next few months." It was not precisely accurate, but he felt they needed the motivation.

As he expected, neither of them removed their hand, no matter how loudly they screamed. He had improved the construct they made, making it more stable and to stop once their cores were empty automatically. Whitehall's condition meant that he needed to advance fast; his decline in advancement would eat his lifeline even quicker.

That brought his thoughts towards Sadi. She was afraid, always afraid of being incompetent. She thought it was her weakness. He will make her realise it was her strength.

The construct shut off, the white light dying. The two were sprawled on the ground, but the Beast King's will forced them to remain conscious. He took two starlotuses that he had taken from their pack, which he had confiscated when he sent them after the dreadbeasts.

"Swallow," he ordered, placing the fruit against their lips using wind aura. "Cycle like how I taught you two. Your cores are as empty as they could be. Absolutely no madra resides in them. So the starlotus will fill it with pure madra."

"Good," he said, feeling his apprentices fill with pure madra and cycling it properly. He waited until their cores were full. "Now squeeze your core. Do not stop pressing until I tell you to stop."

"Keep squeezing!"

"Do not stop!"

"Keep going!"

"Press harder!"

On and on he went, and his apprentices' bodies shuddered and snapped. He pressed them harder.

"Squeeze, damn you! Do you want to reach beyond gold or not?"

He felt them squeeze even harder until their cores were the size of the tip of a sharp grass. Then, they both immediately passed out.

The Beast King stood over his unconscious apprentices, a proud master.

—————————

Sadi woke up to a loud trumpet screaming into her ears. She yelled in surprise and scrambled back, reaching for her knives.

"Oh, hi there. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that," a Sacred Beast said.

She was an elephant, a baby elephant.

"Hi," Sadi greeted, smiling.

"Sorry for trumpeting in your ear. You weren't waking up. And I've been waiting here for a long time," The Elephant chided.

"No worries," Sadi replied. "My name is Sadi."

"I'm Ellie," the elephant replied, holding her head high.

Sadi just stared at Ellie, who kept her head high—not saying anything. There was an awkward silence.

"Nice to meet you, Ellie," Sida finally said.

"Nice to meet you too," Ellie said smugly. "So, what'd you think?"

"Think?" Sadi asked.

"About me," Ellie answered. "Aren't I majestic?"

"Oh," Sadi remarked. "Yes, you are very pretty."

Ellie ran in circles, her tail waggling. "I like you."

"Thanks," Sadi said awkwardly. "How long was I out?"

"Five minutes," Ellie replied.

"Really?"

"Exactly," Ellie replied. "You're lucky I was here to wake you up."

Sadi had not slept in days ever since she was thrown to face the dreadbeasts. "Thank you," She said.

"My pleasure," Ellie replied pridefully. "Oh, I almost forgot," Ellie jumped, which in turn caused Sadi to jump. "The Beast King wanted me to help you prepare your Iron body."

"Iron body?" She asked.

"Yes. You humans are soft; you'll need your iron body to help you survive."

"I see." She had questions but was still determining if Ellie might be the right source to answer her answers. "Out of curiosity, what's your advancement, Ellie?"

"I'm low gold," Ellie replied. "But we sacred beast don't tend to advance as fast. Advancing in a hurry is usually for you humans. I'm only twenty."

Sadi cringed, thanking the heavens for having shown respect to the elephant. And did Ellie say she was twenty? They were almost the same age. And the elephant had called her advancement slow.

"Speaking of," Ellie continued. "Are you sure you're not a sacred beast? You seem to advance at the pace of one."

"I'm sure," Sadi said.

"Half a sacred beast?"

"Nope," Sadi crossed her arms in an X.

Ellie eyed her suspiciously.

"About this iron body?" Sadi asked.

"Ah, yes. I almost forgot. The Beast King wanted you to sunbathe on the highest tree."

"Sunbathe?"

"Yep."

—————————

Whitehall had no idea how he ended up here, his leg tied to a tree branch on top of a hole full of an unknown boiling liquid with multiple colours and a tiny yellow lizard sitting on his nose.

"You're awake," the lizard hissed, sticking a tongue out.

"Hello?"

"Mocha," the lizard replied. "My name is Mocha."

"Hello, Mocha," he pressed his fists together, bowing awkwardly. "This one is called Whitehall."

The lizard stuck out its tongue.

"Where am I?" Whitehall asked after realising Mocha was not going to talk.

"You're interesting," Mocha said. "Why is your lifeline so short?"

"I did some experiments on myself that backfired," Whitehall admitted.

"Unsurprising," Mocha stuck his tongue out. "Humans always rush their advancement."

"Um, yeah?"

"No wonder the Beast King told me to get your iron body as quickly as possible. You'll die in a few weeks if you don't advance," Mocha snorted.

"Wait. What?" Whitehall said in surprise.

"Down there is the venom of every Sacred Beasts of the wasteland. Don't forget to cycle them, or you'll die."

"Wait, hold on."

"Oh, yeah, almost forgot. You'll need the poison in your blood, too." Mocha bared her fangs, sending sword aura to create cuts all over Whitehall's tiny body.

Whitehall grimaced at the pain from the cuts.

"And he said something like medicine is just another type of poison and that the dose of poison makes the medicine."

"Wait, say that again."

"Good luck," Mocha said before jumping off Whitehall's nose and baring his fangs mid-air. Sword aura cut through the rope on Whitehall's leg. "Don't forget to cycle the venom aura." Mocha extended its limbs, revealing connected skins which he used to glide away.

—————————

Sadi lay on the leaves of an emergent, as naked as the day she was born. When she first saw the tree from below, she dreaded the climb. Ellie simply wrapped Sadi with her trunk and jumped. Ellie had told Sadi that she must show as much skin as possible, considering the torn robes turned rags she was previously wearing. It was not much of a difference.

"Ellie?" Sadi asked.

"Yeah?" Ellie replied from a bundle of leaves below Sadi.

"How long must I stay like this?"

"As long as possible," Ellie replied. "The longer you stay, the better your body will be."

"What do I need to do while I'm up here?"

"Cycle, I guess. Oh, and you must turn your body every day."

"What about at night?"

"Continue, of course."

"And food?"

Ellie trumpeted proudly. "I scouted the trees previously. There should be plenty of fruits there."

Sadi looked around, finding many purple fruits she had not seen before growing around her. She took a bite of one. It was horrible—bitter with the texture of a thick liquid. "Thanks," she said to Ellie.

"You're Welcome!"

—————————

Whitehall's body burned. He started screaming the moment he fell into the pool of venom. He stopped yelling once his stomach started burning, too, due to the venom he had swallowed.

But pain was a familiar feeling to him. It was something he could handle. Medicine was just another type of poison, and medicine was just another dose of poison. 'I get it now,' he thought.

—————————

Sadi's skin was peeling and covered in blisters, and the sun's rays continued to beat down on her. She looked at her fingers. They were red, covered with dead skin and large blisters. She thought the cold of night would soothe her, but she was very wrong. The nights up here were freezing, and she could not move, her muscles frozen.

She did not know how long she had been up here, but she burned during the day and froze at night. She would remain still, cycling the light aura that shone above her. Weirdly, the light aura soothed her. Cooling the heat and burning the cold.

As she ate, she got used to the taste of the fruit. It was bland now, no longer bitter. And even a hint of sweetness.

—————————

Whitehall did not know how long he had lost consciousness in that pool, for the next thing he knew, it was the voice of his master.

"Cycle, Whitehall. Focus!" The Beast King's voice growled.

A surge of Madra rushed through him, and he cycled it through his thousands of madra channels. He tried screaming in pain, but his screams came out as a gargle. He continued to push the madra around his body, but his core kept filling with more and more. His core threatened to burst.

"Once your core bursts, you must fill it to every madra channel you have." His master said, and Whitehall felt a hand on his belly. "Nod, if you understand."

Whitehall nodded once, focusing on keeping his madra cycling.

"Here we go," The Beast King said.

Whitehall felt the fingers on his belly twisted, and his core broke. He felt the madra bursting out like a broken dam. He focused his cycling, pushing all the madra he had to fill every single madra channel he had. But there was too much madra, and the venom madra began carving new channels in his body.

"Focus the excess towards every single part of your body," His master said. "Direct it. It's your madra, you need to force it."

Whitehall focused on the excess madra, starting from his insides, his organs, his bones, and then his muscles, and then his skin. More and more channels were being burned into his body until there was no more space, and then it started leaking out of him. Then Whitehall noticed the madra he had inside his veins began to harden, fusing into a more solid form. His cycling became easier and easier, and when he checked his core, he found it to be slightly larger than previously and much more condensed with poison.

"Congrats," The Beast King said. "You're an iron again."

Whitehall opened his eyes and saw his master standing over him, smiling. The Beast King was covered in dried blood and wet black goo.

"Can you stand?" The Beast King asked.

Whitehall tried to stand and instead jumped a few metres off the ground.

The Beast King laughed. "Must be good to finally have a perfect iron body, heh?"

Whitehall looked at his hands and clenched and unclenched them.

"Iron?" He asked.

"Yeap," The Beast King replied. "Now you see what you were missing?"

"Yes," Whitehall muttered. His cycling was much smoother, and he felt like a jade instead of an iron.

"Iron body E6254," The Beast King said.

"What?" Whitehall asked.

"Iron body E6254, that's what the Monarch who created it called your iron body. But since you made it to such an extreme version, I guess it's not exactly it."

Whitehall was still so stunned by his current advancement that he found himself speechless.

"Godkiller," The Beast King said. "Since you're going after dreadgods with it. Might as well call it Godkiller." The Beast King smiled, seemingly satisfied with the name.

Whitehall pressed his fists together and bowed. "Disciple thanks his master."

"None of that," The Beast King said. "I can't spend too much time here, but I'll give you the gist of your Godkiller iron body. You have more madra channels than almost everyone alive, which will work against you currently but will do you good in the future. For now, it'll help you release your madra externally. But if you get cut, you'll start leaking madra rapidly until the wound is shut." The Beast King placed his hand on Whitehall's head. "So don't get cut," he said firmly.

Whitehall nodded. "Yes, Master."

"Good," The Beast King nodded and turned, positioning himself to jump.

"Master," Whitehall called out, and the Beast King paused. "Are you going to help Sadi now?"

"No," The Beast King said. "There are rumblings nearby that I have to deal with. Her iron body is not ready, but a friend will care for her." The Beast King left with a giant leap.

—————————

"Cycle, child." Sadi heard someone say to her sweetly.

Sadi felt sharp claws pierce deep into her stomach; the pain was both physical and spiritual. She twisted in pain, but the grip on her stomach was strong. She tried to open her eyes, but the burned skin on her eyelids had fused. She felt the claws pierce deep into her core, and light madra rushed into her.

"For this to work, child. You must cycle." The voice said again more urgently.

Sadi complied; the voice sounded as if they wanted to help. She focused on cycling, moving the madra through her channels, but her core was bursting with madra and would not stop anytime soon.

"Push it to your skin," the voice ordered. "But do not let it out."

Pushing her already overflowing madra to her skin was easy; the difficult one was preventing it from leaking. She held her madra, blocking as much as possible from escaping her pores.

"It's settling," the voice said. "Now you must suck them back into your core. Do it now." The claws twisted the other way, and she felt her cores shrink rapidly.

The pain redoubled, and Sadi screamed. She focused her cycling, pulling back the madra underneath her skin and in her channels into her core. Her now tiny core, unable to hold the madra, cracked and burst. Light Madra flooded her body. Her cycling came easier, her breathing lighter.

She opened her eyes, her eyelids no longer shut. She realised she was still on the emergent. The sun was beating down on her, but her body did not burn. She checked for wounds on her stomach and found none. Above her, she saw a giant golden sacred beast bird hovering. Golden rays shot out of its back in an arc, and golden wings wrapped around the bird's front.

"How do you feel?" The bird asked her.

Sadi checked her body and spirit quickly, finding nothing wrong. "I'm fine," she said.

"Good," the bird exhaled. "It worked."

"My iron body?" Sadi asked.

"Yes. Your Solarshroud iron body."

"I'm iron?" Sadi had to make sure.

"Yes." The bird answered.

Sadi clenched and unclenched her hands, and a familiar black liquid covered her.

"It feels different," Sadi muttered. "I'm stronger than before." Almost like when I was a Jade, she did not say.

"Your master had to reset your advancement if you and your companion are to advance far. You have advanced from foundation to iron in just over two weeks." The bird said.

'So fast,' Sadi thought. We're their teachings in Sacred Valley that flawed? "Foundation?" Sadi asked. "Forgiveness," she immediately pressed her fist and bowed. "This one is called Nasiri Sadi."

The bird nodded knowingly. "My name is Sunda. And we must go." The bird started flying away. "Follow."

Sadi was not sure how to follow. Screw it, she decided. She jumped, aiming for the nearest emergent patch. She overshot and reached the one after. Sadi looked back at where she came from, noticing the distance she had just covered. She could get used to this.

Sunda kept flying, and Sadi followed. Sadi was sure the bird was purposely flying slowly so that she could catch up.

After flying for some time, the bird dove down. Sadi followed, jumping from one branch to a lower one. As she reached the ground, she stood by the side of a hill. Thousands of Sacred Beasts were nearby, some small but most huge. Sadi saw Sunda entering a nearby cave and followed her. Inside, she found a vast underground cave system full of sacred beasts.

Ellie came up, running out of one of the tunnels, "Sadi, you made it!" The baby elephant yelled, her tale waggling side to side.

Sadi waved at Ellie. "Where are we?"

"A sanctuary," Sunda answered. "Come, follow me."

Sadi followed Sunda, who led her through several passageways until they reached an empty, dark room.

"You shall cycle here," Sunda said as Sadi entered the room.

"But there's no light," Sadi replied. "There's only darkness."

"It's not about light or darkness," Sunda answered. "It's about finding the light in the darkness."

Sadi stood in the middle of the room, looking around and seeing only recently carved rocks.

"This is the Path of the Solar Dusk."

Sadi turned to face Sunda, only to find the bird closing the cave entrance with a large round stone.

"Find the light in the darkness and advance to Jade, dear child, for this dark world will not wait for you."

The room went completely black.

Chapter Text

"Medicine is just another type of poison, and the dose of poison makes the medicine," Whitehall muttered, alone in the part of a cave with plants with multicoloured leaves covering the surface. The room was teeming with life aura.

Once the Beast King had left, Mocha had fallen from the trees and landed on his head. The lizard had led him into the cave and told him to keep cycling until he reached Jade. When Whitehall protested due to only having life madra present, Mocha just stuck a tongue out and leapt out of the room. The lizard activated the scripts as he left, which formed a barrier that locked Whitehall in.

Whitehall tried deactivating the scripts, but his madra was too weak and did nothing. He reckoned it was designed only to be deactivated by someone with a Jade or above advancement. Now, he sat alone, trying to cycle the life aura into his venom-madra-filled core. He was failing miserably.

'If medicine is just another dose of poison, then maybe a different dose of life aura can make poison,' Whitehall thought. He tried cycling in the life aura in small amounts, increasing it over time. At first, his spirit rejected the life aura, ejecting it out of his body. As he increased the amount of life aura he took in, however, the aura began to poison him, looking to heal him, and when nothing else could be healed, it started harming him instead.

Whitehall seized the minuscule levels of venom aura from the overwhelming life aura. Although it was working, it felt… inefficient . His madra channels burned in pain as he channelled life madra through it. Whitehall stopped before he could cause any permanent damage to himself.

He needed something else: a new perspective. He closed his eyes and sat. He was not cycling but instead thinking. After a while, his eyes snapped open. Could it be?

Medicine was a cure for a symptom, and poison was just another dose of medicine. Whitehall focused on the life aura and absorbed it into his spirit. This time, however, he imagined a medicine to cure people from the burden of life—a medicine meant to cure someone from being healthy—a medicine to remove the symptoms of living—the perfect poison.

He urged the life aura as he absorbed the madra and twisted it with his will. He commanded the life aura, ordering it so that its goal was to heal the burden of life. And it worked. The madra flowed through his channels freely as he understood that healing and poisoning were the same. A pill that can advance a sacred artist straight to jade from copper can also halt their advancement. Every medicine has its side effects.

An elixir for eternal youth eating on your lifeline .

Whitehall paused his cycling as he felt something wet and sticky climb onto his shoulder.  

"About time you figured it out."

Whitehall looked down onto his shoulder to see a sacred beast talking to him. It was a snail, an average-looking snail.

"This one is honoured-"Whitehall started saying before the snail cut him off.

"I almost got tired of waiting and was about to explain it to you directly."

"Why didn't you just-"

"Meh," the snail snorted. "You're not too bad for a human child."

"I'm not a chil-"

"Alright then, see you later," the snail leapt off and crawled away—a very slow crawl.

Whitehall just sat there, unsure what to do as the snail crawled ever so slowly.

"Excuse me-"

"Atterist," the snail said, not letting Whitehall finish his question.

"What?"

"Your path. The path of the Atterist." The snail continued to crawl, not bothering to look back.

That's good to know, Whitehall thought. It did not have the most scary-sounding name, but at least it was not a mouthful.

"Thank you," Whitehall said.

"I know what you're thinking," the snail said. "Fine, name it whatever you want."

"Wait, that wasn't-"

"I come travelling all this way to teach a human the fundamentals of my kind's path, and all he does is talk trash about our path's name."

"But I didn't-"

"You know our core teachings already!" The snail yelled. "That was the deal we struck with the Beast King. No way I'm spending any extra second with an ungrateful human."

Whitehall pressed his fists together and bowed. "This one is grateful for your-"

The snail suddenly disappeared in a flash, leaving echoes of its final words. "Goodbye!"

Sadi sat in the darkness. She eyed the whole room, looking for any spec of light. She thought she saw a speck and rushed to absorb the madra. There was nothing.

She reckoned if she lit a fire, it might work. Does fire even release light, madra? She wondered. Having run out of ideas, she decided to give it a try. Except, she had nothing to light a fire with. All she had was a torn Heaven's Glory robe that was more rags than clothes.

She yelled to the darkness in frustration, closing her eyes. Sadi breathed deeply, exhaled, relaxed her muscles, and fell backwards. She lay on the soft earth. Sleep will help, she was sure. "Goodnight," she said to no one in particular.

As Sadi drifted away slowly, she began to see colours. She could not identify exactly what the colours were, as they seemed to disappear before she could focus on them. She opened her eyes and saw mostly darkness. But now and then, she saw the light of different colours that disappeared as soon as she tried to focus on them. She could not even be sure what colours she was seeing.

Sadi sat up in a cycling position. Her face was grim in concentration, but she soon relaxed and began to smile slowly.

Sunda stood outside the sanctuary that she had made. There was a reason why the Beast King had asked for this place to be made for the weaker sacred beasts to hide. Sunda reckoned he would not have done so if it had not been for the presence of his two new apprentices.

Nonetheless, a great danger was coming. It may not be after them. But it did not need to in order to inflict great harm. Not many things could scare the ancient bird, but this was one of them.

"Get ready!" She yelled.

Nearly a thousand Highgold and higher sacred beasts came to attention. Large mammals, reptiles, birds, and even the smallest bugs have gathered here. Their species do not matter; if they are advanced enough, they are strong enough. Some began to cycle their madra, while some prepared their techniques.

A dreadgod was coming.

The sky turned red, and the Sacred Beasts of the Wastelands braced for battle.

The Beast King hovered above the Wastelands. He watched Akura Malic engaging the Bleeding Phoenix in the Blackflame Empire. Their battle destroyed mountains, and the Phoenix was driving the Monarch back. However, there was a method in the way that Akura Malice fought. She was not winning, sure, but The Beast King would not call in losing either. She was redirecting the dreadgod.

"Chicken's going to come this way, isn't it?" Hissed the Komodo sacred beasts herald floating on a thousand-mile cloud.

"Yes," The Beast King replied unhappily. He almost snarled but held himself back.

"Three Heralds versus the bleeding pheonix," replied another herald sacred beast, this time a tiny horned beetle. "That is not good odds."

The three stayed silent, watching the ongoing battle of Akura Malice and the Bleeding Phoenix.

"Will Northstrider come to our aid?" The Komodo asked.

"No," The Beast King replied.

The horned beetle sighed. "What's the plan then?"

"I say we give the dragons a present," The Beast King answered.

The Komodo hissed enthusiastically, "Oh, that would be fun."

"The dragons would retaliate," the horned beetle replied. "Malice wouldn't be happy. She would be weakened just from this fight."

"Even better. That'll teach everyone that we are not some fodder to throw their problems at," The Komodo said.

"Agreed," The Beast King nodded.

"Then so be it," the Horned Beetle reluctantly agreed. "But I'm leaving once my life is in danger."

Malice fired a large arrow of shadow with authority that nearly warped the space between her and the Phoenix. The arrow found its mark, straight on the Phoenix's chest. Blood madra dispersed from its chest, and the Phoenix screeched. Realising its prey could bite back, the Phoenix turned away and left the Blackflame Empire.

Straight towards the Wastelands. The three Heralds, who were waiting for it, unveiled their spirits. Malice snapped her head towards the jungles of the Wasteland. 'Interesting,' she thought before disappearing into her shadows and reappearing at Moongrave to nurse her wounds.

Sadi did not know what had happened. She was cycling the light madra in the dark when the round stone covering the entrance to the room was suddenly yanked away.

"We must go now!" A black crow entered and wrapped its claws around Sadi's shoulders before flying out of the room with great speed.

"Where are we going?" she asked. In the cave, there were many movements of Sacred Beasts, and to her surprise, injured ones were being transported in to be treated. "What's happening?" she asked.

"The Beast King and a few others are holding it back far away," the crow began as it dropped Sadi in the middle of a line of Sacred Beasts. "The stronger ones among us are holding the bloodspawns from entering, but more and more are getting wounded."

The crow pointed its beak towards where most of the injured were being treated. She saw Whitehall among the ones treating the Sacred Beasts. He looked slightly older now.

"Who are we fighting against?" Sadi tried to ask.

"They won't last forever," the crow continued, ignoring Sadi's question. "We'll need to go deeper. All light artists will lead the way deeper into the cave systems." It pointed in another direction where sacred beasts were gathering.

Whitehall's madra channels were burning. His iron body should have prevented it, but the strain he placed on them caught up. He was healing the minor wounds, using smaller doses of venom aura to accelerate the natural regeneration of the injured sacred beasts.

Whitehall had long since run out of madra and was now carrying injured from the entrance to their makeshift emergency hospital. Every time he went close to the entrance, every part of his body shivered and screamed 'fear.' He was unsure what they were fighting out there, but whatever it was, it had injured hundreds of Truegolds and Highgolds.

Whitehall saw a glimpse beyond the cave through a small crack in the entrance. The battle was fierce, as Sacred Beasts clashed with other beasts made entirely of what looked to be blood. But what caught his attention was the colour of the sky. He felt his stomach twisted in revulsion, disgust, and fear. The sky was blood red.

The Beast King smiled a bloody grin. The Phoenix was fleeing from the Wastelands, the blue sky slowly replacing the red as the dreadgod went further and further. His beard had burned off his face, revealing a hairless face for the first time in half a century. It would grow back in a few hours.

"Worth it," the Komodo hissed. She was missing a tail, and numerous scratches and wounds covered her body.

"We were lucky," the beetle said, now missing a quarter of its horn. "It was weakened from its fight against Malice."

The Beast King stayed quiet; his smile grew as he watched the direction the Bleeding Phoenix was fleeing towards.

Seshethkunaaz, the Monarch of the Dragons, felt a disturbance in fate as he sat on his throne. He was in the throne room of his massive Qasr, decorated by gold ornaments and the skulls of his enemies. He activated his divination technique, Sands of Time, and his eyes widened. Previously, only the structure of the Akura symbol was being shredded by the Bleeding Phoenix. Now, however, a symbol with the image of a dragon joined the Akura's. The Bleeding Phoenix clawed through them both.

He felt the Bleeding Phoenix approach his territory mere seconds before screams of alarm and panic of dragons blasted throughout his empire. The Phoenix was on its way, and it was coming fast. Sand swallowed his childlike body; he entered through the Way and appeared far above his empire.

He unveiled his spirit, unleashing it to its fullest. Hundreds of lower Sacred Artists probably died due to the sudden pressure of an unveiled Monarch spirit, but what he did worked. He felt the Phoenix's attention snapped to him. Seshethkunaaz summoned the sand from the desert, which spun around him, forming a sand vortex. The vortex grew larger and larger until it rivalled the size of the Phoenix.

A part of him hoped that the Phoenix would find them not worth the energy and flee. The Phoenix's spirit was battered and wounded, but the bird screeched in defiance. It was going to be a fight, after all.

Seshethkunaaz sent a mental message to Xhorus and Yuushi; they were to evacuate the area around him immediately and lead the battle against the dreadbeasts and bloodspawns in the distance, lest they will make the situation worse. He was going into a fight with a dreadgod, a battle where his precision would be crucial. Or risk the Phoenix calling his brothers.

Among the Monarchs in Cradle, Emriss Silentborn was the oldest, and when it comes to reading and manipulating fate and the future- she was a step above the others.

She had never been so surprised when her eyes, which had shown her the same branches of the possible futures every time, suddenly showed her different iterations—new iterations. It is as if that branches of the future had been shrouded, and only now have it taken place were it being exposed to the Way.

What she saw in the new branches of fate terrified her. They were very similar to what she had seen in the older branches; only when she paid close attention did she see slight differences. Her eyes did not show anything beyond that. However, Emriss knew that the changes may be small for now, but the consequences could be catastrophic.

Iteration requested. Asylum

Date? Request Rejected

Report Complete

Malin leaned against a weathered wooden post, his bare feet sinking into the warm sand as he watched the merchant ships glide into the harbour. The vessels were grand, their sails billowing like clouds against the endless blue sky. He waited, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh, as the merchants and sailors began to disembark, their voices carrying over the salty breeze.

The newcomers were unlike anyone Malin had ever seen. They wore clothes of such fine fabric that they seemed to shimmer in the sunlight—thin, white tunics that draped loosely over their frames and billowing trousers that swayed with every step. Perfect for the relentless tropical heat, their attire was a stark contrast to Malin's own. He glanced down at himself: shirtless, his skin bronzed by the sun, and clad only in a pair of oversized shorts, hand-me-downs from the village elders. The fabric was frayed at the edges, and the waistband hung low on his narrow hips.

"Sweet bread, good sirs!" Malin called out, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. He straightened his posture, trying to appear taller and more confident.

A man nearby turned to face him. He was tall, with hair that seemed to shift from brown to a fiery copper under the glare of the sun. His long leather jacket, the colour of rich mahogany, reached down to his calves, and his boots were caked with the dust of distant lands. His gaze was stern at first, but as his eyes fell on Malin—on his bare chest and ill-fitting shorts—his expression softened.

"How much for the bread, kid?" the man asked, his voice deep but not unkind.

Malin hesitated, then held up three fingers, suddenly self-conscious under the man's scrutiny.

"Calder, we need to go!" a woman's voice called from farther down the dock. Malin's eyes flicked toward her, catching the glint of emerald earrings that swayed as she moved. They were the colour of the sea at dawn, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

"Alright, alright," Calder muttered. He dug into his pocket, pulled out three coins, and tossed them to Malin. "Don't spend them all at once, kid," he said with a faint smile before turning to join the woman. He didn't even take the bread.

Malin stared at the coins in his palm, then at Calder's retreating figure. "Wait!" he called, but the man was already swallowed by the crowd. Malin's fingers closed around the coins, their edges cool and unfamiliar against his skin. He held one up to the light, squinting at its strange markings and the odd, metallic sheen. It was unlike any coin he'd ever seen—foreign, just like the man who had given it to him.

For a moment, Malin stood still, the bustle of the harbour fading around him. He wondered where Calder had come from, what far-off lands had shaped him, and whether he'd ever see him again. The coins felt heavy in his hand, not just with their worth but with the promise of something more—something beyond the horizon.

The day had been surprisingly busy, and Malin had sold every last piece of bread before the sun dipped below the horizon. By the time he reached home, the sky was deep indigo, dotted with the first glimmers of stars. The village was quiet; the only sounds were the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of palm leaves in the evening breeze.

"Mom, I'm home," Malin called as he pushed open the creaky door to their small house. The familiar scent of wood smoke and dried herbs greeted him, a comforting reminder of the life they had built together.

"Oh, you're early today," his mother said, looking up from her seat by the fire pit in the centre of the room. An empty pot sat atop the flames, waiting to be filled. Her hands, rough from years of work, rested in her lap. "I was just about to start making dinner."

"There were quite a few new ships at the harbour today," Malin replied, his voice tinged with excitement as he knelt by the corner of the room. He pulled out their worn coin jar, its clay surface chipped and faded, and began carefully depositing the day's earnings. The clink of copper coins filled the small space, a sound that usually brought a sense of pride. But today, Malin paused, holding up the foreign coin Calder had given him. "One of them gave me this," he said, handing it to his mother.

His mother took the coin, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it over in the firelight. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed unable to speak. "Who gave you this?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"One of the foreign sailors," Malin replied, his brow furrowing with worry. "Is it fake?"

"No, Malin," his mother murmured, her voice filled with awe. "It's gold."

Malin's breath caught in his throat. Gold. He had only ever heard stories of such wealth—tales told by the village elders of faraway lands where the streets were paved with riches. He had never imagined holding a piece of it in his hands, let alone owning it.

"Oh gods," his mother gasped, clutching the coin tightly. She began to mutter prayers under her breath, her words a rapid stream of gratitude and reverence. Malin followed suit, his voice joining hers in the familiar rhythms of their faith. But even as he prayed, his mind raced with possibilities.

One day, he thought, his heart swelling with determination. One day, I'll become a merchant. I'll travel to those far-off lands, and I'll provide for us. No more empty pots, no more worn clothes. Just a life of abundance for me and for her.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls of their humble home. For the first time in a long while, Malin felt a spark of hope—a tiny flame that burned brighter with each passing moment.

Chapter Text

"This way," Sadi led the sacred beasts through the cave. She did not know where she was going; her only instructions were to take the sacred beasts' deeper.' Ellie walked next to her; the baby elephant was shaking with fear.

"Are you okay, Ellie?" She asked, placing a hand on the elephant's back.

Ellie yelped in surprise, jolting several lowgold and jade sacred beasts behind them. "Sorry, sorry," Ellie muttered. "You just surprised me," she said.

"Apologies for startling you," Sadi said, keeping her eyes in front. "We're turning left," she said loudly, her voice reverberating through the tunnel.

"How are you able to see?" Ellie whispered. "It's pitch black."

Sadi could see that it was dark, but she could see nonetheless. She was not sure how to explain it. "I'm a light artist," she answered.

"That makes sense," Ellie replied.

Did it? Sadi wondered. Many elders in Heaven's Glory needed to manifest light when exploring the dark. Even she was not able to see in the dark until very recently.

"What attacked us?" Sadi asked and she saw Ellie shivered.

"The Bleeding Phoenix," Ellie whispered as if speaking a forbidden name. "A dreadgod."

Sadi shivered slightly as well. "How were we able to hold it off," she replied.

"No," Ellie replied. "That was only its bloodspawns. The Beast King and other Wasteland Heralds are facing the real thing."

"Can they kill it?" Sadi asked.

Ellie snorted. "As if. Have you heard about the dread war?"

"No," Sadi answered.

"Several Monarchs died the last time they tried to take down the dreadgods. The best we can hope for is to hold it back until it eventually leaves." Ellie inched closer to Sadi so that her belly touched the human's leg.

"Can they hold them off, then?" Sadi asked.

"Hopefully," Ellie replied, not sounding confident. "Last I heard, the Akura Monarch is helping. Even then, we won't know."

—————————

Whitehall walked lifelessly near the end of the line in the tunnel. His mind was empty, his legs only moving on instinct. Today, he had seen many deaths, but that was not what frightened him. What scared him was how the blood of the dead rose back up, not as remnants but as bloodspawns. And whenever a remnant rose, the bloodspawns devoured them.

He tried to help whoever he could, but his iron body was not attuned to life aura. He could cycle and use life madra, but his body was designed to poison. His core was empty, and his millions of channels required him to exert more madra than would be necessary.

He kept walking. He would endure it. He realised today how far they still had to go. One day, he would be stronger. Strong enough to kill dreadgods. Just not today.

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The Beast King lay on the bed that had been provided to him. It was filled with soft, dried leaves and cotton. His entire body was covered with scripted bandages. All that was left was to light a fire, and it would be a funeral.

"How's my apprentices?" He asked the only other person in the room.

"Uninjured," Ziel of the Wastelands, formerly of the Dawnwing sect, replied lazily.

"You know I am also including you," The Beast King snorted.

Ziel shrugged. "I'm not dead yet."

The Beast King sighed; that was the most he would probably get out of Ziel. "Are the two ready for advancement?"

"Yes," Ziel replied.

The Beast King had asked Ziel to prepare Sadi and Whitehall for advancement after the battle with the Phoenix. It seems they needed to move faster.

"What do you think of them?" The Beast King asked.

Ziel sighed. "Not much, to be honest. They follow my orders without questions and complete them to the best of their abilities. I don't like them. I reckon they'll dig themselves an early grave."

The Beast King snorted. "If it helps, they want the same thing as you do."

Ziel raised an eyebrow.

"To kill the dreadgods."

Ziel looked away dissapointedly. "That didn't help. Why take them in any way? They don't seem special. Do they have some bloodline abilities I don't know about?"

"I have no idea," The Beast King replied. "I was just doing a favour for an old friend, but I have in good conscience that they'll greatly benefit everyone." His old friend had never been wrong before; he still owed them a great deal even if they had.

"Everyone?" Ziel asked sceptically.

"Yes," The Beast King replied. "Everyone."

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Sadi walked tiredly into the room she shared with Whitehall, sitting on her mattress. Whitehall was by his desk, carved into the wall of their cave room.

"More lessons?" Whitehall asked Sadi. He turned to look at her. "You're drenched."

"Yeah," she answered. "Ziel wanted me to have lessons with this anglerfish. They live in total darkness in the deepest part of the waters."

"You left the cave?" Whitehall asked. "How's the situation outside?"

They had not been allowed to leave the cave in months and instead studied scrolls and scripts to learn more about their paths.

"I didn't leave," Sadi replied, drying her wet hair with a cylindrical heating construct. "Turns out the cave runs deep enough that there's an entrance to the ocean."

"And how was it?" Whitehall asked.

Sadi touched her face, removing some of the slime off of it.

"Yuck," she grimaced, wiping her hand on a towel. "Needed to put my head in a jellyfish so I could breathe. It was pretty cool, though," she continued. "The anglerfish have this special organ that allows them to produce light."

"Wouldn't that attract predators?" Whitehall asked, turning back to read his scroll.

"That's what they wanted me to learn," Sadi replied, undressing her wet clothes and drying them with the heating construct. "Apparently, the fish has a technique where they use invisible light to warn them of incoming animals."

"Then why would they need to produce their light if they can use invisible light?" Whitehall looked over his shoulder at her. Surprised to see her state of undress, he blushed and looked away.

"Oh, please," Sadi remarked. "Nothing either of us haven't seen before."

That was true, Whitehall thought. Sacred beasts were always naked, so he guessed there was not much in the name of privacy to them. Their toilet was a hole in the corner of their room, with a water construct to shower and flush. Their Master had laughed when he brought them to the room Whitehall and Sadi would share.

'When you are strong enough, then maybe you can have your own room,' The Beast King had snorted.

Whitehall and Sadi should count themselves lucky. Almost all the sacred beasts shared rooms with dozens of others in the cave.

"I'm just surprised," Whitehall muttered. "That's all."

"Whatever," Said sighed. "And to answer your question, the anglerfish can't see in the dark. And their technique only warns them when a predator is moving fast. Maybe at higher levels of advancement, they can."

"Interesting," Whitehall uttered. "I can see the benefits."

"What about you?" Sadi asked. "What are you learning?"

Whitehall slumped. "Biology," he said tiredly. "Who knew that poison artist needed to study about organs and diseases this much."

"Sounds like a healer's study," Sadi uttered.

"Apparently, it's more," Whitehall complained. "Most healers will just need to channel life aura to speed the natural healing process." He pointed to the pile of scrolls and recording constructs by the wall. "For me, though, I need to know everything. And considering how different animals have their unique biology. Well…"

Sadi snorted. "I thought I had it bad. I wish they'd allow us to spar or train." She began to put on her dried robes.

They were told not to train or do anything that would tax their madra channels to prepare their spirit for Jade. Neither knew this when they advanced to Jade in Sacred Valley. For them, it was always fight and advance.

"Same," Whitehall concurred. "If only the other elders could see our preparations for Jade," he said sarcastically.

Sadi chuckled. "They would insult us to death."

Her laugh brought a smile to Whitehall's face. Months of fear of another attack and frustration had not been easy for them both. Moments of jokes were rare.

"Thanks," Sadi said, still half laughing. "I needed that."

The door of their room, a large circular rock, slid open, revealing Ellie. Sadi sighed inwardly at Sacred Beasts' lack of privacy and knocking, but she would not make a fuss about such a benign thing.

"Hey guys," the baby elephant trumpeted. "The Beast King asked me to tell you he wants to see you both."

"Thanks, Ellie," Sadi said to the elephant. "We'll be there soon." Sadi grabbed a bunch of tied-up seaweed from her pouch and tossed it to Ellie, who caught them with her trunk.

"Oooooh," Ellie salivated, bringing the seaweed close to her eyes. "That smells good. Thanks, Sadi."

Sadi pressed her fists together and bowed, she was sure Whitehall was doing the same. "Thank you for delivering the message."

Ellie sighed. "You guys should stop doing that. It's bizarre. Look at me; how am I supposed to bow like that? Can you imagine the chaos among the Sacred Beasts if we have to bow like that, too?"

"Apologies," Sadi said, continuing to bow.

"I tried," Ellie sighed again. "Anyways," she trumpeted joyfully again. "Thanks for the snack."

Sadi and Whitehall waited for Ellie to leave before straightening their backs. They looked at each other.

"Master have not called for us in months," Whitehall said.

Sadi shrugged. "Guess we'll find out why. Have you been wondering why he took us in?" she asked.

Whitehall nodded.

"Saving us was enough, but giving us an iron body and training us personally is a bit much," She added.

"It is," Whitehall said. "The benefits have been evident to us. But I don't know how to ask him without causing any possible offence."

"That's true," Said agreed, exhaling audibly. "Let's just go and see what he wants."

—————————

Whitehall and Sadi bowed with their fists pressed together to their Master. The Beast King had long given up on getting them to stop bowing every time they saw him.

Whitehall's body shivered as he felt the Beast King sensing his spirit. He felt Sadi also shivering slightly next to him.

"Good," The Beast King said.

He was no longer covered in bandages as they had last met. He was back to his full strength. His demeanour had changed, however. Ever since the attack of the Bleeding Phoenix, The Beast King had looked and sounded more serious.

"You two are ready," The Beast King said. "Show me your cycling technique."

They both breathed in the pattern that they had been taught.

Satisfied, their Master told them to stop. "Use this," he held a hand, revealing two identical parasite rings.

They both wore the ring and immediately felt it harder to breathe, as if a great weight had pressed down on their lungs.

"I want you both to go in your cycling rooms and cycle with the ring on. And make sure to keep your perception out," The Beast King ordered.

"Master, is this what I think it is?" Sadi asked the question that Whitehall had also wanted to ask.

For the first time, The Beast King grinned. "Yes. You both are advancing to Jade."

—————————

The Beast King sat at the opening of a vast root, entwined with the ancient life force of the thousand-year-old Menhua tree. Its gnarled, silver-barked tendrils reached skyward, whispering stories of centuries past. Sunlight filtered through its emerald canopy, casting dappled patterns across the ground where sacred beasts and offspring gathered in sombre silence.

"You should not have fought," he muttered, his voice cracking.

His words felt small—like a child throwing a tantrum. He clenched the earth beneath him, knuckles white, feeling the pulse of life deep within the roots. This place had the strongest concentration of life aura in The Wasteland. Yet it was not enough.

In front of him lay Sunda, the once-majestic golden bird now faded and frail. The ethereal glow of his feathers dimmed like a sunset retreating beneath a storm cloud. Around them, sacred beasts on the path of life stood solemn, their eyes reflecting the weight of an impending loss.

"Come here, King," Sunda's voice broke through the air, warm and commanding, yet softer than the Beast King had ever heard. Only Sunda ever called him by that name. It was not the title the world knew but the name of a promise, an identity forged in his despair.

He approached, each step feeling heavier, each moment stretched out in a painful eternity. His mind wandered to the night they met fondly.

Broken, battered, and exiled, he was left alone in the wasteland to die. Instead, Sunda had found him, nursed him back to health, and taught him the way of the wastelands.

"What is your name?" Sunda had asked back then, sitting by the boy's makeshift bed inside a hollowed cave. Her golden feathers glowed softly in the dim light, filling the darkness with her warm light.

"Umm," the young boy hesitated, looking at the majestic bird with awe.

"You may choose any name you want," the golden bird suggested gently. Her voice was soothing, like a lullaby in his unending nightmares.

"Anything?" he had whispered, eyes wide with wonder.

"Anything," she assured him.

The young boy beamed then, hope igniting in his chest. "King!"

Sunda had laughed. Her laugh rumbled like a distant thunder, yet gentle and comforting. "A bold choice."

Now, the Beast King knelt beside Sunda. Her golden feathers, once a blazing sun in the wastelands, were now like autumn leaves, fragile and dimming. The bird reached out, a wing gently brushing the Beast King's cheek.

"You've grown so much," the bird whispered. "I am so proud of the beast you have become."

The Beast King could not help but shed a tear for his master- his parent in all sense but species. He would allow himself to shed a tear for her.

"Did you know?" he choked. "Did you see this day coming? Did you know you would die?"

Sunda's eyes softened. "We are never meant to stay in this world forever, my dear," the bird replied gently.

"I can call for Northstrider," The Beast King insisted desperately. "He will help if I do him a favour."

Sunda's expression hardened, and she looked up at the sky. "Never trust the current Monarchs. They poison us for their selfishness," the bird hissed with a ferocity that he had only seen once. "I would rather die a thousand times before I reveal myself to them."

"I can't let you die," The Beast King clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "Not like this. Not from some bloodspawn."

"That's where you're wrong, my dear," the bird said, closing her eyes in serenitiy. "I still have my remnant," she tried to joke.

The Beast King snorted. He closed his eyes, too, feeling the fading warmth of Sunda's golden feathers. Memories washed over him. He remembered their lessons, the laughter, and the battles they fought.

"How are your apprentices?" Sunda's voice brought him back to the present.

"They're currently advancing to Jade," King answered. The realisation hit him, and he looked at his master wide-eyed. "You can't mean-"

The ancient bird nodded, a knowing smile on her beak. "Let the girl absorb my remnant; we were always meant to be together."

"You knew? That was why you sent me to save them," the Beast King muttered, the pieces falling into place.

"Fate has always been fickle," the bird explained. "But this eventuality was set in stone the moment I was born in Cradle."

"It doesn't have to be like this. You could bond with her instead."

"Don't be sad, my dear," The bird brushed the Herald's unkempt hair. "I will never die."

"And the boy?" The Beast King muttered.

"I would like to see him first once he advanced. I would like to talk to him."

----------

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"No! I won't allow it!" Malin's mother's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the stillness of their small home.

Malin, now thirteen, stood his ground, his heart pounding. This was the first time he had dared to voice his dream aloud—to become a merchant, to sail the seas, to see the world beyond their village. But his mother's reaction was fiercer than he had anticipated.

"But why?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and confusion.

His mother's face twisted with emotion, her eyes wide with fear—almost terror. "Because," she began, her voice breaking. She hesitated as if the words were too heavy to speak. Tears spilt down her cheeks, glistening in the dim light of the fire. "Because... your father."

Malin froze. This was the first time his mother had ever spoken of his father. All he had ever been told was that the man had abandoned them when Malin was just two years old. The rest had been shrouded in silence, a mystery Malin had long stopped asking about.

His mother's expression shifted, her sorrow giving way to a simmering rage. "He said the same thing—that he wanted to travel, to become a merchant. And he never came back!" Her voice rose, raw and trembling. She jabbed a finger at her chest. "I took care of you! I raised you! I skipped sleep every night to make sure you had food to eat! I sacrificed everything for you!" Her voice cracked, and her face fell, the anger draining away to reveal a deep, aching sadness. "And now you want to leave me too."

Malin's heart ached at her words. He stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "I won't leave you, Mom. I know how much you've sacrificed for me. I won't leave you."

His mother's sobs grew louder, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate fear—the fear of being left alone, of losing the one person she had poured her life into. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and Malin rushed into them, holding her tightly.

They stood there, mother and son, clinging to each other as the fire crackled softly in the background. Malin could feel her trembling, her tears dampening his shoulder. At that moment, he felt the weight of her sacrifices, her fears, and her love. And though his dream still burned within him, he knew he could never abandon her—not after everything she had endured.

"My son," she began, her voice trembling as a single tear traced a path down her weathered cheek. "I only ask one thing of you. Once you've made your fortune, once you've prospered... please don't forget about your mom. I'll always be here, waiting for you."

Malin had never brought up his dream again after that first time. But she had seen it in his eyes—the way he gazed longingly at the ships that docked at their village harbour, their sails billowing like promises of adventure. She had noticed the envy in his expression as he watched the sailors and the other village boys board those ships, their laughter carrying over the waves as they set off for distant lands.

With a heavy heart, she unlocked the small wooden basket where they kept their meagre savings. From it, she pulled a worn envelope, its edges frayed from years of being tucked away. "This is some money I've saved for you," she said, pressing it into his hands. Her fingers lingered for a moment as if reluctant to let go.

Malin looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. His mother managed a faint smile, though her lips trembled. "I've cried many nights, wishing you would want to stay," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But deep down, I always knew this day would come."

Tears welled up in Malin's eyes, spilling over as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "Mom," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I..."

"It's okay, Malin," she interrupted gently, her hand stroking his back. She hadn't realized when it had happened, but her son had grown taller than her, his shoulders broader, his frame stronger. "You're an adult now. It's time for you to find your own path." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "A merchant ship at the harbour has agreed to take you on. The pay isn't much, but it's a start."

Malin pulled back, his tear-streaked face a mix of confusion and hope. "How?" he asked.

"One of their crew is an old friend," his mother replied simply, her smile bittersweet.

Malin took a step back, his face breaking into a wide, radiant grin. It was the smile of someone who could see the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

"Just don't forget about me," she said softly, her voice cracking. "Come visit me whenever you can. That's all I ask."

Malin placed his hands on his hips, his confidence shining through. "Don't worry, Mom! I'll come back as often as I can. Once I succeed, I'll take us out of this place. We'll have the biggest home in the village, and we'll even open a shop to sell our sweet bread!"

His smile was so full of hope, so full of determination, that it made her heart ache. She had never doubted he would succeed. She had always believed in him.

But now, fifteen years later, she cried herself to sleep every night, her pillow damp with tears. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence a constant reminder of his absence. She had let him go, believing it was the right thing to do. But as the years stretched on with no word, no visit, no sign of him, regret gnawed at her heart. She had given him her blessing, but she hadn't prepared herself for the possibility that he might never return.

Chapter Text

Sadi sat with her legs crossed in a cycling position, cycling the light madra in the dark cave. She was sure that was what Sunda meant by finding the light in the darkness. When Sadi focused on expanding her perception, she could feel the light madra that was invisible from her eyes. It was everywhere, so difficult to find yet so plentiful.

The parasite ring slowed the cycling of her madra, and she had to exert more strength and focus. But she was getting used to it.

"Keep cycling," A stranger's voice drawled.

She was about to open her eyes to greet the man, but he continued.

"No," he said, as if he knew what Sadi was about to do. "Keep cycling."

She obeyed. Sweat trickled down her head as she continued to struggle.

"Perception out," the man guided her.

She tried to extend her perception further, feeling the madra outside her room.

"Not like that. Imagine you're using your eyes," the man yawned. "See without your eyes."

Sadi thought she was already doing that, but she guessed she was wrong based on what the man said. So she tried to do what he had suggested. Instead of trying to feel the madra through her perception, she decided to see.

The light aura around her blinded her eyes. The sudden illumination caused her to fall back, breaking her cycling. She covered her eyes with her hands. The light was too bright to the point it hurt.

"You're a light artist. Control it," the man suggested lazily.

Sadi focused her madra and manipulated the light aura around her. The light aura lessened, and soon, she saw only a faint grey instead of blinding white. She opened her eyes and felt that they were moist. She felt her core and was almost blinded again. She had gone through something similar during her previous advancement. But this time was different. It was more intense, more painful.

"Jade," the man muttered a single word.

She turned to see the man behind her. He had shaggy black hair shorter than The Beast King's. But what caught her attention was the two green horns protruding from his forehead.

She pressed her fists together and bowed. "This one is named Nasiri Sadi. And this one thanks the Elder for his guidance."

The man, leaning against the round stone door, gave her a lethargic gaze with his green eyes.

The man was not talking. Unsure what to do or say, she continued bowing. She heard the man shuffle his feet, and she looked up. He was stepping to the side, slowly, as if not to alert her. He sighed when he saw her noticing his movements.

"Ziel," he muttered. He pointed to his stomach, right above his core. "You want to test your sight?"

"May I?" Sadi asked in surprise. Using her Jade sight on someone with equal advancement back in Sacred Valley was rude, and she thought it would be the same out here.

The man shrugged and continued to look at her impassively. "Why not? Almost everyone had done so," he said nonchalantly.

She nodded and opened her perception. Her vision was clearer than before; she could see his core and madra channels in far more detail than her previous Jade sight. She cringed inwardly at the sight. His madra channels were twisted and maimed. But the power he still had was far beyond her current advancement.

"Good," the man said, flicking a finger at the stone door. Sadi saw a flash of green light, and the stone door was flung open. "I am going to help your boyfriend now."

Sadi did not respond. She was too caught up by what she had seen. The man was at least gold, and her perception told her he still had power beyond Ellie's advancement. He was beyond gold once upon a time. Then he had been mangled and crippled. She knew she would have died if someone had done it to her. She felt shivers crawl down her spine at the thought of going through the same experience.

Whitehall sat with his legs crossed in a pool of venom. He focused his entire mind on his cycling. The parasite ring made it difficult, and the venom would eat him alive if he faltered. He could feel the venom's desire to enter his skin; the only thing that prevented it was his control.

"Perception," the stranger muttered for the fifteenth time.

Whitehall gritted his teeth and tried to push his perception out. The venom bit into his pores, and he returned his focus to cycling. Whitehall's body shivered as he felt the man using his perception.

"I see now," the man sighed. "Trust the venom. That it will never hurt you."

Whitehall bit his lips and tried to extend his perception again. He felt blood in his mouth as his bite tightened. His skin burned as the venom devoured it.

"What kind of poison artist is afraid of their own poison?" the man asked sluggishly.

The venom burned, and Whitehall returned his focus to keeping it out of his channels. He waited for the man's voice again, but the man had stayed quiet. It seems the man had reached his limit.

Whitehall's mind whirled with inner conflict. He was fine with suicide missions, but this felt like just suicide. But was he not on a suicide mission already? Screw it , he thought to himself. I've died before .

He opened his perception fully and removed the defences he had maintained against the venom. They rushed inside him, devouring everything greedily.

"Keep your perception out," the man finally spoke again.

Whitehall screamed, extending his perception to the fullest and expecting the pain that would come. But there was no pain as if the venom wanted to help instead. The venom entered him and went through his madra channels, settling in his core. His perception widened, and he could feel the stranger's madra in front of him. Whitehall could feel the man's core and opened his eyes in shock.

The man stood leaning against a wall, his arms crossed on his chest.

Whitehall held himself back from asking. He pressed his fists and greeted the man instead. "This one thanks the Elder for his guidance. This one is called-"

The man immediately cut in. "I know your names," he muttered in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've seen to and observed your training," he continued, returning to his initial lazy way of speaking.

Whitehall opened his mouth, but the man answered before he could ask.

"You two were iron. Your perception was... not there yet."

Whitehall bowed. "This one thanks you, Elder."

"Ziel," the man replied. "Just Ziel."

Ziel was more advanced than Whitehall and deserved the honorific. But at the same time, he seems to be more annoyed by it than The Beast King. "This one thanks you, Ziel."

Ziel let out a long, audible sigh. "You two are perfect for each other," he shook his head.

Whitehall observed his Jade core. Where the previous time he was Jade, his core was a faint yellow light like a candle; this time, it was black. His core was reflective, almost like a concentrated sword aura. But his core bubbled and boiled with venom.

"Come on, then," Ziel's voice cut through Whitehall's self-observations. Someone wants to see you two." He flicked his finger to open the stone door. Whitehall's perception told him he used a technique with scripts.

"Master?" Whitehall asked, stepping out of the venom pool.

"He'll be there," Ziel said as he left the chamber.

Whitehall followed and saw Sadi sitting against the hallway wall near his cycling room, waiting for them. She was channelling light aura on the tip of her fingers and inspecting it closely. She stopped when she saw them exiting.

She gave Whitehall a questioning look, and he nodded in response. She returned the nod. They were both Jade again.

Ziel kept walking, and they jogged to catch up. He led them to the cave entrance and nodded to a bear sacred beast to open the giant stone door. Sadi and Whitehall looked at each other, delighted by the chance to finally leave the cave.

The sunlight caused Whitehall to look away. After spending months in the dim cave, his eyes had forgotten how bright it was outside. Sadi was not affected and smiled instead. Whitehall watched her eyes gleaming familiarly under the golden sun.

Ziel had not waited for them, leaving a trail of footprints in the dense forest. Whitehall grinned as he ran, weaving through the twisted trees. There was a lightness in his steps—a breath of freedom that made his heart pound.

A laugh escaped him, unexpected and raw. The sound echoed off the gnarled trunks, startling a bird into flight. He glanced sideways, catching Sadi's eye. She was smiling, her eyes sparkling with an energy he hadn't seen since they'd entered the cave. Her hair streamed behind her, and momentarily, the world's weight seemed to lift.

It felt good to be out of the cave. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of grass and damp earth.

Finally, the footprints stopped at a small clearing. Sunlight poured through the break in the trees, illuminating a patch of soft grass. A tree they had never seen before stood at the centre, its roots at the height of houses. Its bark reached far up to the sky, emerging taller than any other tree in the forest. Whitehall could feel the overwhelming life aura from the distance.

Ziel stood at the perimeter of the clearing, waiting for someone or something. A few moments later, The Beast King stepped out of the root. He smirked when he saw his two youngest disciples' dishevelled state.

"Enjoying Jade?" he asked, still smiling.

"Yes, master," they replied and bowed.

Ziel sighed again for the third time today.

"Good, good," The Beast King placed his hands on Whitehall and Sadi's shoulders.

"What do you need us to do, master?" Whitehall asked.

The Beast King's smile disappeared. It was fake, anyway. He looked to the side. "My master would like to see you two in her final hours," he muttered, soft and solemn yet clear.

Whitehall felt the weight of The Beast King's words. He never knew The Beast King had a master. Whitehall's smile disappeared, and he noticed Sadi did the same. They would be in their best behaviour to honour The Beast King's master.

"Go," The Beast King ordered. "She waits for you."

They looked up to him as they straightened. "Are you not going to join us, master?" Sadi asked.

"No," The Beast King answered. "I'll wait here with Zeal."

They hesitantly nodded and trudged towards the opening in the tree's root, dried leaves crunched at every step. They entered the root and saw a faint glow of golden light reflected on the walls. They followed the narrow path with Whitehall in the lead.

The path led them into a room, and Whitehall saw a giant golden bird lying on a makeshift bed. The bird's size filled the room. A few similar but much smaller birds sat by its side, glowing brightly, unlike the giant one. Whitehall was unable to shift his gaze from the giant bird- its golden beak, its golden talons, its golden feathers.

"Sunda!" Sadi yelled, running past Whitehall and kneeling beside the bird.

"Leave us, my children," Sunda said to her offspring. Her voice was melodic and soft. The smaller birds left the room, leaving Sadi and Whitehall alone.

"Sadi, dear child," Sunda said, running her wing gently on the girl's face. "I would like to speak with Whitehall alone. I'll speak with you last."

Tears fell from Sadi's eyes as she cried for the bird she barely knew. She nodded and walked out of the room. Her tears doubled as she left the root. She was unsure why she felt such sadness, crying like never before- shedding tears that she did not shed when her brother died.

Elder Empire

Iteration requested.  Asylum

Date?  Request Rejected

Report Complete

"Tora, we're almost there!" Captain Malin bellowed over the roar of the wind and waves. "Put all the sails down! Jibe if you have to!"

"Aye, Captain!" Tora, the first mate, shouted back. He turned to the crew, his voice carrying authority. "You heard the Captain! Full speed ahead! Our treasures are waiting for us!"

The ship cut through the choppy waters with precision, its crew working in perfect harmony. It didn't take long for them to reach the mouth of the cave, hidden within the rugged cliffs of a mountain island rising defiantly from the ocean. They lowered a small raft, and Malin, Tora, and five other crew members rowed into the shadowy depths of the cave.

As they ventured deeper, the dim light from their torches flickered against the jagged walls, casting eerie shadows. When they finally reached the heart of the cave, the sight before them left everyone speechless—except Malin. While the others gaped in awe and greed, Malin stood with a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

"Once more, Captain, I have to ask... how?" Tora said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and disbelief. "How do you always know where to find these things?"

Malin shrugged, his grin widening. "Call it a gut feeling. It's as if I can sense the right way."

Tora raised an eyebrow, looking at Malin incredulously. "I'll be honest, Captain. The first time I agreed to follow you, I was desperate." He gestured toward the wreckage ahead—a massive, rotting ship, its hull splintered and overgrown with barnacles. "But now? You've brought us to the wreck of a long-lost eastern ship. I knew you had potential when you, a lowly ship cleaner, asked me to follow you. But this? This is beyond anything I could've imagined."

"Nope," Malin replied, his tone light and teasing.

Tora frowned. "No?"

"You didn't follow me because you thought I had potential," Malin said with a chuckle. "You were desperate."

Tora burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the cavern. "Aye, mostly that."

The crew quickly got to work, gathering the treasures scattered throughout the cave. More men were brought ashore to help search and load the loot. The haul was staggering—piles of gold coins, ancient jewels that sparkled even in the dim light, and artefacts that spoke of a bygone era.

"Captain!" one of the crew members shouted, his voice tinged with excitement. "Found something that might interest you!"

Malin followed the voice, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. The crew member stood over a small, ornate chest, its surface intricately carved but tarnished with age. The man had tried to open it, but the lock held firm.

"Put it on the ground," Malin ordered. He pulled a hammer from his belt and knelt beside the chest. With a few sharp strikes, the lock gave way, and the chest creaked open. Most of its contents had rotted to dust, but a bundle of papers tied together with a crumbling rubber band caught his eye. The ink had faded, rendering the words illegible.

What truly captured Malin's attention, however, was a signet ring nestled among the debris. He picked it up, brushing off the dust to reveal its intricate design. The ring was made of silver, its face adorned with the carving of a bird—its wings and legs spread wide, a shield emblazoned on its chest. The shield was divided into four sections, each bearing a different emblem. Malin squinted, trying to make out the details. One looked like a tree, another a bull, but the others were too worn to decipher.

As he held the ring, a strange sensation washed over him—a feeling he couldn't quite place. It was as if the ring carried a weight far beyond its physical form, a whisper of something ancient and significant. Malin slipped it onto his finger, the metal cool against his skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

"You have made a great discovery, Captain Malin," the man on the throne declared, his voice resonating through the grand hall. The Sultan's words were measured, each syllable dripping with authority and grandeur. "For your service, you shall be rewarded handsomely."

Malin knelt before the throne, his head bowed in a show of respect. The marble floor was cool beneath his knees, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint metallic tang of gold. "I thank you for your generosity, Great Sultan," he replied, his voice steady but laced with humility.

The Sultan continued his speech, extolling Malin's achievements and the value of the treasures he had brought to the kingdom. But Malin's attention had already drifted. His eyes flicked to the side, where one of the Sultan's daughters stood among her attendants. She was young, her features sharp and regal, but it was her expression that caught his attention—a mischievous smile playing on her lips, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place.

Malin's lips curved into a smirk, barely noticeable to anyone but her. She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening as if sharing a secret only the two of them understood. The exchange lasted only a moment, but it was enough to send a thrill through him. Here, in the heart of the Sultan's palace, surrounded by opulence and power, Malin felt a different kind of victory—one that had nothing to do with gold or jewels.

"How long has it been since you left?" Tseria asked, her voice soft and drowsy as she lay beside Malin, her head resting on his chest. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the chamber, casting a silvery glow over the room.

"Left?" Malin murmured, his fingers absently tracing patterns on her arm.

"Don't act stupid, Malin," Tseria said with a playful smirk, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "Left home."

Malin let out a low chuckle, his chest rumbling beneath her. "Hmm," he mused, staring up at the canopy above. "Three or four years now, I think."

"Wow," Tseria replied, her tone tinged with admiration. She propped herself up on one elbow, her dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Captain Malin, a man who took only four years to build an armada of twenty ships. The navigator guilds must be swooning over you."

Malin grinned, his confidence shining through. "Guilds just aren't for me. Too many rules, too many egos." He shifted suddenly, rolling on top of her and pinning her gently to the bed. "Besides," he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur, "I have everyone I want swooning over me right here."

Tseria giggled her laughter like music in the quiet room. She reached up, running her fingers down his chest, her touch light and teasing. "I do want to see where you grew up, Malin," she said, her tone turning thoughtful.

Malin raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Oh?" he said, a smile tugging at his lips. "Does that mean...?"

"Yes," Tseria replied, her eyes locking with his. "My father has agreed to our match." Her fingers stilled on his chest, and she smiled softly. "All we need to do now is for me to visit your home, and our engagement can officially proceed."

Malin's heart swelled with joy, and he let out a laugh—a deep, unrestrained sound that filled the room. This was everything he had wanted, everything he had worked for. "I'd love that," he said, his voice warm with affection. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "I'll take you there myself. You'll see where it all began."

Tseria smiled up at him, her expression a mix of excitement and tenderness. "I can't wait," she whispered, her fingers curling into his hair as she pulled him closer.

For a moment, they lay there, wrapped in each other's warmth, the world outside forgotten. Malin's mind drifted to the village he had left behind, to the small house by the harbour and the woman who had raised him. He wondered what she would think of Tseria, of the life he had built, of the man he had become. And for the first time in years, he felt a pang of longing—not for the treasures he had sought, but for the home he had left behind.

Chapter Text

Whitehall stared at Sunda. His mind whirled with thoughts.

"Hello, Sinar," Sunda greeted him.

"How do you know that name?" he demanded, taken aback by the mention of his name from another life.

Sunda chuckled. "That would be a long story. A story that I will not be able to tell. Neither do we have the time."

"You're...," Whitehall pointed at her. "You're a garuda. You're a myth."

"Not in this life," Sunda responded, smiling softly.

"Are you?" Whitehall muttered, his jaw shaking. "From my world?"

"Yes," she nodded. The feather across her chest parted, revealing scars.

Whitehall's face paled, and his body shook at the shape of the scars. The scar was in the shape of a shield divided into five sections. A bull's head, a banyan tree, cotton and wheat, a chainring, and a star at the centre. His eyes grew moist as he shifted his gaze to below the shield, where the scars formed three words in a language he thought he would never see again.

"Bhinneka Tunggal Ika," Whitehall read the words, his voice coming out in a disbelieving whisper.

"Different but together," Sunda translated his words.

"It can't be." His legs gave out, and he fell to a kneel. Whitehall crawled his way to Sunda with wide eyes. "You were meant to be a symbol. How? What are you?"

"I cannot reveal that, Sinar. But in time, you will learn," the bird wistfully answered.

"Can you take me home?" Whitehall begged.

"I can't," Sunda replied. "But you can do it yourself should you ascend from here. Although I believe you would choose not to."

"What do you mean?" Whitehall exasperated, clenching his hair with both fists.

"In time, Sinar," the bird answered, gently removing Whitehall's hand from his hair with her talons. "Some things you can only know by finding out yourself."

Whitehall screamed, letting out his frustration and desperation. He inhaled deeply and exhaled long. "My people, then," he began. "Did we win?"

Sunda smiled, and her feathers brightened slightly. "You're people won, and the invaders have left. Your sacrifice was not in vain."

He leaned against the root wall, sighing in relief. He did not know when it started, but a tear dripped down his cheek. "Why am I here?" he finally asked.

"I'm sorry, Sinar, but you'll have to find out yourself," she answered.

"Then why are you telling me all of this!" Whitehall snapped. "Why reveal yourself to me? Why not let me live my second life in ignorance if there is nothing I can do?!"

Sunda stretched a wing towards him. "Come here, Sinar," she urged, her voice soothing.

He came close, and she wrapped his head in her feathers. "You have been fighting for so long," she consoled him. "Your whole life had been a fight, and you continued even after it." She rubbed his head gently, her feathers removing his tears. "You are already doing something. You're fighting for a cause greater than you can imagine. And I want you to know that you're not alone."

Whitehall nodded under her feathers. He stayed beneath her soft golden feathers, wiping away his grief for a long while. In the end, he felt relief after finally knowing what had happened to his nation.

"Someone would like to see you," Sunda's voice broke the silence.

He looked up at the bird and asked, "Who?"

Sunda let out a soft screech, and Whitehall heard wings flapping towards the room. A small garuda entered, flying across the room and perching on his shoulder. Unlike the other garudas, this one was as black as a crow.

"Introduce yourself, Meatball," Sunda told her daughter.

"Hi," Meatball greeted Whitehall. She sounded disappointed by her tone. "My name is Meatball, but my mom just told you that, so I guess that was unnecessary."

"Umm. Nice to meet you, Meatball. My name is Whitehall," Whitehall returned the greeting. Meatball was an interesting name; he'll ask the small garuda later.

"I suppose it is also nice to finally meet my partner-to-be," Meatball replied.

"Partner-to-be?" Whitehall turned to face Sunda, raising an eyebrow.

Sunda sighed. "Can you be a little kinder to him, Meatball?"

Meatball shrugged. "I'll try. But mind you, my first impression of him is that he is a child on his knees with puffy eyes."

"Never mind," Sunda exhaled, turning her gaze to Whitehall. "She hatched differently than the others. Instead of light madra, she came out with poison. I think she'll make the perfect contracted partner for you."

"That is," Whitehall paused as he searched for the right words. "eerily convenient."

"Yes," Sunda nodded. "A viper bit my eggs when I was not at the nest."

Whitehall felt Meatball stand straighter on his shoulder.

"And I am the only survivor," the smaller bird chirped proudly.

Whitehall's sceptic gaze did not leave Sunda. He felt as if there was something else that they were not telling him.

"I know. But it is, as you said. Eerily convenient. But sometimes things happen by chance," Sunda assured him.

Whitehall thought about it and nodded. He guessed he would receive another one of Sunda's offspring if he had stuck to a light path.

"She'll join and grow with you if you wish to accept her as a contracted partner. Only if you wish so," Sunda stated.

"He'll accept," Meatball chirped. "Stupid for him not to."

Whitehall thought that he ought to feel annoyed by the bird's brazenness. But he found it cute, instead. And she was right. It would be stupid not to.

"I accept," Whitehall said. "How do we do this?"

"Not here," Sunda replied, looking up at the ceiling. "Your master will be able to help you. My time is short, and I must speak to Sadi before I go."

Whitehall stared at her. His one connection to his home was about to die.

"Ahem," coughed Meatball. "That was our cue to leave."

After a moment of hesitation, Whitehall nodded, stood up, and began leaving. He paused as he left the room. "Would you like some time with your mother?" he asked Meatball," to say goodbye."

The bird on his shoulder looked at him incredulously. "What for? She can never die," she answered, flapping her wings, signalling Whitehall to continue leaving.

Whitehall gulped and continued walking. He wondered if he should tell Meatball the truth. Ultimately, he felt that it was most likely Sunda's wish to part this way with her children.

Indonesia Garuda Pancasilla. Reference for the scars on Sunda.

Sadi's footsteps were heavy as she walked through the narrow path inside the Menhua tree. She had held back her tears when she waited outside, not allowing anyone to see her in such a state. Alone, her tears flow down relentlessly.

Why, she asked herself, why was she feeling such intense grief for Sunda? The others were preoccupied with Meatball when Whitehall exited. She was glad they did not notice her body shaking as she entered. Maybe they did, but if so, she was glad they did not say anything.

"Sadi," Sunda's familiar voice called from inside the room as she entered. The bird smiled slightly when she saw Sadi's tears. "Come here, child," the bird extended her wing.

Sadi knelt beside her, allowing Sunda to wrap her wing over her shoulder. "You're dying," she muttered.

Sunda chuckled. "I can never die." Her laughter grew bigger. "You and Sinar are funny."

"Who?" Sadi asked, unfamiliar with the name.

"Whitehall, I mean," Sunda corrected. "He reminded me of someone I knew from long ago."

Sadi smiled sadly. "Anything I can do for you?"

Sunda's smile never wavered. "Yes. That is why I called for you." Sunda stood tall, and Sadi was reminded of the bird's majestic form when they first met on the tree top. "I will need you to absorb my remnant and advance."

"What?" Sadi took a step back in surprise at the request. "I... I..." she could not piece together her words. "I can't," she finally said.

"You can and you will," Sunda replied. "It will be gentle, I promise you."

"Why me?" Sadi asked. "There are sacred artists and beasts out there that are more powerful than me."

Sunda cackled. "Thank you for making me laugh in my final hours. It is a good way to go."

"No!" Sadi protested. "You can't go. Not yet."

Sunda gave her a small but genuine smile. "You and I are meant to be together. You know this deep inside you from the moment you saw me."

Sadi opened her mouth but found herself unable to deny the bird's statement. "But not like this. Why can't we form a contract like Whitehall and Meatball will?" she cried.

"Do not shed tears for me, dear child," Sunda comforted her. "I will always be with you until the end."

Sadi opened her mouth. She needed to say something- suggest another way. Anything to stop this from happening. "No!" she yelled, rushing to the bird. She hugged Sunda tightly. "You can't. Not when we just met."

Sadi felt soft feathers rubbing the back of her head.

"Close your eyes, dear child," Sunda said gently. "And I shall be with you forever."

Sadi closed her eyes, sobbing. She saw golden light illuminating brighter and brighter through her eyelids. Her hug tightened. The golden light was now blinding, but Sadi allowed it. She wanted to feel Sunda- feel her final moments.

Like Sunda had said, it was gentle. Sadi remembered Whitehall's account of the sword sage's disciple taking in her master's remnant. Their fight had destroyed the indestructible wall of the ancestor's tomb. With Sunda, however, it was like a mother's gentle caress. Sunda's light dimmed as Sadi's core glowed brighter. Her core heated into a comfortable warmth.

She cycled the excess madra using the cycling technique Sunda had taught her, pushing it into her skin but preventing it from exiting. Her core kept growing as more and more madra entered her. It came in slow and steady, never overwhelming.

When the excess madra had stopped entering her, she felt Sunda's remaining remnant nestling in her core.

" You will break me when you are ready to advance ," Sunda's voice, as gentle as she had always been, echoed in her mind. " Do not be afraid. I will still be here. Always ."

Sadi opened her eyes and saw that she was still clinging to Sunda's lifeless form. Her arms held Sunda's body upright. With tears in her eyes, she gently laid the bird onto the bed. The bird's body still glowed a faint yellow. No. Sunda was not glowing.

She stepped back and looked at her hands. It was her—her nails, more specifically. She cycled madra towards the nails, and they grew into sharp talons. When she willed them to return, the talons complied and transformed back to the original yellow glowing nails.

This was her goldsign. She was lowgold. She had made it further than anyone in Heaven's glory. Yet she felt further away than she ever before. And the cost that came with it. The thought brought a bitter excitement. But she remembered Sunda's words and clamped down her grief.

Iteration requested.   Asylum

Date?   Request Rejected

Report Complete

Malin stood on the deck of his flagship, the Bhayangkara, its name chosen on a whim but feeling inexplicably right. The ship was anchored in the middle of the vast ocean, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the calm waters. His betrothed, Tseria, slept soundly in the cabin below, unaware of the storm brewing in Malin's mind. He leaned against the railing, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves, when suddenly, his instincts screamed.

"Tora!" Malin barked, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night.

His first mate appeared moments later, his hair dishevelled and his eyes heavy with sleep. "Aye, Malin?" Tora asked, rubbing his face. But the moment he saw the tension in Malin's expression, he straightened, his drowsiness vanishing. "What is it?"

"Change course thirty degrees west," Malin ordered, his voice sharp and urgent. When Tora hesitated, Malin's tone turned fierce. "Now! It could be a monster for all I know!"

Tora saluted and sprang into action, rousing the crew with shouts and commands. The ship came alive with the sounds of hurried footsteps and the creaking of ropes as the sails were adjusted. The water remained eerily calm, giving no hint of danger, but Malin's instincts rarely led him astray.

By mid-morning, the lookout's voice rang out from the crow's nest. "Captain!" he yelled, pointing toward the horizon. "Land ahead!"

Malin squinted, shielding his eyes from the sun. In the distance, a small island came into view, its shoreline dotted with huts and a modest pier. A sense of unease settled in his chest, but he pushed it aside. "Ready a raft!" he commanded.

As Malin and a handful of his crew rowed to the pier, they were met by a group of villagers, their arms laden with goods to sell.

"They're used to visitors," Tora remarked, his tone cautious.

Malin nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd. His heart pounded as he searched for something—or someone—he couldn't quite name. Ignoring the villagers' offers, he broke into a run, his feet carrying him through the narrow streets as if guided by an unseen force.

He stopped abruptly in front of a small shop, its entrance adorned with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. The air smelled of metal and smoke, and the faint clinking of tools echoed from within.

"Hello?" a woman's voice called out, warm but tinged with curiosity.

Malin turned to see an older woman behind the counter, her hands busy arranging a display of kitchen wares. She smiled at him, though her expression flickered with confusion for a brief moment before her smile returned.

"Do you need any assistance?" she asked politely.

Feeling awkward, Malin grabbed the nearest item—a firestarter—and handed it to her. "How much for this?" he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

The woman examined the firestarter, her brow furrowing. "I might need to ask my husband for that," she said, her tone apologetic. "I don't think I've seen it before. Please give me a moment."

Malin nodded, his throat tight as she disappeared through a door behind the counter. He heard her calling for her husband, the sound of footsteps growing louder with each passing second. His heart thundered in his chest, the anticipation almost unbearable.

"Let me take a look," a man's voice said as he entered the shop.

Malin's breath caught in his throat. The man who stepped into the room was older, his face lined with age, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. He was a mirror of what Malin might become in another twenty years. The man's eyes widened as they locked onto Malin's, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

"Fath—" Malin began, his voice trembling.

"Don't!" the man snapped, his expression twisting with panic.

But Malin couldn't stop himself. The word spilt out, heavy with years of longing and unanswered questions. "Father."

The man's face crumpled, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just settled on them. His wife, standing behind him, paled, her hands clutching the edge of the counter for support.

"What have you done?" the man muttered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were filled with a mixture of fear, regret, and something else—something Malin couldn't quite place.

"Why did you abandon us?" Malin asked, his voice low but laced with pain. He sat across from his father at a rickety wooden table, the air between them heavy with unspoken words and years of separation.

His father grimaced, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. "I didn't know," he said, his voice trembling.

"Know what?" Malin demanded, his tone rising. "Explain clearly! Mom deserves to know the truth."

At the mention of Malin's mother, the man's face paled. "Mande," he whispered her name as if it were a prayer or a curse. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with shame. "I didn't know what I was getting into."

"Why?" Malin pressed, his voice cracking. "Why did you never come back? I could accept it if you no longer loved her. But why did you never come to see me? Your own son?"

The older man sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the wooden ceiling of the empty room. "You shouldn't have come here," he said, his voice heavy with regret.

"Afraid for me to meet your new family?" Malin asked mockingly, his bitterness spilling over. "Afraid for me to meet my half-siblings and let them find out about the family you abandoned?"

"No, damn it! No!" his father snapped, his voice rising for the first time. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with intensity. "I loved you and your mother. I still do." He held up a hand to stop Malin from interrupting. "But I was lied to. Misled." With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a silver necklace with a black, obsidian-like stone at its centre.

Malin shivered as his eyes fell on the pendant. It seemed to pulse with a dark energy, sending a chill down his spine.

"You can feel it too, can't you?" his father said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always knew you had that ability."

"What is that?" Malin asked, his voice filled with disgust.

His father smiled sadly, his fingers brushing against the black stone. "I made a deal with the devil."

Malin's stomach churned, his mind racing to make sense of the words.

"I asked for a better life for my family—for you and your mother and the generations after," his father explained, his gaze softening as he looked at Malin. His son was dressed in the finest clothing, a far cry from the boy he had left behind. And the ships bearing his banner were a testament to the life he had built. "I wanted to give you everything I never had."

Malin stayed silent, his fists clenched on the table.

The older man touched the black stone again, his expression pained. "You can feel it too, can't you? The pull. The darkness."

"Yes," Malin admitted softly. "How?"

His father looked at him with a mix of pride and sorrow. "Because you're my son. I knew you'd inherited some of my abilities the moment you were born."

"That makes sense," Malin replied, his mind connecting the dots. His uncanny instincts, his ability to navigate the seas with almost supernatural precision—it all fell into place.

But his father's smile faltered, replaced by a deep frown. "You shouldn't have come here, Malin. You should've never come searching for me."

"I didn't have a choice," Malin said, his voice firm. "Something dragged me here. Something I couldn't ignore."

"I see," his father sighed, his gaze dropping to the necklace. "What the devil didn't tell me was that I would have to leave you forever. If I didn't, I would kill you and your mother."

Malin tensed, his heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

His father opened his palms, showing them empty. "I can feel the urge every moment. The darkness whispers to me, demanding I hunt you down. But I've held it off—for now."

Malin's eyes darted around the room. It was barren, save for the flimsy table and chairs. His father was unarmed, while Malin had a dagger strapped to his hip. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

"You planned this?" Malin asked, his voice breaking. A tear slipped down his cheek.

"I knew my time would come the moment you called me 'father,'" his father explained, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "You see, son," he said, addressing Malin as his child for the first time Malin could remember, "the devil only told me the full terms after the deal was made. It was generational."

Malin's eyes widened in horror.

"You must not marry or have children," his father continued, his voice grave. "For you will kill them."

Tseria, Malin thought immediately, his heart clenching. "But your new wife?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Never married officially," his father replied. "Nor do I have children with her."

Malin swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "And mother?"

His father looked away, his expression pained. "You must never see her as I have."

"And if I don't kill you?" Malin asked, his voice trembling.

His father's gaze hardened. "You'll have to. Because now that I know where you are, the whispers are growing louder. I can already feel the pull to hunt your mother down."

Malin's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his dagger, his grip tightening.

"But I can hold it off for a little longer," his father said, his voice softening. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve. "Until then, I would like to talk to my son. I would like to know everything I've missed."

Chapter Text

"So? What does gold feel like?" Whitehall asked as he lay on the thin mattress in his and Sadi's room.

They had returned to the cave after Sadi absorbed Sunda's remnant. Their master was emotionless when she stepped out of the Menhua tree as a lowgold. He dismissed the three of them, including Zeal, saying he would take the rest of the day to give Sunda a proper burial.

Whitehall saw The Beast King carving a hole into the thick trunk of the Menhua Tree. He wanted to watch further, but Zeal told them they should go. Their training would continue the next day.

"I don't feel much difference," Sadi yawned. Her eyes were still puffy from her crying earlier. "Cycling is easier but only a little. I'm unsure if that was from my advancement to Jade or lowgold."

"Meh," chirped Meatball. "Lowgold and Jade are basically the same besides a gold sign."

Sadi was still down, and Whitehall struggled to think what to say to make her feel better.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he finally asked. "What happened during Sunda's last moments." He placed a hand gently on her shoulder and felt her shiver.

"No," Sadi replied and shook her head. "I don't even know what truly happened."

"How many times do I need to tell you two that Mom is not dead," Meatball whined.

Whitehall ignored the bird and gave Sadi a soft smile. "Whenever you're ready. I'll be here to listen."

"Uhh," groaned Meatball. "Whatever."

They had asked Meatball what he meant earlier, but his answer was what they expected. Sunda had told her offspring that she could never die, and they believed her. Whitehall disagreed with the lie, but he was not one to tell others how to parent their children.

"Thanks," Sadi replied softly, giving him a small smile of her own. She yawned, "I think I need some sleep."

"Me too," Meatball also yawned. She perched on the ceiling, digging her talons into the stone. She hung upside down and began closing her eyes. "What?" She opened one eye and gazed at Whitehall and Sadi below, who were staring at her.

"Umm," Whitehall muttered. "We didn't know garudas sleep that way."

"We can sleep in many different ways," the bird replied. "Now, shhh, I need my beauty sleep." She closed her eyes again.

Whitehall and Sadi turned to look at each other and shrugged.

The following day, Zeal came by and told them that the Beast King was waiting for them outside the cave. They found him sitting on a large log, playing with his handpan. His eyes were closed in concentration as he played the tune. The three disciples stood silently. Whitehall closed his eyes, enjoying the soft melody.

The music stopped, and Whitehall opened his eyes. The Beast King had a broad smile as he stared at them. Gone was the solemn look he carried the entirety of the previous day. "Look at you two, how far you have advanced in eight months."

Whitehall looked around. Ziel was gone.

"Don't worry about him," The Beast King waved. "He likes to wander around, and he'll be fine."

"And you, master?" Sadi asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

The Beast King wiped an imaginary tear from his eyes and smiled. "The disciple caring for the master. I am glad I managed to pass that on to you two." He clapped his hands, causing his disciples to wince. "Anyways, enough about me; I've said my goodbyes to my late master already. Let's talk about you two. Or three, should I say." His eyes glanced up toward a branch where a black garuda was eating an earthworm.

Meatball swallowed the worm in his claws whole before flying down to perch on Whitehall's shoulders. "Hello, Beast King," the bird greeted the Herald. "Are you going to teach him how to form a contract, or should I?" the bird tapped Whitehall's shoulders.

"In time, little one," The Beast King replied. "But first, I must pay attention to my new lowgold," he exclaimed, turning his attention to Sadi. "Show me what you can do." He stretched out his arms, leaving his bare chest unguarded.

Without another word, Sadi blasted a ray of light into her master's eyes. The pillar of light was golden. She held it for as long as she could, but her madra was quickly running out.

"Cycle and continue absorbing the surrounding light aura. Replenish your madra as you go," The Beast King ordered, eyes wide and unbothered by the intense light.

Sadi concentrated on absorbing the light aura. It was easier than she thought it would be; her skin helped her absorb it. However, she used more madra than she could replenish, and her light rays dimmed.

"Your Solarshroud iron body is truly a marvel," The Beast King commented when Sadi's attack stopped. "It will only continue to get better as you advance. Who needs a large core when you can continuously replenish your madra," The Beast King laughed.

Sadi breathed heavily from running out of madra, but she could feel her core quickly replenishing the lost madra. She understood now the benefits of her iron body and her path.

"I see you're beginning to realize your potential," the Beast King smiled. "Tell me."

"My Solarshroud iron body will steadily replenish my madra from the surrounding light aura. My path and cycling technique will allow me to continue to do so... in the dark," she said the last few words after a pause. She took a moment to think.

The Beast King's smile widened. "Go on," he urged.

"You mentioned that I would not need a large core. But would I not have enough madra to do a more powerful technique?" she asked.

"Ahh, that would be correct," The Beast King smirked.

Based on her master's expression, Sadi reckoned that she had missed something, and he was waiting for her to continue.

"But?" she finally asked, unable to figure it out herself.

The Beast King chuckled. "But your iron body does not simply help you absorb light aura. It stores light madra, too."

Sadi's eyes widened, and she looked down at the skin of her arms. Her skin now had a yellowish hue when it was previously pale. She grimaced slightly at an uncouth thought.

"None of that," the Beast King continued. "Heck, you don't see Sunda featherless, do you?" he said sarcastically.

She let out a sigh of relief at the explanation. She was not fond of the thought of going out to battle naked. Besides, being fully clothed was not a problem either, she realized. Her skin would absorb the invisible light beneath her clothes.

Sadi pressed her fists together and bowed. "Thank you, master. This one is grateful for the iron body and guidance."

"My master," The Beast King stated softly. "She is the one that made your iron body. You're the first and currently only person that has it."

Sadi bowed deeper. "Then I will strive to train harder and not bring shame to her legacy."

The Beast King grinned. "And you will. I will make sure of that." He stood up from the log he had been sitting on and made his way closer to Sadi.

"Your attempt to blind my eyes was better than your previous light arrows," he praised. "However, you need to think bigger." He gestured an explosion with his hands.

"What do you mean, master?" Sadi asked, unsure what thinking bigger would be like.

The Beast King sighed. "That's partly my fault for not teaching you any offensive techniques. But I could not teach you any useful ones either," he shrugged. "I'm not on a light path."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "But Sunda has told me how I may help you develop your own."

Sadi looked up at The Beast King earnestly.

"Her words, not mine," he said, attempting to avoid any blame for the vagueness of his following words. "You can control and manipulate both visible and invisible light aura. Find a way to make it a weapon. Observe and change."

Sadi's thoughts whirled at her master's words. "Eh?" Sadi let out a confused sound after a long while.

"I had the same reaction," The Beast King chuckled. "She said you'll figure it out." He turned his attention to his other apprentice, who was silently arguing with his future contracted partner. "Now, to my other disciple," the Beast King declared.

Whitehall and Meatball's mouths immediately clamped shut.

"It's time to form your contract," the Beast King continued.

"Took you long enough," Meatball jibed. "We were about to do it if you took any longer."

The Beast King was not offended; he found it amusing and slightly cute.

"No, we weren't," Whitehall muttered to the bird. He pressed his fists and bowed. "We await your guidance, master."

The Beast King shrugged, "Might as well do it now, I guess. Should not take too long."

"Will I be gold, master?" Whitehall asked, his eyes filled with expectations.

His master shook his head. "Nope. Meatball here is still a Jade. You both will need to advance together."

Whitehall scowled at Meatball. "You said you were gold."

"No, I didn't," Meatball retorted. "I just allowed you to assume so."

"Uhh, whatever," Whitehall rolled his eyes.

The Beast King smiled at the argument between his disciple and the bird. It reminded him of his old memories with the other sacred beasts when he was younger.

"We are ready, master," Whitehall bowed.

"Yeap," The Beast King clapped his hands, causing his disciples and the bird to wince. "It's a simple technique. Swear to share your cores and accept each others' powers."

Meatball was visibly shaking with excitement. "Let's do it!" she chirped loudly, biting Whitehall's ear.

"Ow!" Whitehall yelped at the sudden pain. Before he could ask why Meatball bit him or why she was so excited to establish a bond finally, he felt her madra probing his channels. Asking for permission to enter. Whitehall did not hesitate. There was nothing to hesitate to. Sunda was a creature of legends from his previous life. A symbol of his people's struggles. And Meatball was her offspring. "Let's do it!" he yelled.

A stream of venom madra flowed out of his core, sucked away into Meatball. His body's strength faded, and he fell onto a knee. His core was rapidly emptying. Meatball's madra replaced the madra he had lost, and his core drank it. Their madra types were similar, so his body should not have had any issues assimilating them. But his channels burned. He tried to control the cycle of the madra, letting it flow slowly through his millions of madra channels.

"Cycle it like how you advanced to Jade!" The Beast King shouted. "Don't fight it."

The Beast King's words shook him. And Whitehall let the control he was maintaining go. The venom raged into him like a river when a dam was opened. His legs felt weak, and he fell to the ground flat on his belly. Looking to the side, he saw Meatball lying on the ground next to him. There was no pain, however; it was just weakness.

"At ta tat ta," the Beast King stretched a hand to block Sadi from helping the fallen disciple and the sacred beast. "I wouldn't get any closer if I were you. Their poison would eat you alive."

"But shouldn't we do something?" Sadi protested, pointing at Whitehall's foaming mouth.

The Beast King controlled the wind aura, preventing the poison madra they released from approaching Sadi. "They'll be fine," he reassured her. "Their bond is complete and strong. The foreign venom is just eating through their strength as their bodies acclimate. They'll be fine after a while."

Sadi gulped and nodded.

"Anyways," he pointed his thumb backwards towards a tree. "Your pack is behind there. I've left you with things to help you with your next tasks."

By that, he meant taking all the valuables and leaving them with the bare essentials from the things they have stolen from Heaven's glory, Sadi was sure.

"Your knives are in there," he continued. "I think you've earned it."

Sadi's eyes went wide. She had never seen her brother's karambits since her master had taken it from her. "Thank you," she said.

The Beast King shrugged, "I wouldn't know how you'll use it without interfering with your gold signs, but I reckon you'll figure it out." He looked down at Whitehall and Meatball, checking their state.

"What is our next task, master?" Sadi asked, returning from behind a tree with a small pack that Whitehall had carried when they left Sacred Valley. A thousand-mile cloud drifted behind her.

"You'll help him advance," The Beast King pointed to the child on the ground. "He may be a Jade, but his lifeline is still short. Whatever he had done that ate away at his lifeline only worsened when he reset his advancement," he explained.

Sadi's nails dug into her palms. "I'll get him to advance, whatever it takes."

The Beast King looked surprised by her words. He nodded. "You understand then. That's good. Too many humans think that walking their path alone is the way to power. But we are beasts." He grabbed a twig from the ground and snapped it between his fingers. " Alone, we are weak. " Using wind aura, he summoned a bundle of twigs into his palms and attempted to snap them as previously. The bundle held. "Together, we are strong ."

Sadi nodded. She had rejected Whitehall's plan to save Sacred Valley on her own. The heavenly messenger had told the Unsouled to find the Sword Sage's disciple. She was not foolish—not like her brother. She stared longly at Whitehall, her will hardened.

"What do we need to do?" she asked.

The Beast King grinned, revealing white pearly canines. "Advance to the peak of gold is simple. You need raw power. Lots and lots of it."

"Cycling room, then," Sadi summarized.

"No," the Beast King had not stopped grinning. "That's too slow. I'll need both of you to be lowgold within five months. And no further than lowgold."

"Why not?" Sadi asked, confused.

"You'll break open Sunda's remaining remnant in time. It is your elixir to Highgold and maybe even Truegold. Your iron body is already slowly helping you gain madra every second. But Whitehall here does not have that luxury. Unless you wish to leave him behind, of course."

His words raised a question in her mind: "What was Sunda's advancement? To be able to push me to Truegold?"

The Beast King's grin softened into a fond smile. "Herald."

Sadi's mouth gaped at The Beast King's answer. "That doesn't make sense. How could-."

"Like I said earlier," The Beast King cut in. "Alone, we are weak."

Sadi gulped. It had been done before. She remembered in Heaven's Glory how a bunch of Jade Elders managed to kill the Sword Sage. And the rumours of how Whitehall was at the centre of it. "It feels like there is something bigger than is happening. Sunda told me-"

"No," The Beast King raised a hand to stop Sadi, his expression severe. "Whatever she said to you is only for you. I do not wish to know."

Sadi stayed quiet and nodded. Her experience with Sunda had not left her mind- it felt out of place. 

"You'll be entering dragon territory," The Beast King's grin returned. "Dragons kill each other as much as they kill others. You'll scavenge the treasures left behind. And I repeat, scavenge. You both are not advanced enough for battles. Whitehall, especially, has a body like a water balloon, and his madra will run dry from a single cut if it is not tended to quickly. You both may be able to handle a fight here and there. But remember, you are currently a crow. You feast on others' leftovers. Only when you both advance further will you be strong enough to hunt. Understood?"

Sadi nodded. "I understand, master."

Elder Empire

Iteration requested.    Asylum

Date?    Request Rejected

Report Complete

"Everything alright, love?" Tseria asked softly, her hand gently covering Malin's. Her touch was warm, a comforting contrast to the cold unease that had settled in his chest.

"Hm?" Malin looked up from the maps and charts scattered across his desk in the cabin. The dim light of the lantern flickered, casting shadows on his troubled face. "Yes, of course. What made you ask?"

Tseria tilted her head, her dark eyes studying him with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Well," she began, her voice gentle but probing, "your hands have been trembling, even in this heat. You've seemed... distant ever since we left that island. And now, when we're so close to seeing your mother again, you don't even look excited."

Malin hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. He could feel the weight of the black pendant hanging beneath his shirt, its presence a constant reminder of the burden he now carried. "I'm just nervous, that's all," he said, forcing a sheepish smile. He pressed a hand to his chest, the cool metal of the pendant pressing against his skin. "It's been so long. I want everything to be perfect."

Tseria's expression softened, but her eyes still held a hint of doubt. She knew him too well to be entirely convinced. "Nervous about seeing your mother?" she asked, her tone light but probing. "Or is there something else?"

Malin's mind raced. He couldn't tell her the truth—not yet. Not about the pendant, not about his father, and certainly not about the curse that now loomed over them. Instead, he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "How about we take a detour?" he suggested, his voice brightening with false enthusiasm. "There are some incredible places I've always wanted to show you. And I'd love to bring my mother gifts from all over—something special to make up for all the years I've been away."

Tseria raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile. "A detour, huh? You're not just trying to delay the inevitable, are you?"

Malin chuckled, though it felt hollow. "Maybe a little," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But wouldn't it be nice? Just the two of us, exploring new places, picking out the perfect gifts... It'll be an adventure."

Tseria studied him for a moment longer, her gaze searching. Then she sighed, her smile widening. "Alright, Captain," she said, her tone teasing. "A detour it is. But don't think I'll let you off the hook forever. You'll have to face your mother eventually."

Malin's smile faltered for a split second before he recovered, squeezing her hand. "I know," he said softly. "But for now, let's enjoy the journey."

As Tseria leaned in to kiss him, Malin's mind wandered to the pendant hidden beneath his shirt, its dark presence a constant reminder of the choice he would eventually have to make. For now, he would cling to this moment—to her warmth, her laughter, her unwavering belief in him. But deep down, he knew the truth: the closer they got to his mother, the harder it would be to keep the darkness at bay.

Chapter Text

"You are an embarrassment to gold dragons, Rakshanatosh!" A Truegold dragon yelled. He was in his human form, and gold scales covered his cheeks. His hair was made of scales, neatly tied in a ponytail. He pointed a sharp, elongated nail at another Truegold gold dragon.

"They are just kids, Kranatas!" Raksha stretched a scaly hand, protecting the hut behind him. His twelve adopted children were hiding inside. Little did Raksha know that Whitehall was currently among them. The other kids were too frightened to notice him. Unlike the other gold dragon, Raksha's hair was short, sitting right above his shoulders.

"Human, kids," Kranatas snarled, baring sharp canines. "You have defied our way!" he shouted, his scales beginning to glow gold and his tail lashed.

"You dare challenge me!" Raksha roared, shaking the limestone walls of the hut. His scales began glowing a similar golden colour. "You think you can beat me just because you have advanced to Truegold!"

"You're old, Raksha," the younger dragon replied. "If you surrender now, I'll let you live for a few scales. The reward from the Monarch would suffice." Kranatas smiled as he thought of the reward he would get for turning in those humans. His smile widened with greed, "I take it back. Your remnant would fetch me more."

Raksha roared and fired a gold dragon's breath.

Whitehall sat inside, bored, scratching the inside of his ear. He scooped out the sand that was stuck inside. Sand and more sand, he thought. Never in his life had he imagined that sand would be this annoying. They were in his shoes, robes, and now in his ears. He felt a burst of madra and exchange of techniques outside. The battle has started.

Whitehall sighed, putting on his most scared face. "Run!" he squeaked in his most scared voice.

The other children looked at him, stunned. To be fair, Whitehall thought, Raksha had told them to remain inside the hut. He flayed his arms widely above his head. "Aaaaaahhhhhh!" he yelled, running around in circles. Once a few children began screaming, Whitehall ran towards the backdoor and into the desert, arms still moving wildly. "The hut is gonna collapse!" he cried. "Runnnnn!"

He felt embarrassed for having to do this. Oh well, the reward would be worth it. The other twelve kids ran behind him into the desert. The sound of battle and explosions boomed behind them. He slipped out amidst the chaos once he estimated they were far enough from the battle. The children did not notice him disappearing behind a rock, and they ran past him.

He sighed again, removing his shoes. He shook them, pouring away the sand that had gotten inside. It did not take long for the battle to end, and he heard footsteps running towards him. Whitehall slapped his face multiple times. He faked as many tears as he could.

"Please don't hurt me," he cried, pulling his knees towards his chest and closing his eyes in fear.

"Don't worry, little one. The bad dragon is gone," a dragon's voice spoke gently.

Whitehall opened one eye and saw it was Raksha. He had a cut on his head, and drops of blood were flowing out. But other than that, the dragon was fine. That was good, much safer, Whitehall thought.

"Can you tell me where the others are?" the dragon asked.

Whitehall continued burying his face in his knees, just in case the dragon might have realised he was not one of the adopted children. "They ran that way," he sobbed, pointing behind him. "I tripped and got left behind."

"Okay. Can you make it back to the hut on your own?" Raksha asked. "I'll need to find them."

Whitehall nodded. "I remember the way," he muttered.

"Okay. Go now," the dragon ordered softly before running towards the other children.

Once the gold dragon had left, Whitehall sighed. He stood up and wiped the sand in his eyes that he had slapped onto to cry. Once he dusted his clothes, he began running back towards the hut.

On the way, he thought of how he ended up in this situation, crying like a child on a daily.

He woke up in a familiar tent, Sadi drinking tea next to him.

"The young one is awake," Meatball chirped sarcastically, perching on Sadi's left shoulder.  

"How are you feeling?" Sadi asked, offering him a cup of tea.

"Fine," he answered, sitting up. He massaged his sore back. "Where are we?" he asked, accepting the tea.  

"At the border of the Gold Dragon territory," Sadi replied.

"What? Why?" Whitehall asked.

Meatball answered. "Hunt some dragons and advance. Duh"

That was when Whitehall noticed something different. He felt excitement coming from Meatball. Their bond, he realised. Their contract worked.

"We're not hunting anything," Sadi corrected the bird, rubbing the bird's head fondly.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Meatball complained, moving her head away. "I'm not some lost puppy!"

Sadi giggled. "You're just too cute."

Meatball huffed but did not move away.

"We're only going to be scavenging for treasures so you can advance. I have scouted the area while you were unconscious, and I think I have a plan," Sadi smiled mischievously.

"Scouted?" Whitehall blurted. "How long was I out?"

"A Long time," Meatball squawked. "Sadi and I were bored to death waiting for you."

"A few days," Sadi answered. "A few scared beasts flew us here right after you began forming your bond." She gestured towards the bird on her shoulder. "Meatball woke up thirty minutes-"

Meatball bit Sadi's ear.

"Okay. Okay. Okay," Sadi repeated. "Meatball woke up long before you."

The bird let go in satisfaction. Whitehall felt playfulness rather than irritation from their bond. The bird had no superiority complex; it was just her sense of humour. Whitehall laughed.

"Anyway," Sadi continued, "I think my plan is solid. And Meatball here agrees. "Her mischievous smile grew wide.

Meatball could not really grin, but Whitehall felt her emotions through their bond.

"It's not going to be good, will it?" he paled.

"Depends," Sadi giggled.

Whitehall sighed as he recalled the memory. He was glad that it was almost over. He did not think he could take it any longer. He reached the yellow hut and saw Sadi kneeling beside the dead Truegold dragon. She was rummaging through his pockets.

"That was the best yet," Meatball laughed at Whitehall from Sadi's shoulder. "You're finally beginning to act your age."

"Ha ha," Whitehall rolled his eyes as he approached. He knelt next to them. "Please tell me I don't have to do this again," he begged.

Sadi did not reply immediately, focusing entirely on stripping the body of everything valuable. Whitehall saw that the dead dragon was battered to a pulp and had a hole in his forehead. He shivered at the thought of a technique capable of taking out a Truegold like that.

"This feels wrong, you know," Whitehall muttered. "Stealing from nice dragons."

"Gotta do what we gotta do," Sadi replied.

"Damn," Whitehall cursed, remembering Raksha's condition when he last saw the kind dragon.

"Huh?" Sadi asked, finishing putting all the dead dragon's things, barring his clothes, inside her pack.

"I don't know why. But I still find it difficult to believe there is such a large gap even between Truegolds," he answered, eyeing the battered body.

They had already been on this mission for two years, a year outside Sacred Valley. They were advancing much faster than expected, but it still felt like they needed to advance faster. He grimaced as he remembered the bloodspawns. Golds were slaughtered like foundations. Even Sunda died because of it. And they have not even faced the dreadgod. Damn this world.

"Slow and steady," Sadi replied, placing a gentle hand on Whitehall's.

Her voice grounded him. He looked down at her hand on his. His hands were shaking, he realised. "Thanks," he said to her.

"Come on," Sadi pulled him up. "We need to go before the Truegold return."

His gaze locked onto her, unable to look away. Sadi was gold now. If they returned to Sacred Valley, they could strong-arm everyone to listen to them. Heck, many would willingly follow the idea of gold. No. They would not, he realised. Those bastards are too fixated on their pride of being the strongest.

"Come on," Sadi began dragging him. "What's up with you lately?" She started running, her gold body dragging Whitehall like a child. Then again, he was in a child's body.

His mask was slipping, he realised. Better put in on again.

The run was good for him. It made him too tired to brood. They stopped once they reached an empty space near the edge of the desert. Sadi pointed in a direction and walked towards it, disappearing as she passed through a hidden border. Whitehall followed, disappearing after her.

It was a technique that Sadi had developed, bending the light and preventing anyone from seeing them. She has not decided what to call it yet. More advanced artists can probably detect and see them, but they were rare this far out.

"Good news," Sadi said, unpacking the stolen goods onto the ground. "I think this would be enough."

"Are you sure?" Whitehall asked.

"Nope," she replied. "But we're out of time anyway."

"Glad I wouldn't need to cry like a baby again," Whitehall said, sitting down and removing his shoes.

"You okay?" Sadi asked, arranging all their stolen treasures. "You've been off lately."

Whitehall thought he heard worry. "I'm fine," he said, shaking the sand out of his shoes. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sadi's sandals. The next time they had to go to the desert, he would get one, too.

"You're lying," Sadi mused, raising an eyebrow. "I've been living with you for over a year, in case you haven't noticed."

"True," Whitehall admitted. "One day, maybe?"

Sadi shrugged. "Whenever you're ready," she smiled. "I'm here to talk."

Whitehall returned her smile with his own. "Thanks." Sadi was like that. She never forced him to talk if he did not want to, but she always reminded him she was there. "You know you can always talk to me, too, right?"

"I know," she replied confidently and half jokingly. She took a look at the treasures neatly arranged on the floor. She nodded approvingly and began packing them inside their pack in order.

Whitehall did not ask or comment. Sadi had always been like this since they met. She had her way of arranging things inside her pack.

Meatball eyed Whitehall from Sadi's shoulder. "You better not break anytime soon. We just started our journey."

"I won't," Whitehall replied, sending a wave of confidence through their bond.

Meatball straightened in satisfaction. "You better not. Or I'll bite you."

Whitehall chuckled.

"So, what now?" Whitehall asked. "Do I advance here, or shall we return to the forest first?"

"I don't know," Sadi answered, lying on her mattress. "Master didn't say anything."

Just as Sadi closed her eyes, her eyes slammed open. "Whitehall!" she yelled as her perception screamed.

He must have felt it, too, because he immediately lept towards the side wall of the tent.

Sadi lept sidewards and tried to grab hold of their bag, but Meatball bit her hand, stopping her hand in its tracks. A gold dragon's breath shot through the tent and onto the pack.

"Run!" Meatball yelled, flapping her wings in an attempt to fly and carry Sadi.

The dragon's breath shot through the top part of their bag, where the least valuable treasure was. Sadi did not have a chance to sigh in relief when her perception screamed again. She ducked down flat onto the ground, and two dragons' breath struck through where her head was.

"Come on!" Whitehall grabbed her robes on her shoulder and began running.

Sadi got up quickly, running out of the burning hole that had been formed in the back of their tent. The forest was not far ahead; maybe friendly sacred beasts would be nearby.

"Yes," a vile voice jeered behind them. "Run, puny humans. Make it fun for us."

Sadi's perception told her four sacred artists were chasing them. Three were lowgold. The last one was more advanced, but she was unsure exactly what.

Meatball answered for her. "Highgold!" she squealed.

Sadi activated her technique, making them invisible as they ran. The technique did not require much madra. She could maintain it indefinitely, thanks to her iron body and the scorching sun of the desert. The problem was that they were moving, and it wasn't easy to maintain the technique on a moving object.

"Hah," a dragon barked behind them. "You think that technique would work? That way!"

Sadi dodged to the right, avoiding a gold dragon's breath that came for her from behind. She thanked the heavens for allowing her to advance again. Her previous Jade eyes in Heaven's Glory were not as effective as they were now. Her lowgold advancement had only improved them further.

Whitehall screamed in front of her. But he was still a Jade. His perception was not as good as hers. He was on the ground, the left side of his face a smoking gore.

"Whitehall!" Meatball yelled, flying to land on Whitehall's shoulder.

Whitehall was a mess, and his body convulsed uncontrollably as madra leaked out of the wound. He fought against his limbs, trying to cover the wound with his hands.

Sadi dropped her pack beside him. "Meatball, do something. Call for help. Anything!" she yelled, unable to hide the panic in her voice. She had no time to take care of him. The best thing she could do now was to buy time.

She turned to face their pursuers. The four dragons had stopped not far from them. They smiled maliciously.

"It seems this one has a heart," the dragon second from the left provoked. "You humans and your weak resolve." She had long, red, scaly hair, and her tail whipped in excitement behind her. Sadi knew she was the highgold. She was the only one that bore any resemblance to a human.

"I hate your kind," the highgold snarled. "Do you know why?"

For once, Sadi was glad Whitehall was right, thinking back on a conversation they had long ago in the cave. Bad guys always monologue.

"No," Sadi answered, eyeing the four dragons. Her mind whirled. Her offensive spells were weak, and she had no time to develop new techniques.

"You humans disgust me. Your way of life and your attempts to constrain the strong," she spat. "It's unnatural and vile."

"I agree," Sadi replied.

The four dragons gave her a confused look.

"That's why we are out here. We hate that rule. Who are the weak to tell the strong what to do?" Her mind rummaged through memories of conversations with Whitehall. "If we baby the weak, when will they get strong." She shrugged.

The lowgold red dragon on the far right nodded agreeably and opened his mouth, but the highgold cut in.

"Shut up, you useless fool!" the highgold snapped. "Can't you see that she is buying time!"

The lowgold winced in fear before turning his mouth into an O.

"Just get ready to fight. Their remnants and bodies will get us quite the bounty," snarled the highgold.

Crap , Sadi sighed. Her attempts to buy time failed. She unhooked the karambits from her hips and got ready to fight.

"Get up!" Meatball yelled; her black wings were all tied up, covering Whitehall's wounds. The sound of battle had begun behind them.

Whitehall's body was still convulsing, but his remaining eye remained open. He stared at the battle in front of him. The highgold had not joined the fight, only staring at the three lowgolds battling Sadi. Sadi had no offensive techniques; her focus was solely on dodging and misdirection. She was not going to last very long.

"Advuaaaaan," he grunted through gritted teeth, but his voice was inaudible. The physical pain was not so bad; he had gotten through worse. But his spirit was in agony. Madra continued to leak out of his wound, and his core felt like it was about to shatter. He could feel Meatball pumping madra into him through their connection, but she had her limits. Advance , he tried to say through their bond. We need to advance, he urged.  

Meatball took a look back towards the battle and nodded furiously. "Hold on. You'll need to be the one to advance to fix that wound of yours. This is going to suck for both of us. But especially for you."

She flew towards the bag, leaving Whitehall's wounds exposed. Madra rushed out like a cracked pipe. Whitehall felt Meatball's madra entering him doubled, and he knew she was straining herself. Unable to bear the spiritual pain, he screamed. Yelling always helps when in pain, he knew.

Meatball returned, landing with a thud in front of his face. Her black feather was drenched, not by the heat, Whitehall knew. She held three boxes, one in her beak and the others in each leg. "Eat!" she grunted. "And don't stop eating."

Meatball opened the boxes quickly, revealing odd pills and fruits inside. She flew away to fetch some more.

Whitehall crawled closer to the elixirs and began swallowing them one after the other. He did not know what they were or what they would do. He did not even think about it. If it meant he was going to advance and be able to help Sadi, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Madra began rapidly entering his core and channels, but he was leaking far too much. He slammed the wounded side of his face and head into the sand to slow the escaping madra. Meatball kept bringing more pills, and Whitehall could tell from their bond that she was hurting, too.

He swallowed everything, even accidentally ingesting some of the sand. The pills came slower and slower as Meatball's madra also began running out.

"That's all I've got," Meatball panted, her feathers matted to her skin as she brought another box of pills.

Whitehall ate everything. Once he swallowed the last pill, he slammed his head deeper into the sand. The burns stung. His core swelled, and he cycled it to every channel he had. The venom madra burned through him, and he tried to prevent it from reaching his wounds and escaping. They rushed towards it. We will never hurt you , Whitehall felt the venom spoke to him. He was probably losing his mind and hearing voices, but he decided to trust it.

"Do it!" he yelled, swallowing sand and releasing his control of the venom. The venom madra rushed to the wound.

Sadi was not having a good day.

She dodged left. Lept right. Backflipped, avoiding a dragon's breath that came towards her. She activated her technique, refracting the light around the area and distorting her image. Another dragon's breath landed to her left.

That was too close. And for the first time in a while, she was angry. Not at the dragons hunting them but at her weakness. She hated feeling helpless.

She blinded one of the red dragon's eyes, fueling it with her wrath. That was a good name, she thought, Blindingwrath. The dragon screamed and covered his eyes. She thought she saw smoke rising.

"Annoying puny rascal," the dragon snarled, firing a dragon's breath at her.   

"Names later," Sadi said to herself. She swerved, meticulous at redirecting the fight away from Whitehall. She had been following her instincts so far, and it was working wonders against the three lowgold red dragons. No, not her instincts. Sunda's, she realised.

She dodged again, blinding the eyes of another dragon that had launched dragon's breath at her. Her technique came out weak, and the dragon only needed to blink a few times to regain their vision. She was running out of madra; her iron body could not keep up. She wanted to cycle the light aura, but it would take too much concentration.

"She's a human, you fools!" the highgold shouted, still not joining the battle.

If she had joined, Sadi knew she would not last long.

The three lowgold red dragons looked at the highgold in confusion.

"They have this fixation on protecting the weak!" The highgold yelled. "She's protecting her mate!"

Not them, too, Sadi moaned internally . Why does everyone keep saying that?

"Yes, ma'am!" the three dragons shouted in unison upon realisation. They switched their targets towards the child and the sacred beast.

Sadi turned to gaze at Whitehall and Meatball. Meatball was lying flat on the sand but still breathing, and Whitehall had half his head buried in the sand. Her perception eased her worries slightly. Whitehall was advancing. He just needed a little more time, and her worry grew because she might not be able to give him any more time.

The dragons opened their jaw, and gold flames began to form between their teeth. Sadi dashed between the dragons and Whitehall. Her heart thumped as she stood, not knowing what to do. She could block one of the breaths with her body, but who would protect Whitehall and Meatball afterwards?

Sadi gritted her teeth in frustration, watching the dragon's breath forming in the mouths of her enemies. Observe and change . Those were the instructions that Sunda had passed onto her through her master. She observed using her perception on the dragon's breath like she did when she learned to cycle in her Path of the Solar Dusk. It finally clicked.

She twisted all the light in the dragon's breath- both visible and invisible. Her madra drained to almost nothing, but her technique worked. The dragons' breath exploded in the mouth of the three dragons.

She spat blood, and her legs gave out. But before she could fall, she felt an arm catching her. She did not need to look to know who it belonged to.

"Thank you," Whitehall said from her left, holding her up with two arms around her waist. "You good?"

His voice had changed. It was raspy and almost airy, like someone with a throat wound.

"Yeah," she breathed as she was gently lowered to the warm sand. "I think you grew taller. You're almost at my shoulder now."

"You're just a big woman," Whitehall jested, a smile forming.

"Rude," she replied jokingly. "Is that how you show gratitude to your saviour?"

Whitehall snorted; he turned his face to her.

Sadi cringed at the sight of the other half of his face, unable to hide her emotions.

"Yeah. Meatball had the same reaction," he sighed.

Sadi could only stare. His left cheek was a grotesque landscape of melted flesh, twisted and warped as if it had been torn apart and sloppily fused back together. The burn extended from the corner of his lips, dragging the skin into a misshapen snarl, and ran jaggedly across his face to the back of his head. His skin was pocked with irregular, gaping holes oozing dark black fumes. The edges of the holes were charred and blackened, peeling away like scorched paper, revealing raw, angry black tissue beneath. Every movement of his jaw caused the burnt flesh to writhe unnaturally, as if alive with its torment.

"We'll talk about it later, yeah?" Whitehall suggested. Although his voice was calm, albeit raspy, Sadi could hear the bitterness.

"Yeah," she smiled and realised she was not faking it. "Caught me by surprise, that's all."

There were groans as the red dragons began rising. They had burn wounds around their jaws, and one even had a missing lower jaw. Their tongues thrashed wildly in circles. They stared daggers at the two humans.

"For what it's worth," Sadi returned to face Whitehall. "You're still the best-looking male friend I have. And definitely better than them," she pointed at the wounded dragons.

"Hah!" Whitehall snorted. He was the only male friend Sadi had. At least, that is human.

"I agree!" Meatball chirped, landing on Whitehall's shoulder from above. "And I think you have the coolest gold sign I ever see."

Whitehall felt warmth coming through his bond with Meatball. He could not help but smile.

"Stay like that!" Meatball said. And face them!" She pointed with a wing towards the dragons.

That was when Sadi noticed the change in Meatball's feathers. They reflected the sunlight like metal.

Whitehall turned towards the dragons, still smiling. The dragons' eyes widened, and one even recoiled.

"Give me a minute to cycle," Sadi said, closing her eyes and sitting in a cycling position.

"Got it," Meatball replied.

Whitehall eyed the dragons and snarled. "You should've stayed home, little lizards."

The dragons recoiled but held a fighting stance.

Whitehall unleashed venom madra into the surroundings, his vast madra channels making it easy. Meatball shot feathers through the air, which turned into venom aura as it drifted towards the dragons.

The dark madra drifted rapidly through the air, and the dragons dodged. Jumping left and right away from the poisonous madra. They fired dragons' breaths towards him, but their shots missed by margins.

"I'm ready," Sadi said from behind Whitehall, her hand stretched out. She was using her technique to distort their images. "Unleash again now; I can hide your poison. But we need to start moving."

Whitehall complied and unleashed another wave of toxic madra through the air. The dark fumes were invisible. They ran around the desert, dodging the incoming dragon breaths. Meatball fired more poison feathers, distracting the three dragons.

After a short while, Whitehall felt his poison entering the dragons. It ate through them like wildfire. The dragons collapsed, scales turning black, and some began to shed. Their hands gripped their neck as they struggled to breathe.

"Finish them!" Meatball yelled.

Whitehall and Sadi did not need another word. They rushed to the downed dragons, Sadi tossing one of her knives to Whitehall. He caught it and began stabbing and slicing the dragon's vitals. It was not long before all three dragons were dead.

Whitehall sagged in relief, sitting on the sand. His last technique had nearly exhausted his reserves.

"There's one more. A highgold!" Sadi yelled.

Whitehall immediately stood back up in alert, his back against Sadi's as they eyed their surroundings.

"I wouldn't worry about her anymore," a familiar lazy voice said from the tree lines.

"Ah, you're back," Meatball said, landing on Ziel's head. She curled against his horns and went to sleep. Ziel did not even seem to care or notice.

Sadi and Whitehall both sagged in relief, sitting on the sand against each other.

"Could've come earlier," Whitehall remarked. "Would've been nice."

If Ziel was disgusted or surprised by Whitehall's goldsign, his dead eyes revealed nothing.

"I did," Ziel replied, throwing a dragon's head from behind his back.

It was the highgold's, Sadi recognised.

"Nice fight, by the way," Ziel said.

Sadi and Whitehall stared at him wide-eyed. Zeal stared back with emotionless eyes.

"You never praised us before," Sadi blurted.

Ziel shrugged. "A good fight is a good fight. Many improvements needed, but...," he did not continue.

"Were you watching us the whole time we were fighting?" Whitehall asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ziel nodded in slow motion.

"Why did you intervene, then?" Sadi asked, pointing at the highgold's decapitated head.

"Rules of engagement," Ziel replied, and not elaborating further.

The two gave him confused looks.

Ziel sighed, muttering something under his breath before raising his voice so the two could hear. "If I intervene from the start, the dragons will send scared artists at my level after you to even out the playing field," he explained. "I only intervened because the highgold tried to join the fight."

The two nodded but still looked bewildered.

Ziel stood quietly, but the silence became awkward after a long while. "Follow me," he sighed and turned back to the forest.

The Beast King knelt on one knee before Northstrider, Monarch of the Wastelands. As always, he buried his bitterness and resentment beneath an ironclad mask, hiding it from the Monarch during these meetings how his master had thought him.

"I will require Underlords for the upcoming Uncrowned Tournament," Northstrider announced, his voice carrying an air of absolution, each word hanging like the weight of a decree.

The Beast King's mind flickered with suspicion. This was unexpected. Sacred artists from the Wastelands had never been called upon for tournament participation, and Northstrider had never shown any interest in such affairs. But there was something in the Monarch's tone that made him pause—this could benefit the Wastelands if he played it right.

He nodded slowly. "Yes, Monarch. I may have candidates in mind. If my instincts are correct, they will not bring shame upon you."

Northstrider's gaze never wavered. His yellow dragonic eyes remained unblinking as he fixed his attention on the Beast King. He crossed his black arms against his chest. "Name what you want."

The Beast King held back his smile. This was one of the very few things he liked about Northstrider. The Monarch of the Wastelands knew their ways. He may have held some sway over the sacred artists of the Wastelands, but he understands and accepts that they were not bound to him. And he always offers up a fair exchange. Sometimes, at least.

"I have two disciples, both with great potential," The Beast King explained. "But they are currently only lowgolds."

Silence stretched between them, ominous and heavy. Northstrider's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes narrowed slightly as the silence grew longer.

"You may send them to Ghostwater," Northstrider finally said, his voice a low rumble. "I will be watching. If they impress me, I may make a deal with Malice to help them reach Underlord."

"Thank you, Northstrider." The Beast King lowered his head further. He shrugged internally. He was about to send them to Ghostwater anyway without the Monarch's expressed permission. But having it was better than not.

Northstrider unveiled a fraction of his spirit. It pressed down upon the Beast King with an invisible force, compelling him to lower his posture. The Beast King was a Herald, so he could have resisted if he wanted to—but he didn't. This was mere bravado, a show of dominance, and he had no intention of indulging it.

"If, however, they do not live up to my expectations," the Monarch cautioned, his voice growing cold and dangerous. "Then I will hold you responsible."

A flicker of annoyance flashed in his chest, and he pushed it down as soon as it appeared. Now, The Beast King was reminded of one of many reasons he did not like the Monarchs. Their threats. Their very, very uncalled-for threats. "Understood," The Beast King replied, his voice level.

In an instant, the Monarch and their dark mindscape were gone. Now, he was kneeling to a tree in the forest of the wastelands.

A small voice broke the silence.

"Didn't know you prayed to trees," squeaked a young sacred beast mouse, darting about his feet.

The Beast King glanced down, amused. "Thought I'd try something new." He bent down and placed a finger next to the mouse.  

The mouse scampered up his fingers and onto his body, making its way to his white beard. It tied thick hair strands around its little body and fashioned itself a tiny swing.

"Yippee!" the mouse cheered, swinging back and forth, its small form bobbing with delight.

The Beast King chuckled, "I'll take you back to your parents." He began walking back towards the cave, the little mouse happily swinging in his beard.

Chapter Text

Del'rek of the Eight-Man Empire moved with deliberate care, his four sturdy legs pressing against the damp forest floor near the edges of the Wastelands. His large trunk swayed, sniffing the air as he inhaled the blend of wet grass, ancient trees, and the faint grit of encroaching sand. The smells were achingly familiar. A century might have passed since he last walked this place—or longer. He wasn't sure. Time had a way of dulling the edges of his memory, yet the scents remained sharp, reminding him of a past he could never forget— nor did he wish to.

"You shouldn't be here, Restoration Sage ," a voice rumbled from above, venom lacing the words.

The title was spat like a curse. The voice was older and harsher than Del'rek remembered, but he knew who it was. Very few would be able to detect his spirit through his veil. Turning his trunk upward, he saw the Beast King perched high in the boughs of a towering tree, his form concealed by the interplay of shadow and sun.

"I am here to pay respects to my Master," Del'rek replied with a steady voice, although his elephant form made his voice husky. He had not used this form in centuries.

"Repeat that again. I think I heard it wrong," the Beast King snarled, leaping from above. He landed with a soft thud before the Sage in an elephant form. "Or are my memories lying to me? I remembered you betraying our ways and our Master along with it."

Del'rek sighed at his once-old friend. "And here I thought more than a century would be enough to let bygones be bygones."

"Bygones?" The Beast King snarled. "She loved you, Del'rek. We all did. She mourned for you."

"And I will forever regret and hate that day," Del'rek replied.

"Yet you never asked for forgiveness," the Beast King stated.

"No." Del'rek raised his eyes to meet the Herald's. "And I will never ask. You had your path, and I had mine."

The Beast King eyed the elephant, his fist clenching. Memories of their Master—her grief, her steadfast belief in Del'rek even after his betrayal flashed in his mind like unhealed wounds. He remembered the anguish his Master went through when they learned what Del'rek had done—what Sunda had always begged them not to. Sunda had begged them. And Del'rek had done it anyway. After all that, she had forgiven him anyway—without Del'rek even needing to ask.

But Del'rek did not need to know that. The Beast King was not obliged to inform him.

"What do you want?" The Beast King demanded. "You would not have known she had passed until you stepped in here."

"I didn't," Del'rek admitted. "I was here to speak with her. But since you were the one to greet me, and not a shred of her spirit remains here. I have deduced her death."

"Since you've now figured it out, you may leave," the Beast King pointed in the direction where the Sage had come from. "Or would you rather I send you back to Iceflower tuskless?"

A pang of grief rose in Del'rek's heart. "I wish to pay my respect," he replied, trying to inject as much sincerity into his voice. "Even a prodigal son doesn't deserve to be denied that."

The Beast King frowned. He was conflicted. On one hand, Del'rek was the sacred beast that had betrayed their Master. Yet her forgiveness lingered like an unspoken command.

At last, he turned. "Just this once. And only for her."

Del'rek inclined his head. "That would be more than enough."

The Beast King led the elephant to the resting place of their Master. They strolled quietly through the jungle; the vines and bush parted along their path. Their spirits were veiled so that no one would detect their presence. Del'rek basked in the comforting familiarity of his old home. He missed the forest, although he knew he would not have made different decisions if he had been given the chance.

"I need to speak with you," Del'rek said after a while.

"Then speak," the Beast King replied. He was also curious about what message was so urgent that the Sage had travelled so secretly here to deliver first-hand.

"It's the Monarchs," Del'rek continued.

The Beast King halted in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. "We don't concern ourselves with the activity of the Monarchs," he reminded Del'rek before continuing.

"Conflict is brewing between the Desert Monarch and the Akura," Del'rek explained. "The Wastelands will be caught in the middle if a war breaks out between them. Our home will be a battleground."

" My home ," The Beast King reiterated. "Not yours."

"Fine," Del'rek snapped. "But a war will break out. Don't get it twisted," he warned the Beast King. "We have received alliance proposals from the dragons and the Akuras. The Eight-Man Empire remains neutral, but the other Monarchs will not. We believe Shen and the dreadgod cults will rally with the dragons."

"It does not concern The Wastelands. Northstrider relies on us as much as he hates to admit. He won't allow a battle to take place on top of us," the Beast King replied.

"Stop acting foolish," Del'rek chided. "We both know Northstrider hates the dragons and will ally himself with the Akuras. He will drag you and the rest of the Wastelands into a war you do not wish."

"Then it is obvious. We will be forced to follow," The Beast King replied frustratingly. "Or are you and your wandering Empire going to back us?"

"No. But there is something you can do," Del'rek hinted.

The Beast King did not reply and continued to lead the way instead.

"I still care about the Wastelands, believe it or not," Del'rek scoffed in frustration. "My oaths bind me elsewhere, but it does not mean I have forgotten this place and its beasts. I still care about the home that she created!"

The Beast King whirled and took a step towards the elephant. "What do you want me to do!?" he yelled. "You won't back us while Monarchs fight above us. We both know no one here can go against them!"

"No," Del'rek replied with wide eyes. "But if The Wastelands have a Monarch of their own."

"We have a Monarch," The Beast King rolled his eyes. "Haven't you heard he's still alive?"

"A Monarch who cares about them," Del'rek grumbled. He stepped closer to his old friend. "You can advance," he whispered. "We both know you can. With you here, the Monarchs will have to take their battle elsewhere."

The Beast King's eyes grew dark despite the bright sun. He looked with intense eyes at the Sage and snarled. "No."

Del'rek met the fierce eyes with his own. He exhaled and sighed. "I had expected so," he whispered in resignation. "It was worth the try nonetheless."

The Beast King turned and began walking again. "We have survived so far without a Monarch. We will endure and survive again."

"Then I wish you the best of luck," Del'rek replied, trailing the Herald. Each step grew heavier.

It was not long before the trees stopped, and the Beast King stood before a clearing.

Del'rek looked at the large Menhua tree in the middle. "You did not bury her according to the way of the Wastelands," he said. "You didn't bring her body to the mountains for the crows."

"No," the Beast King replied. "I buried her like the stories she used to tell us."

The Herald led them towards the base of the tree. Over time, the ground had receded, revealing large tangles of roots. He used wind aura to carry him up onto the trunk. Del'rek did the same. At the centre of the trunk, where it was thickest, was a hole that the Beast King had dug with his bare hands.

Del'rek stared inside the hole; his perception had told him who was inside, but he watched anyway. He burned soulfire, shifting back to his human form, and even discarded the tusk that he would usually wear in this form.

"I remembered that story," the Sage muttered.

He stepped into the hole and saw his Master's body. Gone was the golden light he was familiar with. Most of the feathers on her chest were gone now, revealing wrinkled and dead brown skin below. Her eyes, however, closed in peace, reminded him of the love she had freely given.

"So much for never dying, am I right," the Beast King commented.

Del'rek heard a bit of bitterness in the Herald's voice, but he could not help but smile. "Yeah," he muttered.

The Sage summoned a water construct and a scrub from his soulspace and began washing Sunda’s body. Her body was not rotting, he noticed. The worms and insects had not dared to touch her. Only time did. The two disciples stayed quiet as he worked. Once the body was scrubbed clean, he made a thin cut on the trunk walls- sap flowed out.

He used the sticky sap and began attaching the feathers he could find back to her body. Once he finished, he propped her up against the wall. The sight brought memories of his Master looking down on him with grace and love.

He bowed low on all fours, pressing his head to the ground at her feet. "The disciple has returned to the master," he choked as a tear dripped from his eye.

There was a thud next to him as The Beast King also bowed. "The disciple has returned to the master."

For a long time, they knelt together in the quiet embrace of their shared grief.

"You never completed the burial," Del'rek muttered, straightening his back.

"No," The Beast King admitted. "I tried to. But I couldn't."

"Only one more step," Del'rek pointed out.

"Yeah," the Beast King smirked. "Let's take our Master on a walk."

The Sage and the Herald walked through the forest, careful as they channelled wind aura into carrying their Master above. One last flight for her.

"I wouldn't be able to openly mourn for her once I leave," Del'rek whispered. "I kept her presence a secret like how she always wanted."

The Beast King looked up at his Master floating above their heads. He swallowed the bitterness in his mouth. "She forgave you. But I think she never blamed you in the first place. She loved you until the end," he said, remembering some of his Master's final words.

Del'rek closed his eyes and nodded. "Thank you. For letting me know."

"How did she die?" Del'rek asked. "I did not see any visible wounds."

"Bloodspawns," The Beast King answered.

Del'rek's head snapped, and he gave the Beast King an incredulous expression.

"I couldn't believe it either," the Beast King shrugged. "She even bestowed her remnant to one my disciples. She's now at dragon territory, helping the other one advance."

Del'rek's eyes narrowed at the words. The Beast King met it with his own knowing eyes, but there was also something Del'rek did not recognise.

"If an opportunity arises. Will we be able to rely upon each other?" Del'rek asked.

The Beast King nodded and offered a hand. "For our Master."

Del'rek accepted the offered hand and shook it without hesitation. "For her."

Ziel had a long day. He had slowly walked to the border between The Wastelands and dragon territory. Executed a dragon high gold and then walked back. Just as he was about to finally have a well-deserved rest, the Beast King summoned him.

He sighed as he approached the Beast King outside the cave. It has become their main base ever since the Bleeding Phoenix attacked.

The Beast King sat on the log he was always at when he wanted to meet someone, so he was easy to find. He was joyfully playing with his handpan by a campfire, and Ziel saw a few little mice listening to him by his feet. The beat sped up, and the mice's eyes widened. Zeal wondered if the mice realised that their heads were bopping.

The tune reached its crescendo and dropped to a satisfying conclusion. The mice clapped and cheered, throwing small blades of grass to the Herald.

"Thank you. Thank you," The Beast King bowed as if in a theatre. He waited for the cheers to finish before continuing. "That is all for this evening."

There were a few 'aww' and 'no', but most were yawning. "Thank you, Beast King," the mice muttered in unison. "We loved it."

The Beast King graced them with a smile. The mice formed a line and marched back into the cave.

Ziel waited for the rodents to enter the cave before speaking. "You wanted to see me?"

"Ah yes, Lord of the Dawnwing sect," The Beast King addressed him. "How have you been fairing?"

"Breathing," Ziel answered.

"I can see that," the Beast King smiled. "How do you really feel?"

Ziel stared at him.

"Well, you should start cheering because we just got permission to enter a Monarch's lab facility," the Beast King said, opening his arms like he had just presented an amazing idea.

"And?" Ziel asked, suppressing a yawn. He was tired.

"There's a water source inside called the spirit well. It is known to promote the growth of one's soul, increase madra density, and stimulate recovery," the Herald waggled his eyebrows. "It may be able to help your condition. If not, then maybe an elixir can be made from it that will."

Ziel sighed. "You're talking about Ghostwater. Did you not raid it already?" he asked.

"I have," The Beast King nodded, his smile not fading. "But the wells were not a...," he paused, searching for the right word, "a priority."

Ziel looked at him impassively. "Your trash."

"You could say that," the Beast King bounced his head from side to side and shrugged. "But for you, however, I think it could do you good."

Ziel was careful not to lift his hope. He had long resigned to his condition, and the only real solution they had found was long lost. "I guess I can try," he yawned.

"And yes, you shall. Even if it doesn't fix your problem, the spirit well will still do your spirit good. We would need it that way."

"Why? Are you going to send me to fight Lords?" Ziel asked sarcastically.

"Exactly."

Ziel shifted to staring again.

"Remember the Uncrowned tournament?" The Beast King asked, raising an eyebrow. "Care for a second chance?"

Ziel's thoughts whirled, and for a moment, he had hope. "The Monarchs can fix me," he muttered.  

The Beast King nodded in agreement.

Then Ziel remembered that he would likely need to reach the upper rankings to win such a prize. "Or I'll die," he sighed. "And I'm not an underlord."

The Herald shrugged. "They'll allow it. The other factions have agreed to allow you to go into Ghostwater as a Truegold-powered Sacred artist."

"Hmm," Ziel hummed.

"And a Lord of a sect needs his servants, of course," the Beast King added.

"Let me guess," Ziel replied. "The boy and the girl. And you want me to help them advance in Ghostwater."

The Beast King nodded. "And since we have permission from the Monarch, he had given us some benefits to make your journey... ehh less tiring."

Ziel sighed again. "I guess I'll do it."

"Thank you. Sunda will have wanted this."

Ziel's eyes widened slightly at the mention of the Garuda. He nodded slowly. "I guess I can do this for her."

"So," the Beast King clapped his hands. "How are the two? I sensed Whitehall has advanced."

Ziel lay flat on the ground. He was tired and felt this conversation would take long, so he decided he might as well sleep here.

"They work well as a team, but they are weak. Sadi has horrible offensive techniques, while Whitehall has horrible defensive techniques. His iron body is a burden."

The Beast King nodded in agreement. "Only for now."

Ziel closed his eyes and continued. "I don't get it. Why not send someone to teach them their path? Why leave them to make it out on their own?"

"I thought about it," The Beast King replied. "But Sunda had told me to let them discover it independently."

"I disagree, but alright then," Ziel shrugged. His eyes were heavy, and he would very much like to never open them again.

"Oh, I almost forgot," the Herald exclaimed.

Ziel opened his eyes and gazed accusingly at the Beast King. He was sure the Herald was raising his voice on purpose to make him suffer.

"Remember how I said the Monarch had given us some benefits," the Herald continued, pulling out three jewels. Blue and green light reflected off of them. "It took a while to track down, but their locations made it quick."

Ziel did not know what those stones were and how they would help them. He closed his eyes and returned his head to the soft ground.

"Ahem," the Beast King cleared his throat. "Have you heard about the best trash left in that pocket realm? Why is it now called Ghostwater?

Slowly, inch by inch, Ziel opened one eye.

Chapter Text

Whitehall stared at his reflection in the mirror. His grotesque face stared back. Venom madra leaked out in poisonous fumes from the left side of his face. He tried to smile, but his mangled tissue turned it into a snarl. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the bitterness that was rising.

He exhaled, "I am bitter. But I have advanced," he admitted to himself.

"Whitehall?" Sadi asked from behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk?"

Whitehall looked over his shoulder at her, showing her the unmarred part of his face. He watched the worry in her expression. "I'm just tired," he said slowly.

He turned back to the mirror but found his reflection missing. All he could see was Sadi, her golden nails shining, resting on an invisible shoulder, lighting the dark room.

"You really should stop looking at yourself. I think your goldsign looks great," she whispered.

"Say that to the sacred beasts that look away or cover their faces whenever I pass," Whitehall retorted.

Sadi's smile grew thin. After thinking about what to say, she decided to be straightforward. "It's not about that, though, isn't it?" she whispered.

"No," Whitehall replied. Then he added, "Maybe."

Sadi placed a hand on his unmarred cheek, turning his head to face her. Her face, bright despite the darkness, filled his vision. The light among the shadows. She reached up with her other hand to touch his goldsign, but Whitehall's hand caught her.

"Don't," he warned her. "It's not safe."

She looked down on him for a moment, her smile tender. "I made something for you," she said, her other hand moving to reach something on her back.

She revealed a half-wooden mask carved to cover the left side of the wearer's face. Whitehall accepted it and ran his fingers on the surface. It was rough, like touching the bark of a tree. The mask also stretched back and would cover the left side of his head.

"I thought you might like it," Sadi explained. "Since you seem to be bothered by your goldsign."

"I do," Whitehall said, turning the mask around to see it was padded with a soft material. It reminded him of the masks that the other cultures of his people would wear in his previous life.

"Thank you," he thanked sincerely and smirked. "I think my costume as a masked assassin is finally complete."

"You're very welcome," Sadi chuckled.

Whitehall closed his eyes. Sadi had not removed her hand from his cheek. The golden glow was warm, he realised.

"But you're not allowed to wear it when it's just us," Sadi continued.

Whitehall's eyes opened.

"I got you the mask, but I don't want you to take it wrong. I don't mind your goldsign."

"I know," he replied.

"Feel better?" she asked, removing her hand from his cheek.

"Yes," Whitehall first said, looking down at the barky texture. "No," he corrected.  He took a deep breath and took his time to exhale. "I think it is time I tell you about myself."

Sadi took a step back, clearly surprised by what he said.

"No, not that," Whitehall quickly corrected the misunderstanding. "I mean about my past. Who I really am. Before Elder Whitehall."

Sadi's eyes were wide. Unsure how to respond. "What do you mean?"

"Let's sit down," Whitehall gestured towards their mattress.

She sat on the mattress, and Whitehall did the same across her.

He took a deep breath and exhaled. "My name, my real name, is Sinar Leng Kuang."

Sadi did not reply. Instead, she listened. Her gaze was stern in attention.

"I came from a world called Earth. And in that world. I was part of a newly freed nation. Republic of Indonesia," Whitehall continued.

Sadi's eyes widened, and her goldsigns brightened. But she kept listening, saving her questions for later.

"I fought my whole life," Whitehall's eyes darkened, his goldsign making him look imposing. There was one, followed by a second, and then the first returned. "And I died fighting."

Whitehall took another breath. "You have any questions?" he asked.

"Not now," Sadi replied, waiting for him to finish first.

Whitehall nodded. "Back in Sacred Valley, I was desperate to find a way to reach gold. I wanted more time. So, I made an untested elixir of eternal youth. It backfired, and it used my lifeline and turned my body ten years younger."

Sadi knew this story. The news had spread like wildfire: a Jade Elder younger than her, turning even younger. She was envious of his accomplishments at the time. It only took a glance at Elder Whitehall's new body to know what had happened.

"But the elixir had a side effect, and it brought back memories of my previous life. Or maybe the memory was someone else's. I don't know."

"That makes sense," Sadi replied. "Your sudden change in the way you think. I remember my brother speaking about it to me."

"Yes," Whitehall replied. "I was a monster. So fixated on advancement that I neglected everyone else. Only measuring people's value by how much benefit they can bring for me."

"For what it's worth. I like you better now," Sadi smiled softly.

Whitehall returned it: "Our oaths have bound us to this journey together. I felt you should know. Because the truth is, I am tired. I have fought for the freedom of my home for more than a lifetime. Now, I am doing it again. I am tired of fighting and killing." He looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. "Every time I fought and trained, the only thought I had was, 'When will it end?'"

Sadi closed her eyes. She could not imagine herself in his position, but she could understand. "I hear you," she said. "I really do."

Whitehall's hands shook. "I feel lost. It is like I am stuck in an unending cycle of fighting and bloodshed." His eyes grew wide, "I am afraid of wasting another life with war."

Sadi exhaled, her chest aching with empathy. But she could not do this without him. That feeling was as real as the heart pounding in her chest.

"Do you remember the line I added to our soul oath?" she asked softly.

"Yes," Whitehall whispered. "To do this together."

"I added that because...because...," she paused. "Because I was afraid. Afraid of feeling helpless." She remembered how easily the sword sage's disciple had beaten her. "All my life, all I did was catch up with everyone. First, it was my brother. Then, when I was Jade, the Elders. Then you showed up. You gave me hope of a path forward."

She looked down, her blush hidden by the shadows. "And it felt right at the time."

"It was," he concurred.

"And I will still need you." She grabbed his right hand and held it. Sadi could not tell why, but her following words came naturally: "If you are lost, then I will light the path. All you need to do is follow."

Her words gripped Whitehall's heart in a vice. He looked her in the eyes. She saw fierceness in them.

"Alright," he whispered.

Meatball lay on the mattress next to the two, her eyes wide open. She was not surprised or confused by Whitehall's words. Her mother had told her Whitehall was different. She was panicking for a different reason. She closed her eyes tightly. GO TO SLEEP MEATBALL, she yelled inwardly. GO TO SLEEP! GO TO SLEEP. YOU DON'T WANT TO BE AWAKE FOR WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN NEXT.

------------

Whitehall and Sadi stood on a cloud ship, floating in the skies toward an abandoned island. Nature had regained its hold over the place, and stone structures were covered in vines. The cold wind blew against their faces, and the clouds gave them a cold shower. The mask did not help to protect him from the cold.

"This isn't a cloud ship," Whitehall complained, pointing at the cloudship ahead of them. The one where Ziel and their master were. "That one at least looks like a ship."

He gestured to the small one he and Sadi were on. "This is a cloud raft!"

Sadi did not mind the cold wind and vapour. It reminded her of the time when she was getting her iron body. She cycled the abundant light aura, with Meatball sleeping gingerly on her lap.

"We need to maintain our appearance as servants," she explained.

"We can better serve Ziel by being with him," Whitehall growled to the sky. "I know you can hear me, master. This isn't funny."

He gestured to his clothes. They were brown rags, sleeveless at the arms and baggy trousers. The servant clothes did not provide much protection from the elements. Sadi left him to yell at the wind.

"Wow," she heard Whitehall muttered.

She opened an eye and glanced at him. He was looking down as the Wastelands' cloudships began descending. She followed his gaze, and her eyes widened at the view. There were hundreds of cloudships below, gathered around a black and purple fortress. There were cloudships of different colours below. Her eyes immediately recognised the gold ones decorated with dragon statues.

An old sacred artist dressed in black and purple flew up to meet with the descending cloudships.

His voice reached Sadi and Whitehall. "This one is named Old Man Lo, a member of the Akura Clan!" He pressed his fists and bowed at the Beast King's ship. "The Sage of Silver Heart sent me to greet the Beast King of the Wastelands."

"I would greet Charity directly. She should be expecting me," The Beast King replied out of view.

"Yes, she has," Old Man Lo replied. "This one will lead the way."

Old Man Lo flew down, and not long later, the Beast King emerged from his cloudship and followed.

Once their Cloudships had landed, Ziel exited the main cloudship and began walking away.

Sadi and Whitehall looked at each other. Sadi shrugged. They ran after him, careful to maintain a respectful distance. Sadi was unsure if Meatball was asleep as the bird perched on her shoulder, hiding inside her hair. Meatball have not spoken ever since they left their cave and began their journey on the cloudship. Sadi wondered if something had happened.

Ziel yawned as they caught up. "Thought you three would get lost. There are many places to explore around here."

"No, Elder Zeal," Whitehall bowed behind the horned man. "We shall follow you."

Ziel sighed and continued to walk.

During their walk, Sadi nudged Whitehall's arm. He looked at her, and she pointed behind them. The cloudships and the black fortress were gone.

"Advanced scripts," Ziel muttered.

Their walk took them a few hours. It led through a forest and ended at a beach near the edge of the island. A group of trees sat in the middle like a sore thumb. It grew from the sand. Ziel walked up to it and placed a hand on the trunk. His hand glowed with a green circle script. The trunk parted, revealing a Jade doorway. He stepped through it, quickly followed by his servants.

Whitehall watched as an endless blue light swallowed the world. The light felt thick, like water, and his stomach revolted. It felt disgusting, and thankfully, it only lasted an instant.

He stepped out into an air bubble the size of a fortress. His footwear stepped on dry sand, and he was thankful he was wearing sandals. He looked at the surroundings and realised they were underwater. There was some kind of tree-shaped construction on the ocean floor beyond the air bubble. Its blue tube roots shone with blue light.

He felt another nudge from Sadi, pointing at Zeal waking further away. They followed him. A young man sat cross-legged on a boulder. He wore a black and purple robe like Old Man Lo. A black and purple halo floated above his head. Whitehall's fist clenched as he took in the young man's delicate features.

"Come on," Zeal called out. His voice was soft as if to avoid disturbing the cycling man.

He led the two to a small patch of sand. He opened his void key, and small logs and twigs fell out. "Build a hut, would you," he ordered.

Sadi and Whitehall pressed their fists and bowed. They began building a small hut while Ziel sat nearby watching them.

"Don't antagonise anyone, Whitehall," Ziel muttered. "Unless you want to die. If you want to, you have permission, I guess."

Whitehall lowered his head. "Forgiveness, Elder Ziel," he whispered.

Ziel did not reply. Instead, he removed the protection of the lowgolds' spirit. He spared Meatball, though. Something told him she had gone through enough.

Whitehall felt an immense pressure pressing down on his back. He fell to the ground, and so did Sadi. And in the blink of an eye. The pressure was gone.

"That Akura is peak Truegold," Ziel explained, protecting the lowgolds' spirit again. "Just stay inside the hut once you're done, and don't make any trouble."

Whitehall and Sadi bowed once more before returning to building the hut.

-------------

Whitehall and Sadi sat inside the finished hut. It was small, but there was enough room if Ziel decided to join them at any time. He chose to sleep outside.

"What was that?" Sadi asked.

Whitehall shook his head. "The Akura just reminded me of an old enemy. It won't happen again."

"It better not," she replied, careful not to raise her voice. Meatball was still asleep on her lap. "Or we're not making it out of here. The man is Peak Truegold. He's probably stronger than Ziel."

"Apologies," Whitehall frowned.

Sadi's expression softened. "No, I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to lay it out like that."

"You're right, though," he replied.

"Alalalalala," Meatball snapped awake and began pacing around the hut. "Please stop this, both of you," she begged. Her eyes were wide and moist as she tried to act cute. "Have I not suffered enough? Please spare me from my nightmares."

Sadi raised an eyebrow at Meatball's outburst and waved a hand. "Anyways, did you see all that," she gestured outside. "I saw so many creatures and plants I have never seen."

"No," Whitehall replied. "It was pitch black other than the blue tree.

"Oh," Sadi expressed in realisation. "Forgot you can't see in the dark."

"Tell me anyway. What did you see?" Whitehall could tell Sadi was excited.

"There was a fish with jaws larger than our body with teeth as sharp as swords. Oh, and there was also a large serpent behind the tree." She gestured with her hands as she explained.

"A serpent? How big?" Meatball stopped her pacing and perched on Whitehall's shoulder.

"I can't tell how as it was coiled. But the body is at least as wide as two of us stacked on top of one another," Sadi described.

Whitehall shivered at the description. "I hope we won't have to-"

"Stop," Sadi lept over him and covered his mouth with both hands. Meatball flew up at Sadi's sudden movement. "Don't say it," she brought her face close to Whitehall and whispered a warning. "The last time you did, we got chased by an unknown snake bear."

Whitehall nodded nervously with wide eyes. He stared at her unblinking.

"What?" Sadi asked, straightening her back.

His eyes shifted up and down across her body. She was sitting on him.

"Oh," she said, looking down to Whitehall and realising their state. She attempted to laugh it off as she climbed off.

"Sadi, please blind me right now!" Meatball yelped at Sadi, flying close to her face. Then the bird whirled to eye Whitehall. "Do you have any poison that can erase memories?"

Before Sadi could reply to attempt to save her dignity, a familiar sensation washed over the three's spirits: It felt like a bloodspawn. The bloody pressure pressed on them, but it was not as strong as the Akura's.

"I want silence," a man spoke, and the light dimmed and replaced by shadows.

The shadow disappeared the next moment, and the candlelight in their hut returned. With it, the sensation of blood vanished.

The door to their hut opened, and Ziel stepped in. His left arm dripped with blood, a long cut stretched from his forearm to his palm.

"Can you heal it?" Ziel asked Whitehall, offering his wounded hand.

"Certainly, Elder Ziel," Whitehall replied, holding the wounded arm in one hand. He began pulling out bandages and ointments from his small pack.

"Use your madra," Ziel ordered. "Don't bother with the bandages."

"I..., "Whitehall hesitated. "I haven't practised with life aura ever since I reached gold."

Ziel looked at him with disinterest.

"Right away, Elder Ziel," Whitehall said and began cycling life aura.

"Despite what you think, your path regards life madra and poison madra to be the same," Ziel explained. "Don't neglect that."

"Yes, Elder Ziel," Whitehall replied. Ziel was right. Whitehall had forgotten about that aspect of his path.

Whitehall began channelling his madra to the hand, ordering it to heal the wound. It was slow, and Whitehall had to repeat four times before the wound finally shut.

Ziel looked at his healed hand, clenching and unclenching it. "The gold dragons are here. They'll steal your pack out of curiosity. I recommend you stay away from them."

"Yes, Lord Ziel."

Ziel's spirit detected three new sacred artists. One was on a path of storms, the second a raging fire, and the last was on pure madra? The Nine Clouds were not supposed to arrive until the next day. Then, the pure madra washed away, replaced by angry flames.

He stepped out of the hut to see the newcomers. A man and woman in green armour stood by the doorway. The woman was Truegold and clearly the one in charge. Her gold sign, a small thundercloud, floated behind her. The man was a lowgold, on a flame path Ziel did not recognise. His eyes were rings of red and black, and he bore a challenging expression, daring anyone in the bubble to fight him. A turtle stood tall behind them both. Its eyes were as dark and red as the male's.

The woman mumbled something under her breath. Ziel's Archlord senses could hear her loud and clear: "Bai Rou, do not follow. I repeat, maintain your position and call for reinforcements. There are multiple enemies. We will try to disengage."

"Who are you?" Ziel asked his voice as even as always.

The woman carefully removed her hand from her sword and stood straight. The black cloud behind her seemed to shrink. 'She was smart,' Ziel thought.

"We are the Skysworn of the Blackflame Empire," the woman raised her voice so everyone could hear. "We are here to respond to reports of a disturbance around this facility after the passage of the Bleeding Pheonix."

Ziel's perception warned him when the male Sacred Artist behind the woman withdrew his spirit and replaced it with pure madra. Ziel sharpened his perception on the lowgold, discovering that he had two cores. One was pure, and the other one was like the turtle's. He dismissed the lowgold, keeping his perception of the two Truegolds instead.

The boy's perception landed on Ziel, and he withdrew it almost instantly.

"Who is backing you?" Ziel asked. Their armour did not look like the Ninecloud's or match the Eight-Man Empire's. "The Winter Sage?" he tried.

The black turtle behind them rose tall, red light igniting from his shell. "We do not need to answer to you," he snarled.

Fair enough, Ziel thought, staring back at the turtle expressionless. He did not care who they were either, as long as they did not get in their way. He turned to face the other Truegolds.

The gold dragon girl has been eyeing the lowgold boy hungrily. More specifically, his oversized bag.

"When you're done, leave me their trinkets," she cackled.

She continued to speak, but Ziel did not pay any attention. He sighed when he heard the word 'bulge,' "Not every fight needs to be to the death, dragon. What could they possibly have on them?"

The golden dragon-girl licked her lips in gluttony.

"You shouldn't be here," whispered the Redmoon Hall woman, pointing a finger at the uninvited guests. She kept her spirits veiled, and Ziel reckoned it was due to her fear of the Akura.

"They are not bound by the rules. Who can know who sent them? " Her eyes shifted to Ziel.

Ziel wondered why he got himself into this situation.

-----------

Whitehall and Sadi sat silently and unmoving, like statues, inside the hut. They listened to the bickering outside; Ziel was somehow involved.

"What is happening?" Whitehall asked with his eye movements.

Sadi scrunched up her face and gave him an incredulous look.

Whitehall rolled his eyes and bopped his head side to side. "Fair enough."

"Silence," they heard the Akura man speak before the world darkened.

The air was silent, and then they heard the clanking of armour falling. Another second later, they felt the ground by their hut shook and cracked. That was where Ziel was, they both realised.

"He is not your opponent, Yan Shoumei," they heard Ziel somnolently say.

"But you are," the woman, this Yan Shoumei, snarled, and Sadi and Whitehall felt the bloody sensation returned. She was heading for them.

"Go, go," Sadi yelled, pushing Whitehall out the entrance.

"I asked for silence ," the Akura man repeated.

Shadows drowned the world as dark slashes cut through the air around the man.

Ziel stepped before the two and stretched his hand towards the incoming slashes. A green circle with scripts emerged from his hand and caught the shadow. The script flickered and broke. Blood flowed out of Ziel's hand, and he looked down at it.

"Not again," he sighed. "Whitehall," he called.

But Whitehall's attention was taken away by a piercing howl. A black turtle with fire on its shell roared as black fiery madra erupted from its shell. Two boulders covered the portal, and Whitehall recognised the figure heading towards it from the outside. Her hair was short and cut straight, and scars covered her face. But she had two sword arms now. The Sword Sage's Disciple.

The Akura man wiped his hand gently in the air before him. A black blade of shadow shot from where his arm drew. It was headed for the incoming Sword Sage disciple.

A bar of black flame shot through the frame of the Jade portal, causing it to shiver and break into pieces. The blue glow winked out.

The Truegolds halted, and everyone stared at the broken portal. The Akura man closed his eyes and returned to his cycling.

Whitehall saw hair peaking out behind the boulder, but a golden dragon girl lept forward, covering Whitehall's vision. Whitehall thought he was wearing rags, but the golden-dragon wore even less than him.

The girl demanded everything from the person behind the boulder. But her last sentence caught Whitehall's attention.

"You have no idea how expensive it will be to return home without that doorway," she growled at the person.

That was good to know, Whitehall thought; at least there was another way out. The giant turtle fell behind the boulders with a thud.

"Please, forgive this one for his rudeness," a familiar voice echoed from the person behind the boulder.

Whitehall recognised the voice. How could he forget?

"Bastard?" he called out.

Wei Shi Lindon recognised his voice, and his head popped behind the boulder. A familiar face stared at Elder Whitehall, his eyes wide. The boy still looked like he was looking for a fight.

"Elder Whitehall?" Lindon asked, clearly surprised to see Whitehall here. Lindon did not recognise the face, as a wooden half mask covered it. But he did recognise the Elder's voice. 

All opened eyes turned towards Whitehall.

The golden-dragon girl's gaze was sharp. "Friend of yours?" she asked Whitehall.

"No," Whitehall retorted. "He stole everything from the treasure hall in our school." Whitehall knew he was being a hypocrite. But seeing Lindon's large pack stirred something inside him. "He owes us."

Unlucky for Whitehall, the boy in question took that moment of distraction and lept out of the air bubble, dragging the turtle by its shell with him.

The gold dragon shot a line of gold towards Lindon's fleeting form, but he was long gone. Her eyes snapped back to Whitehall with anger.

"You!" she snarled. "How will you compensate me for my lost treasures!?" Gold flame madra began to gather on her hands.

"Calm yourself, dragon," Ziel stepped forward, his voice low. "Unless," he gestured with his bloody hand towards the cycling Akura.

The golden-dragon gulped as her eyes drifted to the Akura. The madra in her palms fizzled out. Her eyes moistened at the thought of the treasures she had just lost.

"Contact the Herald," she ordered.

Whitehall saw that she was ordering two human attendants dressed in white who stood by the entrance of a large, golden tent shaped like a castle. The two attendants bowed at her command.

"Get Meatball," Ziel said to Whitehall and Sadi with dead eyes. "We're leaving."

Sadi and Whitehall bowed and returned to the hut. It surprisingly remained intact through the chaos. As they entered, they saw Meatball pacing in circles, eyes closed, and grumbling to herself. Whitehall thought he heard the bird mumbling something about courting and ritual. The bird was utterly oblivious to the discord outside.

Chapter Text

The Beast King sat on an uncomfortable chair at a long wooden table. The cushioned seat was too soft for his liking; he preferred the solid feel of hard logs. Moreover, the decor of the Sage of Silver Heart's fortress left much to be desired, adorned in an unappealing mix of black and purple.

"Charity," he acknowledged the Sage for the first time since his arrival, unsheathing a dagger from his boot to clean under his nails.

"The Beast King," she replied, her hands busy carving a small wooden log.

"I see you're preparing an urn for a dragon," he observed casually, not bothering to meet her gaze.

"It seems so," she answered, maintaining her even tone.

A knock interrupted the moment. "Come in," Charity commanded.

The door swung open, revealing Old Man Lo, who bowed before entering, a trolley of various foods in tow. The appetizing aroma of barbecued tomahawk assailed the Beast King's senses.

"Thanks," the Beast King said as the servant set the feast on the table. "And bring me something to drink," he ordered.

Old Man Lo's expression turned conflicted, and he frowned as he glanced at the Sage for guidance. She remained silent, clearly content in making the Herald wait.

The Beast King relished the tension. He could afford to wait; his disciples were off in Ghostwater. But this situation felt different.

Ah, this is a power play by Old Man Lo , he thought, realizing the subtle dynamics at play. The servant was intent on reminding the Beast King of his subordinate status beneath the Akura Clan. Perhaps he was just more afraid of Charity than he was of the Beast King. Regardless, the Beast King did not feel like playing the Monarchs games today. Instead, he felt it necessary to remind the servant of proper respect.

With a surge of will, he fixed his gaze on Old Man Lo, who froze under the weight of his spirit. The servant's eyes betrayed no fear, but the Beast King could smell it.

"Young man," he whispered to the wrinkled, white-bearded servant, his voice low and menacing, "you will treat me with respect. I have eaten more salt than you have rice." The words sunk into Old Man Lo's bones, setting off a shiver down his spine.

"Please, let him go, Beast King," Charity interjected, her voice calm but firm. She did not make an effort to stop the Heral's working. "I still have use for him."

The Beast King smirked, keeping his focus on the servant, sensing the man was cycling to stop himself from shaking.

"Kids these days," he quipped, glancing at Charity. "They forget how to treat their elders." With that, he released Old Man Lo, who collapsed onto the floor.

"Get our guest some refreshments, Lo," Charity ordered.

The servant scrambled to his feet and bowed. "Yes, mistress." He added an abrupt bow to the Beast King before retreating.

Once Old Man Lo had left the room, Charity turned to the Beast King. "Was that necessary?" she asked.

The Beast King shrugged and dug into the meat with his hands, grease dribbling onto his beard. "It's important to keep the younger generation's ego in check," he replied, uninterested in providing further explanation. The food was simply too delightful.

"Want one?" he offered, extending a tomahawk toward Charity.

"I've had my fill," she declined, shaking her head. "I invited you here on behalf of the Akura Clan."

He ignored her and took another hearty bite, knowing she would get to the point eventually.

"It's about your golds," she continued.

"What about them?" he mumbled, his voice muffled by meat.

With a flick of her hand, Charity opened the door, revealing the servant carrying a cup. She utilised wind aura to pluck it from his grasp before handing it to the Beast King. A wave of her arm shut the door in front of the servant. The Beast King caught the cup, activating its scripts, causing water to rise from the bottom.

"My grandmother has ordered me to include your golds in an upcoming event I'm organizing to raise new Underlords for the tournament," she explained.

The Beast King nodded as he sipped the water, careful to keep his emotions in check. Northstrider was more eager than he had previously suggested during their last meeting—he hadn't even waited for the golds to finish with Ghostwater.

"My grandmother was impressed when you sent the Bleeding Phoenix after the dragons," Charity continued. "But I wasn't," she added dryly. "The dragons blame us for it and have ramped up their attacks on our territory because of your actions."

A toothy grin appeared on the Beast King's face. "I was just defending the Wastelands," he replied sarcastically.

Charity's expression remained inscrutable. "We have allied ourselves with your Monarch of the Wastelands."

Not my Monarch , the Beast King thought but chose not to correct her.

"Thus, our interests align. I have agreed to allow your golds to attend my event. But—"

She paused, and a disturbance rippled through the pocket world.

"It seems we have unexpected arrivals," the Beast King said with a smile, enjoying the unpredictability. "One of yours, I believe."

"A vassal," Charity confirmed, her tone shifting as darkness enveloped the space.

As she activated her mind space, darkness consumed the world, and representatives from the other factions that had arrived on the island appeared within it.

"What is the meaning of this, Charity?" hissed Xhorus, Herald of the Gold Dragons.

"They are from a backwater vassal state. We did not permit them to participate," Charity replied. "I will remove them."

"I say let them stay," The Beast King interjected, getting straight to the point. "What, a low gold and two weak Truegolds?"

"We have altered the rules for you by allowing the cripple to enter," groaned an old corpse—the Blood Sage. "But he is bound by the rules. Hers are not," he pointed a wrinkled finger at the Sage of Silver Heart.

Xhorus smiled as she realized the uninvited guests were weak and merely a vassal of the Akuras. "I agree with The Beast King. If my niece is so weak that a backwater vassal poses a threat, then she will prove herself a failure."

Moments later, they all felt the Jade doorway to Ghostwater crumble.

Xhorus cackled. "More for our golds."

The Blood Sage chewed on his bloody fingers, deep in thought. "Agreed," he finally grumbled.

The Beast King nodded, and the mindscape dispersed. He found himself back in his cushioned chair, resuming his meal.

"As I was saying," Charity continued, picking up from her earlier conversation without a second thought about the distraction, "I have agreed to help your golds—"

"But?" The Beast King interjected between bites.

"I want a favour in return," Charity concluded.

The Beast King took another gulp from his cup, clearly not one to give favours easily. "Name it, and I'll see if I'm willing to help," he said.

"The heir to the Akura clan is on the island," Charity replied.

The Beast King raised an eyebrow in response.

"Our enemies will seek to take the opportunity to eliminate her. In return, I would like you to protect her while she remains on the island. At least from those of higher advancement," Charity explained.

He ran a finger through his greasy beard. "And why can't you protect her yourself?" he asked.

"The Akura clan is barred from providing her with any aid," Charity replied.

"But I am not," the Beast King nodded. He did not feel the need to inquire about the politics within the Akura clan; this was a straightforward request.

"She will remain under my protection while on the island," he agreed.

Charity nodded. "I look forward to seeing your disciples' capabilities."

So she was aware, the Beast King thought. Ziel's servants were not actual servants. He grabbed a plate of meat with one hand. "Are we done then?"

The Sage nodded. "We are." She snapped her fingers and opened a portal.

The Beast King stepped through it. He hated portal transport, but he respected its convenience. He emerged in the middle of a forest, with the Wasteland cloudships nearby.

Ellie came running toward him, her eyes wide and mouth drooling at the sight of the meat. "Can I have some?" she begged.

The Beast King looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "You don't eat meat," he pointed out.

"No," Ellie shook her head. "But I can make the dogs bring me food with that," she said, salivating.

The Beast King sighed and tossed two tomahawks to the baby elephant. She caught them, wrapping the meat with her trunk tightly. "Go on, then."

"Thanks!" she exclaimed and began to run away.

Ziel heard the ringing vibrations of a familiar handpan in his mind and sighed at the sound of The Beast King's signal for the start. He was already ahead of the Herald.

"Yeah," he replied, wondering if the connection was one-sided or if the Herald could hear his thoughts.

“Umm, Elder Zeal,” Whitehall said from behind. “Where are we going?”

“Who was the Blackflame?” Ziel asked, ignoring Whitehall's question.

There was a pause before Whitehall answered. Ziel looked around and noticed that the dragon and the Redmoon had left. The Akura boy remained seated, cycling on his boulder.

“He was a disciple of the Heaven's Glory school. He is the one who told me about the incoming dreadgod,” Whitehall replied.

“He is the Unsouled?” Sadi asked, her voice trembling.

The quiver in her voice caused Whitehall to turn toward her. He noticed her hands were shaking, and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed hers. Her trembling stopped.

“You alright?” Whitehall asked.

“Yeah,” she muttered. “The Sword Sage disciple just brought back unpleasant memories.”

“Sadi,” Ziel's voice hung heavy in the air. She realized he had stopped walking. He remained silent for a moment and sighed. “There's a habitat of madra aspects a hundred and fifty meters ahead. Lead the way.”

Whitehall sensed disappointment in Ziel's voice but felt it was not directed at Sadi; it seemed like Ziel was disappointed in himself.

“Yes, Elder Ziel,” Sadi replied and stepped toward the edge of the air bubble.

“Are we going after the Blackflame?” Whitehall asked as he stepped next to Ziel, following behind Sadi.

“If we have time,” Ziel replied. “We have our priorities.”

“Everyone ready?” Sadi asked, her eyes fixed on the ocean beyond the bubble. “I think I can see it.”

“Ready,” Whitehall said as he took a deep breath and held it.

Ziel nodded.

Sadi dove into the ocean, her eyes wide with a spectrum of beautiful colours— hues of sapphire, emerald, and amethyst. Streams of violet shimmered in the depths, mingling with the soft blues and greens, creating an ethereal tapestry of light that pulsed and swirled.

She spotted the habitat Ziel had mentioned—a soft, aquatic green glowing bubble. She channeled waves of invisible light aura around her, feeling the vibrations as the light echoed back to her. This was a technique she had picked up from the anglerfish back in the sanctuary of The Wastelands.

She brushed past a plant with translucent purple leaves. Surprisingly, the fish with large teeth avoided their path. She assumed they fled once they sensed Ziel's spirit. It seemed Ziel was the apex predator.

She wanted to slap herself as the light waves bounced back to her.

Whitehall swam peacefully through the dark waters, with Ziel's glowing horns being the only source of light guiding his way. One moment, everything was dark, but then Sadi threw a ball of golden light ahead of them. Whitehall felt his blood run cold as the light revealed a massive Serpent looming before them.

The Serpent unleashed a blue blast from its mouth, aimed directly at them. "Sadi!" he yelled, but the water muffled his voice.

Ziel's green glow vanished in a flash, and he materialized next to Sadi. He pushed her out of harm's way just in time. Then, Ziel moved again, appearing in front of Whitehall. He extended his hand, and a green circular script appeared. It caught the blast and the shield held firm.

Whitehall noticed that Ziel was holding a giant hammer in one hand and wondered where he had gotten it. The Serpent stood tall and roared a challenge at Ziel. Without looking back, Ziel grabbed Whitehall's tunic and threw him at the Serpent. Whitehall felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as Meatball's talons dug into him.

The Serpent opened its mouth wide, preparing to take in its next snack. Whitehall needed to think quickly. He released poison madra directly into the creature's mouth. Meanwhile, Meatball launched black feathers at the Serpent's glaring yellow eyes. As Whitehall drew closer, he was struck by the size of the creature's fangs; they were as large as his entire body. The creature clamped its jaws shut, but fortunately, Whitehall moved fast enough to avoid them. Instead, the Serpent ended up swallowing the poisonous madra.

Looking back, he saw Ziel battling the creature. Green scripts accompanied each strike of his hammer, and the sound of each blow reverberated through the water.

Whitehall felt Meatball flapping her wings and turned to face the direction she was swimming. Sadi was there, knives in each hand, gazing directly at him. She pointed two fingers toward her eyes and then gestured back at the serpent engaged in battle.

Whitehall sensed Meatball signaling him through their connection: Distract .

Ziel sighed as he fought against the Serpent. In theory, the creature was a Truegold, and despite his weakened spirit, Ziel should have been able to defeat it. However, he had lost his will to fight long ago. The only thing sustaining him was his desire for vengeance over the loss of his sect, but that fire had long since faded to mere embers. Now, he wondered why those embers were beginning to spark back to life.

Whitehall's poison had begun to seep into the Serpent's spirit. The boy did not realize how terrifying his madra truly was. Unlike other poison artists, his madra did not merely poison the body; it infected the entire spirit. He pondered why The Beast King had chosen to grant him such a path, but Ziel would not question those who had assisted him without expecting anything in return.

Ziel hammered the creature's jaw, sending it reeling back. The serpent roared back in defiance. Then, the serpent's eyes turned bright white, and it moved erratically due to the sudden blindness. The creature blasted blue breath in all directions, and Ziel felt Whitehall's madra enter its mouth. The serpent's attack continued to weaken as it ran out of madra. Ziel activated his enforcer technique and lept towards it when it became weak puffs of blue bubbles. The serpent must have been using an enforcer technique; now, out of madra, Zeal's hammer crushed its skull.

 ----------

Sadi spat out salty water. Beside her, Whitehall and Meatball gasped for air.

"Let's not do that again," Meatball said, coughing.

"Agreed," Whitehall replied, still heaving.

Sadi was about to respond when she paused to take in their surroundings. They were in a garden filled with exotic, rainbow-coloured plants that grew neatly along a stone path.

She activated her perception and was overwhelmed by force madra. Ziel stepped through the air bubble, dragging a large black stone behind him.

Sadi's eyes widened; it wasn’t a stone—it was a chunk of the serpent's flesh.

"Where did your hammer go?" Whitehall asked Ziel, causing Sadi to raise an eyebrow in realization.

Ziel stared at them disinterestedly, his voice slow as if he was straining with each word. "My Soulspace," he replied.

"Soulspace?" Sadi asked.

Zeal sighed, too tired to speak. "You'll begin to unlock it when you reach peak Truegold."

He dragged his feet to the centre of the garden and dropped onto the stone like a sack of rice.

"Pick two seeds from each type of plant," he muttered. "Then you may eat." He closed his eyes and began to cycle.

"Yes, Elder," the two lowgolds replied, bowing.

Ziel opened one eye. "Cycle the meat when you eat," he instructed. "Or I'll have to explain to the Beast King why his disciples died from eating." He closed his eyes again and returned to his cycling.

Sadi was unsure if Ziel was being sarcastic, but she decided to be cautious just in case he was not.

She looked at Whitehall and Meatball, saying, "I'll start from the left." She pointed at Whitehall and continued, "You can take the right." When she pointed at Meatball, the bird interrupted her with a yawn.

"That battle made me sleepy," the bird chirped as she flew and landed on Ziel's head. She curled up into a ball and closed her eyes. "Wake me up when we're leaving."

"Is she—" Sadi began.

"No," Whitehall replied with a sigh. "She's fine. Just lazy."

Sadi felt a sense of pride as she gathered the seeds from the plants. She believed these seeds would be planted in the Wastelands and that a monarch's plants would greatly benefit the forest.

The seeds came in a variety of colours, shapes, and sizes. One short plant, with leaves as broad as its body, produced seeds no larger than tiny ants. In contrast, a small plant with even smaller circular leaves had star-shaped seeds.

Some plants appeared to be fused from two different species, their upper halves displaying a bark colour distinct from that of the lower half. One such plant bore fruits, and Sadi made sure to collect them. Once her hands were full, she headed over to where she had laid their pack. Whitehall had already gathered a few seeds himself.

She glanced at him; his mask caused her to feel a mix of pride and sorrow. Their eyes met, and he waved. Although his brown left eye was in shadow, she could still see it clearly. She waved back.

The garden was small, and it didn’t take long for them to finish collecting the seeds. Once they were done, they sat next to the serpent’s remains. The serpent’s black skin had a stony texture, and the green meat emitted a putrid smell.

"So," Whitehall began, scrunching his nose at the pungent aroma. "How are we going to approach this?"

"Raw, I suppose?" Sadi winced as the stench from the meat intensified. She unsheathed her knife and carefully sliced a thin piece, handing it to Whitehall.

He pinched his nose with one hand as he accepted the slice. "Not poisonous," he gagged, using his perception to assess the meat. "At least, there's no poison madra."

Sadi cut a piece for herself, eyeing the green flesh warily. She brought it close, sniffing the acidic odour before recoiling slightly.

"Well, no time like the present," Whitehall grimaced, steeling himself. He opened his mouth wide and stuffed the entire slice inside, using his hands to force his jaw shut.

Sadi watched as his body tensed, then fell backwards onto the floor. His breathing was controlled, so she knew he was cycling.

With a grimace of her own, she ate the meat. It evaporated in her mouth into gas but with the metallic taste of blood. Her tongue revolted, but she was unable to gag. Her eyes went wide as her muscles stiffened. She fell onto the floor like a training dummy.

Her madra channels ignited with a simmering heat that coursed through her body and into her core. As she closed her eyes and began to cycle the madra, a black blur flashed overhead, but it was too late for her to react; her eye muscles had already closed, and she was unable to react to the sudden movement.

Meatball sniffed the air with her eyes closed. Alongside the scent of the delicious serpent, she detected something different. She decided to wait until Whitehall and Sadi finished gathering seeds, as seeds made a delightful pairing with meat. Focusing again on the new scent, she realized it smelled like dragons, though there was a distinct human odour as well.

Her instincts told her that the intruder was a lowgold, likely one of the gold dragon's servants. Although the intruder was attempting to veil their spirit, they did so poorly. Meatball wondered why Sadi and Whitehall hadn’t noticed the intruder yet. Through their bond, she sensed that Whitehall was unaware of the presence nearby. She recalled her mother telling her that humans had weak perceptions; they couldn't detect their surroundings as acutely as her species could.

Ziel remained motionless beneath her, and Meatball sighed inwardly. She realized she would have to handle the situation. However, feeling kind today, she decided to allow the intruder to look around. Once they saw that there were no treasures here, they would surely leave—definitely not because she was feeling lazy or too comfortable. After all, Whitehall's hair was short, leaving little to hide under.

The intruder stepped out behind a bush as Sadi's form fell to the floor. Their hand reached for the bag of seeds and the remaining fish. A flare of anger flickered inside Meatball. How dare this servant try and steal her food. Her feathers sharpened into poisonous black needles, and she shot at the intruder's back.

They did not feel the needle sink into them. It evaporated into gas, not leaving a single wound. A few seconds later, the intruder fell to the ground, mouth foaming.

Meatball opened her eyes and sighed. She needed to ensure that her food wouldn’t be stolen. Climbing down Ziel's grey robes, she waddled toward the bag of seeds. Sadi and Whitehall were still down; she wondered when they would finally wake up. Biting the strap of the bag, she dragged it closer to the meat. Drool gathered in her mouth; the meat and seeds smelled so good.

Whitehall woke up with a jolt. His core had been buzzing like bees since he ingested the serpent meat. He watched his hands as he clenched and unclenched them, realizing that his forearms felt larger and denser with muscle. That meat was something else. He wondered how much time had passed.

Across from him on the floor, he saw Sadi. He guessed she was still cycling. He thought about whether his Godkiller iron body made it easier to process the meat. His gaze was drawn to her bare arms, where veins and muscles rippled beneath her skin, pushing and pulling against the tissue.

He saw that Ziel had now shifted to a cycling position; his eyes were closed and focused. Only after did Whitehall see a body clothed in white behind him near the bubble's walls. He recognised her as one of the dragon's attendants. Her skin was dark purple and wrinkled like her body had been consumed from the inside. Their bag was next to the body. And on the top opening, he saw Meatball's wing.

Panicked, he rushed to the bag, calling out to the bird, “Meatball!”

There was no reply. He reached through their bond and slowed himself down. Meatball was not hurt; she was satisfied and feeling a little mischievous. He checked inside the bag and saw the bird lying there. Her body was as stiff as a rock, but she was breathing. A smile spread across her face, and her belly bulged. Bits of chewed green meat decorated her cheeks, and not a single seed remained in the bag.

Sadi woke up to find herself smothered by a fluffy cloud of black feathers.

"Sadi, help me!" Meatball squawked in a panic. "He has totally lost it!"

Sadi yanked the bird off her face, and Meatball flopped onto her neck, burrowing into her hair like a frightened ostrich.

"What in the world is happening? Is he under the effects of a technique?" she asked, glancing nervously at the bird's progressively panicked expression.

Whitehall's slow and heavy footsteps echoed through the bubble. She noticed his arms. They were more muscular and defined. He threw their bag at Sadi, and it landed on her feet. Sadi looked in. It was empty.

"Someone devoured all our hard work," Whitehall said, his tone somewhere between calm and completely bonkers.

"Meatball!" Sadi glared, her hands on her hips.

The bird hid further beneath her black hair and did her best to blend in.

"Where I come from," Whitehall paused dramatically, towering over Sadi and staring down at Meatball. "Black chicken is a delicacy."

Sadi's expression morphed into a mischievous grin that could rival a cat eyeing a frazzled mouse. She tilted her head slowly, giving Meatball the kind of look that made him feel like sweets in front of a hungry toddler.

"I'll fetch the knives," Sadi whispered, her eyes gleaming.

Meatball sweated.

Whitehall and Sadi stood over the dead body while Meatball waddled through the garden, gathering seeds.

"Nothing," Whitehall informed, running his hand through the dead sacred artist's clothes. "I doubt the dragon would be far away. She wouldn't send her attendants out otherwise."

Sadi nodded. "The dragon went after the Unsouled and the turtle. I saw them when we swam."

Lindon felt a rush of warmth spread through his chest as the golden dragon's tail slammed into him, throwing him back onto the sand. He rolled to his feet almost instinctively, aware that the Path of Blackflame was meant to keep his opponent on the defensive. But now he found himself on the back foot.

In a heartbeat, he ignited his burning cloak and dashed behind a cluster of boulders, weaving through the tall stalks for cover. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of a long strand of orange madra extending from the dragon's hand, a whip that sent a chill down his spine.

Determined to increase the distance between them, he ducked low through the stalks and leapt agilely over the boulders, focused on evading the imminent strike.

A man in white appeared before him and swiped at Lindon's feet. Lindon leapt over the kick, and his dream-well-enhanced senses detected two new spirits while airborne. A woman, invisible to Lindon's eyes, leapt towards the man in white, stabbing two knives into his chest.

Lindon did not have time to thank the woman because a Silverfang Carp was rushing towards him from behind. He hoped she was friendly. His Remnant arm caught the Silverfang Carp by its jaw, and he was pushed back as the fish swam through the water aura in the air. His arm began to consume the Carp's madra, and Lindon fired dragon's breath into the fish's mouth.

Lindon turned back to where the man in white was, and he saw Ekeri leaping over the servant. "Watch out," he warned.

Three black needles of toxic madra flew through the air at the dragon. She twisted her body mid-air, dodging the oncoming attack. Ekeri turned to the unknown attacker when she landed.

Lindon recognised the Sacred Artists. Although a wooden mask half covered his face, Lindon recognised his small stature and the brown rags he wore. "Elder Whitehall," he called out.

"Behind you," Elder Whitehall pointed.

Lindon turned and saw schools of Silverfang Carps swimming towards him with gnashing teeth. An invisible hand was placed on his shoulder, and he heard a sharp whisper.

"Down, Unsouled," a woman's voice echoed.

A pang of sadness flickered through his chest at the mention of an old language. He buried it deep in his mind. He needed to focus on other things.

He lay flat on the ground and saw the Silverfang Carps changing their target. They went after Ekeri. When he looked at himself, he realised he was invisible.

"Can you buy me some time?" he asked the unknown woman.

"Yes, but not too long. She is a Truegold," the woman replied.

Ekeri yelled in frustration at the oncoming fish and used her ruler technique of golden fire, incinerating the creatures swarming her.

At the same time, Whitehall released a miasma of toxic madra, poisoning the water aura in the air. It weakened the Silverfang Carps coming for him, but they were beginning to overwhelm him. He began to regret not getting himself a weapon. Sadi appeared by his side, carving the fish into tiny pieces with her knives.

Damn , Whitehall swore inwardly.  Do not harm her,  he urged the poison madra. But the madra did not acknowledge his command—not out of defiance; instead, it felt unnecessary as if it knew Whitehall's intent since the beginning— As though the poison was already aligned with his will.

Ekeri screamed as her flames burned the last of the Silverfang Carps. Her eyes blazed at the newcomers. How dare they get in the way between her and her treasures.

Unbeknownst to Ekeri, Lindon's eyes focused on her. The Void Dragon's Dance was as ready as it could be. He sent a tightly wound disc of blackflame aura at Ekeri. She pushed it back with her spirit. The Wasteland woman's technique must have stopped because Ekeri's head snapped towards Lindon in surprise.

Lindon stretched a hand towards her and clenched his fist before she could unravel his technique. He unleashed the Void Dragon's Dance.

Whitehall watched as a pillar of blackflame consumed the dragon. His eyes were wide as he stared at swirling black-and-red fire. Lindon's technique was not any normal flame. He felt the destruction aura empowering the technique. He watched in horror and astonishment as anything the flame touched disintegrated instantly into nothing.

The technique lasted only a second but consumed everything around Lindon in a circle. Carps, stalks, and plants were completely erased, leaving only Lindon and sand behind.

A figure rose, covered in black smoke. Ekeri was still alive, Lindon realised. Her clothes were burnt and smoking, and her scales were charred. Her eyes glowed gold as she snapped them open from beneath the smoke. She activated her enforcer technique and lept at Lindon, and her whip stretched outwards for his neck.

Whitehall was the first to react, throwing a poison madra needle at the dragon. She did not bother to dodge, and the madra needles dissipated as they entered through her skin. Lindon caught the whip with his Remnant arm and struck her core with an empty palm.

Ekeri's enforcer technique vanished, and her expression turned to one of confusion and disbelief before being replaced by panic. Lindon was sure he had the same expression as he tumbled back and pulled Blackflame. With what little madra he had left, he fired a thin line of dragon's breath.

She fell on top of him, and her jewellery fell apart. Lindon shoved her away, pushing himself backwards through the sand. He tried to activate another dragon's breath, but a hand covered his view of the dragon. It was a woman wearing the same rags as Whitehall.

"Finish her!" Lindon blurted.

"She's dead," Whitehall's voice echoed through the now quiet bubble.

Lindon shifted his head to see Ekeri. She was sprawled on the ground, unmoving, her face buried in the sand. As he looked closer, he noticed a hole in her back, and the scales on her body were black—too dark for scorch marks.

"It took a while for my poison to take hold," Whitehall explained, looking down at the body whose scales had begun to fall off. "Truegold's bodies are tough."

Lindon stared at the dragon's body, then his eyes shifted to the sand beside her. "Mine," he yelped without thinking, leaping at the jewellery pieces.

Elder Empire

Iteration requested.      Asylum

Date?      Request Rejected

Report Complete

Mande was in the middle of storing her sweet bread, preparing for another day at the harbour, when she heard her neighbour's voice calling from outside her home.

"Mande! Your son is back!"

Her hands froze, the loaf of bread slipping from her grasp. "Malin has returned?" she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, my son just came back from the harbour," her neighbour replied, her face alight with excitement. "Malin's returned with a fleet of twenty ships! His clothes are finer than anything we've ever seen, but they say his face is still the same."

Mande's legs nearly gave out beneath her. For years, she had prayed and cried, begging the gods to bring her son back safely. Every night, she had lain awake, wondering if he was alive, if he was well, if he ever thought of her. And now, he was here.

She dropped her basket, the loaves of bread spilling onto the ground, but she didn't care. Her heart raced as she turned toward the door.

"Just go," her neighbour said, already bending to pick up the scattered bread. "I'll clean this up. Don't worry about it—go see your son."

"Thank you," Mande muttered, her voice barely audible as she hurried out the door. Her steps quickened as she made her way to the harbour, her heart pounding in her chest.

When she arrived, the sight took her breath away. The harbour was bustling with activity, and the docks were crowded with people unloading crates and barrels from a fleet of magnificent ships. And there, standing tall among the chaos, was Malin. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, his face more mature, but she would have recognized him anywhere. He was dressed in fine clothes, his presence commanding as he directed the crew and handed out goods to the villagers.

Mande's eyes filled with tears as she pushed through the crowd, her gaze fixed on her son. "Malin!" she called, her voice breaking. "My son, it's been too long. I've missed you so much."

She reached him and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. For a moment, she felt his arms encircle her, holding her tightly. But then, without warning, his grip tightened—too tight—and he pushed her away. She stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

Confused and hurt, she looked up at him, her heart breaking at the rage and sorrow etched on his face.

"You shameless woman!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the noise of the harbour. "How dare you pretend to be my mother!"

Mande stared at him in shock, her mind struggling to process his words. Her son—her Malin—was looking at her as if she were a stranger.

"Is this your mother?" a richly dressed woman asked, stepping forward. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp, studying Mande with curiosity.

"No," Malin said firmly, shaking his head. "She's just a beggar pretending to be my mother. Probably hoping to profit off me."

Mande's heart shattered. She opened her mouth to protest, to remind him of all the years she had spent raising him, of all the sacrifices she had made, but no words came out.

Malin turned his back on her, his shoulders slumping. "My mother is no longer here," he said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. "She's probably moved somewhere else. Or..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

The richly dressed woman placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure she's well," she said gently. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I was able to see where you grew up."

Malin smiled at her, a small, sad smile that made Mande's chest ache. She watched in silence as her son and the woman walked away, leaving her alone on the dock. Her heart felt heavier than it ever had, even heavier than the day she had accepted that Malin's father would never return.

As the ships began to depart, Mande closed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists. "Dear gods," she whispered, her voice trembling with anger and grief. "Show him the wrongness of his actions. Make him realize his mistakes. Punish him for what he's done."

In the darkness of her mind, something stirred—a presence she hadn't expected. It seized her prayer, its grip cold and unyielding. Mande gasped, her eyes flying open as she fell back onto the ground, her body trembling with shock.

Chapter Text

Iteration requested    Vroshir Territory

Date?     Far Before

Report Complete

The Eighth Judge of the Court of Seven, Ozriel, drifted through the shimmering threads of the Way, his senses taut and alert. Officially, he was searching for Daruman, the lost Executioner of the Abidan.

His presence stirred within him, its voice a steady thrum in his mind. [The Mad King's influence is absent from this sector. I recommend we turn back.]

Ozriel dismissed the suggestion and stepped from the blue swirlings of the Way into the raw Chaos at its border. The transition felt seamless yet tangible—a shift from order into the seething, formless dark that whispered of dissolution. In this realm, he was the Reaper, the embodiment of Death; only he among the Judges could endure the Chaos unscathed.

His presence pressed on him, its tone insistent. [Time is wasting. The Mad King's trail is growing colder by the moment.]

Yet Ozriel's gaze remained fixed on the swirling void ahead. There was something out there, a ripple in the fabric of Chaos. It was not Daruman, but it carried an unusual pull that reeked of his workings.

"Silence," he commanded, his voice cutting through the mental link with authority.

He cast his awareness outward, letting his perception unfurl across hundreds of thousands of parsecs. The cosmos spilled into his senses: star systems glinting like scattered gems, barren planets spinning in solitary orbits, and the vast emptiness that stretched between them. Intelligent life was absent here—until he found it.

A lone space station drifted in the void, unmoored and unmarked, positioned a hundred parsecs from the nearest planet. More troubling, however, was what lay within. Ozriel's eyes narrowed as he focused.

Nine Silverlords.

Not the diluted, weak-willed kind that swarmed the fringes of the multiverse—these were elites, their power sharp and blinding.

He commanded his presence, "Identify their faction." The Vroshir were notorious for being a collection of multiple groups and alliances rather than a united front.

Silence followed, unnervingly prolonged, stretching long enough for Ozriel's hands to clench into fists. Finally, his presence spoke, its tone laced with unease.

[Unable], it relayed in a single word, then hesitated. [Signatures of the Silverlords are also unidentifiable.]

Ozriel's lips pressed into a thin line. Reaching into his soul space, he summoned his weapon. The broom appeared first, a simple tool of worn wood. As he ran a hand over its shaft, the wood splintered away, revealing the blackened core beneath: the handle of his Scythe.

The weapon hummed with latent power, its blade an edge of void, sharp enough to carve reality itself.

His presence gave a resigned sigh. [A battle, then.]

"Interrogation," Ozriel corrected, though he knew the distinction might not matter. He adjusted his grip, aware of the Scythe's familiar and absolute weight.

The Vroshir here were hiding something; their dedication to secrecy was unlike anything Ozriel had encountered. He had stumbled upon them by chance, but unfortunately for them, luck was on his side.

Prangkas the Good stood rigid on the bridge of his ship, Kelapa , his gaze fixed on the void beyond. The darkness outside seemed endless, but the red glow bathing the bridge was suffocating. Alarms blared in deafening cycles, the sound drilling into his skull. His nails dug deep into his palms, leaving crescents of pain that barely grounded him.

"Sir! He's closing in—estimated arrival in ten minutes!" the Lieutenant shouted, his voice cracking as his fingers mashed erratically across the controls.

Prangkas barely registered the panic. His thoughts churned, a rising tide of disbelief and fury. Why now? For centuries, they had operated in the shadows, meticulous with every step. No witnesses. No trails.

"How did the Abidan discover us?" His voice was cold and clipped, each word carrying the weight of suppressed rage.

The ship's AI responded with an infuriating calm. "Analysis suggests the Judge was pursuing The Mad King and discovered our presence by chance."

Chance. Rotten, cosmic luck. He knew of the Abidan Judges—relentless enforcers of their tyranny, wielding authority that could snuff out entire realities. And now, one was coming for them.

He cursed The Mad King silently, bitterly.

"Divert all power to the Rebirth-OX, " Prangkas ordered, his voice cutting through the cacophony. "From this moment forward, it is our highest priority."

The Lieutenant hesitated, his hands freezing over the console. "Sir...?"

Prangkas turned to face him, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "You knew what you signed up for," he said, his voice low but heavy. He swept his gaze across the bridge, taking in the faces of his crew. Fear burned in their eyes, raw and undeniable, but beneath it lay something stronger: resolve. They would follow him, even to the edge of annihilation.

The ship's AI chimed in again, its dispassionate tone almost mocking the gravity of the moment. "Energy diverted. The Rebirth-OX is now priority one."

"Good," Prangkas said, exhaling a slow, measured breath. He turned back to the void, his mind already calculating their defence. They could not run, not from a Judge. And surrender? That was never an option.

"Summon the rest of the Bhayangkaras," he commanded the AI.

"Already done," it replied.

The bridge seemed to grow colder as the weight of his decision settled over the crew.

Prangkas's hands curled into fists, but his voice was steady, resolute. "We will be the defence."

Beyond the ship, in the endless void, the embodiment of Death was coming.

In their barracks, the Bhayangkaras prepared in silence. They discarded their usual armour, knowing it would be useless against a Judge, and instead dressed in simple brown and gold cloth patterned in the style of their leader's home world. Each fold and knot carried meaning—a quiet defiance in the face of certain death.

When Prangkas entered, his gaze swept over the men and women. His attire mirrored theirs. He held a wooden box in his hands. The brown wood had remained pristine despite its age. He opened the box and walked to each of his men. They took the gold sumpings and fastened them on their ears.

"You look ready," he said to the Bhayangkara closest to him.

A silver-haired veteran stepped forward, her voice steady. "We are."

Prangkas nodded. "Then let us go out there and die." He slammed his fist into his chest.

The warriors saluted as one, their resolve unshaken. Brown and gold would meet the storm head-on.

Nine Bhayangkaras floated in front of Kelapa. Shrouded by golden light, their forms shone in the darkness of space. A shadow darker than the black of space appeared before them a parsec away.

Prangkas the Good, blessed by a thousand blessings from a thousand worlds, unsheathed his weapons, a pair of short curved and hooked swords, his Kujangs.

"Bhayangkara one, ready," he stated, his voice booming in the darkness.

Rana the Protector, empowered by the strength of a thousand lesser gods of a thousand planets, summoned her weapon, a golden boomerang the size of her body.

"Bhayangkara two, ready."

Akhan the Just, enforced by the transplantation of a thousand artefacts from a thousand worlds, called forth his weapon, a giant sword of swirling steel: his keris.

"Bhayangkara three, ready."

Visor the Caring, healed by the healings of a thousand worlds, held his hands out. They glowed with a soothing green.

"Bhayangkara four, ready."

Ishi the Generous, tattooed with scripts of a thousand worlds from head to toe, held her bamboo stick against her mouth.

"Bhayangkara five, ready."

Singa the Hopeful, empowered by the blood of greater creatures of a thousand worlds, grew his nails into claws.

"Bhayangkara six, ready."

Kranas the Steadfast, his body modified by the greatest technicians of a thousand worlds to be more machine than man, armed his guns.

"Bhayangkara seven, ready."

Hanath the Heartful, her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, gathered power from a thousand worlds. She held her weapon in a stance, a five-pronged trident, her Besi Lima.

"Bhayangkara eight, ready."

Sayuri the Content, opened her meditating eyes. Her palms were empty, but her eyes were filled with the wicked desires she had cleansed from a thousand worlds.

"Bhayangkara nine, ready."

They were ready to die.

Ozriel clapped at the display. He wiped an imaginary tear from his eyes.

"Wonderful everyone," he mocked. "Brilliant display!"

The Bhayangkaras before him remained silent, but he could feel their grip tightening around their weapons. Those that had any, at least.

"Let us discuss this over tea," he offered. He was trying to be less destructive. His ego was still bruised when he learned he had no affinity to the Phoenix division.

The Silverlord with the bamboo stick blew a poisoned needle at him. The needle cut through space and time, moving a hundred times the speed of light.

Ozriel caught the needles between his fingers. He felt the corruption of Chaos on the needle, and the Chaos threatened to consume him. Of course, it would not work; his armour was there for a reason.

"That was rude," he commented jovially.

[They're trying to buy time], his presence informed him.

Ozriel sighed, gripping his Scythe tighter. "I know. ... I know."

He swung his Reaper Scythe, which cut through space, a black line rushing towards his targets.

One of the Silverlords stepped forward and held his hands outwards. His hands glowed and took the form of a lion's paw, the size of a planet. He caught the blow, and he pushed back against the oncoming attack. The blackness was drowned by gold. When the light disappeared, the Silverlord was a smoking mess. His palms were bloody, and a gash ran across his chest.

Ozriel raised his eyebrows at the sight.

His presence spoke in his mind, and Ozriel heard a hint of irritation. [Can we stop wasting time?]

"Alright, alright," Ozriel waved and prepared for another strike. "Let's try one per cent."

"This could have gone more peacefully," the Judge said to Prangkas.

Prungkus floated through space; his weapons and limbs were gone. He wondered why the Judge had not killed him already like the others. His eyes stared at the red light of his ship's bridge. They dragged the battle as far away and for as long as possible, hoping to buy enough time as the Judge could not travel through the Way. The crew still needed more time.

"There can never be peace with tyrants," he choked a death rattle.

The Judge's face softened in a manner that Prangkas thought was mocking. But the white-haired man did not argue; he smiled instead. "That we can agree. But you see, the Abidan are not tyrants."

Prangkas laughed and almost choked on his own blood. "You should listen to yourself more often." His eyes met the Judge's. "I have heard about you. We call you the Reaper. For how many worlds you have destroyed to the ground."

The Judge's face flinched. Prangkas realised his words had struck a chord.

"How many more people will the Abidan kill to keep their control over worlds? Control that you maintain with an iron fist?" Prangkas thoughts whirled in his mind. He could no longer fight to buy time. But he could talk.

The Judge's face darkened, and his grip on his Scythe tightened. "We are not perfect," he answered. "But you threaten to plunge the universe into Chaos."

"We would rather be free," Prangkas hissed.

The Judge looked like he wanted to retort but held his tongue at the last second. He sighed. "You're wasting time, aren't you?"

Prangkas did not answer.

"I only want to know where the Mad King is and what the purpose of this facility of his is," the Judge said, pointing in the ship's direction.

Prangkas eyes shifted to the ship, focusing on the now-darkened bridge. The Spirit-OX was complete. He fought to suppress his smile. He did not know if his blessings would work on a Judge, but he tried anyway.

"Daruman seeks to harness the power of other Chaos beings," Prangkas lied.

The Judge's eyes went wide. "I guess he took after his name after all." He eyed the limbless man. "Tell me where he is or where he'll go next, and I'll make it quick," Ozriel lifted his Scythe onto his shoulder.

Prangkas nodded, inhaling deeply. Then, he unleashed all the power he could muster and yelled toward his ship. "INITIATE SELF DESTRUCT-"

His bellow was cut off as Scythe swiped through his neck, separating his head from his body.

Ozriel rushed towards the ship before the first drop of blood could spill from the dead man. He held his hand out, attempting to stop the self-destruct. However, he was inside Vroshir territory. The Way was not present here. The ship imploded, clamping down the structure of matter of the ship into nothing but atoms. There was not a single trace of the vessel left.

"That was a waste of time," Ozriel muttered, his Scythe taking the shape of a broom and disappearing into his soul space.

[I told you so].

Chapter Text

Iteration requested.      110. Cradle

Lindon stood up from the ground, his cheeks blushing in embarrassment from what he had just done. Whitehall's eyes, or at least the ones not covered by a mask, bored into him.

"Forgiveness, Elder Whitehall," he bowed. "We should share it, of course."

Before Elder Whitehall could reply, the wall behind them vanished.

Dross, a cloud of purple drifted out of his gem. "Oooh, that's a toasted dragon. Do you think she'll taste good? I've never eaten a dragon before."

Dross' large eye shifted to the newcomers. "You must be the ones that saved Lindon."

Whitehall and Sadi stared at the floating purple cloud.

"Is there something on my face?" Dross asked.

Lindon coughed. "Elder Whitehall and...," he paused when he realised he did not know the name of Whitehall's companion.

"Sadi," the woman answered.

"Sadi," Lindon continued. "Meet Dross."

A sharp warning screamed through his bond with Orthos. "Hold on, Orthos," Lindon turned to face the turtle stepping towards them, black dragon's breath forming in his mouth. "They are friendly."

"Then tell them to sheath their weapons," the turtle grumbled, black eyes boring into the two unknown sacred artists.

Only then did Lindon notice Sadi had not sheathed her knives. Her knuckles were white as she held them. Whitehall placed a hand on her shoulder, and only then did she sheathed her knives behind her waist.

"Is this how you thank those who have saved you," she spat. "Shouldn't have expected any more from an Unsouled."

Lindon's eyes instinctively turned black. He has not been called an Unsouled for a long time now. But the word still irritated him. Little Blue climbed onto his shoulder and slapped his cheek, speaking in bells and whistles. She was weak, and barely any madra was injected into her slap. He could not translate what she said, but he thought he understood.

"Enough," Whitehall was the first to speak up. "Let's just split the spoils, and we can go our separate ways," he pointed at the ground at the dead body and the pieces of jewellery.

"Lindon's dragon's breath killed her. He should get the first pick," Orthos growled.

"No," Sadi replied.

The turtle cycled his madra, powering up his Truegold spirit. He was in no shape to fight, but Whitehall and Sadi did not know it. And Lindon wanted the first pick.

"Fine," Sadi replied, clenching her hands into fists.

Other than gemstones and precious metals, there were three other things on the floor. A torn necklace with a key, a tiny jade rectangle, and the handle of her whip. Lindon wanted the whip.

Orthos moved forward and grabbed the key in his mouth. "You may scavenge the rest."

Lindon wanted to protest but sensed confidence and assurance through his bond with Orthos. Whatever the key was, Orthos was sure it was the most precious.

Two new spirits emerged into the air bubble, and Lindon's perception screamed a warning. Orthos withdrew his spirit inwards.

"That was a bit unfair, don't you think?" A familiar, disinterested voice spoke as a sacred artist with green horns entered. "That void key will have plenty more inside."

"Yeah, I agree. That's cheating!" a black bird squawked from the man's shoulder.

Lindon bowed to the Truegold. "Forgiveness, this one has no idea what the key was."

The man did not bother to look at Lindon as he answered. "The turtle did."

"We can split the contents of the void key," Orthos replied, his tone less threatening than previously.

The black bird flew down and waddled before Orthos. "You are one weird-looking dragon," the bird commented.

Meatball yelped as he grabbed the bird off the ground. "Meatball," he scolded. "Let's not go antagonising Truegolds."

"And you are a weird-looking bird," the turtle replied.

Meatball straightened her back as she perched on Whitehall's shoulder. "That I am."

Whitehall cut into the conversation, gesturing at the bird and green-horned man. "Everyone, meet Meatball and Ziel." He then pointed at the others. "Meatball and Ziel, meet Wei Shi Lindon, Orthos, Dross..." he paused when his finger landed on a blue spirit girl.

"Little Blue," Lindon answered. The spirit chimed bells and whistles from his shoulder in acknowledgement.

"Now that introductions are over," Sadi spoke up. "What is a void key?"

"It's a private space that can only be accessed by the key holder," Ziel answered, walking towards the group.

The void key suddenly became Lindon's number one priority. He still wanted the contents, but now that another Truegold was here, he would settle for the key.

"I would like to keep the key," Lindon said before anyone can claim it. "I'll be willing to split the contents evenly."

Ziel did not reply; he shrugged at Whitehall and Sadi instead. "You were the one that fought the dragon."

Lindon saw Whitehall hesitate, and he unconsciously rubbed the blue marble in his pocket.

"Agreed," Whitehall said and looked to Sadi. She nodded her agreement.

Ten minutes later, after the void key's contents were shared, Lindon could not help but be glad of his choice. There was not much in the void key that would help his advancement. There was gold and more gold, but he did not care about those. At least he convinced himself so.

Whitehall had taken the whip, claiming that he needed a weapon. While Sadi settled for the jade stone, she filled her bag with gold. It rubbed Lindon raw the first time Sadi laid claim to the golds. He did not complain, though. The void key was the real treasure, according to Orthos.

"Whitehall. Sadi," Ziel's voice echoed through the chamber behind where the wall was. "You two might want to drink some," he pointed at the Dream Well.

Sadi was there first, drinking a handful of precious water. "Wow," she said as she swallowed the water.

"Like a full night's sleep in a bottle," Dross chimed in.

Whitehall drank the water, his eyes widening as he swallowed it. He drank it greedily. Lindon was furiously clearing his void key. He wanted to fill his key with as much water as possible before the others finished it.

"I told you about the Spirit Well, haven't I? Dross added, speaking to everyone. "I'll repeat it just in case. Its water promotes growth in madra density and recovery. A glass or two can take a Highgold to the brink of advancement."

"Come on, you two," Ziel sighed, grabbing the Wasteland Lowgolds, who were busy drinking the Dream Well like they had not drank water for a century. "That's where we're heading." He pointed at the cracks in space. "We're running out of time if you two want to advance."

Whitehall and Sadi expressed muted complaints but complied anyway, returning to the edges of the water bubble.

"Are you coming?" Ziel asked, looking over his shoulder.

Lindon was filling as much of the water from the Dream Well as possible into various empty containers inside his void key. "One moment, please," he bowed, holding a treasure chest filled with water from the Dream Well. "This one will be glad to join you." He had a few more empty vials that he wanted to fill.

"No," Ziel's voice was disinterested but firm.

Lindon looked up at the rejection. He saw the crack in space and the three sacred artists waiting for him. These were treasures he had never had access to before. And most importantly, he wanted to share them with Yerin.

"Don't worry," Dross attempted to cheer Lindon up. "Don't mind me losing essence and essentially dying. But focus on the real treasure. The Spirit Well."

Lindon sighed. "Lead the way."

Inside the icy water, three lights illuminated Lindon's path forward. Dross's purple, Orthos's deep red, and Ziel's green. For some odd reason, Sadi was at the lead. He reckoned it was due to her light path. He checked his pockets, making sure Little Blue was secure. He pulled out Suriel's marble, adding a faint blue light to the others.

He strained to keep up, but Orthos had remained close, and Lindon suspected the turtle was waiting for him. They reached the edge of the cliff, and he looked down. The warm orange light of a new habitat shone from below.

"Wow, how did they know the Spirit Well's location?" Dross asked, and Lindon suspected it was towards him.

He was unable to reply underwater, so he shrugged instead. As he got closer to the habitat, his eyes widened. Around it were the remains of a Sea serpent. He knew it was dead because its head was mush, and smaller fishes were eating its body.

"The Diamondscale Sea Drake," Dross commented. "Good thing you did not fight the horned man. Ziel of the Wasteland."

If Ziel had done this, Lindon could only thank the heavens for agreeing to share Ekeri's treasure peacefully. They emerged into the habitat, and Lindon saw the Wasteland group going deeper into the table library.

"Who is he?" Lindon asked, in awe of the power required to take down such a large creature.

"There's not much about him in our records. But I can tell you that he is under the protection of the Beast King," Dross answered. "You know what that means."

Lindon shook his head, "I don't."

"Really?" Dross asked as though it was something obvious.

Lindon shook his head again.

Dross seemed to glow slightly brighter at Lindon's lack of knowledge. He opened his mouth and began explaining.

Ziel led Whitehall, Sadi, and Meatball into the dimly lit tablet library, its air thick with dust. Shelves stretched endlessly, lined with countless dream tablets that glowed faintly. Meatball sniffed the air and flew ahead, landing softly near a glowing blue well. The bond between Whitehall and the beast flared with recognition.

The Spirit Well.

Whitehall's curiosity sparked, but Ziel strode past it without a second glance, heading straight for the shelves. He began rummaging through stacks of dream tablets.

"We'll have time to advance both of you later," Ziel said, his voice calm but firm. It was as if he had plucked the question straight from Whitehall and Sadi's minds. "These," he continued, pulling out two tablets, "are the real treasures for your paths."

He handed a tablet to each of them.

"What are these?" Sadi asked, brushing her fingers over the dusty surface. The tablet felt old yet vibrant.

"Archlord dream tablets on the Path of Light and Life," Ziel explained. "They'll give you insights to develop techniques suited to your paths."

Whitehall's grip tightened around his tablet, reverence shining in his eyes. "Thank you. Master never taught us any techniques for our path."

Ziel shrugged, settling down against a wall in a meditative position. "He believes powerful techniques are forged in battle. That's how he was taught and how he reached Herald." Ziel closed his eyes, beginning to cycle. "I disagree."

Whitehall exchanged a glance with Sadi, who gave a slight shrug before activating the scripts. Her body crumbled, and Whitehall caught her before she hit the floor. He laid her down gently, his jaw tightening.

Then he lay beside her, clutching his own dream tablet. Closing his eyes, he activated the scripts, and his mind flooded with an Archlord's memories.

His gaze sharpened at the dying man on his table. The man's blood was infected with the poison of a Sage. He was pale and blue, the only signs of life being his chest, which expanded and deflated every five seconds. The poison was complex, not a simple toxin. It contained spirits, life forms that grew stronger every moment it feasted on the man's flesh and spirit.

"A path of life can also be a path of poison. Poison can also be medicine," the man stated, looking up into the mirror. Tentacles grew like a beard over the Archlord's face, and his eyes bore into the reflection.

His tentacles glowed purple as his enforcer technique took over. Multiple toxins moved through his channels, strengthening the muscles in his tentacles.

"We can fight life with life."

The tentacles plunged into the dying man, injecting a different kind of poison. A poison meant to eat the toxin in the dying man.

Whitehall's eyes snapped open, his mind racing. He knew the main gist of the Archlord's message. Medicine is just another type of poison. And he could fight life with life. But the enforcer technique caught his attention. The octopus sacred beast's enforcer technique used multiple poisons to strengthen his tentacles. And he countered the adverse effects with other poisons.

Whitehall sat up and began cycling. His core was a dark orb with the venom of the sacred beasts of the Wastelands. He had considered them to be one madra, but they were not. They were made of multiple. With agonising slowness, he began to identify the different toxins, understanding their adverse and positive effects.

His eyes snapped open as he felt Sadi convulse next to him. She moved erratically, her hand still tightly clenched around her dream tablet and her mouth foaming. The dream tablet began to crack with golden light. Ziel was there in an instant. For the first time, Whitehall saw fear in his eyes.

"What is happening?" Whitehall asked, putting his lap underneath Sadi's head.

"Sunda's remnant inside her had cracked open," Ziel deduced. "She's advancing, but the dream tablet must have interfered with her spirit."

"What should we do?" Whitehall questioned.

Ziel placed a hand above her stomach, and a green script appeared under it. "I'm stabilising her, but her spirit is still in turmoil."

"Spirit Well!" Whitehall deduced with a yell.

Sweat dripped down Ziel's head as he focused on his technique. He was in a battle of wills against a Herald's remnant inside Sadi. And he did not know how long he could last.

"Take her," Ziel said through clenched teeth.  

"Meatball!" Whitehall yelled, but the bird must have heard them and was already on her way to his side. She gripped Sadi's shoulders and began flapping her wings as Whitehall gripped Sadi's feet.

Lindon appeared shortly after.

"Spirit Well. Now!" Whitehall yelled.

Lindon did not say a word but helped lift Sadi by her shoulders where Meatball was struggling.

Together, they lifted her towards the Spirit Well as gently as possible—her convulsing made it difficult at times to lift her. Ziel trailed behind, his hand stretched out, and his eyes closed in focus.

"Into the well," Ziel muttered as he struggled with his technique.

They gently placed her inside the Spirit Well. Whitehall removed his shirt and dipped it into the water, putting the wet cloth over Sadi's mouth so she would not choke and let her reflexes swallow instead. It was agonisingly slow, but it worked. Her body began to convulse less, and her skin glowed golden. Ziel deactivated his technique and crumpled to the floor. Lindon and Whitehall helped Ziel to the Spirit Well, and the man began drinking it. He lay next to the pool as he cycled.  

Hours had passed, and Whitehall continued to sit by Sadi's side, replacing the cloth every few minutes.

Lindon's question broke the silence. "What happened, Elder Whitehall?" he asked.

Whitehall's eyes did not move from Sadi's form, and at the Dream tablet, she had continued to hold. The cracks had grown larger. "She began advancing while viewing the Dream Tablet. We think it interfered with her spirit."

Lindon nodded, and Whitehall saw the boy jotting down notes on a book from the corner of his eyes.

"Why do you still call me that?" Whitehall asked.

Lindon looked up in confusion.

"Elder," Whitehall explained. "We are both on the same level of advancement now."

Lindon scratched the back of his head sheepishly. He almost sounded embarrassed when he answered. "Because you're the only one I know in Sacred Valley who had never called me Unsouled."

Whitehall felt sorry for the boy. He must have been insulted his whole life, and a lack of insult was enough to gain the boy's respect. However, Lindon's answer begged a question.

"My foundation provides those considered disabled a stipend of fruits and elixir. Last time I checked, the Wei Clan was one of the recipients. What did you do with your share?" Whitehall asked.

Lindon was filling water from the Spirit Well into jugs and jars he had found when Whitehall's words caused him to stumble. He recovered quickly, not letting a drop spill onto the floor.

"I did not receive any," Lindon answered, and Whitehall watched his human knuckle turned white. His gaze darkened as he continued. "The Clan did not see an Unsouled fit for any resources."

Whitehall frowned at the boy's answer. How dare the Wei Clan use his charity to serve their own greed.

"I meant what I said back then," Whitehall muttered. I accepted you not due to your condition but because of your drive to succeed."

Lindon bowed his head, and Whitehall thought the boy was about to cry based on his voice. "This one thanks the Elder."

"Stop bowing, would you," Whitehall complained. "Let's just have a conversation."

Lindon sat straight and nodded. "Was there any news about my family while I was gone?" he asked.

Whitehall nodded. "The school Elders arrested your family and brought them for interrogation."

Lindon's face grimaced. "The clan did not protect them?"

"No," Whitehall answered. "I pulled strings to provide them a chance to escape. They now reside with a group of stragglers in the Valley." Whitehall waved his hand. "Don't fret. I have Elder Rahm to protect them while I am away."

Lindon did not look assured by the name of the Elder.

"He doesn't like it either," Whitehall shrugged and glanced at Lindon. "But I gave back his arm."

"Why?" Lindon asked. "Why go to such lengths for me?"

"Not for you. But for what is right," Whitehall answered. He brought his head close to Lindon's ear. "Because I've licked the boots of those more powerful. And I swore to myself I will not be like them once I am there," he whispered.

Lindon's eyes grew wide as he nodded.

"Now," Elder Whitehall sat back, returning his gaze to Sadi's unconscious form. "What happened to your arm?"

Sadi stared through the eyes of the Sacred Artist within the dream tablet, the vision pulling her into a storm of chaos. In front of her, a lone woman stood atop a jagged boulder, her silhouette stark against the endless, heaving ocean. The waves roared and crashed with relentless fury, the black water illuminated by flashes of lightning that tore through the storm-clouded sky.

From the depths, a massive figure rose, its grotesque form shrouded in shadow and mist. Tentacles writhed across its colossal body, each one twisting and undulating as though alive. From its sides emerged four human arms, unnaturally large, their movements deliberate and commanding. With each sweep of its limbs, the waves obeyed, crashing and surging toward the shore. The ground trembled beneath the weight of its approach, yet the woman on the boulder stood unmoving.

Her hand rose, and the golden ring on her finger ignited with a brilliant golden light, cutting through the chaos. She slashed her hand downward, and four towering obsidian pillars appeared in the sky, their surfaces smooth and metallic. In an instant, they plummeted, slamming into the creature's form. Its deafening scream tore through the air, an anguished sound reverberating through Sadi's mind. She clutched her ears, yet the woman remained still, her focus unbroken.

The woman's hand rose again, summoning ten more pillars from the heavens. With another commanding swipe, they struck like judgment itself, piercing the monstrous figure. The creature howled, its twisted form writhing as the ocean swallowed it whole, dragging it back into the abyss.

"To the new Emperor!" Someone yelled

Around Sadi, voices erupted in unison, a chorus of triumph that shook the ground.

“Emperor!”

Her chest heaved as the vision filled her, and her voice joined the thunderous cry, unbidden but unstoppable.

"Emperor!"

The chant swelled, a single word carrying the weight of unshakable faith and victory.

"Emperor!"

Sadi's eyes snapped open, and she coughed. She removed a wet rag covering her mouth and found herself inside the Spirit Well. She felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.

"Sadi, how do you feel?" Whitehall's worried voice echoed through the chamber.

She clenched and unclenched her fists and cycled her madra. It was easier now, smoother, and her core was more dense than ever. "I feel great," she answered. "Did I advance?"

"You did," Whitehall nodded. "Ziel thinks Sunda's remnant cracked open when you were under the dream tablet. It interfered with your advancement."

She looked into the blue water of the Spirit Well. That explained why she was here. Her gaze swept around the room. She found Ziel and Lindon cycling in a corner. A black shadow floated in the Well—Meatball. The bird was floating on its back through the water with her eyes closed, and Little Blue had fallen asleep on her belly. Her gaze shifted to Whitehall, and she paused.

"Why are you shirtless?" she asked, her gaze drifting over his muscular body. The serpent meat really did him some good, she thought.

"I couldn't just feed you the water, or you would've choked," Whitehall explained, grabbing the wet rag on the floor. He unfurled it, revealing that it was his shirt.

"Oh," she muttered, feeling a little embarrassed. "That was a bit gross. But sweet," she smiled. She used her perception on the bird floating before her. Meatball was a highgold. How long was she out? She frowned when her perception landed on Whitehall. "Why are you still lowgold? I must have been out for a while now."

"You've only been out for a few hours?" Whitehall rolled his eyes. "Someone needed to keep an eye on you."

Sadi felt touched by the gesture. "I really appreciate it, and I mean it. But you need to start drinking." Without warning, she grabbed Whitehall's arm and dragged him into the Spirit Well.

Whitehall rose from the water, his grin wide. "Oh, you're asking for it now," he laughed, splashing water onto her face. Sadi laughed as she splashed back.

"If you two are done playing inside a pool of a monarch's elixir," Ziel's impassive voice cut through the air. "You might want to start cycling." He pointed at the corner of the room where dark cracks were forming. "We don't have forever."

Whitehall and Sadi looked away in embarrassment.

Little Blue chimed softly, slapping her hands playfully onto Meatball's belly.

"Shh," Meatball quietly shushed the Sylvian Riverseed. "I am not aware of anything that is happening," she continued in a serene voice.

Little Blue tilted her head in confusion.

Elder Empire

Iteration requested.       Asylum

Date?       Request Rejected

Report Complete

"Malin, you need to see this!" Tora's voice was frantic as he banged on the door of the captain's cabin. When no response came, he threw the door open, only to find Malin on his knees, his head bowed, and his hands clenched into fists. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with an unspoken grief.

"Malin, we need you up there!" Tora shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of thunder and the violent shaking of the ship.

Malin looked up, his eyes swollen and red, his face pale. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, as if pulled from a deep trance. Then, the sound of the storm registered—the thunder, the howling wind, the relentless pounding of the waves against the hull. He stood abruptly, his expression hardening. "I'm coming," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes.

Tora stepped aside, his own face etched with worry, but there was no time to ask questions. Malin brushed past him and strode onto the deck, the rain instantly soaking him to the bone. The storm was unlike anything he had ever seen. The sky was a churning mass of black clouds, lightning streaking across the heavens, and the waves rose like mountains, crashing against the ship with terrifying force.

Malin's mind was suddenly flooded with warnings, his instincts screaming at him to act. "Turn back!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Turn back to the island!"

Tora saluted, his face grim, and began barking orders to the crew. Communication was nearly impossible over the deafening thunder, but the urgency in Malin's voice was enough to spur them into action.

Malin's eyes swept the deck, taking in the chaos. One of the crew members was swept overboard by a monstrous wave, his scream swallowed by the storm. Before Malin could react, he felt a hand grip his arm with surprising strength. He turned to find Tseria beside him, her face pale and her body trembling beneath a large, sodden cloak.

"Malin," she started, her voice barely audible over the storm, but a sudden lurch of the ship sent them both crashing to the deck.

"Tseria, you need to go insi—" Malin began, but his words were drowned out by a guttural roar that shook the very air. It was a sound unlike anything he had ever heard—deep, primal, and filled with an otherworldly rage.

All heads turned toward the source of the sound. Malin's heart sank as a massive shape began to rise from the depths. The creature emerged slowly, its form grotesque and terrifying. Its head was a mass of writhing tentacles, its body hulking and humanoid but covered in thick, scaly skin. Its arms ended in clawed hands, and its legs—thick and powerful—propelled it through the water with ease.

"Elder," Tora whispered, his voice filled with dread.

Malin stared at the creature, his instincts screaming at him to flee. He had always trusted his intuition, but this time, it had come too late. The Elder roared again, its voice shaking the air and sending a gust of wind so powerful it capsized several of the smaller ships in the fleet.

"Tora!" Malin shouted, his voice raw with desperation. "Back to the island! NOW!"

Tora didn't respond—he didn't need to. He was already in motion, shouting orders to the crew as they fought to regain control of the ship.

Malin felt Tseria's hand tighten in his, her grip trembling. He hadn't even realized he was holding it until now. "Malin, I'm scared," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm.

"We'll be fine," he replied, his voice firm despite the fear gnawing at his chest. He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her, but his own heart was racing.

With his free hand, Malin reached out toward the water, the silver ring on his finger glowing with a faint golden light. He focused all his will, commanding the sea to carry them away from the creature. The water responded, swirling around the ship and propelling it forward.

But the Elder was not so easily outmatched. It roared again, and the wind surged with renewed fury, tearing at the sails and ripping the ship apart piece by piece. Malin's control over the water was no match for the sheer power of the storm.

The ship was tossed like a toy, the deck tilting violently as waves crashed over the sides. Malin clung to the railing with one hand, his other still gripping Tseria's. He could feel the ship breaking apart beneath them, the wood groaning and splintering under the strain.

Then, with a final, deafening crash, the ship was lifted high into the air by a monstrous wave. For a moment, they were weightless, suspended in the chaos of the storm. And then they fell, the ship slamming into the water upside down.

Chapter Text

Sadi cycled the Spirit Well water in her core, wearing the parasite ring her master had given her. Now that she was Highgold, her cycling was more effortless than ever. They had been in the Spirit Well for a week now, and by Ziel's estimation, it would take another week for her to reach Truegold. She focused on what she saw in the dream tablet. The woman manipulated light in a way she had never seen before. She only understood that the woman used invisible light alongside visible ones. The heavenly pillars were not illusions or tricks of the light; they were real and solid. She understood why everyone in the dream called her Emperor.

Her perception drifted to her left, watching Whitehall cycling diligently. He was also a Highgold but still had a long way to go before reaching Truegold. Well, long by the standards of having a Monarch's elixir. A week and a half, according to Ziel.

"Here," she heard Ziel's voice.

Sadi opened one eye and saw him handing a dream tablet to Wei Shi Lindon, the Unsouled. But he was Highgold now, at least on one core; she learned two days into the Spirit Well. Lindon's eyes sparkled at Ziel, and she recognised it from how the boy would also look at Whitehall. Sadi pitied him somewhat. The boy had grown up scorned and deprived of any opportunities but the scraps. Whitehall had previously tried to help, but corruption in Sacred Valley ran deep.

Ziel's footsteps approached Sadi and Whitehall, and she looked up to him, standing over them with a lazy look.

"We're leaving," Ziel said before turning and heading over to the entrance of the Spirit Well.

She looked to her left and saw Whitehall raising an eyebrow at Ziel's back.

"We're not Truegolds yet," Whitehall said.

"Six vials," Ziel replied, not looking back. "That will take you to Truegold. We can stay here and get you both to Truegold. Or we can fix your lifeline."

Whitehall's eyes widened at Ziel's mention of fixing his lifeline.

"Oh, you must be talking about the Life Well," Dross's purple form popped out of the gate stone and explained.

"What does it do?" Whitehall asked.

"I thought the name is self-explanatory," Dross quipped. "It fixes your lifeline. It can even turn the elderly into youth."

"Orthos," Lindon gasped from the corner.

Whitehall's hands were shaking, and Sadi reflexively reached for them. This was it for Whitehall. It was his chance to fix the damage he had done to himself.

She nodded at him. "Let's go."

They took an empty jar from the corner and began filling it with the water from the Spirit Well, but Ziel stopped them. "We have enough."

Ziel stood at the border of the habitat, his hammer appearing from thin air. Hundreds of sea drakes surrounded the habitat. "I'll clear the way. This is not a task for golds."

Lindon hesitated behind them. "I," he began but paused. "I might stay longer, at least until one of my cores is Truegold. By your estimation, how much longer would the pocket world survive?" he asked Ziel.

Ziel shrugged. "I have no issues with easy advancements. Suit yourself. If nothing changes, the pocket world will survive for three more weeks."

Lindon exhaled in relief.

"But why wait that long," Ziel continued. "There's no point risking yourself. You don't want to stay here."

"I have a friend outside," Lindon answered. "She helped me to reach this far. This might be my chance to repay some of it."

"The sword sage's disciple?" Whitehall asked.

Lindon nodded.

"Do what you need to," Ziel said, pointing toward cracks in space that looked like cobwebs. "But when you can see space through the cracks, you should have already left."

Ziel disappeared into the dark water with a flash of green light.

"You're staying then?" Whitehall asked, turning to face Lindon.

"Yes, Elder Whitehall," Lindon answered. "I cannot leave such resources behind like this."

"The sword sage's disciple," Whitehall changed the subject. "She a Truegold?"

"Yerin," Lindon replied. "Highgold, last time I saw her."

Sadi was surprised. They were at the same level; she thought the Yerin would be far beyond them, being a disciple of a sword sage and having left Sacred Valley almost a year earlier. Hopefully, this time, they were not only equal in advancement but also equal in strength.

Lindon looked nervous, shifting uncomfortably in his cycling position. "She hates you," he said to Whitehall.

Whitehall nodded. "I killed her master, which I assume is the same thing as killing her father."

"How?" Lindon asked. "You were all a Jade. She mentioned poison, but her master was a Sage. It shouldn't have worked."

"He deserved it," Sadi cut in, growling, her nails digging into her palms. "He deserved worse," she repeated.

Before Whitehall could reply, Ziel reappeared in the habitat. His grey cloak was wet and bloody, but he was unharmed. "Let's go," he ordered.

"Another time," Whitehall waived at Lindon. "I wish you the best of luck. And maybe together we can save Sacred Valley in the future."

Lindon pressed his fists and bowed at Whitehall, but only Whitehall. "Thank you, Elder Whitehall."

Sadi did not reply and waited with Ziel on the border of the habitat for Whitehall. Meatball's wet form waddled and climbed to her shoulder. The bird felt heavier, and her black feathers were reflective like steel. Little Blue chimed at Meatball, waiving at the bird. Sadi thought she saw tears coming out of the eyes of the Riverseed.

Together, all four Wastelanders dived into the dark water.

"You shouldn't learn from the small boy," Orthos grumbled behind Lindon. "Poison is not a dragon's way. He is a snake."

Whitehall emerged last into the Habitat of the Life Well. The habitat was a forest covered with Dreadbeasts and decayed plants. He realised that the plants were poisoned. Ziel led the way, and the Dreadbeasts scurried out of his path. A dreadbeast dog barked, and the insects snapped their claws, but they did not approach.

There was a stone barn in a clearing with a massive door. On its front, a skeleton with cupped hands stood.

Ziel spoke as he slid a stone between the skeletal hands. "This will be your greatest elixir in the pocket world, Whitehall."

Whitehall's hands would be shaking uncontrollably if not for Sadi's hand wrapped around his. The door opened, and a small pool of shining green water was in the centre. Whitehall felt an intense life aura coming from it. This was the Life Well; he was sure of it.

"Would this help you too, Ziel?" Whitehall asked.

Ziel shrugged and scooped a handful of water. He swallowed it and stood still. After a few moments, he shrugged again. "I guess not." He gestured at the water. "We don't have unlimited time."

Whitehall ignored the surroundings and ran towards the well. He knelt, watching the green water. He dunked his head into it without a second thought, swallowing as much water as possible.

His spine stiffened, causing him to raise his head. His muscles froze, and he felt blood rising into his mouth. He was unable to spit, so they flowed through his agape mouth. The pain was intense, much worse than anything he had gone through before. He heard Sadi yelling, but he could not make out her words.

Inside his spirit, his venom madra fought the life aura. They saw the life madra as an enemy. Whitehall already knew what he needed to do. He cycled as his body writhed on the ground. Life and poison were the same; that was the basis of his path. Now, he needed to implement it. As he cycled, his body began accepting and digesting the life aura. He realised why Ziel said this would be his greatest elixir in Ghostwater. The life aura was growing his core faster than the Spirit Well.

Furthermore, his understanding of life and poison grew. His spirit separated the makeup of the Life Well water, channelling the life aura to his lifeline, hormones to his muscles to promote growth, and some type of cells to his bones to increase their density. But most importantly, flushing the harmful substances out of his pores. Along with the insight from the dream tablet, he could use this to develop his techniques.

"He'll be fine," Ziel reassured Sadi. "His body is processing the Life water."

Sadi hesitated as she saw Whitehall writhing on the ground. His skin cracked, and red blood and black liquid flowed out of open wounds.

"You should cycle," Ziel continued, summoning a jar and tossing it to her.

She caught it and opened the lid, revealing the Spirit Well water inside. "How much did you bring?" she asked.

"Enough," Ziel replied after a moment. He sat down and began cycling.

"How much can a soulspace fit?" she asked. Ziel did not reply. "You're not a Truegold, are you?" she deduced.

Ziel opened his eyes slowly and sighed. He did not deny her statement. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Your spirit is... how it is," Sadi replied. "You have a soulspace which could only be accessed once you're peak Truegold. But you mentioned that the sea drakes were not a 'task for golds.'"

Zeal sighed more heavily. "I was an Archlord," he answered. "Still am, I guess, but strength more comparable to an Underlord or Overlord if I push myself."

Sadi's eyes widened at his answer. Ziel was only one advancement away from The Beast King. She wanted to know what happened to his spirit but decided not to ask.

"Could've been worse," Ziel continued emotionlessly. "Sunda was unable to fix it on her own. But she did what she could."

"She helped you?" Sadi asked, her hand drifting to her stomach above her core, where Sunda's remnant once was.

"She did," Ziel nodded. He was more talkative than usual today. "And that is why I am helping you."

"She asked you for this in return?"

"No," Ziel shook his head. "She asked for nothing in exchange. But, she did have a wish," he paused. "But she helped me even when I told her I could not comply with her wishes."

Thoughts whirled in Sadi's mind. "What wishes?"

"For another time," Ziel raised a hand, signalling her to stop asking. "Just know I have your best interest in mind. And keep what we speak about here a secret."

Sadi frowned as she looked away and towards the barn's walls. Hideous dread beast corpses were filled inside tanks lined on the walls. A plaque on the side of the tanks even described the beasts. She was about to take a sip of the Spirit Well water when the door to the barn opened with a creak.

She felt blood through her perception. She opened her eyes and saw a Redmoon Hall artist standing by the entrance, her blood shadow by her side. Sadi instinctively reached for her knives.

The woman pointed a pale finger at Sadi. "I have no quarrels with the Wasteland."

"Then let us swear an oath not to harm each other while we are here," Ziel suggested, having not moved an inch from his cycling position.

Sadi felt a familiar tug in her spirit and accepted the oath. Once the oath was finished, the Redmoon women stepped inside and headed towards the cylinders lined on the walls. Sadi noticed the woman had ignored Life Well.

Sadi shifted her gaze to Ziel, who was calmly cycling. She kissed her teeth, drank the Spirit Well water, and cycled. She replayed what she saw in her mind. The Emperor stood on a boulder, and with a wave of a hand, four dark pillars appeared in the sky. She could replay the vision clearly, clearer than she thought she ought to be capable of.

There, she thought, as she replayed the dream just before the pillars appeared. She manipulated the light waves, generating a reaction deeper than Sadi's comprehension. There was a tiny explosion right before the pillars emerged in thin air.

She studied the dream as she cycled the Spirit Well water.

Whitehall's consciousness returned, and he crumpled to the ground. He blinked rapidly; his eyes were dry from having opened them for so long. He cycled madra into his eyes, causing tears to form and moisten the dry eyes. His perception tasted like blood. He eyed the sensation and saw a Redmoon Hall sacred artist standing towards him by the wall where a cylinder once was, a corpse of a dreadbeast lying next to her.

"Swear the oath," she croaked.

Whitehall felt a tug on his spirit, and he understood the oath. He turned to Ziel, who nodded at him. Whitehall accepted it, and the Redmoon's threatening stance disappeared as she dragged the corpse outside the barn.

"Who is she?" Whitehall asked.

"No one we should care about right now," Ziel replied. His gaze shifted to Whitehall. "How do you feel?"

Whitehall looked down on himself. He stood further up from the ground, he realised. And his trousers were now above his ankles. His sleeveless shirt remained untattered, but he saw that his arms were longer and larger. His mask was on the floor, and he reached for his goldsign. He could feel that that side of his face was still marred. He fastened his mask and saw Meatball floating on the Life Well, her face smiling in content.

"Took you long enough," Meatball chirped, opening one eye. "I was beginning to get bored."

"You got bigger," Whitehall said, eyeing Meatball's form. She was larger now, and he estimated she would reach his waist if they stood side by side.

"Hah!" Meatball laughed. "Took you long enough to realise, too."

Whitehall felt satisfaction from their bond, and his eyes widened. "You're Truegold," he said.

Meatball smiled smugly, "I thought I was in love with the Spirit Well. But it turns out the Life Well is my true love after all."

That reminded Whitehall. "Ziel, I want to take the Life Water with us."

Ziel continued cycling. "Suit yourself."

Whitehall searched for the empty cylinders on the ground. He found one still intact and began filling it with the water from the Life Well. His mind whirled at the thought of what he could do with this. The Life Water was meant to heal, but when he cycled, he felt he could change it to kill instead. It could be the basis of a new type of poison.   

As he screwed the lid of the cylinder, his gaze shifted to a bright golden light in the corner. Sadi was cycling there, and golden lights slammed against one another before her. He saw a forearm-sized jar lying next to her, empty.

"How long was I out?" he asked Meatball.

"A few days," the bird replied, stepping out of the life well. The bird flew towards Whitehall, but instead of landing on his shoulder, she gripped both shoulders instead. "I can do this now!" Meatball began flapping her wings without warning, raising Whitehall off the ground.

Whitehall's feet dangled in surprise, but it quickly changed to amazement and what they could do with their paths now. He remembered planes dropping poisoned gas from high up the sky.

"That would not work with anyone higher than Jade," Meatball chirped. "Unless we plan to kill Jades en mass, I recommend we find another use."

Whitehall looked up at Meatball, who had a smug expression. So the bird already knew. Of course, she did; she was his contracted partner.

"But if we're of higher advancement, though," Meatball mused. "We can poison entire villages right before a herald or sage swiftly kills us."

"Don't think too far," Ziel said. "Sacred Artists have their ways of fighting in the skies."

Whitehall felt disappointed, but Ziel was probably right. In this world, flying may not be as much a game changer as it was on Earth. However, he did not detect any disappointment in Meatball. Like the bird knew something, he did not. Or the bird was overplaying this achievement; Whitehall could not really tell.

Once Meatball put him down, he ripped a piece of his shirt into two ribbons and tied them around the cylinder. This way, he could secure the cylinder on his back like a bag.

"Let's go," Ziel stood up.

Sadi opened her eyes at his words, and Whitehall saw they were golden, similar to Sunda's. "I'm so close," she complained to no one in particular. "I just need a," she paused when her gaze landed on Whitehall.

Whitehall could swear he saw a blush. He looked away, hiding his own from her. He heard her footsteps approach and saw her standing before him from the corner of his eyes. He felt her embrace, his face smothered by her chest. He smelled blood, dirt, and sweat from her.

"Congratulations," she whispered.

Whitehall hugged back, unable to hide his relief. His lifeline was back now, stronger and better than ever. He was whole.

"Thank you."

Elder Empire

Iteration requested.        Asylum

Date?        Request Rejected

Report Complete

Malin woke with a choked gasp, his body convulsing as he vomited saltwater and blood onto the sand. His chest heaved, each breath a struggle, as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The sky above was a tempest of fury, lightning streaking across the black clouds, rain lashing down in sheets. He was on a beach, the sand coarse and cold beneath him. In the distance, towering over the wreckage of his fleet, was the Elder. Its massive, grotesque form loomed like a nightmare-made flesh, its tentacles writhing and its claws glinting in the storm's sporadic flashes of light.

Malin tried to wipe his mouth, but his left hand was tugged back. He turned, his heart lurching as he saw Tseria lying unconscious beside him. Her wrist was tied to his with her hair tie, a desperate act of survival that had kept them together through the storm. Her skin was pale, her lips blue, and her body unnaturally still.

"Tseria," he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken. He bent over her, shaking her gently, then more urgently. "Tseria, wake up!" But she didn't stir. Her chest didn't rise. Her hand was cold in his.

Malin knelt there, his body trembling, tears mixing with the rain on his face. He had failed her. He had failed everyone. The weight of his guilt and grief pressed down on him, crushing him beneath its unbearable burden.

Another roar shattered the air, pulling him from his despair. Malin looked up, his eyes widening as he saw the Elder turn its gaze toward him. The creature's massive head tilted, its glowing eyes locking onto his. Slowly, deliberately, it raised a clawed hand and pointed directly at him.

Malin's instincts screamed at him to run, to flee, to do anything to escape the horror bearing down on him. But he didn't move. He couldn't. His body felt heavy, his spirit broken. He had nothing left.

Instead, he lowered himself to the ground, his forehead pressing into the wet sand. He wasn't bowing to the Elder—he would never bow to that monstrosity. The thought filled him with rage, but he pushed it aside. No, he was bowing to the sky, to the heavens, to the only force he had left to plead to.

"Mother," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. "Forgive me."

The sky flashed a brilliant blue, the light so intense it seemed to pierce through the storm. Malin didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, his body trembling as his instincts screamed at him to move, to fight, to do something. But he stayed still, resigned to his fate.

Then the pain came.

A searing, white-hot agony ripped through him as lightning struck his body. He screamed, his voice raw and guttural, but he couldn't move. His limbs were locked in place, his muscles rigid. He looked down, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and saw the horrifying truth: his flesh was turning to stone. The transformation began at his feet, the grey, lifeless texture creeping upward, consuming his legs, his torso, and his arms.

Panic surged through him, but he was powerless to stop it. He turned his head, his vision blurring as the stone reached his neck. The last thing he saw was Tseria's hand, still tied to his, lying motionless on the sand.

"Protect," he grunted, his voice strained and weak.

"Protect," he tried to yell, but the words were barely a whisper.

"Protect," he willed, his mind screaming even as his body failed him.

"Please," he begged, his breath shortening, his vision darkening. "Protect her."

As the stone reached his face, his final thought was of Tseria. And then, in the last flicker of his consciousness, he saw it—a golden light, warm and radiant, enveloping her still form. It was faint, but it was there. A spark of hope in the darkness.

And then Malin died, his body fully petrified, his final plea echoing silently in the storm.

Chapter Text

Iteration requested. Asylum

Date? Request Rejected

Report Complete

Malin leaned against a weathered wooden post, his bare feet sinking into the warm sand as he watched the merchant ships glide into the harbour. The vessels were grand, their sails billowing like clouds against the endless blue sky. He waited, his fingers drumming idly against his thigh, as the merchants and sailors began to disembark, their voices carrying over the salty breeze.

The newcomers were unlike anyone Malin had ever seen. They wore clothes of such fine fabric that they seemed to shimmer in the sunlight—thin, white tunics that draped loosely over their frames and billowing trousers that swayed with every step. Perfect for the relentless tropical heat, their attire was a stark contrast to Malin's own. He glanced down at himself: shirtless, his skin bronzed by the sun, and clad only in a pair of oversized shorts, hand-me-downs from the village elders. The fabric was frayed at the edges, and the waistband hung low on his narrow hips.

"Sweet bread, good sirs!" Malin called out, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd. He straightened his posture, trying to appear taller and more confident.

A man nearby turned to face him. He was tall, with hair that seemed to shift from brown to a fiery copper under the glare of the sun . His long leather jacket, the colour of rich mahogany, reached down to his calves, and his boots were caked with the dust of distant lands. His gaze was stern at first, but as his eyes fell on Malin— on his bare chest and ill-fitting shorts—his expression softened.

"How much for the bread, kid?" the man asked, his voice deep but not unkind.

Malin hesitated, then held up three fingers, suddenly self-conscious under the man's scrutiny.

"Calder, we need to go!" a woman's voice called from farther down the dock. Malin's eyes flicked toward her, catching the glint of emerald earrings that swayed as she moved. They were the colour of the sea at dawn, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.

"Alright, alright," Calder muttered. He dug into his pocket, pulled out three coins, and tossed them to Malin. "Don't spend them all at once, kid," he said with a faint smile before turning to join the woman. He didn't even take the bread.

Malin stared at the coins in his palm , then at Calder's retreating figure. "Wait!" he called, but the man was already swallowed by the crowd. Malin's fingers closed around the coins, their edges cool and unfamiliar against his skin. He held one up to the light, squinting at its strange markings and the odd, metallic sheen. It was unlike any coin he'd ever seen—foreign, just like the man who had given it to him.

For a moment, Malin stood still, the bustle of the harbour fading around him. He wondered where Calder had come from, what far-off lands had shaped him, and whether he'd ever see him again. The coins felt heavy in his hand, not just with their worth but with the promise of something more— something beyond the horizon.

The day had been surprisingly busy, and Malin had sold every last piece of bread before the sun dipped below the horizon. By the time he reached home, the sky was deep indigo, dotted with the first glimmers of stars. The village was quiet; the only sounds were the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of palm leaves in the evening breeze.

"Mom, I'm home," Malin called as he pushed open the creaky door to their small house. The familiar scent of wood smoke and dried herbs greeted him, a comforting reminder of the life they had built together.

"Oh, you're early today," his mother said, looking up from her seat by the fire pit in the centre of the room. An empty pot sat atop the flames, waiting to be filled. Her hands, rough from years of work, rested in her lap. "I was just about to start making dinner."

"There were quite a few new ships at the harbour today," Malin replied, his voice tinged with excitement as he knelt by the corner of the room. He pulled out their worn coin jar, its clay surface chipped and faded, and began carefully depositing the day's earnings. The clink of copper coins filled the small space, a sound that usually brought a sense of pride. But today, Malin paused, holding up the foreign coin Calder had given him. "One of them gave me this," he said, handing it to his mother.

His mother took the coin, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned it over in the firelight. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed unable to speak. "Who gave you this?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"One of the foreign sailors," Malin replied, his brow furrowing with worry. "Is it fake?"

"No, Malin," his mother murmured, her voice filled with awe. "It's gold."

Malin's breath caught in his throat. Gold. He had only ever heard stories of such wealth—tales told by the village elders of faraway lands where the streets were paved with riches. He had never imagined holding a piece of it in his hands, let alone owning it.

"Oh gods," his mother gasped, clutching the coin tightly. She began to mutter prayers under her breath, her words a rapid stream of gratitude and reverence. Malin followed suit, his voice joining hers in the familiar rhythms of their faith. But even as he prayed, his mind raced with possibilities.

One day, he thought, his heart swelling with determination. One day, I'll become a merchant. I'll travel to those far-off lands , and I'll provide for us. No more empty pots, no more worn clothes. Just a life of abundance for me and for her.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls of their humble home. For the first time in a long while , Malin felt a spark of hope —a tiny flame that burned brighter with each passing moment.

"No! I won't allow it!" Malin's mother's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the stillness of their small home.

Malin, now thirteen, stood his ground, his heart pounding. This was the first time he had dared to voice his dream aloud—to become a merchant, to sail the seas, to see the world beyond their village. But his mother's reaction was fiercer than he had anticipated.

"But why? " he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and confusion.

His mother's face twisted with emotion, her eyes wide with fear—almost terror. "Because, " she began, her voice breaking. She hesitated as if the words were too heavy to speak. Tears spilt down her cheeks, glistening in the dim light of the fire . "Because... your father."

Malin froze. This was the first time his mother had ever spoken of his father. All he had ever been told was that the man had abandoned them when Malin was just two years old. The rest had been shrouded in silence, a mystery Malin had long stopped asking about.

His mother's expression shifted, her sorrow giving way to a simmering rage. "He said the same thing—that he wanted to travel, to become a merchant. And he never came back! " Her voice rose, raw and trembling. She jabbed a finger at her chest. "I took care of you! I raised you! I skipped sleep every night to make sure you had food to eat! I sacrificed everything for you! " Her voice cracked, and her face fell, the anger draining away to reveal a deep, aching sadness. "And now you want to leave me too."

Malin's heart ached at her words. He stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "I won't leave you, Mom. I know how much you've sacrificed for me. I won't leave you."

His mother's sobs grew louder, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate fear—the fear of being left alone, of losing the one person she had poured her life into. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and Malin rushed into them, holding her tightly.

They stood there, mother and son , clinging to each other as the fire crackled softly in the background. Malin could feel her trembling, her tears dampening his shoulder. At that moment, he felt the weight of her sacrifices, her fears, and her love. And though his dream still burned within him, he knew he could never abandon her —not after everything she had endured.

"My son, " she began, her voice trembling as a single tear traced a path down her weathered cheek. "I only ask one thing of you. Once you've made your fortune , once you've prospered ... please don't forget about your mom. I'll always be here, waiting for you."

Malin had never brought up his dream again after that first time. But she had seen it in his eyes—the way he gazed longingly at the ships that docked at their village harbour, their sails billowing like promises of adventure. She had noticed the envy in his expression as he watched the sailors and the other village boys board those ships, their laughter carrying over the waves as they set off for distant lands.

With a heavy heart, she unlocked the small wooden basket where they kept their meagre savings. From it, she pulled a worn envelope, its edges frayed from years of being tucked away. "This is some money I've saved for you, " she said, pressing it into his hands. Her fingers lingered for a moment as if reluctant to let go.

Malin looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. His mother managed a faint smile, though her lips trembled. "I've cried many nights, wishing you would want to stay, " she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But deep down, I always knew this day would come."

Tears welled up in Malin's eyes, spilling over as he pulled her into a tight embrace . "Mom, " he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I..."

"It's okay, Malin, " she interrupted gently, her hand stroking his back. She hadn't realized when it had happened, but her son had grown taller than her, his shoulders broader, his frame stronger. "You're an adult now. It's time for you to find your own path. " She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "A merchant ship at the harbour has agreed to take you on. The pay isn't much, but it's a start."

Malin pulled back, his tear-streaked face a mix of confusion and hope. "How? " he asked.

" One of their crew is an old friend, " his mother replied simply , her smile bittersweet.

Malin took a step back, his face breaking into a wide , radiant grin. It was the smile of someone who could see the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

"Just don't forget about me, " she said softly, her voice cracking. "Come visit me whenever you can. That's all I ask."

Malin placed his hands on his hips, his confidence shining through. "Don't worry, Mom! I'll come back as often as I can. Once I succeed, I'll take us out of this place. We'll have the biggest home in the village, and we'll even open a shop to sell our sweet bread!"

His smile was so full of hope , so full of determination, that it made her heart ache. She had never doubted he would succeed . She had always believed in him.

But now, fifteen years later, she cried herself to sleep every night, her pillow damp with tears. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence a constant reminder of his absence. She had let him go, believing it was the right thing to do. But as the years stretched on with no word, no visit, no sign of him, regret gnawed at her heart. She had given him her blessing , but she hadn't prepared herself for the possibility that he might never return.

"Tora, we're almost there! " Captain Malin bellowed over the roar of the wind and waves. "Put all the sails down! Jibe if you have to!"

"Aye, Captain! " Tora, the first mate, shouted back. He turned to the crew, his voice carrying authority. "You heard the Captain! Full speed ahead! Our treasures are waiting for us!"

The ship cut through the choppy waters with precision, its crew working in perfect harmony. It didn't take long for them to reach the mouth of the cave, hidden within the rugged cliffs of a mountain island rising defiantly from the ocean. They lowered a small raft, and Malin, Tora, and five other crew members rowed into the shadowy depths of the cave.

As they ventured deeper , the dim light from their torches flickered against the jagged walls, casting eerie shadows. When they finally reached the heart of the cave, the sight before them left everyone speechless—except Malin. While the others gaped in awe and greed, Malin stood with a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

"Once more, Captain, I have to ask... how? " Tora said, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and disbelief. "How do you always know where to find these things?"

Malin shrugged, his grin widening. "Call it a gut feeling. It's as if I can sense the right way."

Tora raised an eyebrow, looking at Malin incredulously. "I'll be honest, Captain. The first time I agreed to follow you, I was desperate. " He gestured toward the wreckage ahead—a massive, rotting ship, its hull splintered and overgrown with barnacles. "But now? You've brought us to the wreck of a long-lost eastern ship. I knew you had potential when you, a lowly ship cleaner, asked me to follow you. But this? This is beyond anything I could've imagined."

"Nope, " Malin replied, his tone light and teasing.

Tora frowned. "No?"

"You didn't follow me because you thought I had potential, " Malin said with a chuckle. "You were desperate."

Tora burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the cavern. "Aye, mostly that."

The crew quickly got to work, gathering the treasures scattered throughout the cave. More men were brought ashore to help search and load the loot. The haul was staggering—piles of gold coins, ancient jewels that sparkled even in the dim light, and artefacts that spoke of a bygone era.

"Captain! " one of the crew members shouted, his voice tinged with excitement. "Found something that might interest you!"

Malin followed the voice, his boots crunching against the rocky ground. The crew member stood over a small, ornate chest, its surface intricately carved but tarnished with age. The man had tried to open it, but the lock held firm.

"Put it on the ground, " Malin ordered. He pulled a hammer from his belt and knelt beside the chest. With a few sharp strikes , the lock gave way , and the chest creaked open. Most of its contents had rotted to dust, but a bundle of papers tied together with a crumbling rubber band caught his eye. The ink had faded, rendering the words illegible.

What truly captured Malin's attention, however, was a signet ring nestled among the debris. He picked it up, brushing off the dust to reveal its intricate design. The ring was made of silver, its face adorned with the carving of a bird—its wings and legs spread wide, a shield emblazoned on its chest. The shield was divided into four sections, each bearing a different emblem. Malin squinted, trying to make out the details. One looked like a tree, another a bull, but the others were too worn to decipher.

As he held the ring, a strange sensation washed over him—a feeling he couldn't quite place. It was as if the ring carried a weight far beyond its physical form, a whisper of something ancient and significant. Malin slipped it onto his finger, the metal cool against his skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

"You have made a great discovery, Captain Malin, " the man on the throne declared, his voice resonating through the grand hall. The Sultan's words were measured, each syllable dripping with authority and grandeur. "For your service, you shall be rewarded handsomely."

Malin knelt before the throne, his head bowed in a show of respect. The marble floor was cool beneath his knees, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint metallic tang of gold. "I thank you for your generosity, Great Sultan, " he replied, his voice steady but laced with humility.

The Sultan continued his speech, extolling Malin's achievements and the value of the treasures he had brought to the kingdom. But Malin's attention had already drifted. His eyes flicked to the side, where one of the Sultan's daughters stood among her attendants. She was young, her features sharp and regal, but it was her expression that caught his attention—a mischievous smile playing on her lips, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else he couldn't quite place.

Malin's lips curved into a smirk, barely noticeable to anyone but her. She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening as if sharing a secret only the two of them understood. The exchange lasted only a moment, but it was enough to send a thrill through him. Here, in the heart of the Sultan's palace, surrounded by opulence and power, Malin felt a different kind of victory—one that had nothing to do with gold or jewels.

"How long has it been since you left? " Tseria asked, her voice soft and drowsy as she lay beside Malin, her head resting on his chest. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the chamber, casting a silvery glow over the room.

"Left? " Malin murmured, his fingers absently tracing patterns on her arm.

"Don't act stupid, Malin, " Tseria said with a playful smirk, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "Left home."

Malin let out a low chuckle, his chest rumbling beneath her. "Hmm, " he mused, staring up at the canopy above. "Three or four years now, I think."

"Wow, " Tseria replied, her tone tinged with admiration. She propped herself up on one elbow, her dark eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Captain Malin, a man who took only four years to build an armada of twenty ships. The navigator guilds must be swooning over you."

Malin grinned, his confidence shining through. "Guilds just aren't for me. Too many rules, too many egos. " He shifted suddenly, rolling on top of her and pinning her gently to the bed. "Besides, " he said, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur, "I have everyone I want swooning over me right here."

Tseria giggled her laughter like music in the quiet room. She reached up, running her fingers down his chest, her touch light and teasing. "I do want to see where you grew up, Malin, " she said, her tone turning thoughtful.

Malin raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Oh? " he said, a smile tugging at his lips. "Does that mean...?"

"Yes, " Tseria replied, her eyes locking with his. "My father has agreed to our match. " Her fingers stilled on his chest, and she smiled softly. "All we need to do now is for me to visit your home, and our engagement can officially proceed."

Malin's heart swelled with joy, and he let out a laugh —a deep, unrestrained sound that filled the room. This was everything he had wanted, everything he had worked for. "I'd love that, " he said, his voice warm with affection. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "I'll take you there myself. You'll see where it all began."

Tseria smiled up at him, her expression a mix of excitement and tenderness. "I can't wait, " she whispered, her fingers curling into his hair as she pulled him closer.

For a moment, they lay there, wrapped in each other's warmth, the world outside forgotten. Malin's mind drifted to the village he had left behind, to the small house by the harbour and the woman who had raised him. He wondered what she would think of Tseria, of the life he had built, of the man he had become. And for the first time in years, he felt a pang of longing—not for the treasures he had sought, but for the home he had left behind.

Malin stood on the deck of his flagship, the Bhayangkara, its name chosen on a whim but feeling inexplicably right. The ship was anchored in the middle of the vast ocean, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the calm waters. His betrothed, Tseria, slept soundly in the cabin below, unaware of the storm brewing in Malin's mind. He leaned against the railing, listening to the gentle lapping of the waves, when suddenly, his instincts screamed.

"Tora! " Malin barked, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night.

His first mate appeared moments later, his hair dishevelled and his eyes heavy with sleep. "Aye, Malin? " Tora asked, rubbing his face. But the moment he saw the tension in Malin's expression, he straightened, his drowsiness vanishing. "What is it?"

"Change course thirty degrees west, " Malin ordered, his voice sharp and urgent. When Tora hesitated, Malin's tone turned fierce. "Now! It could be a monster for all I know!"

Tora saluted and sprang into action, rousing the crew with shouts and commands. The ship came alive with the sounds of hurried footsteps and the creaking of ropes as the sails were adjusted. The water remained eerily calm, giving no hint of danger, but Malin's instincts rarely led him astray.

By mid-morning, the lookout's voice rang out from the crow's nest. "Captain! " he yelled, pointing toward the horizon. "Land ahead!"

Malin squinted, shielding his eyes from the sun. In the distance, a small island came into view, its shoreline dotted with huts and a modest pier. A sense of unease settled in his chest, but he pushed it aside. "Ready a raft! " he commanded.

As Malin and a handful of his crew rowed to the pier, they were met by a group of villagers, their arms laden with goods to sell.

"They're used to visitors, " Tora remarked, his tone cautious.

Malin nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd. His heart pounded as he searched for something—or someone—he couldn't quite name. Ignoring the villagers' offers, he broke into a run , his feet carrying him through the narrow streets as if guided by an unseen force.

He stopped abruptly in front of a small shop, its entrance adorned with pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. The air smelled of metal and smoke, and the faint clinking of tools echoed from within.

"Hello? " a woman's voice called out, warm but tinged with curiosity.

Malin turned to see an older woman behind the counter, her hands busy arranging a display of kitchen wares. She smiled at him, though her expression flickered with confusion for a brief moment before her smile returned.

"Do you need any assistance? " she asked politely.

Feeling awkward, Malin grabbed the nearest item—a firestarter—and handed it to her. "How much for this? " he asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him .

The woman examined the firestarter, her brow furrowing . "I might need to ask my husband for that, " she said, her tone apologetic. " I don't think I've seen it before. Please give me a moment."

Malin nodded, his throat tight as she disappeared through a door behind the counter. He heard her calling for her husband, the sound of footsteps growing louder with each passing second. His heart thundered in his chest, the anticipation almost unbearable.

"Let me take a look, " a man's voice said as he entered the shop.

Malin's breath caught in his throat. The man who stepped into the room was older, his face lined with age, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. He was a mirror of what Malin might become in another twenty years. The man's eyes widened as they locked onto Malin's, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

"Fath— " Malin began, his voice trembling.

"Don't! " the man snapped, his expression twisting with panic.

But Malin couldn't stop himself. The word spilt out, heavy with years of longing and unanswered questions. "Father."

The man's face crumpled, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had just settled on them. His wife, standing behind him, paled, her hands clutching the edge of the counter for support.

"What have you done? " the man muttered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were filled with a mixture of fear, regret, and something else—something Malin couldn't quite place.

"Why did you abandon us? " Malin asked, his voice low but laced with pain. He sat across from his father at a rickety wooden table, the air between them heavy with unspoken words and years of separation.

His father grimaced, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. "I didn't know, " he said, his voice trembling.

"Know what? " Malin demanded, his tone rising. "Explain clearly! Mom deserves to know the truth."

At the mention of Malin's mother, the man's face paled. "Mande, " he whispered her name as if it were a prayer or a curse. He covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with shame. "I didn't know what I was getting into."

"Why? " Malin pressed, his voice cracking. "Why did you never come back? I could accept it if you no longer loved her. But why did you never come to see me? Your own son?"

The older man sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the wooden ceiling of the empty room. "You shouldn't have come here, " he said, his voice heavy with regret.

"Afraid for me to meet your new family? " Malin asked mockingly, his bitterness spilling over. "Afraid for me to meet my half-siblings and let them find out about the family you abandoned?"

"No, damn it! No!" his father snapped, his voice rising for the first time. He leaned forward, his eyes burning with intensity. "I loved you and your mother. I still do." He held up a hand to stop Malin from interrupting. "But I was lied to. Misled." With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned the top of his shirt, revealing a silver necklace with a black, obsidian-like stone at its centre.

Malin shivered as his eyes fell on the pendant. It seemed to pulse with a dark energy, sending a chill down his spine.

"You can feel it too, can't you? " his father said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always knew you had that ability."

"What is that? " Malin asked, his voice filled with disgust.

His father smiled sadly, his fingers brushing against the black stone. "I made a deal with the devil."

Malin's stomach churned, his mind racing to make sense of the words.

"I asked for a better life for my family—for you and your mother and the generations after, " his father explained, his gaze softening as he looked at Malin. His son was dressed in the finest clothing, a far cry from the boy he had left behind. And the ships bearing his banner were a testament to the life he had built. "I wanted to give you everything I never had."

Malin stayed silent, his fists clenched on the table.

The older man touched the black stone again, his expression pained. "You can feel it too, can't you? The pull. The darkness."

"Yes, " Malin admitted softly. "How?"

His father looked at him with a mix of pride and sorrow. "Because you're my son. I knew you'd inherited some of my abilities the moment you were born."

"That makes sense, " Malin replied, his mind connecting the dots. His uncanny instincts , his ability to navigate the seas with almost supernatural precision —it all fell into place.

But his father's smile faltered, replaced by a deep frown. "You shouldn't have come here, Malin. You should've never come searching for me."

"I didn't have a choice, " Malin said, his voice firm. "Something dragged me here. Something I couldn't ignore."

"I see, " his father sighed, his gaze dropping to the necklace. " What the devil didn't tell me was that I would have to leave you forever. If I didn't, I would kill you and your mother."

Malin tensed, his heart pounding. "What do you mean?"

His father opened his palms, showing them empty. "I can feel the urge every moment. The darkness whispers to me, demanding I hunt you down. But I've held it off—for now."

Malin's eyes darted around the room. It was barren, save for the flimsy table and chairs. His father was unarmed, while Malin had a dagger strapped to his hip. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

"You planned this? " Malin asked, his voice breaking. A tear slipped down his cheek.

"I knew my time would come the moment you called me 'father, '" his father explained, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. "You see, son, " he said, addressing Malin as his child for the first time Malin could remember, "the devil only told me the full terms after the deal was made. It was generational."

Malin's eyes widened in horror.

"You must not marry or have children, " his father continued, his voice grave. "For you will kill them."

Tseria, Malin thought immediately, his heart clenching. "But your new wife? " he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Never married officially, " his father replied. "Nor do I have children with her."

Malin swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "And mother?"

His father looked away, his expression pained. "You must never see her as I have."

"And if I don't kill you? " Malin asked, his voice trembling.

His father's gaze hardened. "You'll have to. Because now that I know where you are, the whispers are growing louder. I can already feel the pull to hunt your mother down."

Malin's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his dagger, his grip tightening.

"But I can hold it off for a little longer, " his father said, his voice softening. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve. "Until then, I would like to talk to my son. I would like to know everything I've missed."

"Everything alright, love? " Tseria asked softly, her hand gently covering Malin's. Her touch was warm, a comforting contrast to the cold unease that had settled in his chest.

"Hm? " Malin looked up from the maps and charts scattered across his desk in the cabin. The dim light of the lantern flickered, casting shadows on his troubled face. "Yes, of course. What made you ask?"

Tseria tilted her head, her dark eyes studying him with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Well, " she began, her voice gentle but probing, "your hands have been trembling, even in this heat. You've seemed ... distant ever since we left that island. And now, when we're so close to seeing your mother again, you don't even look excited."

Malin hesitated, his gaze dropping to the desk. He could feel the weight of the black pendant hanging beneath his shirt, its presence a constant reminder of the burden he now carried. "I'm just nervous, that's all," he said, forcing a sheepish smile. He pressed a hand to his chest, the cool metal of the pendant pressing against his skin. "It's been so long. I want everything to be perfect."

Tseria's expression softened, but her eyes still held a hint of doubt. She knew him too well to be entirely convinced. "Nervous about seeing your mother? " she asked, her tone light but probing. "Or is there something else?"

Malin's mind raced. He couldn't tell her the truth—not yet . Not about the pendant, not about his father, and certainly not about the curse that now loomed over them. Instead, he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "How about we take a detour? " he suggested, his voice brightening with false enthusiasm. "There are some incredible places I've always wanted to show you. And I'd love to bring my mother gifts from all over—something special to make up for all the years I've been away. "

Tseria raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a playful smile. "A detour, huh? You're not just trying to delay the inevitable, are you?"

Malin chuckled, though it felt hollow. "Maybe a little, " he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But wouldn't it be nice? Just the two of us, exploring new places, picking out the perfect gifts ... It'll be an adventure."

Tseria studied him for a moment longer, her gaze searching. Then she sighed, her smile widening. "Alright, Captain, " she said, her tone teasing. "A detour it is. But don't think I'll let you off the hook forever. You'll have to face your mother eventually."

Malin's smile faltered for a split second before he recovered, squeezing her hand. "I know, " he said softly. "But for now, let's enjoy the journey."

As Tseria leaned in to kiss him, Malin's mind wandered to the pendant hidden beneath his shirt, its dark presence a constant reminder of the choice he would eventually have to make. For now, he would cling to this moment—to her warmth, her laughter, her unwavering belief in him. But deep down, he knew the truth: the closer they got to his mother, the harder it would be to keep the darkness at bay.

Mande was in the middle of storing her sweet bread, preparing for another day at the harbour, when she heard her neighbour's voice calling from outside her home.

"Mande! Your son is back!"

Her hands froze, the loaf of bread slipping from her grasp. "Malin has returned? " she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Are you sure?"

" Yes, my son just came back from the harbour," her neighbour replied, her face alight with excitement. "Malin's returned with a fleet of twenty ships! His clothes are finer than anything we've ever seen, but they say his face is still the same."

Mande's legs nearly gave out beneath her. For years, she had prayed and cried, begging the gods to bring her son back safely. Every night, she had lain awake, wondering if he was alive, if he was well, if he ever thought of her. And now, he was here.

She dropped her basket, the loaves of bread spilling onto the ground, but she didn't care. Her heart raced as she turned toward the door.

"Just go, " her neighbour said, already bending to pick up the scattered bread. "I'll clean this up. Don't worry about it—go see your son."

"Thank you, " Mande muttered, her voice barely audible as she hurried out the door. Her steps quickened as she made her way to the harbour, her heart pounding in her chest .

When she arrived, the sight took her breath away. The harbour was bustling with activity, and the docks were crowded with people unloading crates and barrels from a fleet of magnificent ships. And there, standing tall among the chaos, was Malin. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, his face more mature, but she would have recognized him anywhere. He was dressed in fine clothes, his presence commanding as he directed the crew and handed out goods to the villagers.

Mande's eyes filled with tears as she pushed through the crowd, her gaze fixed on her son. "Malin! " she called, her voice breaking. "My son, it's been too long. I've missed you so much."

She reached him and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. For a moment, she felt his arms encircle her, holding her tightly. But then, without warning, his grip tightened—too tight—and he pushed her away. She stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

Confused and hurt, she looked up at him, her heart breaking at the rage and sorrow etched on his face.

"You shameless woman! " he yelled, his voice cutting through the noise of the harbour. "How dare you pretend to be my mother!"

Mande stared at him in shock, her mind struggling to process his words. Her son —her Malin —was looking at her as if she were a stranger .

"Is this your mother? " a richly dressed woman asked, stepping forward. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp, studying Mande with curiosity .

"No, " Malin said firmly, shaking his head. "She's just a beggar pretending to be my mother. Probably hoping to profit off me."

Mande's heart shattered. She opened her mouth to protest, to remind him of all the years she had spent raising him , of all the sacrifices she had made, but no words came out.

Malin turned his back on her, his shoulders slumping. "My mother is no longer here, " he said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. "She's probably moved somewhere else. Or... " He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

The richly dressed woman placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure she's well, " she said gently. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I was able to see where you grew up."

Malin smiled at her, a small, sad smile that made Mande's chest ache. She watched in silence as her son and the woman walked away, leaving her alone on the dock. Her heart felt heavier than it ever had, even heavier than the day she had accepted that Malin's father would never return.

As the ships began to depart, Mande closed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists. "Dear gods, " she whispered, her voice trembling with anger and grief. "Show him the wrongness of his actions. Make him realize his mistakes. Punish him for what he's done."

In the darkness of her mind , something stirred —a presence she hadn't expected. It seized her prayer, its grip cold and unyielding. Mande gasped, her eyes flying open as she fell back onto the ground, her body trembling with shock.

"Malin, you need to see this! " Tora's voice was frantic as he banged on the door of the captain's cabin. When no response came, he threw the door open , only to find Malin on his knees, his head bowed, and his hands clenched into fists. The room was dimly lit, the air heavy with an unspoken grief.

"Malin, we need you up there! " Tora shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of thunder and the violent shaking of the ship.

Malin looked up, his eyes swollen and red, his face pale. For a moment, he seemed disoriented, as if pulled from a deep trance. Then, the sound of the storm registered—the thunder, the howling wind, the relentless pounding of the waves against the hull. He stood abruptly, his expression hardening. "I'm coming, " he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes.

Tora stepped aside, his own face etched with worry, but there was no time to ask questions. Malin brushed past him and strode onto the deck, the rain instantly soaking him to the bone. The storm was unlike anything he had ever seen. The sky was a churning mass of black clouds, lightning streaking across the heavens, and the waves rose like mountains, crashing against the ship with terrifying force.

Malin's mind was suddenly flooded with warnings, his instincts screaming at him to act. "Turn back! " he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Turn back to the island!"

Tora saluted, his face grim, and began barking orders to the crew. Communication was nearly impossible over the deafening thunder, but the urgency in Malin's voice was enough to spur them into action.

Malin's eyes swept the deck, taking in the chaos. One of the crew members was swept overboard by a monstrous wave, his scream swallowed by the storm. Before Malin could react, he felt a hand grip his arm with surprising strength. He turned to find Tseria beside him, her face pale and her body trembling beneath a large, sodden cloak.

"Malin, " she started, her voice barely audible over the storm, but a sudden lurch of the ship sent them both crashing to the deck.

"Tseria, you need to go insi— " Malin began, but his words were drowned out by a guttural roar that shook the very air. It was a sound unlike anything he had ever heard—deep, primal, and filled with an otherworldly rage.

All heads turned toward the source of the sound. Malin's heart sank as a massive shape began to rise from the depths. The creature emerged slowly, its form grotesque and terrifying. Its head was a mass of writhing tentacles, its body hulking and humanoid but covered in thick, scaly skin. Its arms ended in clawed hands, and its legs—thick and powerful—propelled it through the water with ease.

"Elder, " Tora whispered, his voice filled with dread.

Malin stared at the creature, his instincts screaming at him to flee. He had always trusted his intuition, but this time, it had come too late. The Elder roared again, its voice shaking the air and sending a gust of wind so powerful it capsized several of the smaller ships in the fleet.

"Tora! " Malin shouted, his voice raw with desperation. "Back to the island! NOW!"

Tora didn't respond—he didn't need to. He was already in motion, shouting orders to the crew as they fought to regain control of the ship.

Malin felt Tseria's hand tighten in his, her grip trembling. He hadn't even realized he was holding it until now. "Malin, I'm scared, " she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm.

"We'll be fine, " he replied, his voice firm despite the fear gnawing at his chest. He squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her , but his own heart was racing.

With his free hand, Malin reached out toward the water, the silver ring on his finger glowing with a faint golden light. He focused all his will, commanding the sea to carry them away from the creature. The water responded, swirling around the ship and propelling it forward.

But the Elder was not so easily outmatched. It roared again, and the wind surged with renewed fury, tearing at the sails and ripping the ship apart piece by piece. Malin's control over the water was no match for the sheer power of the storm .

The ship was tossed like a toy, the deck tilting violently as waves crashed over the sides. Malin clung to the railing with one hand, his other still gripping Tseria's. He could feel the ship breaking apart beneath them, the wood groaning and splintering under the strain.

Then, with a final, deafening crash, the ship was lifted high into the air by a monstrous wave . For a moment, they were weightless, suspended in the chaos of the storm . And then they fell, the ship slamming into the water upside down.

Malin woke with a choked gasp, his body convulsing as he vomited saltwater and blood onto the sand. His chest heaved, each breath a struggle, as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The sky above was a tempest of fury, lightning streaking across the black clouds, rain lashing down in sheets. He was on a beach, the sand coarse and cold beneath him. In the distance, towering over the wreckage of his fleet , was the Elder . Its massive, grotesque form loomed like a nightmare-made flesh, its tentacles writhing and its claws glinting in the storm's sporadic flashes of light .

Malin tried to wipe his mouth, but his left hand was tugged back. He turned, his heart lurching as he saw Tseria lying unconscious beside him. Her wrist was tied to his with her hair tie, a desperate act of survival that had kept them together through the storm. Her skin was pale, her lips blue, and her body unnaturally still.

"Tseria, " he gasped, his voice hoarse and broken. He bent over her, shaking her gently, then more urgently. "Tseria, wake up! " But she didn't stir. Her chest didn't rise. Her hand was cold in his.

Malin knelt there, his body trembling, tears mixing with the rain on his face. He had failed her. He had failed everyone. The weight of his guilt and grief pressed down on him, crushing him beneath its unbearable burden.

Another roar shattered the air, pulling him from his despair. Malin looked up, his eyes widening as he saw the Elder turn its gaze toward him. The creature's massive head tilted, its glowing eyes locking onto his. Slowly, deliberately, it raised a clawed hand and pointed directly at him.

Malin's instincts screamed at him to run, to flee, to do anything to escape the horror bearing down on him. But he didn't move. He couldn't. His body felt heavy, his spirit broken. He had nothing left.

Instead, he lowered himself to the ground, his forehead pressing into the wet sand. He wasn't bowing to the Elder—he would never bow to that monstrosity. The thought filled him with rage, but he pushed it aside. No, he was bowing to the sky, to the heavens, to the only force he had left to plead to.

"Mother, " he whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm. "Forgive me."

The sky flashed a brilliant blue, the light so intense it seemed to pierce through the storm. Malin didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, his body trembling as his instincts screamed at him to move, to fight, to do something. But he stayed still, resigned to his fate.

Then the pain came.

A searing, white-hot agony ripped through him as lightning struck his body. He screamed, his voice raw and guttural, but he couldn't move. His limbs were locked in place, his muscles rigid. He looked down, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and saw the horrifying truth: his flesh was turning to stone. The transformation began at his feet, the grey, lifeless texture creeping upward, consuming his legs, his torso, and his arms.

Panic surged through him, but he was powerless to stop it. He turned his head, his vision blurring as the stone reached his neck. The last thing he saw was Tseria's hand, still tied to his, lying motionless on the sand.

"Protect, " he grunted, his voice strained and weak.

"Protect, " he tried to yell, but the words were barely a whisper.

"Protect, " he willed, his mind screaming even as his body failed him.

"Please, " he begged, his breath shortening, his vision darkening. "Protect her ."

As the stone reached his face, his final thought was of Tseria. And then, in the last flicker of his consciousness, he saw it—a golden light, warm and radiant, enveloping her still form. It was faint, but it was there . A spark of hope in the darkness.

And then Malin was gone, his body fully petrified, his final plea echoing silently in the storm.

Chapter Text

Whitehall stepped back from the embrace with Sadi, and he wondered if he smelled as bad as she did. She had a shower in the Spirit Well, so he reckoned he smelled worse. A flicker of irritation ran through him when he saw that he stood right above her chin despite now having his lifeline restored. She was as tall as Ziel, so he guessed it might not be a realistic expectation. He was never a tall person, not in his previous life and not in this one. 

"Where are we going?" Whitehall asked. 

"Our next destination," Ziel replied cryptically. 

"Okay(?)" Sadi replied, fastening the bag with seeds and a few jars of different Well water. 

Whitehall fastened the large cylinder onto his back; with his recent growth, it was not as unnaturally large as it would have been previously; now, it was only unproportionally large. 

Ziel stood by a hatch on the ground. He placed a gate stone onto the palms of the skeleton on it, and the hatch disappeared, revealing a hole that went straight down. "We go in together," he said, looking over his shoulder. His eyes were not focused on Whitehall or Sadi but on the broken cylinders and towards the door of the stone building. 

Whitehall and Sadi nodded. Despite their oath, Ziel still did not fully trust the Redmoon Hall. 

Ziel grabbed Whitehall at the back of his shirt. "Whitehall is lighter. Meatball, carry Sadi," he ordered.

Meatball saluted, raising a wing towards her head. "Yes, Ziel!" 

Ziel raised an eyebrow, wondering where the bird learned such a weird gesture. But he knew what Meatball meant by it and ignored her. "Go," he pointed. 

Sadi opened her mouth, about to ask how Meatball was supposed to bring her down, but the bird latched onto her shoulders and dropped down the hole. Her surprised scream echoed through the tunnel. 

Ziel took one last look behind him at the shut stone door and jumped. The hatch reappeared as he passed through. 

Sadi's screams lowered to a whelp when her descent was suddenly slowed. 

"That was fun," Meatball chirped. 

Sadi took a few deep breaths. She was not afraid of heights; she was just surprised. At least, that was what she told herself. 

Meatball gently placed her on the ground, and Sadi's breath caught when she saw their surroundings. The space was plain, with smooth stone walls. Three tunnels were before her, and she eyed them individually. 

Where Sadi and Meatball landed gently like a leaf drifting through the air, Whitehall and Ziel crash-landed onto a green script. A dust cloud rose from where they landed. Ziel came out first, his eyes disinterested.

"Owe," Whitehall groaned, his form rising like a shadow through the cloud. 

Sadi stepped towards Whitehall and helped him up.

"Sadi, lead the way," Ziel spoke up. "We can't see."

"Oh," Sadi said in realisation. She forgot that the others could not see in the dark. "What are we looking for?" she asked. 

"Oooo! What's that?" Meatball squawked, flying through the tunnel on the left.

"Meatball!" Sadi yelled. 

"She'll be fine. She's excited about something," Whitehall groaned next to her. "She's a Truegold."

Sadi sighed before her eyes widened as she processed Whitehall's words. "Meatball is a Truegold?" she exclaimed. "How, when?"

"Life Well, I'm sure."

"We're looking for a tree," Ziel said. "At least that was what the Beast King told me," he shrugged. 

Sadi continued eyeing the tunnel, but she did not see any trees. She stopped when she saw the last tunnel on the right. A huge man wearing rags with greasy black hair stood with crossed arms. She realised his arms were covered with black scales, but his eyes were yellow and sharp like a dragon's. Those yellow eyes bore into her. 

"There's a man down here," she whispered. "He wears rags like a Wastelander, with draconic eyes and black scaled arms."

A flash of concern appeared on Ziel's expression, but a moment later, it returned to his usual impassiveness. "It's a projection of Northstrider," he explained. "Just a projection." 

Ziel gestured for Sadi to lead the way and trailed behind her alongside Whitehall. 

"There are rooms around us," Sadi's voice echoed. "Seems like scraps and junk."

"Heralds probably already cleared them out," Ziel replied. 

When they neared the end, Whitehall saw a hulking figure eyeing them. This was Northstrider, he thought. The Monarch of the Wastelands, and the owner of this pocket world. The man dressed like a Wasteland sacred artist, probably even less well-outfitted. From the way he stood and his gaze. It resonated with strength, power, and absolute authority. Whitehall has seen such gazes, and he almost spat in disgust. 

"For you who travel here after my departure," the projection of Northstrider spoke as they walked down the hall.

"Feel free to ignore it," Ziel shrugged. "It's not that important."

"None of them delivered what I wanted," the projection continued, unbothered by Ziel's words.

"Straight there," Sadi yelled. "I see it. A metal tree with cages." She began jogging, and Whitehall and Ziel followed. 

There was an inflexion in the Monarch's voice when they reached the base of a metal tree at the end of a wall, signalling the importance of the Monarch's next words. "Return the Eye of the Deep to the tree. And for the rest of your life, know that you are in my debt."

Whitehall stared at the looming tree made of scripted metal. The cages were like fruits, dangling on the metal branches. Some of the cages held sapphire stones. 

Ziel reached into his robes and pulled out three Eyes of the Deep. He handed one each to Sadi and Whitehall. Without a word, he knelt at the base of the tree. 

"Ziel of the Dawnwing sect returns the Eye of the Deep to the place of its birth," he muttered, holding the stone before him. 

The scripts on the tree trunk flared blue, and a metal branch bent down towards Ziel, the cage opening as it neared him. Ziel placed the Eye of the Deep into the cage, and the metal bars shut itself, the branch returning to its initial position. 

A new projection appeared before the tree of Northstrider, but this time, the Monarch was wearing a different set of rags. His beard and hair were longer, and it felt more recent. 

"The Beast King recommended you represent my faction in the upcoming Uncrowned tournament," the projection said. "You have succeeded in my trials; as a reward, I have granted you a drop of Ghostwater." Then the Monarch's gaze hardened. "Do not disappoint me," he stated, his voice absolute and unflinching.  

The projection blinked out, and before Whitehall or Sadi could ask what the projection was speaking about, a whisper echoed through the chamber. 

"Ask..."

Ziel hesitated, and for the first time, Sadi and Whitehall saw an uncomfortable expression on his face. Ziel clenched his teeth and fought with himself. 

Ziel's voice came out low and conflicted. "How do I advance to a Sage?" 

The question took Whitehall and Sadi aback. Ziel was sure they were surprised he did not ask how to fix his body or, better yet, ask the tree to fix it. He would be in the Uncrowned tournament, so the tree would not do such a thing even if it could. But most importantly, he already knew how. The Beast King and Sunda had spent countless hours researching and experimenting with him. Besides the long-lost Aurelius Pure-storm baptism and the help of several monarchs working together, nothing else could be done. If he wanted to fix his crippled spirit, he would need to win the Uncrowned tournament. 

A wave of blue-and-purple light washed over him, and Ziel learned. He knew now how to be a Sage. It was simple, yet so complicated. 

Sadi watched the blue-and-purple light washing Ziel. The light carried information, she realised. She did not understand, nor could she explain how it worked, as it was more of a feeling rather than anything tangible. To her, the light felt inefficient. The blue-and-purple light incorporated only visible light other than dream madra. Maybe she could do the same thing better if she used invisible light alongside visible light. 

That brought another question as she eyed Ziel's kneeling form. It was not that he did not ask the tree how to fix his spirit. Sadi had quickly deduced that he probably already knew the answer. It was the way he said his questions. It was as if it was a taboo. 

Also, when Ziel introduced his title, it was not Ziel of the Wastelands but Ziel of the Dawnwing sect. Was that the symbol he wore on his grey cloak? She wondered what had happened to his sect, but remembering the state of his spirit, it would not have been anything good. And she would not ask. 

Ziel stood straight, and she saw him approach a basin at the lower part of the tree trunk. A clear tube slid out of the tree above the basin, and a drop of white liquid splashed onto it. 

"This is Ghostwater," Ziel explained, manipulating aura to lift the drop above his face. He faced Sadi and Whitehall. "Even Sages and Heralds will find it difficult to afford a single drop."

Sadi watched Ziel's green eyes as he explained. They were sparkling as he though had just learned something he had always wanted to know like a hole inside of him had been filled. 

"Do what I did," Ziel continued. "And I would not waste your question on advancement. The Beast King and I can help you with that." He drank the drop of Ghostwater and sat on the ground in a cycling position. "At least I would," he added before closing his eyes and cycling. 

Sadi's gaze shifted back to the tree and stepped forward. "I'll go first," she said. 

"Go on," Whitehall said, his expression scrunched in thought. 

Sadi copied Ziel's action. She knelt and presented her Eye of the Deep to the tree, repeating Ziel's words. Northstrider's projection reappeared, repeating the previous words it said to Ziel. She waited impatiently for it to finish. She already knew what question she wanted to ask. 

"Ask..." The projection disappeared, and the voice finally echoed. 

"How do I create matter from light?" she asked. 

The tree glowed, and Sadi waited for the wave of light to wash over her. It took longer than previously, and Sadi grew nervous. Finally, light washed over her, but she was alarmed when she saw it was red. One word whispered in her mind as the light covered her body. 

Unable.

Then, a new sentence spoke in her mind.

Ask again...

Sadi shifted as she knelt, disappointed that a Monarch's creation could not give her answers. She had not expected this outcome and was unprepared for a second question. 

"You could ask for all its information regarding light aura and madra," Whitehall suggested. "At least for ones you'll be able to handle."

Sadi thought that was a good suggestion. If she knew how light works, she might eventually figure it out herself. But an annoyance prick at the back of her mind. Does she want to learn only what she can handle as a Highgold? Does she only want to learn about light madra and aura? Is she going to bottleneck herself due to fear of what she could not handle? She already knew the answer. 

"I want all your knowledge on Light," she declared. 

"That was not a good idea," she heard Ziel's voice echoing behind her.

A few moments later, she understood why. Waves of blue-and-purple light washed over her one after another, and she clutched her head in pain. It was not physical or spiritual. Instead, it felt like her head was about to snap, unable to digest so much knowledge. 

"Ghostwater. Quick!" Ziel snapped at Whitehall. 

Whitehall sprung to action, running towards the basin of the tree. The transparent tube slid out, too slow for Whitehall's liking. Afraid of accidentally breaking it, he waited with his hands cupped underneath the tube. A drop of Ghostwater dripped gently into his hands, and he made his way to Sadi, who was clutching her head on the ground. 

Ziel stood beside Sadi's form, lifting the Ghostwater drop with aura. Sadi's jaw was clenched, so Ziel shoved the water through her nose. 

"Cycle it," Ziel raised his voice.

"Cycle it!" Whitehall repeated, this time with a yell. "You need to cycle it!"

It took only a moment for the true prize of the pocket world to take effect. Sadi's hands relaxed, and she opened her eyes. "I'm fine," she said, shaking her head gently as if she had water stuck in her ear. "That was just a lot."

Ziel sighed. "On the contrary, I think that might've been a good idea after all."

"How do you feel?" Whitehall asked. 

"Good," she replied, but her eyes were lost in thought. They widened after a moment. "Better, actually. That Ghostwater is amazing."

"Ghostwater strengthened your mental power. Without it...," he paused and shrugged. "Your head would've exploded, I think."

"Doesn't matter now," she waived a hand. Then she grabbed one of Whitehall's hands with both of hers; her smile was wide. "I know the key to my path. The tree filled me with countless findings from Sacred Artists on Light Paths. However, the key was actually in the findings by Scholars. But they were still missing a piece of key information. The knowledge that Sunda had filled me on." Her smile grew wider, and she actively cheered as she explained.  

"What's the key?" Whitehall asked, also feeling excited for her. 

"Ahem," Ziel coughed. "We are of limited time."

Sadi let go of Whitehall and placed her hands behind her back, feeling a little embarrassed. "Of course," she muttered, her voice still sounding excited. 

Whitehall stepped forward to the tree, kneeling as he presented his Eye of the Deep. He placed the stone in the cage and watched as the projection of the Monarch gave his speech. His mind replayed at the other projection's words as he walked through the hall. 

The projection had said that he would be in debt to the Monarch, and Whitehall wanted to outright reject Ghostwater because of that. He would be in debt to the Monarch for his trash. He waited for the new projection to finish. If he is considered in debt to a Monarch, he might as well ask for the answer he sought. 

Ask... the whisper echoed. 

A flicker of hesitation flashed as he thought of asking the tree how to get home. But he remembered Sunda had already told him he would be able to one day when he left this world. 

"How do I kill the Dreadgods?" he asked. 

The world darkened, and Whitehall felt an invisible force clench his heart. He looked around and could only see darkness. Sadi and Ziel were nowhere to be found. 

Swear on your soul that you will never reveal the information to anyone who does not possess such knowledge.

Whitehall felt his chest tightened. He had not sworn anything, but he knew that he would die if he did not swear. 

"I swear," he groaned. The grip loosened, and Whitehall went to his knees as he caught his breath. He felt the oath tightened, and he was not sure to whom he was making the oath. Northstrider would be his best guess.

Blue-and-purple light washed over him, and he knew then why he was made to swear such an oath. He knew the Monarch were not good people, but only now had he learnt the extent of their heartlessness. They would let millions die to remain in Cradle. 

"Did the tree answer you," Ziel's voice came first. 

"Yes," Whitehall replied in between breaths. "But I was forced to swear an oath."

"That's too bad," Ziel replied. "Always wanted to know myself too."

Whitehall looked around, and found who he was searching for. Sadi was cycling behind him, clutching a dream tablet in her hands. 

"She was worried," Ziel said. "But it was either cycle or her head would pop."

Whitehall nodded and saw the transparent tube retracting into the trunk. He made his way to the basin, eyeing the white drop inside. He slurped it, making sure he swallowed everything. He sat in a cycling position, and a few seconds later, his eyes widened. It felt like he had been blind his whole life, and only now did he finally see. He was able to dissect his poison madra into different parts. Parts where it would cause harm and parts where it would benefit. 

He tried to activate the enforcer technique he had learned from his dream tablet, and it came quickly. He found himself easily identifying and separating the makeups of different toxins, combining the effects he wanted, and cycling them through his body. Could he do it directly on his body instead of his madra? he wondered. He identified a point of light in his skull as the Ghostwater. But before he could continue analysing, the point winked out. 

"It will draw from your spirit to restore itself over time," Ziel said, knowing what Whitehall was thinking. 

A few moments later, Sadi opened her eyes. "I'm done," she said, then turned her gaze to Whitehall. "I'm glad you're okay. Did you get your answer?"

Whitehall nodded, frowning. "They made me swear an oath not to reveal it."

"That's never good," Sadi replied.

Whitehall felt his oath tightening after Sadi's reply. He reasoned with it. How was he to tell how Sadi would find it? Technically, he had not revealed a single thing. The oath loosened.

"Oath's tight," he explained, massaging his chest. 

Meatball flew in, carrying a ring of keys, which jingled as she flew. The ring was too big, so she held it with her beak and legs. She dropped them at the centre of the three. She laughed, "Look what I have found."

Ziel bent down and picked up the keys, holding them before his eyes.

"What are those?" Whitehall asked. 

"Void keys," Ziel answered.

Whitehall and Sadi gawked. 

"What? How?" Sadi was first to exclaim. "I thought the Heralds would've raided them."

"The keys were guarded by Overlord-level poison traps," Meatball said smugly. "But I am a Garuda of poison; it strengthened me."

"Probably because they're the size of rice bowls," Ziel replied, tossing the keys to Sadi. 

Sadi caught them and activated one at random. Sure enough, the void key was smaller than her fists. 

"Thank you, Meatball," she ruffled the bird's back. "I really like it."

"They're most likely failed ones," Ziel continued. 

Meatball stuck out her tongue. "Don't be a party pooper."

Ziel raised an eyebrow at the insult but did not reply. "We should go," he said, pulling out a black key, his gate key. "Hold on to me."

"Wait!" Meatball yelped. "What about me?" she gestured to the oracle tree, her expression covered in disappointment. 

Ziel eyed her disinterestedly. "You don't need one."

Meatball's expression changed in a blink and shrugged. "Ehh, true," she replied. 

Once everyone had held on to Ziel, he activated the gatekey. One moment, they were standing before the oracle tree. The next, they were standing on grass, a familiar hum of a handpan coming from nearby. 

Chapter Text

The Beast King sat on a log, one hand holding a tomahawk meat between his teeth and the other busy playing his instrument. A campfire was before him, casting shadows over several rats, who stood and listened to his tune.

"I'm glad to see my disciples are finally back!" the Herald exclaimed, waving a tomahawk at them. "And Highgolds, nonetheless," he observed.

"None of the wells work," Ziel said as he walked to sit against a large Vastwood Mammoth.

"Hey guys!" a cheerful voice came from a baby mammoth beside Ziel.

"Ellie?" Sadi asked.

Ellie shifted through the cluster of other baby elephants and ran towards Sadi and Whitehall. "How was it?" she asked. "It's been so boring out here," she complained.

"Ellie, let's not bother them too much. They must be tired from their journey," the large Vastwood Mammoth grumbled.

"They're fine, mom!" Ellie replied to the Vastwood Mammoth. "Right?" Ellie turned back to the two humans, her tail waggling.

"Mom?" Whitehall eyed the Vastwood Mammoth Ziel was leaning against.

"Ellie...," her mother grumbled. "It is past your bedtime. Come back, now!"

Ellie straightened at her mother's tone and returned to join the other sleeping calves without uttering a single word.

The Beast King saw the state of Ziel's spirit. "It was a long shot. We can try to make it into an elixir." He turned to face his disciples, smiling at Whitehall's large tank on his back and Sadi's bulging bag. "How much did you bring?"

"A lot," Whitehall admitted, and he and Sadi placed their bags before their master. "From all three wells."

The Beast King's silver eyes sparkled at the sight. Whitehall was sure he already knew what was inside. "I knew you both won't disappoint me."

He continued after a moment. "You even got seeds of plants I did not see when I went there."

"That was me!" Meatball yelped. "I gathered the seeds all on my own."

"That was because you ate the ones we have gathered," Sadi pinched the bird's cheek.

"Owe owe owe owe," Meatball yelled. "I've said I'm sorry."

The Beast King laughed. He placed a hand inside the bag, pulling out the ring of void keys. "You even found some void keys," he said. "Brilliant!"

He pulled several glass vials from his soul space, filling them with the well water from jars and cylinders. Then, he placed them in order on two vial racks.

"For you," he handed the first to Whitehall. "And you," he handed the other to Sadi. He clapped his hands together, which caused Ellie's mother to trumpet in annoyance. He raised a hand in an apology before returning his attention to his disciples. "Those should be enough for you to reach peak Truegold and a little extra."

Whitehall and Sadi bowed. "Thank you, master," they said in unison.

The Beast King wiped an imaginary tear with a greasy finger. "My disciples, how true in heart you both are. Not even asking for anything in exchange."

"You've given us more than we can ever repay, master," Whitehall said while bowing.

"He is right, master," Sadi concurred.

The Beast King looked up to the stars. "Bless my master's soul; she was right once again." He returned his gaze. "Back straight."

The two disciples complied.

"Let it be known that I am a magnanimous master," The Beast King raised his voice, ignoring the glares from the sacred beast he had woken up. "I shall reward good deeds as they deserve. The seeds from Ghostwater shall bring the Wastelands to new heights. The water from the wells shall make our ponds and rivers a treasure for our people." He held his arms apart, his voice echoing through the woods.

There was complete silence. The mouse by him clapped, and Whitehall and Sadi joined in after a moment.

"Here," the Beast King tossed two keys at Whitehall and Sadi. "In exchange for what you have brought."

Sadi's eyes widened as she saw it. She activated the void key, and a space opened in the air. It was the size of a wardrobe. Although it was not as big as Lindon’s, it was still big.

"Thank you, master," Sadi lowered her head.

Whitehall clutched the void key, eyeing it in his hand. "Master," he began.

"Yes?" the Beast King raised his eyebrows.

"I appreciate your help. But...," Whitehall paused. "Why?" he finally asked. "You've given us guidance and resources far beyond any master would. I don't mean to offend. But why?"

"What got you into this?" the Beast King asked, confused.

Screw it, Whitehall thought. If Sunda had trusted the Beast King, so shall he. "I learned how to kill the Dreadgods," Whitehall replied. "And certain issues... from the Oracle tree."

The Beast King's eyes widened in understanding. When he spoke, his voice came low but with an authority Whitehall had never seen him use. "Everyone except Whitehall. Leave."

The animals began leaving, Ziel sleeping on the mammoth's back as it walked away. The rats moved away, and so did Sadi after Whitehall gave her a reassuring nod.

Once the closest being was a hundred yards away, the Beast King drew a script in a circle around them with wind aura. Whitehall knew what it was for—to keep their conversation private.

The Beast King sighed once the privacy script was activated. "You learned about Hunger madra and where it came from," he stated more than asked.

"The Monarchs," Whitehall replied. "They even made me swear an oath of secrecy."

The Beast King spat to the side. "And how did it make you feel?"

"I knew that people with such power are rarely good. But I never realised they would let their own people suffer."

The Beast King clicked his tongue and nodded, closing his eyes. He spoke when he reopened them. "I was also bound to an oath to Northstrider. I was hoping you both would find out yourselves. I just did not expect it to be this soon."

"Did Northstrider tell you?"

"No," the Beast King answered. Then his voice turned into a whisper as if he feared someone would be listening to them despite the privacy scripts. "Sunda told me."

Whitehall's eyes widened. The bird had known. But why had she not spread the news out then? Surely, the world's Sacred Artists would have gone against the Monarchs if they had known.

"I don't know how she knew," the Beast King whispered. "I know what you're thinking. If we spread the word, other Sages and Heralds will surely challenge the Monarch."

Whitehall nodded.

"You're wrong. I tried," the Beast King looked up to the stars.

Whitehall saw the tiredness in his master's face. He looked much older right now.

"I was an Archlord when I began spreading the news throughout the Wasteland and Sacred Artist around our borders." The Beast King clenched his jaw and spoke through gritted teeth. "The Monarchs of the Dragons, Akura, and Northstrider, slew everyone that had learned of the secret without mercy. I was only spared because I was an Archlord nearing advancement and could be useful to Northstrider. Even then, he bound me with oaths tighter than yours."

"We need to do something about this," Whitehall replied. "Millions of people are dying due to the Dreadgods."

"I'm not," the Beast King replied. "My oaths barred me from planning any such actions."

The Beast King was trying to tell Whitehall something, and Whitehall analysed his master's words carefully. "Sunda?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know," the Beast King shook his head and smiled. "As I said, my oaths barred me from taking such actions. I am simply following a set of instructions left by my master."

Whitehall nodded in realisation. "She wants to turn us into Monarchs. One can be easily beaten. But three-" Whitehall stopped as his master's form disappeared in a blur. The next thing he knew, he was lifted in the air by his collar, his face close to his master's.

"No," his master growled, his silver eyes flaring. "Never a Monarch. Never a Sage. Do you understand?" he shook Whitehall.

"But Ziel," Whitehall blurted.

"I am not concerned with Ziel," the Beast King shook Whitehall again. "Do you understand?"

Whitehall nodded furiously. The Beast King relaxed, gently placing Whitehall on the grass.

"Why not a Sage?" Whitehall asked, fixing the collar of his shirt. He did not even know how to advance to Sage.

"I don't know," the Beast King replied. "Sunda refused to tell me. I think she would've if not for the oaths I had to swear. But whatever the reason is. She stressed it the most. Never a sage."

Whitehall nodded and chose his words carefully. "What should I do now?"

The Beast King smirked. "Get stronger. You must have heard by now that Northstrider has chosen you to represent him in a tournament."

Whitehall nodded.

"You'll need to be Underlords to participate. I'll let you know of further instructions when we get there."

The Beast King clapped his hands twice, and the privacy scripts on the grass disappeared. Soon enough, the Sacred Beast returned and continued sleeping as if nothing had happened.

"It sometimes happens," Whitehall heard Ziel's voice and turned to see him approaching alongside Sadi.

Sadi looked at Whitehall with a questioning gaze, to which Whitehall replied with various hand signs. I'll tell you later.

She nodded at him.

"Oh my," the Beast King said, placing a hand on Whitehall's shoulder. "I see you have your lifeline returned."

"Yes, master," Whitehall nodded. The Beast King would have already known this. Whitehall had presented him with water from the Life Well just now. When Whitehall glanced up, he saw the Beast King gazing at Ziel.

Ziel shrugged. "Might as well fix it now rather than waiting for Underlord. It was getting close."

"What is done is done," The Beast King nodded with a smile. "And since you are so eager to help, I have something to occupy your time. I have a couple of Golds under my protection, and they have gotten themselves stuck. How about you three swing by and un-stuck them."

Ziel sighed and summoned his hammer while Sadi and Whitehall placed their vial racks into their new void keys. "Where?"

"Under the gold dragons," The Beast King snapped his fingers. "I'll send you close. I heard an Underlord is keeping them warm."

Ziel eyed the two Highgolds and sighed. Guess he was not allowed to die today.

Yerin was unsure if she was having a good or bad day. A good day when she considered that now she was a Truegold. A bad day when she remembered an Underlady was after her and Mercy.

"Congratulations! Should we run?" Mercy hobbled towards Yerin, her bow returning to a staff.

"Not yet," Yerin said, turning behind them, guided by her Truegold perception. "We can't look like cowards in front of our new guests." She readied her sword arms and her sword.

Four figures emerged from the forest. The most alarming was a Truegold man with glowing emerald horns dragging a giant hammer behind him. He wore an expression like he had died two days ago. The next was a Highgold woman, tall with lean muscle. Her perception stopped at the last man with a Truegold sacred beast on his shoulder. The man was only a Highgold, so he should have been the least of her worries. But she recognised the uncovered part of his face. How would she ever forget?

Her sword rang like a bell, sword aura heading straight at Whitehall. The horned man stretched his hand and created a circular green script, blocking the blow.

"Looking to pick off the winner? Should've known you were a coward through and through, Whitehall." Yerin growled.

The horned man sighed.

To Yerin's surprise, Whitehall was not the first to react. Her vision blurred, and only due to her Truegold perception did she know a pair of knives was coming for her. She met them with her master's sword. The Highgold woman lept back, and it took a moment for Yerin to disperse the woman's technique. With her vision cleared, Yerin saw the woman's face clearly.

"You want to go for a second round?" Yerin taunted. "You think your Highgold butter knives are sharper than my sword?"

The dead-looking Truegold raised a hand, blocking Whitehall from joining the fight. "No," he drawled.

The remnants from the dead dragons began to rise, and Yerin whipped a striker technique at the remnants. The remnants hissed as she slashed them.

"We have to go," Yerin said to Mercy. She did not like it, but they were stuck between an Underlady and two Truegolds. She would give more odds of survival dealing with the Golds. She noticed Mercy's gaze stuck towards where they were running from, and Yerin's spirit crawled.

Yerin looked behind her, and as she had sensed, the Underlady stood there, sword in hand.

"On my blood and my name, I swear that you will suffer as none have suffered," she whispered, readying herself to strike.

"What is happening?" Meatball's voice cut through the tension, but everyone ignored her.

"Don't suppose you have another one of those shields," Yerin said to Mercy, who laughed lifelessly.

The horned stranger stepped out of the trees. "I am the Beast King's witness," he sighed. "I witness an Underlady attacking two Golds. Fall back, or he has cause to intervene."

The dragon laughed. "And who are you?"

"Underlady," the horned man replied. "Believe me when I say I am no one at all."

The dragon's golden eyes narrowed, and she bared her fangs. "No," she hissed. "I will not bow to you. Not even your master," She said, gathering madra on her sword to attack.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?" A piercing yell cut through the air.

Yerin saw a black bird flying through the air, landing between the Underlady and her group. The bird faced the dragon, and Yerin saw Whitehall slowly make his way to join the bird, maintaining a considerable distance from Yerin. Good, Yerin thought.

"Why are you attacking these lowly Golds, Underlady," Meatball asked, mocking the Golds behind her.

"My sister was killed in Ghostwater," the dragon hissed. "The Skysworns entered without permission. It must have been them."

Really? Yerin raised her eyebrows in surprise. She thinks Lindon, of all people, was responsible for killing a Truegold. It almost made her heart melt just thinking about it. Furthermore, something about the bird had made an Underlady dragon hesitate. That was when her perception landed on the bird. Poison, she sensed. Were dragons afraid of poison?

"Ekerinatoth," the bird nodded, and the dragon's grip on her sword tightened. "I remember her."

"It was you who were responsible then," the dragon hissed.

"Nope," the bird shook her head. "It was the Redmoon girl. I swear on my feathers." The bird plucked a single feather and let it drift onto the grass.

The Underlady seemed to hesitate. "Redmoon?" she growled.

"Yeap," the bird nodded. "Noble Lady Ekerinatoth was magnanimous enough to let us join her on her hunt." She used the word she recently learned from the Beast King. "In exchange for us paying tribute in terms of our treasures, of course."

The Underlady sniffed in their direction. "I can smell her scent on both of you. But why then are you still alive, and yet she's dead?"

The bird looked down and spoke in the most solemn voice Yerin had ever heard. "The Redmoon was supposed to ally with us. And your sister's last words were... traitor ."

The Underlady growled and slammed her sword into the scabbard. "Very well, I do not sense any lies. But remember that I am letting you go only because I do not have time to hunt you and the Redmoon both." She turned her back and faced the sky.

Yerin followed the Underlady's gaze and saw a fortress-sized Thousand-Mile Cloud rushing towards them. Two Truegold dragons dropped down and knelt before the Underlady.

"Sopharanatoth," one said, summoning a smaller Thousand-Mile Cloud.

The Underlady, Sopharanatoth, did not reply and stepped onto the cloud.

"I remember the scene," the bird continued. "The Redmoon Hall woman ambushed us from the shadows. Her Blood Shadow swallowing your sister's body whole," the bird let out a tear. "That Blood monster said she would use your sister's body as a template for her Blood Shadow. A trophy I remember she mentioned."

Yerin looked behind her and saw the Highgold woman covering her face with her hands. Meanwhile, Whitehall stood alert, both hands behind his back next to the bird. She saw Whitehall kicked the bird lightly.

"Owe!" the bird yelped. "The Underlady deserves to know exactly what happened to her sister!"

The Underlady's hand rested on the pommel of her blade. Yerin could hear her voice clearly as she spoke to the two Truegold dragons. "Today, we burn Redmoon Hall." Then, the cloud carried her to the sky.

Yerin took a deep breath of relief as the Underlady left. It was short-lived, as she remembered Whitehall and the other woman still there. She kept her sword ready as she shifted her gaze. Mercy looked to her and then to the newcomers.

"Hi!" Mercy bubbled. "I'm Mercy."

House of Blades

Iteration requested.  Amalgam

Date?  Request Rejected

Report Complete

Dayang, princess of Damasca, stepped through her portal into the Latari Forest, the air thick with the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves. This secluded grove was her sanctuary, a place she often visited to gather flowers for her ailing mother. She was not part of the royal lineage, as her mother was a concubine, so the King would not care if she went missing for a few hours a day. The forest, with its quiet beauty, offered a respite from the stifling politics of the palace.

She wandered among the trees, her fingers brushing against the delicate petals of her favourites, lilacs and tulips. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds filled the air, a soothing symphony that eased her mind. But as she bent to pluck a particularly vibrant tulip, her nose wrinkled. A foul odour wafted through the air, sharp and acrid, like rotting meat. It was out of place in this serene setting, and her curiosity was piqued.

Following the stench, she pushed through a thicket of underbrush and stopped short, her breath catching in her throat. Before her was a massive flower, its crimson petals sprawling wider than her arm span. The centre was a gaping void of darkness, and the stench emanating from it was almost overwhelming.

"A Rafflesia," she murmured, her voice tinged with awe. She had only read about this rare bloom in books, its grotesque beauty and putrid smell described in vivid detail. But seeing it in person was something else entirely. It was both fascinating and repulsive, a paradox of nature.

As she stared at the flower, a faint movement caught her eye. She crouched down, peering beneath the broad petals, and her heart leapt. There, huddled in the shadow of the Rafflesia, was a large black dog. Its fur was matted with blood, and fresh claw marks marred its side. The poor creature was panting heavily, its dark eyes glazed with pain.

Without hesitation, Dayang knelt beside the dog, her hands moving instinctively to assess its injuries. She had learned the basics of traditional medicine from her mother, and though her knowledge was limited, she was determined to help. She gathered broad leaves and sturdy vines, fashioning makeshift bandages to staunch the bleeding. The dog yelped softly as she worked, but it didn't struggle. It seemed to understand that she meant no harm.

As she tended to the dog, she noticed the scars that crisscrossed its body—old wounds, long healed but telling a story of countless battles. Her fingers traced the ridges of one particularly deep scar, and a shiver ran down her spine. What kind of beasts had this dog faced? How many times had it fought for its life in this very forest? The thought made her uneasy, and she realised how careless she had been, wandering these woods alone. Luck, it seemed, had been her only shield.

By the time she finished, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. The forest grew quieter, the shadows lengthening as night approached. Dayang sat back on her heels, wiping her hands on her dress. "There you go, buddy," she said softly, stroking the dog's head. "You should be all right now."

The dog looked up at her, its dark eyes filled with something she couldn't quite place—gratitude, perhaps, or a quiet intelligence. It let out a single, low bark as if to thank her.

Dayang smiled, though her heart ached at the thought of leaving it behind. "I have to go now," she said, glancing at the darkening sky. "But maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

The dog watched her as she stood and stepped back through her portal, its gaze lingering even as the shimmering gateway closed behind her. For a moment, the forest felt emptier, as if the bond they had forged in those brief moments had left an indelible mark on both of them.

Chapter Text

Eithan Aurelius was having a good day. When he took everything into consideration, he changed his mind. He was having a fantastic day. He watched Fisher Gesha bowing before Emperor Naru Huan. He smiled as he watched the rewards she was given for her part in defeating Long Hook. She had outdone herself and deserved it.

"Go in peace," Naru Huan announced to her before hardening his expression. "We must have an audience with our Underlord alone."

Fisher Gesha glanced at Eithan as she left, trailed by three servants carrying her rewards in boxes. He winked.

When the doors were shut, the mood in the room relaxed. Eithan yawned as he stretched his back.

"Last audience for the day," Naru Huan said as Eithan approached him.

They exchanged pleasantries and information about the effort against Redmoon Hall. Eithan even tried to pry some information about the Redmoon Hall Overlord stuck in the trackless sea. He knew exactly what was in the trackless sea but wanted to see what the Emperor knew—not much, it seems.

The Emperor wanted Eithan to resume his task as Patriarch, but Eithan rejected the offer. It took some convincing, but the Emperor eventually relented. Now, Eithan could finally ask for what he wanted. The Emperor fell into Eithan's trap when he brought up the subject of the Uncrowned Tournament.

"The Akura family might compete, but we won't. We can't," Naru Huan said as they entered his office.

Eithan explained how the Dreadgods' strange activity would make the upcoming tournament a battle between Monarchs, and the Blackflame Empire would be forced to compete.

Naru Huan sighed as he slouched on his chair. "What can you do, Eithan?"

Eithan was practically shaking in excitement. "I have two, maybe three prospects of young Underlords. Given the ability to teach them more directly, I might be able to raise two of them in time."

The Emperor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All the more reason to reinstate you as Patriarch."

"All the more reason to let me join the Skysworn," Eithan corrected.

The Emperor gave him a sceptical look. "You think they would impress the Akura family?"

"Huan," Eithan replied. "I think they could do a little better than that."

A knock came on the door of the office. "Come in," Naru Huan said.

The door opened, and a royal messenger stepped in, carrying a scroll. He handed it to the Emperor before bowing and leaving the room. Eithan raised an eyebrow as he saw the scroll's wax seal. Akura Family?

Naru Huan sighed as he saw the seal. "Thought I would finally have a break."

"You certainly deserved one," Eithan joked.

The Emperor unsealed the scroll and began reading the contents. He frowned at first, and it worsened as it continued. He raised an eye at Eithan. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Eithan smiled.

"Don't act like you haven't read it," Naru Huan replied.

Eithan scoffed at the accusation. "I would never use my bloodline abilities to read contents meant for the Emperor without permission, no matter how tempting it is. Take that back."

"Eithan," the Emperor's voice came out irritated. "Fine," he placed the scroll face down on the table, a smirk forming on the corner of his lips. "You're right. I do deserve a break. You want to join the Skysworn. Then you will. You'll handle them."

"Wait, what?" Eithan asked, picking up the paper and began reading.

The confusion on Eithan's face made Naru Huan's day. "I'm granting you what you want. Welcome to the Skysworn," he stretched his hand, offering a handshake.

It took Eithan a moment to respond. "I'm sure the Wasteland representatives would get along well with my adopted disciples," Eithan smiled, eagerly accepting the handshake. How bad could it be?

"You killed my master," Yerin seethed, pointing her sword at Whitehall. "I can finally repay that debt."

Whitehall had a long day. And now, tired as he was, he was in no mood to settle this peacefully. They had come here to save her. And that ungrateful brat now wants to kill him.

"Let's do it, then!" he yelled, grabbing Ekeri's whip from his void key. The whip came out black and purple as he activated it with his madra.

"Poison," Yerin spat. "Finally found your true Path, I see. It suits you perfectly. A coward's Path."

Sadi joined Whitehall's side, her knives in both hands. "I shouldn't be surprised that the disciple is as vile as her master," she shot back. "Threatening those that saved her."

"I would not recommend fighting one another," Ziel said slowly, word by word. "I'm here as the Beast King's witness, remember."

Mercy looked uncomfortable from behind Yerin, but she readied her bow nonetheless. "I think we should listen to him."

"No," Whitehall shook his head. He was not sure why, but he wanted this fight. He needed to let out some steam. "If the bitch wants to die. Then I say, let's do it."

"Agreed," Sadi added.

Mercy facepalmed behind Yerin. "Maybe we can settle this over tea," she tried suggesting.

"And get poisoned like they did to my master," Yerin spat. "I think not."

"Are you going to keep talking, or will we fight?" Whitehall snapped.

Yerin snarled and arched her sword, and her Blood Shadow did the same. When she was about to unleash her Rippling Sword technique, black shadow tendrils stopped her and her Blood Shadow's hands. Circular green scripts also restrained her targets. She looked behind her and gave Mercy a betrayed look.

"Please," Mercy smiled, and Yerin saw the strain in Mercy's expression. "Let's not fight."

"I would listen to the Akura heir," Ziel added. "You wouldn't want to create conflict with the Wasteland delegation."

The tendrils pulled back, and Mercy laid flat on the ground, having run out of Madra. "Please, listen to him," Mercy whispered.

With a growl, Yerin slammed her sword into her sheath, approaching Whitehall aggressively. She pointed a finger at him. She could kill him now with sword aura from her fingernails if she wanted to. "I know you were the mastermind behind my master's death."

Whitehall looked back at her with disdain.

"I will avenge him, you hear me?" Yerin promised.

Whitehall leaned closer, daring her to strike. "And who will avenge those he killed?" he whispered.

Yerin took a step back, surprised by his words.

"Who will avenge the thousands that died due to him?" Whitehall continued, his voice rising with righteous anger. "We begged him to stop whatever madness he unleashed in the ancestor's tomb. Every day, thousands of Dreadbeasts poured out when he opened the door. Do you know how your master reacted when we pleaded for him to stop? When we begged him for protection?" Whitehall snarled.

Yerin gripped the pommel of her sword until her knuckles turned white.

Whitehall's face turned dark with fury. "He laughed at us," he seethed. "To him, our lives were a joke. We were nothing but ants."

Yerin felt the echoes of her master's remnant stir deep within her spirit, a fiery presence urging her to strike back. She gritted her teeth, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

"A lion doesn't flinch when it crushes ants beneath its paw!" she shouted, her words sharp and defiant, brimming with unshaken resolve.

"Then don't be surprised when the ants bite back," Whitehall replied, his last two words carrying a pointed edge.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Yerin regretted her outburst the instant it left her lips. Those words were not hers. They were her master's remnant. His remnant burned hot and furious within her.

Her master had raised her. He had taken her in when she was nothing but a lost and broken child. He had taught her the Sacred Arts with patience and care. He laughed with her, played with her, sat by her bedside when she was ill. He held her tightly when she wept over the loss of her entire family. He was her strength, her father in all but blood.

But he was not perfect, and she knew that.

Yerin loosened her grip on her sword, her hand trembling. The man Whitehall described, the Sage who laughed at the suffering of others, was not how she remembered him. Yet both could exist within the same person, and that gnawed at her soul. Now that she recalled, she remembered her master laughing in the faces of the Heaven's Glory Elders.

Unprepared by the outcome and the sudden emotion, she grew sick. The Path of Endless Sword was simple: fight what you cannot defeat and grow stronger. It was straightforward, but this battle inside her was not. She turned and ran, unable to hold back her tears.

Ziel sighed as he watched Yerin run into the forest, the Akura heir running after her. He turned his gaze to Whitehall. "You two are going to go after them."

"What?" Sadi asked as Whitehall stared blankly at the ground.

"My mission was to handle the Underlady. You two's is to keep the Akura heir safe," Ziel shrugged. "I'm only telling you two what the Beast King told me," he said before Sadi could speak, turning around and leaving.

"When are we supposed to return?" Sadi called out to Ziel's diminishing form.

Ziel answered by shrugging his shoulders.

Sadi sighed and turned to Whitehall. She was surprised to find him standing still, head still facing the ground. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Whitehall exhaled. "I went too hard on her, didn't I?"

Sadi placed her hand on his shoulder. "She needed to learn eventually. Maybe it was good that she received your unfiltered honesty."

"Maybe," Whitehall replied. "But why then do I feel like I just bullied a child to tears?"

"It sucks, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. She lost her father."

"And we lost a lot more," Sadi replied gently. "It's a cruel world."

Whitehall's fist clenched. "It is."

"Come," Sadi said, holding Whitehall's hand and pulling him. "Let's find her. I'll talk to her."

Yerin sat on the grass by the edge of a cliff, her legs pulled tightly to her chest. She heard footsteps approaching her. "Bleed and bury me, Mercy. You don't have to check up on me like a prized cow." She turned to look over her shoulder. "I'm fine." She paused when she saw that it was not Mercy who was approaching her. Yerin looked away, returning her gaze to the forests below.

"I thought you also had a bone to pick with me," Yerin grumbled. "Don't sense the horned man around. Are you here to continue where we left off?"

"No," Sadi sighed, halting a few metres behind Yerin. "Not exactly."

"Then why are you here?"

"To check on you," Sadi replied. "And apparently, we have a mission to keep you safe. At least until they come to pick us up."

Yerin laughed. "That's the funniest joke I ever heard."

"Well, keep Akura Mercy safe, to be more precise," Sadi corrected.

"Makes more sense." Yerin shrugged. "But who is chipped enough in the head to send you three?" Her perception informed her that Whitehall and the bird were nearby.

"The Beast King," Sadi answered. "He doesn't know about our history."

"Thanks for letting me know. Now that you see we are prim and proper, feel free to leave as soon as possible," Yerin said. "Sooner would be prefer

"Can't do that, I'm afraid," Sadi shook her head.

"Then go entertain Mercy and leave me alone," Yerin quipped.

"I guess I can do that. Let me know if you have any questions," Sadi said, leaving.

"Wait," Yerin stopped her. "Tell me true. What was my master like from your eyes? And don't sugarcoat it."

"Are you sure?" Sadi hesitated.

"No," Yerin raised her hands in frustration. "But I need to know, don't I?"

The woman's answer surprised Yerin. "No," Sadi answered. "Not if you don't want to. There's nothing wrong with remembering your master however you thought of him."

Yerin sighed, her hands drifting to her stomach above her core. She thought of her master's remnant. She remembered that his remnant's instincts had previously suggested ludicrous advice. How was she supposed to listen to him if she did not even know what he was like? What he was truly like to others.

Yerin turned to face the woman. When she saw Yerin's expression, the woman dropped to sit across from her.

"Did my master really laugh?" Yerin asked. "When the Elders begged him for help?"

"I wasn't there," the woman answered, devoid of anger. "But he did, according to my brother who was present."

"How bad was it? The Dreadbeasts." Yerin knew that Dreadbeast activity increased when she and her master arrived in Sacred Valley. However, she never knew the extent.

Sadi gulped, recalling her memories. "It was," she paused. "Bad."

"Then Whitehall is right, true?" Yerin looked down. "Thousands died because of my master, and he laughed when you lot begged him for help."

Sadi did not reply, and Yerin took it as an answer.

"It doesn't make me hate Whitehall any less," Yerin continued.

"If it helps. He doesn't expect it either." Sadi replied. "He only wants you to understand why he did what he did."

Frustratingly, Yerin had to admit she understood. She would probably strike whoever was killing her family where they stood. But at the same time, it was her master that they killed.

"Believe it or not, I understand your position," Sadi continued. "You don't have to stop yourself from grieving someone you love. No matter how vile they could be. You didn't lose an evil man. You lost someone who cared for you."

"You lost family too?" Yerin asked.

Sadi nodded. "My brother. He was not a good man, I know. He died over two years ago. I grieve for him to this day."

"Let me guess," Yerin exhaled. "My master killed him."

"No," Sadi answered. "You did."

Yerin paused at the woman's answer but did not sense any hostility in her voice. "Oh," she muttered. "So, you do have a bone to pick with me."

"Not really," Sadi snorted. "He was an idiot for coming after you. Whitehall called him that in front of the other Elders."

"Whitehall?" Yerin asked in surprise.

"You didn't know?" Sadi replied. "Whitehall was the only Elder who disapproved of the school coming after you."

"Whitehall," Yerin repeated. "Disapproved the school hunting me? At least he got something correct."

"Yeap," Sadi concurred. "He always says that the sins of the father are not the sins of the child."

"That's cute," Yerin snorted.

"It is, isn't it," Said mused. "If it helps, he was the one to prevent an all-out Jade assault on you."

"And how did he do that?" Yerin asked, processing the information she was receiving.

"He threatened to poison the Elders that approved of such an assault. He couldn't outright ban any assault, especially by irons. But he did what he could."

"I'm surprised the other Elders did not kill him," Yerin leaned back to the soft grass.

"Most didn't dare. He held too much goodwill with most of the school's Jades."

"I don't get it," Yerin said, covering her eyes with her sleeves to block the moonlight. "Even if there were thousands of you, you are all Jades in the end. How did you kill my master?"

"Poison," Sadi replied.

"I know that," Yerin said in frustration. "He knew what he was drinking, but he assured me that his body would've been able to handle it like nothing."

"I wouldn't know," Sadi shrugged. "Whitehall made the poison. You would need to ask him."

"Poison," Yerin spat. "I'd bet my soul against a rat's tail that the Elders celebrated him with a grand party for killing a Sage."

"No," Sadi muttered.

Yerin sat straight to stare at the woman, whose gaze was fixed on the forests below as she spoke.

"The Elders gave him scorn and disdain for what he did. Like you, they called him a coward for using such methods." Sadi smiled softly under the moonlight. "But that's just who he is. He'd throw away his pride without hesitation if it meant keeping the people he cared about safe."

Yerin gritted her teeth. "I get it; he's not a bad man. You don't have to butter him up like that."

Sadi looked away, blushing.

"What about you then," Yerin continued. "You say you don't have a bone to pick with me. Yet earlier, you were ready to cross swords without a second thought."

The woman rolled her eyes at Yerin and sighed. "It's not about my brother. I remember when we fought at the ancestor's tomb. There were two of us. Two Jades and you slapped us around like children. I hate feeling helpless. I wanted to test myself against you. At least test my resolve."

Yerin nodded. She could respect that. "Lindon is too soft when we spar. If you're going to stay around us for a while, I can use a sparring partner who will not hold anything back," Yerin offered the woman a hand.

The woman smiled and accepted it. "Nasiri Sadi," she said.

"Yerin," Yerin replied. "Yerin Aurelius."

"Yerin!" Mercy's voice cut through the air.

Yerin's Truegold perception swiped through her surroundings, and she immediately rushed in Mercy's direction. Her legs carried her as fast as she could, and beyond, she saw a familiar tall form.

"We came to save you!" Mercy beamed.

Yerin crashed into Lindon, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tightly against her. She felt like she never wanted to let go.

"You're solid," she said, her voice muffled by his chest. "You made it."

Lindon gazed at Whitehall and Sadi's presence and, without hesitation, placed his real arm around her body protectively. "It's been hard, hasn't it?" he whispered to Yerin's ear.

Yerin nodded in his chest, and Lindon embraced her tighter. "Forgiveness. It took me too long."

House of Blades

Iteration requested.  Amalgam

Date?  Request Rejected

Report Complete

The next morning, Dayang stepped through the swirling light of her portal and into the forest, inhaling deeply. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers, the remnants of last night’s rain still clinging to the leaves. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden shafts, painting the forest floor in a mosaic of light and shadow. Birds sang in the distance, their songs blending with the rustling of the wind through the trees.

She moved with purpose, her sandals pressing softly into the damp ground as she walked toward the place she had found yesterday—the clearing where the great Rafflesia flower bloomed. Its crimson petals, massive and veined like living parchment, had been an incredible sight, one she had intended to sketch today.

But as she approached, she stopped abruptly.

A man sat beside the flower, his bare body catching the dappled morning light.

Dayang's breath hitched as she took him in. His skin was pale—too pale, like the untouched side of a river stone. His black hair was woven into a long, intricate braid that trailed down his back, and his sharp, black eyes gleamed with something unreadable. He was lean but strong, his body sculpted like someone who had spent a lifetime running, fighting, surviving.

But what truly held her gaze were the scars.

Thin, jagged lines stretched across his chest and arms, some old and silvered with time, others fresh and red. She recognized those wounds immediately—marks from claws or blades, the same kind she had seen on the injured dog she had treated the day before. Her eyes drifted downward. There, scattered in the grass, were the very leaves she had used as makeshift bandages. But the wounds they had covered were gone, leaving only scars in their wake.

She swallowed.

The man watched her with a soft, knowing smile. "Hello, traveller," he said, his voice smooth, almost musical.

Dayang blinked. "...He... hello," she stammered.

"Thank you for saving me yesterday."

Her body stiffened. The words took a moment to sink in.

"You..." Her eyes widened slightly. "You were the dog."

The man nodded, his black eyes glittering. "I was."

Dayang's heart pounded. Her mind raced to process what she had just heard, searching for logic where there was none. Shape-shifting? Was that possible? Had she somehow missed an ancient myth about creatures like this?

She stared at him, searching for an explanation before finally blurting out the only thing she could think of: "How?"

The man laughed, a rich, easy sound that curled around the space between them like mist over a river. "That's a long story," he said.

"I have time."

The smile he gave her was impossibly gentle, almost mischievous. For some reason, the warmth of it made her cheeks flush. "Well then," he said, patting the ground beside him, "have a seat."

Dayang hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, keeping a careful distance as she lowered herself onto the grass.

"My name is Mang," the man said. He gestured to the towering trees and whispering leaves around them. "And welcome to my forest."

Dayang hesitated, unsure how to respond. She had never read about anything like this. No books spoke of a shapeshifting man living in the depths of the woods. Still, she found herself answering. "My name is Dayang," she said slowly. Then, awkwardly, she raised both hands and gave him two thumbs up. "And... nice."

The man—Mang—tilted his head, then let out a laugh, a genuine, delighted sound that rang through the clearing.

Dayang couldn't help but laugh as well.

Chapter Text

Iteration Requested . Sanctum

Date? Current Time

Report Complete

Suriel, Judge of the Pheonix division, sat as she and her presence ran through the Abidan Archives in her mind. She was searching for her friend, Ozriel.

He had gone missing for a while now, and the Abidan needed their Reaper more than ever. A flicker of bitterness flashed through her: why did Ozriel not speak to her? Now that he is dead, there is nothing she can do other than find the cause of his death. If he were still alive, she would not know if she would forgive him.

Sanctum was the heart of her power, the centre of the Phoenix division. And here, she could touch the Way so easily. Sanctum was a hospital of sorts, where everyone can recover through the Way. She felt the first Judge of the Abidan, Makiel, flexed his authority. The symbol on her office's door, a green Pheonix, shined as it opened.

"Makiel," she greeted the Hound, her voice calm and measured. "How may I help you?"

"Suriel," the dark-skinned man replied, stepping into the room and halting on the opposite side of her desk. His sharp and calculating eyes met hers, but his posture was stiff, betraying something unspoken.

"You are uninjured," she observed. "How may I help you."

Makiel nodded slightly, acknowledging her observation before asking, "Are you here?"

Suriel knew what the first Judge meant. "I am currently scattered through 50 iterations and soon will make contact with iteration 986. A Vroshir incursion is taking place, and they have taken control of the iteration's defences."

"Vroshirs are attacking everywhere," Makiel replied. He took a seat across her, eyeing Suriel carefully. "And yet you spread yourself so thick. "

Suriel met his eyes, unflinched by his jibe. She wanted to get straight to the point. "Why are you here, Makiel?"

"Tschk," Makiel kissed his teeth. "I've observed Cradle's activities during my investigations on the effects of your meddling."

"You found something related to Ozriel?" Suriel's question came out less of a curiosity and more of a statement.

For the first time since she had known him, Makiel hesitated. The rare vulnerability in his posture was almost imperceptible, but it was there. "Maybe," he said, his voice far softer than usual. "Our surveillance found an external incursion into Cradle fifty millennia ago." He tossed a dream tablet onto the desk as though it were a cursed item, something he was eager to rid himself of. His fingers twitched, reluctant to linger on the object any longer.

Suriel caught the tablet in mid-air and drifted it towards her. Her presence got to work without needing her command. She had lived far longer than many beings, seen more things, and been to more worlds. But her eyes widened when her presence informed her of the tablet's contents. She activated the tablet once, twice, and then a hundred more.

A second after she received her tablet, her eyes focused on Makiel. "The cursed pair?" she asked. "I've never heard of it. The first generation of Judges never passed down information on this through our mantle," she realised. "Why?"

Makiel's gaze darkened; his eyes were like shadows on his dark skin, and his fists clenched at his sides. His voice was heavy when he spoke, and Suriel knew instantly that Makiel was as lost as he had never been.

"I don't know," Makiel admitted for the first time since he ascended, his voice raw.

Suriel's stomach tightened. It was one thing to hear that a fellow Judge did not know something; it was another entirely to hear it from Makiel, the one who always claimed to know everything. A Judge who had seen the branches of Fate, who never hesitated, never wavered. And now, in this moment, he admitted that even he was lost. "Where did you find it?" she asked, holding the ancient object tightly.

"Our archives," he answered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"I've been there countless times, and so did our predecessors. Was it hidden so meticulously that it hasn't been found for...," Suriel paused. She looked down at the dream tablet in her hand. "Since the dawn of the Abidan?"

"Doesn't make sense, does it?" Makiel muttered darkly.

"When was a dream tablet first created?" Suriel asked her presence.

Her presence's answer sent chills down her spine. [Half a millennium after the founding of the Abidan].

"I've verified the authenticity of the dream tablet," Makiel added with a bitter edge to his tone, his lips curling into a distasteful smirk. "It's older than the first dream tablet ever created in history. It was created before the first generation of Judges retired."

Suriel's mind races; even her presence could not deduce anything with a probability of more than 0.2%. "How did you find this?" Suriel finally asked.

Makiel lowered his eyes, his hands flexing as though gripping an invisible, heavy weight. He looked older than his years, Suriel thought. "Like I said, I was in the archives investigating Cradle's activity and seeing the possible futures for the iteration." Makiel's shivering finger pointed at the tablet in Suriel's hands. "That's when I felt the Way scream at me, pulling me towards it. The tablet wasn't even hidden; it was just... there. Lying idly among others."

"The birth of the first Vroshir," Suriel muttered. "It was the reason our organisation was born." Her green eyes narrowed. "But our founders beat them back," she explained what she saw in the tablet. "They've shattered and scattered the power of their leader. How would this have anything to do with Ozriel's disappearance?"

"I don't know," Makiel snarled through gritted teeth, each word laced with venom. "I was using the Way to find any clue to where Ozriel would be if he had gone missing."

Suriel nodded. So, despite Makiel's previous bravado and surety of Ozriel's death, the Hound had hidden his uncertainty behind a mask all this time.

Makiel continued. "But the Way guided me to that cursed tablet instead."

Suriel looked down at the tablet, unsure herself. "This tablet was made at least half a millennium before it was possible." She looked up at the first Judge of Abidan. "What do we do now?"

It was not often that Judges found themselves unable to control their emotions. But Makiel's confusion, hesitancy, and fear were visible for Suriel to see. And the truth was, she had begun feeling the same. Makiel closed his eyes in thought, and Suriel was sure he was speaking with his presence on what to say.

It took a moment for his eyes to reopen and another moment for him to speak. "That brings me to another concern that I... recently discovered ," Makiel's last two words faltered slightly. "There was an incursion to Cradle over thirty-two millennia ago."

"Thirty-two?" Suriel blurted, confused. "Our organisation has only existed for thirty. How would you know of an incursion two millennia before?"

Makiel's voice came out as a low growl. "Because during my investigation, I read through the records kept by the first-generation Judges. It was written there." He slammed his fist on the desk, his frustration finally breaking through. "It is impossible! I remembered having checked the records in the past! And only this time did I see it there! I would never miss such a key detail."

Suriel felt Makiel's presence sending her an image. She accepted it, and the scripts on her green eyes shifted as she viewed the image. There it was, the records of the first-generation Court of Seven, a book of endless pages. On the first line of the first page:

2000 years before the establishment of the Court of Seven: Unknown incursion into Iteration 110: Cradle.

"Check the record for any tampering," Suriel ordered her presence, not realising she had spoken it aloud. The original record was placed inside a high-security facility that only Judges could access, but she had to be sure.

[Tampering not found], her presence replied.

"When was this written, and by whom?" Suriel asked, her voice barely audible as she processed the implications of what she had just read.

[Written by the first-generation Makiel thirty millennia ago.]

"Impossible," Suriel muttered. She had seen the record previously and never remembered seeing such a line of an incursion to Cradle.

[You've had], her presence informed.

"Don't trust your presence," Makiel said. "Mine also says it has always been there, but we both know that isn't true."

Suriel felt her skin grew pale. Currently, she was fighting a Vroshir incursion in four iterations, and she began to think it was four too much. Vroshir was attacking Abidan territory at all fronts, weakening their connection to the Way. The Mad King is out on the run, attacking iterations whenever a Judge is not nearby. And now Makiel had come to her and dropped another problem they had to deal with.

"There's more," Makiel growled.

More? Suriel thought. "What is it?" she asked Makiel, masking her emotions with impassivity.

"I went through Ozriel's presence," Makiel replied.

Suriel felt another message from Makiel through her presence. Like previously, she accepted it, but this time, it was a video of Ozriel from two millennia ago.

Ozriel moved through Chaos, the blue of the Way far behind him. He found an unknown and unmarked Vroshir space station guarded by Nine Silverlords. Suriel watched as Ozriel easily dispatched the Silverlords, but her attention was not on the fight. The restoration aspect of the Way brought her attention to the space station and its blinking red lights.

Just as soon as the red lights stopped permanently and turned dark, just before the space station imploded into nothingness, lives shot out of the space station into deep space. They were not lives such as living beings; the best way Suriel could describe them was consciousness. The restoration aspect of the Way resonated violently with the consciousness.

I thought your aspect to the Way would allow you to see something I can't," Makiel said. "Judging from your reaction, I think I'm right."

"Multiple consciousness," Suriel answered. "They flowed deeper through Chaos before disappearing from Ozrie's senses."

Makiel nodded, and Suriel thought he looked more assured.

"You have a theory?" Suriel asked.

Makiel nodded. "It was initially unlikely, but you just made it more likely."

Suriel watched Makiel's eyes turn glassy as he viewed the future. His gaze returned shortly after. "Branches of the future have recently multiplied by the trillions. At first, I thought it was due to interference from the Mad King. Only he had the power to make such an impact on Fate. But now-"

"Get to the point, Makiel," Suriel urged him. "We do not have much time."

Makiel nodded, agreeing with Suriel's sentiments. "Right now, I trust my memory more than my presence." His eyes met Suriel's, and she saw his confident arrogance returning. "And I recall that the branches of Fate only began to multiply to this degree," he paused, and his voice came in slow as he spoke his following words. "Starting from two millennia ago."

Suriel's gaze turned cold as she believed Makiel's words. She sensed no lies, and the Way seemed to agree with her. But a part of her was afraid. Because if what Makiel said was true, then the current Court of Seven were out of their depths.

"Finish it, Makiel," Suriel whispered. "Do not stop now."

Makiel's stern gaze met Suriel's unflinching coldness. "I believe that the consciousness from that ship was the incursion in Cradle thirty-two millennia ago."

Suriel shivered as the Way echoed with Makiel's words. She felt an unfamiliar comfort from the Way. Where it had always been a calming sense of order, this time, it was the nervousness and eagerness of war.

"What do we do now?" Suriel asked.

"The incursion occurred before the Eledari Pact, so we cannot take a direct intervention in Cradle," Makiel replied, his hands twitching. "Whatever those incursions and unknown Vroshir, they have abilities that we do not. Where the current Court of Seven is unmatched in our ability to manipulate the future, our enemies are manipulating the past."

Suriel's hand unconsciously moved to the razor on her hip.

"We will need to learn the truth about our enemies," Makiel continued, locking his fingers together. His powers ran through the Way to the edges of Abidan territory as he continued, " I am issuing an order for all Judges to take up the front lines. No more running away from a fight. "

Suriel knew who he was talking about. Some of her peers would run away whenever they saw that there was a sliver of a chance they would die in a battle.

" If anyone runs away, unless, under special conditions, their mantle will be stripped for more worthy ones ," Makiel finished, his voice daring anyone to challenge his authority.

Gadrael, the Titan's authority, replied first through the Way, agreeing with Makiel's orders. A moment later, Suriel joined in agreement. Then Razel, the Wolf, agreed, quickly followed by Zachariel, the Fox. A few seconds later, reluctantly and begrudgingly, Darandiel the Ghost and Telariel the Spider agreed.

Makiel released his authority as the Court of Seven unanimously agreed. He met Suriel's eyes. "The Phoenix is the most important Judge for this court; I will not allow you to search for or confront the Mad King."

Suriel almost rolled her eyes. "What do you need me to do, Makiel?"

Makiel closed his eyes. "I need you to temporarily let go of searching Ozriel," his eyes reopened. "I need you to search for a first-generation Judge. I need you to learn from them what exactly we are facing."

Suriel nodded.

------------

House of Blades

Iteration requested.  Amalgam

Date?  Request Rejected

Report Complete

"What's wrong?" Mang asked, his voice softer than usual.

Dayang had never looked this sad before, not in all her countless visits over the years. She was always a burst of energy, her presence as natural and bright as the morning sun filtering through the trees. But now, she sat curled in on herself, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

"My mother passed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mang felt a pang in his chest. He had never met her mother, but he knew how often Dayang spoke of her—how she admired her wisdom, her strength, how she carried her words like a shield against the world.

"I'm sorry," he said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. His touch was light, unsure.

She leaned into him.

They sat together under the shade of a towering tree, its gnarled roots twisting around them like ancient arms. The sun was high, but the thick canopy above softened its light, casting the world in hues of gold and green. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain.

They spoke little. There was nothing that needed to be said.

Dayang eventually shifted, resting against Mang’s chest, and he let his arms wrap around her. He could feel the weight of her grief in the way she breathed, the way her fingers clutched lightly at the fabric of his tunic. She felt small like this—so different from the stubborn, headstrong girl who had once walked into his clearing without fear.

For a long while, they just stayed like that.

Then, her voice broke the silence. "My father," she said hesitantly, as if forcing the words past a lump in her throat. "He's planning to marry me off."

Mang’s arms stiffened slightly before he forced himself to relax. "...I see," he replied slowly. "And how do you feel about it?"

"I hate it," Dayang admitted. Her voice shook with quiet anger. "I don't want it. I'm not a bargaining chip. That’s what my Mama always said."

Mang hesitated, but then, before he could think better of it, the words left his mouth. "You could stay here."

Dayang lifted her head, looking up at him.

Mang cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. "I mean—if you're willing, of course." He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dayang stared at him for a moment, then let out a small, tired laugh. A real laugh, despite everything. "I am," she said, smiling.

Mang met her gaze, and for the first time since she had arrived that day, she looked like herself again.

Chapter Text

Whitehall sat still under the tight wooden confines of a storage room in the Skysworn Cloudship. They had found the Cloudship Yerin, Lindon, and Mercy came to the island with. It was not as grandiose as the Beast King's Cloudfortress, but at least it provided ample protection from the wind. Meatball perched on his shoulder, snapping her head towards the walls occasionally. Their master had sent them away on a mission with the Blackflame delegation for an undefined time. He had decided to keep his distance away from Yerin. Lindon was like a child between two divorced parents. On the one hand, he greatly respected Whitehall, but on the other hand, the Sword Sage's disciple was still clearly displeased with Whitehall's presence. At least Yerin's relationship with Sadi was amicable. The two were looking forward to a spar based on their conversations Whitehall had overheard.

Sadi had joined him inside the storage room for the past few days to cycle and develop her path based on what she had learned in Ghostwater. Tiny gold sparkles crashed against one another before her.

Whitehall's curiosity flared, and he couldn't hold back his question any longer. "What are you trying to do?" he asked, his voice low.

Sadi opened her eyes slowly, a deep sigh escaping her lips as she leaned back against the wooden wall. Whitehall noticed the shimmer of golden light in her eyes as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so close," she said, her tone tinged with both frustration and determination. "The Archlord from the Dream Tablet uses a technique to create matter from thin air."

Before Whitehall could respond, a sudden rush of air and a brief, loud crack startled him. Meatball, the little Garuda perched on his shoulder, shot through the wall of the Cloudship as a dark blur, soaring into the open sky. Fortunately, the hole she left behind was small, and the ship's structural integrity held, sparing them from being thrown overboard.

From above, they heard Yerin yell. "What was that?"

Whitehall's senses flickered, detecting a faint trace of poison madra outside. A moment later, Meatball's voice, muffled by distance, replied. "Some owl remnant! Don't worry, I've killed it."

"Bleed me, are you trying to kill us, too? This Cloudship was ready to crumble two days ago!" Yerin shouted in exasperation.

Whitehall dismissed the exchange, his attention already back on Sadi, who had continued her work. "Matter from light?" Whitehall asked, confusion marking his tone. "How is that supposed to work?"

Sadi shook her head, eyes closed, the golden light still flickering around her hands. "I don't have the full answers," she admitted, her voice quiet as the wind from the hole in the wall howled through the room. "But from what I've seen in the Dream Tablet and learned from the Oracle Tree, it has something to do with colliding light against itself."

Whitehall furrowed his brow. "Is that what you were doing?" he asked, sensing that she was beginning to piece things together.

"Yes," she replied with a nod, a flicker of frustration in her voice. "But most of the information from the Oracle Tree is focused on the techniques of Sacred Artists who walk the Light Path. There's barely anything on the research done by scholars." She held her hands apart, and two beams of light shot out from the space between her palms. They collided with a soft hiss, and a thin trail of smoke began to rise from the point of impact. "One of the scholars figured out how to create smoke like this," she explained, her voice barely audible over the wind.

Whitehall watched the small, weak plume of smoke with a mixture of awe and disappointment. His mind raced, but he couldn't quite catch up with the implications of what he saw.

Sadi continued, her voice growing more animated as she spoke of the scholar's findings. "The theory is that if you can collide light under specific circumstances, it should be possible to create other types of matter." She paused, a note of disappointment in her words. "But the scholar couldn't get it to work. He speculated that it had to do with his Truegold advancement."

Whitehall was silent for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the smoke swirling upward in the air. His mind whirred with possibilities, trying to make sense of what Sadi had said.

"Everything alright, Whitehall?" Sadi asked, breaking him from his thoughts. She tilted her head, a hint of concern in her golden eyes.

"I might have a clue what you're doing," Whitehall replied slowly after a moment of reflection. "I didn't remember it clearly before, but now I'm recalling something similar from Earth."

Sadi's eyes sharpened with interest. "What do you mean?"

Whitehall scratched his head, searching his memory for the details. "There's this theory, by two scholars, that you can create matter by colliding light particles at the speed of light."

Sadi raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. "I've tried that. It didn't work. Anything else you can recall that might be more specific?"

Whitehall hesitated, trying to recall the fragments of information he'd overheard during his time with the colonists. "I'm not the best person to answer your question," he said, his voice thoughtful, "but I think you might need a more... fundamental form of light."

"A more fundamental form?" Sadi echoed, clearly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Light isn't just one thing," Whitehall explained, the words coming to him with effort. "It's made of different types of particles. I overheard some of the educated folk talking about it. If I'm right, you'd need to collide specific particles at specific speeds to create matter. That's all I remembered."

Sadi's eyes widened, a spark of realisation flashing in them. "I never thought about light as being made of multiple types of particles," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "You might be right." She closed her eyes again, her hands raised with renewed focus. The golden beams of light began to take shape in front of her. They were different this time—thin, smaller than a needle, cutting through the air with precision. The lasers collided once again, but nothing happened. No explosion, no creation of new matter. They simply passed through each other, dissipating harmlessly.

"No," Sadi muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with frustration as she mentally checked something off her list of failed attempts. She shook her head and tried again, pushing the light beams into a new configuration, but the result was the same—nothing.

Sensing her growing frustration, Whitehall decided to give her some space to work. He closed his eyes and focused on his own training, the thoughts of Sadi's experiments fading into the background for the moment.

As he settled into his cycling, Whitehall's mind wandered back to the Sacred Artist he had seen in the Dream Tablet, the one who used multiple poisons in his enforcer techniques. Whitehall could see how the Sacred Beasts injected different toxins into their bodies, adjusting the effects of their techniques depending on the poison they used. If he could replicate something similar, he realised, it would give him the kind of versatility he had been striving for in his own techniques. But there was still one problem: he didn't know exactly what poison the Archlord had used.

He turned his focus inward, feeling the shifting currents of madra in his core. His veins were filled with venomous toxins from the Sacred Beasts of the Wastelands, a dangerous and diverse collection of poisons that would be the key to unlocking his technique. But which one to use? He was not sure yet. He was not given a list and description of the venom madra he had taken into his core.

"Trial and error, I guess," Whitehall muttered, shaking his head. With a deep exhale, he prepared to inject himself with the venom of a particularly deadly King Cobra.

Sadi's eyes opened, and her technique failed when Dross's voice suddenly echoed in her mind.

[Attention all crew, this is the captain speaking. We have good news and bad news. The good news is that we are landing immediately. The bad news is that we're crash landing.]

Sadi cringed for a moment at Dross's voice. She never got really used to having Dross speaking in her mind like that. She was about to wake Whitehall from his cycling when the Cloudship suddenly buckled in the sky, raging downwards. It felt as if something had reached inside her and lifted her insides. She leaned against the walls, her arms stretching to reach for the walls.

"Whitehall," she called out, looking up as Whitehall's body was thrown upwards. "Meatball!" she immediately yelled as she saw Whitehall's condition.

Whitehall's form was stuck in a cycling position as he floated due to the weightlessness. His eyes were closed, and his limbs were rigid. What confused her the most was the purple hue that covered his entire skin. Dark veins ran through his body like chains.

"Not that poison, you idiot," Meatball barked as the bird flew in from the same hole she created.

"What's wrong with him?" Sadi asked, struggling as she held on to keep her feet on the ground.

"Bimbo tried experimenting with different chemicals on his body," Meatball replied, shooting three dark feathers that sank into Whitehall's arms. "And he didn't even consult me! A poison Sacred Beast."

A few moments after the poison feathers had disappeared into Whitehall's body, his eyes opened, and his arms began flailing. It took a few moments for him to regain his balance. "Oh," he muttered. "Thanks."

"You good?" Sadi asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Whitehall replied, one hand digging into the wooden wall and holding himself. He looked down at his other hand, clenching and unclenching it. His skin was a mix of purple and green, like a fresh bruise. He returned his gaze to his other hand, which had punched through the wooden wall like butter. "Whoa," he remarked.

"He'll be fine," Meatball called out, flying to Sadi and clenching the woman's shirt on the shoulder with her talons. "We're about to crash, so you might want to let go," the bird said to Sadi.

"Huh?" Sadi asked, confused.

"Whitehall will be fine," Meatball rolled her eyes.

Sadi let go of her limbs and found herself floating mid-air. The next thing she knew, she was outside, watching the Cloudship descending into the grass near a small town. The Cloudship did not crash landed, but it still landed hard. The Cloudship dug a line of mud as it skidded to a halt, sending off grass in its surroundings. Surprisingly, the ship remained intact.

Meatball flew her down over a small crowd that had gathered. Yerin, Mercy, Lindon, and Orthos came out first, and Yerin had a smug look on her face. Sadi and Meatball made their way to the storage room, where, after breaking down the wooden wall with a light thud, revealed Whitehall curled up into a ball.

Their eyes met, and Whitehall narrowed his eyes. "Not a word," he said, uncurling from his pitiful state.

Sadi tried to hold it; she indeed did. But Meatball was having none of it and burst out in laughter. "Look at you," the bird laughed. "You look like a puppy scared by the thunder."

Sadi broke and started laughing, too, raising her hands in apologies. She stretched a hand to help Whitehall stand.

His purple-green hand accepted her golden-nailed hand, and he pulled himself up. "I will remember this, you two," he whispered.

Meatball's laughter grew louder. "Hey everyone!" the bird yelled, flying towards the others, her voice disappearing in the distance. "Look what we found."

Whitehall chased after Meatball, but as he stepped out of the wreckage, the sky began to darken.

[Look, everyone! Here are some friends! That's a relief, isn't it?]

Sadi and Whitehall caught up to the others. Little Blue and Meatball were having a chat next to Orthos. Sadi saw Yerin and Lindon looking up at the sky, and from their reaction, she reckoned the Cloudships above were not 'friends.'

"Those aren't friends, are they?" Sadi asked.

[Of course they are], Dross replied first. [They were also quick to show. They must have followed us for days, worried sick].

"No," Lindon and Yerin said at the same time.

[What are you talking about? They even have the same green armour Lindon had?] Dross added.

Sadi ignored Dross's last sentence and immediately unleashed Lightcloack on the whole group. Yes, she decided to call it that. Turns out she was horrible with names.

"Am I unable to see things, or did you guys just leave me?" Yerin was the first one to react to Sadi's technique.

"I've made us near invisible, at least harder to spot from high up there," Sadi answered. "We should be able to hide our presence if we veil ourselves. We should use the chance to run."

"This is pretty cool," Mercy remarked, looking down at her invisible hands. "But how are we supposed to keep track of each other with a veil without seeing each other?"

[Guys, please], Dross said with a soothing tone. [Relax. They are friends, and from the same organisation you are. Look, they're even beginning to protect us from all sides].

"A dragon does not hide!" Orthos grumbled. "A dragon burns those who dare challenge them!"

[See, Orthos almost got it].

"We're heading for the town, right?" Sadi asked, shifting to the front of the group.

"Yes," Lindon replied, his voice sounding strained. "I've got Orthos."

"Put me down!" Orthos grumbled. "This is unbecoming of a dragon!"

"We're ready to go," Lindon continued.

"Everyone hold hands," Sadi ordered. There were a few slaps, owes, and complaints, but eventually, everyone managed to hold onto one another.

Sadi led the way, with Whitehall behind him. She did not need to look to recognise the feel of his hand. His hold was always firm yet gentle. Several green Thousand-Mile Clouds descended from the Cloudships. Thankfully, the Skysworn did not seem to have detected their escape and headed from the wrecked Cloudship instead.

They carefully made their way through the crowd, and Sadi noticed colourful ribbons tied around tree trunks, creating a path. The crowd was also wearing fine silk clothing. She was not sure if the people here were rich or if they were celebrating something.

The crowd watched as armoured Skysworn began scouring the area around the whole city, grabbing anyone resembling Lindon, Yerin, or Mercy.

[Lindon told me to tell you to go up the hill], Dross spoke in Sadi's mind. [Not that I agree that we should be running from our saviours].

Sadi led the way up the hill, and the climb was challenging because she had to turn her body sideward to keep hold of Whitehall. Once they began to reach the peak, Sadi saw a small stone house at the centre with a sign detailing a dark crescent moon in white.

Lindon audibly yelled out in excitement. "There! An Aurelius branch."

Sadi sighed; thankfully, the Skysworns nearby had not heard them. As they approached the house, Sadi could not help but grow more disappointed. From the way Lindon previously spoke about the Aurelius family, which had adopted him and Yerin, it sounded like a big, powerful family. But the structure before her eyes looked more like an extra large storage room. At least the stones were clean, Sadi thought.

"Uncloak me and Yerin," Lindon said as they got close to the house.

Sadi did not argue and did as she was told. They were Aurelius, so it was probably for the best.

"This is Wei Shi Lindon Aurelius and Yerin Aurelius, adopted disciples of the Aurelius family by the Patriarch of the Blackflame Empire, Eithan Aurelius!" Lindon yelled, knocking hard on the door with his knuckle.

Sadi heard shuffling footsteps and hesitant whispers beyond the door.

[Nice yelling. Loud, scary voice indeed] Dross commented. [The Underlord heard our calls for help and is on the way here. Wow, he is moving at top speed.]

"Eithan?" Lindon asked.

[No], Dross replied. [Unless he changed his hair to black and got new green wings goldsigns].

"Gwei," Yerin said through gritted teeth. Her goldsigns arched towards the door, sending out sword aura that decimated the wooden door.

A man and woman in blue Aurelius robes held a broom and a hairpin as weapons. A brush of her perception told Sadi that they were lowgolds.

[They are definitely Aurelius], Dross commented. [Just look how clean this place is. Except for the dust and wood chips everywhere, of course].

"Contact Eithan Aurelius," Lindon ordered the two bewildered Aurelius servants.

Orthos unveiled his Spirit, sending a wave of Blackflame madra through their perception. "Now," the turtle growled, stepping into the stone house.

"Blackflame," the male servant muttered.

If the servants did not recognise Yerin or Lindon, they definitely recognised Orthos. They hurried to another room in the back of the house.

"Umm, guys," Meatball muttered, looking behind. "I'm pretty sure that's the Underlord."

All gazes turned to follow Meatball's. Up in the sky, standing on a green Thousand-Mile Cloud, wearing green Skysworn armour with gauntleted arms crossed, was a large man. His Spirit was unveiled, revealing his Underlord advancement.

"Faces against the ground," Naru Gwei ordered; he did not shout, but his voice bellowed. "Spirits veiled, and hands behind your back." His gaze was firm on Yerin, Lindon, and Orthos.

The Underlord had not seen through her, Whitehall, and Meatball's veil, Sadi realised, judging by the man's gaze. She pulled Whitehall and Meatball into the house.

"We're in," she whispered to Lindon as they entered.

The two Aurelius servants, returning from the back room, jolted in surprise by Sadi's voice, but they did not attack.

Lindon and Yerin were conversing with the Underlord, and Sadi felt more Truegold spirits surrounding the Aurelius structure. "Is there an exit at the back?" she asked the servants.

"No," the male servant replied, his eyes staring at Sadi's general direction. His Lowgold Spirit was unable to pierce Sadi's invisibility or her veil. The servant's voice was shaky when he spoke, "We sent a message to the main branch of the Blackflame Empire. We should have received an acknowledgement by now." His Spirit stirred, and his eyes widened in panic. "Oh, great heavens!" He lowered himself to a kowtow, bowing towards Lindon and Yerin's back. "Please, spare us!"

No, he was bowing to the Underlord.

Whitehall's eyes darted to the field before him, counting the number of Truegolds. He could take them on, he told himself. Even that was sprinkled with self-doubt. He has killed a Truegold before.

[With Lindon's help], Dross's voice echoed in his mind. [And now he is a Truegold. And he has me!]

Whitehall ignored the purple spirit and began cycling his madra. There were three Truegolds and a dozen Highgolds. He could take them—he could kill them—but he didn't want to.

[Aww, that's cute.]

"Lindon, can your spirit read my mind?" Whitehall asked.

[No], Dross popped out of Lindon. [But your face says it all].

Whitehall ignored the idiot spirit inside Lindon's head, instead trying to figure out a peaceful solution to get them out of this mess. Maybe if he came out as a delegation from the Wastelands, the Skysworns would back down.

"Stay inside," he heard Sadi speak to the servants.

Whitehall was about to inform Sadi of his plan to reveal themselves, but Lindon and Yerin's spirits flared to life.

[A bit too late for peaceful measures], Dross's voice echoed.

Lindon, his body covered by his Burning Cloak, shouted and punched through a wall made of green madra. The forger technique shattered under his blow, dissipating in an instant. The Truegold behind the technique blasted away, rolling and kicking up dust.

"Tell me true," Yerin's head snapped to him, her sword unsheathed, and her madra cycled in preparation for a technique. "What did they feed you in there?"

"Sea monsters," Lindon answered, his eyes black and red.

"Stay behind us," Yerin said, looking over her shoulder. She could not exactly see Whitehall but looked in their general direction.

Whitehall clenched his fists and was about to protest, but Dross's voice stopped him.

[We're trying not to kill them. We don't want to antagonise our saviours too much].