Tunde and Elyria felt the hours slip by as they traveled within the sky vessel, their conversation soft and sporadic as they ventured through unknown territory. There had been no word of Thorne; their captors kept him somewhere deep within the vessel. Their only point of contact was Rhyn, who, accompanied by two initiates, brought them a set of clothing and some meat broth. Tunde voiced his gratitude, but Elyria only stared passively, nodding once to the disciple, who turned away without a moment's glance.
The clothing was simple yet sturdy, a deep green robe with no insignia for Tunde. Elyria's attire was slightly different, featuring a sash around her waist with symbolic meaning.
"Disciple," she explained, noticing his gaze.
"Ranks are everything. The higher your rank, the more respected you are," she added.
Tunde felt as though the fact that he was merely an initiate was being rubbed in his face at every turn. He could only imagine how the adepts regarded him if even disciples treated him this way. He snorted at the thought of the lord—such a powerful being likely had no thoughts of him at all. To the lord, he was no doubt an insignificant existence, left for his subordinates to handle. And truthfully, Tunde preferred it that way. He wasn’t sure he could stare into the eyes of such an existence and not turn to ash.
***********************************
Elders Joran, Moros, and Celia sat in a secluded room within the vessel. The floor was made of polished brown wooden planks, and large crystal jades, carved into the shapes of columns, supported the room. A large vase, forged from silver metal, sat in the center, emitting a soft, sweet-smelling incense that filled the space. Elder Joran, the outer elder of the Verdan Clan, sat with his hands folded within his robes. His cloth-covered gaze remained a mystery to the other elders as they all stared at the vase in silence.
“Lord Alaric has left this decision to us,” Joran said softly.
“The lord decided that the revenant alone was to be his concern. We can do as we like with the disciple and initiate,” Moros gruffly replied, the circular rings that once floated at his back now missing.
“If any of you want them in your factions for the surge, I’d recommend you snap them up now before they’re thrown into the games of the young ones,” Celia said.
Joran tilted his head slightly, as if pondering the thought. “Rhyn doesn’t seem to think much of them—not even the Sylveran female,” he noted.
“That’s because they’re nothing special. The revenant was a true force, no doubt on his way to becoming a lord—something neither the kingdom nor the clan can allow. His fate is sealed either way,” Moros said.
“And yet, with rumors of the Heralds moving within the empire, this could be a good opportunity for the patriarch to gain favor with the royal family—or even better, gain recognition with the empire itself,” Celia added softly.
“Either way, we go into the surge with all our bets in one place. We can only hope for another high lord to complement the patriarch or more lords to bolster the clan,” Joran said.
“It’s why your insistence on taking the initiate under your wing makes no sense,” Moros said, glancing at Joran. “The girl, I understand—a metal Ethra affinity is nothing to scoff at. Given the chance of a bestowment, even during this surge, her concept could solidify, making her a strong pillar of the clan, assuming she has no defects or poor fighting style.”
“She doesn’t,” Joran said definitively.
“And how do you know this?” Celia asked.
“The same way you do—through her Ethra heart,” Joran replied with a smile.
Celia sighed. “We cannot assume they aren’t working with the revenant,” she cautioned.
“All the more reason to draw them closer, to uncover the truth. If the revenants are truly moving, we can prepare ahead of the other clans. This is fate smiling down on us,” Joran said, his tone contemplative.
He nodded, taking a deep breath as he tapped a finger in the air. The area around him seemed to wobble, as though he was encased in a bubble.
“Indeed, but we must also consider the possibility that this is a ploy by the cult to disrupt whatever the regents are planning. You heard the message as clearly as I did,” Moros said.
The regents—such lofty beings that they might as well be immortals, figures of legend whose words were spoken through their paragons, the emperors and rulers of entire continents. They were the pinnacle of the world, powers that never moved, for when they did, catastrophe inevitably followed. Joran prided himself on having never seen or heard the missives of the paragons in his two centuries of existence—until now.
“If the Regent of Undeath is indeed moving, then I’m not sure the surge is safe for the clan,” Moros said.
“If the regent moves, supposedly, nowhere on this continent would be safe for us. But then, we’re assuming it’s this continent they will attack,” Celia replied, her usual smile wiped from her face.
“We found the revenant. The lord has decided to bring this matter to the patriarch. We were sent by the kingdom to eliminate the bandits and clear the way for the prepared surge,” Joran said. “And we got more than we bargained for. This, I suppose, is far beyond what we can handle. Our sole duty is the protection of the clan,” he finished.
“Then I suppose I can only advise you to be careful. We have no idea what’s truly going on, and your position is at risk,” Moros said.
Celia turned to Moros with a frown. “Threatening an outer elder? You forget you are one too, Moros,” she said.
Moros raised his hands in mock surrender. “No such thing—merely informing Elder Joran not to waste the clan’s resources on seeds that will bear no fruit. You felt his Ethra—what did it feel like to you?” he asked Celia.
“Nothing. It felt like nothing,” Celia replied, pausing. “You think he’s a void?” she asked Moros.
The elder shrugged. “Perhaps. Better left to the dregs of the clan or a servant, but I will not see the clan’s resources wasted—not when other clans eye our territory,” Moros said.
Joran turned his head toward Moros, both elders locking eyes in frosty silence. “The initiate is under my protection. Whatever resources he takes will be earned—that, I can assure you,” Joran said firmly.
Celia tsked, eyeing the tension between the elders. “To see elders bicker over unpolished gems like initiates and disciples,” she chided.
Joran chuckled. “I know Moros. I know he’ll attempt something to sabotage the child. Don’t forget that we’re all aware of your plans to become a lord,” Joran said, his tone light but his words pointed.
Moros glared. “You simply lack vision—content with your positions. Even you, Celia,” Moros said, turning to her.
“An inner member of the clan as an adept—your fath—” he began, but paused as he felt Celia’s aura begin to climb.
“My father is his own person, as is my grandfather. My reasons for remaining an adept are none of your concern,” she said softly, her voice carrying an edge of warning.
“You’ve managed to anger the usually unflappable smiling elder—a first for you, Moros,” Joran said with a soft chuckle.
Moros glared at Joran. “I will be watching that initiate of yours,” he said.
“As you would be watching the girl, seeing as I intend to hold her temporarily as one of mine,” Celia added.
Moros turned incredulously to Celia. “We have numerous disciples within the clan who would give an arm for your tutelage, and you decide to take in unknowns? What do you expect the family heads to think?” Moros asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.
“Then it’s a good thing the family heads answer to me,” Celia replied coolly.
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“Besides, no one wants old Joran the adept to tutor their wards,” Joran added with a chuckle. “They have loftier dreams of becoming lords for the clan.”
“And so, you decide to train some void?” Moros said with disgust.
The ship shuddered as it began to descend, a wave of tightly controlled power flashing past their room.
“We’re approaching Jade Peak. The lord summons us. I will present this decision to him—unless, of course, you have an objection?” Joran asked.
Moros remained silent, waving his hand dismissively as the door to the room opened and he walked out. Celia sighed.
“You saw something within that child, didn’t you?” she asked.
Joran smiled, rubbing his chin as he chuckled softly. “Probably,” he replied.
***********************************
A few hours later, Tunde felt the vessel begin to reduce its speed. He turned to Elyria, who had been sitting in a corner with her eyes closed, cycling her Ethra softly.
“We’re approaching our destination,” she said without opening her eyes.
Both of them were dressed in their respective robes. It had been an awkward moment earlier when they had changed, with Tunde having the decency and common sense to turn away while Elyria dressed. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had a metal half-body as well. Despite the uncertainty of their fate within the bowels of the ship, Elyria still managed to cut an authoritative figure in her attire, while Tunde felt insignificant in comparison. He was sure the other initiates looked better in their robes than he did.
The door to their cell opened, and Tunde quickly stood as Rhyn entered, arms folded behind him. Rhyn glanced at Tunde and then at Elyria.
“We’re approaching Jade Peak. You will be escorted by two initiates and myself,” Rhyn announced.
“As per Elder Joran’s orders, should you be proven innocent, you will be assigned to the outer zones, where you’ll be given tasks that the clan deems necessary,” he finished.
Tunde glanced at Elyria, who opened her eyes slowly, meeting Rhyn’s gaze with a slight nod. Rhyn turned to leave but paused, glancing back at Tunde.
“We do not suffer weaklings in my clan. You don’t look like one, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, based on the company you keep,” Rhyn said, gesturing toward Elyria.
Tunde bowed at the waist, mimicking the custom he had observed from other initiates whenever Rhyn passed by. It wasn’t a custom he was familiar with, but it was better than the full-body prostration he had learned growing up as their Sky Masters descended on them.
“I am eager to learn, to grow stronger, and if given the chance, to serve the clan while doing so,” he replied.
Rhyn grunted noncommittally and left the room. As the door closed softly, Tunde straightened and turned to look at Elyria, who was getting to her feet. She cracked her neck softly and glanced at him.
“Don’t expect any favors from his type. My guess is he’s someone important in the clan, judging by the way he walks around like he owns the vessel,” she said.
“Could he? Own the vessel, I mean,” Tunde asked.
Elyria snorted. “Not unless he has access to the resources of an entire clan—something that only a lord would have,” she replied. “No, my guess is he’s either a core member of the clan or someone closely related to one. And in both cases, I assure you, you don’t want to be associated with him when we reach our destination.”
Tunde frowned; confusion written on his face. Rhyn hadn’t threatened him; in fact, he had been somewhat cordial—almost as warm as Thorne had been. When he voiced his thoughts, Elyria nodded.
“You’d think so, but their type sees everyone below them—or even their rivals—as a step toward their own advancement,” she explained. “If you prove to be somewhat capable, he’ll try to draw you under his banner. And while that may be good in the short term, you’ll soon find yourself yoked to him, unable to rise above or be deemed a threat.”
“What about you?” Tunde asked.
“I’m too much of a potential rival for him to attempt to subvert me. We’re both of the same rank, both chasing the same resources. His best option would be to either relegate me to the bottom of the clan or dispose of me one way or another,” she said calmly.
Tunde’s eyes widened. “You mean…?” he asked, trailing off.
Elyria nodded, a slight smile on her face. “Welcome to the world of rankers, where everyone is but a rival to your advancement,” she said.
Tunde took her warning to heart, feeling the ship land with a heavy thud and settle beneath them with a low, vibrating hum. The door swung open, and two initiates entered, holding long spears.
“March out of the room behind us,” they ordered, standing at the entrance.
Tunde moved first, with Elyria behind him as they were led out of the cell and through the familiar hallways of the ship, heading toward the exit where light streamed in. Loud noises assaulted Tunde’s ears as he walked behind the guards, stopping when they did. There was still no sign of Thorne—the revenant was elusive. Was he still on the ship, or had they taken him somewhere else? Tunde itched with questions, but the cold looks on the faces of the initiate guards at his side told him what they thought of him.
When the guards moved, Tunde followed, marching outside the ship and squinting against the bright light as he took in everything around him. His eyes widened in awe as the landscape unfolded before him like a painting—a vast, lush green land stretched out, but what drew his attention first were the large walls that loomed in the distance. Jade Peak looked like a singular mountain with massive structures stretching outward, large buildings of metal, wood, and stone shimmering in the sunlight.
The walls were made of carved stone blocks, arranged atop one another, with jade stones capping the top. The walls encircled the entire area as far as the eye could see, with figures moving along them. The large jade gate in the distance was so enormous that Tunde was sure he would be nothing but an ant standing in front of it. One of the initiates grumbled something, dragging Tunde back to the present. He gave an apologetic shrug and hurried to catch up with them.
He began to understand why he hadn’t been chained or bound—the power he felt around this place was nearly overwhelming. It wasn’t focused on him, which brought some relief, but numerous adept-ranked auras flashed around and disappeared just as quickly as they appeared. Large sky vessels flew by, as did rankers who blazed past with ease. The entire sight was as beautiful as it was intimidating. All Tunde had known in his life was the small settlement of his people, relegated to the outskirts of wherever they had been. This new world shocked and intimidated him, making him feel lost amidst the bustling activity around him.
They were on a shaved mountain, its uppermost peak completely sliced off to create a smooth, circular landing platform for the ship. It was one of the smaller mountains that littered the landscape, all within what he guessed to be Verdan territory. The descent down the mountain was led by Rhyn, his cloak billowing as he strode ahead with a stern look. The stone stairway led deep down to the ground below. When they finally reached the base, they walked toward a large building in front of them, the road filled with merchants and people moving about. The banner of the clan raised high brought some semblance of order to the crowd.
Tunde glanced at Elyria, noting the respect afforded to Rhyn, which affirmed his status within the clan. The bustling streets were filled with vendors selling everything from foodstuffs to elixirs and various items. They pushed their way through the crowd to reach a large hall that rose to at least half the height of the mountain they had just descended. The structure was made of brick and metal, supported by green jade columns with inscriptions carved into their frames that glowed faintly. The stairs, made of smooth marble, gleamed in the sunlight, and by the large golden doors—heavy enough to be worth their weight in lumens—stood two disciple-ranked guards.
To Tunde, it was an odd sight—disciples serving as guards. But then again, the lady called Sorin by Rhyn had also been a disciple. There was much for him to learn, that much was certain. As they passed through the golden doors that opened before them, Tunde was struck by a dizzying sight. Everything inside gleamed—from the polished black marble floor to the golden-lined walls and the glossed wooden tables. Rankers moved around busily, poring over sheets of paper or working behind desks. They paused briefly to glance at the newcomers, bowing slightly to Rhyn before hastily returning to their duties.
Tunde, feeling lost in the overwhelming environment, barely noticed that the guards and even Rhyn had bowed their heads. Elyria elbowed him, jolting him back to reality. Standing before them was Elder Joran, the blindfolded elder, with his hands folded behind him. Tunde hastily bowed, swallowing nervously as the elder chuckled.
“As ordered, Elder Joran,” Rhyn said beside him. “The initiate and the disciple.”
“Yes, I believe I’m standing in front of them, am I not?” Joran replied, his tone light, as Rhyn seemed to sputter.
Joran chuckled again. “An old man can’t seem to blindfold his eyes without everyone thinking he’s blind,” he said. “Do you think so too, Initiate Tunde?” he asked.
Tunde froze, hesitating before glancing up. “I beg your forgiveness, great elder,” he began hesitantly, glancing at Rhyn, who avoided his gaze. “But I am not familiar with the customs of your people.”
Joran rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “I see. So you think it’s some sort of culture or fashion statement? And in that case, we’re all blind?” he asked with amusement.
Rhyn sighed softly. “Elder Joran, I beg your pardon, but I must report to Elder Celia,” he said.
Joran waved his hand dismissively. “Run along, and take the disciple with you. I believe she has a meeting with the elder,” he said.
Rhyn looked momentarily confused but nodded. Elyria bowed to the elder before glancing back at Tunde, her eyes conveying a clear message: Behave.
Joran gave a light laugh. “Relax, I’m not here to harm you. Quite the opposite, in fact,” he said.
“The opposite?” Tunde asked, puzzled.
Joran waved at the initiates, who scrambled away, but not before shooting Tunde envious looks as they left. The elder then turned to the large jade statue in the middle of the room, which loomed over the entire hall, its gaze fixed on the distance. It was a statue of a man with a double-edged sword planted at his feet, his hand resting on the hilt. Joran moved closer, with Tunde at his side.
“You and the disciple have been absolved of your involvement in the wasteland bandits’ event,” Joran said.
Tunde bowed at the waist. “Thank you, from both Elyria and myself,” he said, pausing hesitantly.
Joran turned to him curiously. “I believe you want to inquire about your… companion?” he asked.
Tunde stood straight, unsure of how to respond. Joran nodded.
“For now, know that he will be treated fairly—well, as fairly as anyone would treat a revenant,” Joran said. “And it would be in your best interest not to speak of it to anyone here—not unless you want to find yourself in the same situation as he does,” Joran added.
Tunde nodded, and Joran, satisfied, smiled again. “Now come, let’s find out what we can do with your puzzling Ethra affinity,” he said.
“Puzzling? I use the Ethra of light,” Tunde replied, confused.
Joran snorted. “No, whatever that Ethra path is, it’s not light. But we’ll find out—if you’re to be my student,” Joran said.
Tunde paused; eyes wide. “Student?” he asked, surprised.
Joran turned to him, smiling. “Well, yes. Now come along, we have work to do,” he said.