Elder Joran led Tunde out of the large hall and toward another building, which stood opposite the Jade Hall they had just left. As they walked, people bowed to the elder solemnly, while Joran smiled warmly in return. Children ran around him, and their mothers waved at him with smiles—he was clearly well-loved. Tunde quickened his pace to catch up with the elder, who spoke as they walked.
“To be frank, I’m not entirely sure what to do with you,” Joran said, his tone light but thoughtful.
Tunde glanced at the elder, who looked back at him briefly before continuing to weave through the bustling crowd. Tunde ducked as a flying vessel buzzed past, leaving behind trails of vapor. Joran continued, arms folded behind him in his green robes, as they approached the large building, which seemed even busier than the Jade Hall.
“A new initiate with a mysterious Ethra affinity…well, I’m as eager to test your Ethra as I am to see what you’re capable of,” Joran said.
“Then why did you help me?” Tunde asked, curiosity evident in his voice.
Joran turned to him so quickly that Tunde had to stop in his tracks. The elder was smiling.
“Boredom,” Joran replied.
“Boredom?” Tunde echoed, surprised.
“Indeed. That, and the fact that I technically need to have a representative for the upcoming surge. But that’s none of your concern—at least, not until I know just how capable you are,” Joran explained.
“I can fight. I killed a few bandits,” Tunde blurted out, hoping to impress the elder.
Joran chuckled lightly. “Those were wastelanders—border ones at that. Even a child initiate of the clan could bring down their disciple given enough preparation,” Joran said.
Tunde swallowed the insult and continued walking alongside Joran toward the building.
“You feel insulted, belittled even,” the elder observed.
“I—”
“Never lie to me, Tunde. I hate lies,” Joran interrupted, his voice carrying a subtle edge. Tunde shivered slightly as he felt the elder’s aura brush past him, nodding softly.
“Oh, and stand tall. None of that subservient look—you’ll be easy picking,” Joran chastised.
“Easy picking?” Tunde asked, confused.
“You’re in the world of rankers, Tunde. And while I find it hard to believe you’re truly oblivious to all this,” Joran said, gesturing to the bustling scene around them, “it means that everyone or everything is simply a step in your advancement. If you don’t stand your ground, your body will simply become a step for another,” Joran warned, eerily echoing the words of Thorne and Elyria.
“Thank you, elder. I’ll take it to heart,” Tunde promised, and Joran responded with a noncommittal grunt.
They reached the building, and the disciples at the door immediately dropped to their knees as Joran waved at them. Tunde followed closely behind. The inside of the building resembled a market square, with hundreds of people bickering and talking, forming lines toward a large wooden structure within the building. Elder Joran paused as Tunde drew close.
“The second thing you need to learn is that rank and position are everything in this world. You know that, don’t you? It’s in the title they call our types, after all,” Joran said, snapping his fingers.
Immediately, his aura suffused the entire building. Tunde watched in awe as all the initiates crashed to their knees, while the disciples willingly knelt to reduce the pressure, their heads bowed. Joran began moving forward, Tunde at his side.
“Power is everything. Might makes right. Remember that when they inevitably come for you—in which case, I won’t interfere, young student in training,” Joran said, his voice loud enough for all to hear.
“This is the requisition and warehouse of the clan,” Joran said, his voice echoing through the large hall. “Since when did we start behaving like the barbarians of the wastelands?” he asked, a smile on his face.
Tunde sensed it—not with his Ethra sight, but with his instincts—Elder Joran was the predator in the room. Everything within Tunde screamed at him to crawl into a corner and hide from the elder’s presence. The entire room immediately snapped into lines, with everyone shuffling to form three orderly queues that led toward the large wooden and metal structure ahead. Inside the structure, a man stood behind a counter, smiling at Joran.
“Great elder,” the man said, bowing at the waist.
“Bah, enough of that, Wren. We’re past such formalities,” Joran replied.
The elderly man at the counter chuckled, his sandy gray hair and glasses perched on his nose giving him a scholarly appearance. Though frail-looking, there was power in his eyes. Tunde bowed respectfully to the man, who, despite his appearance, exuded an air of authority. Wren, as Joran had called him, cleared his throat before speaking.
“Great elder, if you will,” Wren said, glancing meaningfully behind them.
“Oh, my apologies!” Joran called out, turning to the people still kneeling under his aura. He released the pressure, and the initiates heaved and puffed in relief, while the disciples stood straight, bowing before maintaining their places in line. Turning back to Wren, the elder glanced at Tunde, who stood by Joran’s side, and then back at Joran, who was smiling.
“Is he someone I should be aware of?” Wren asked.
“Oh, him?” Joran replied, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. Tunde winced slightly.
“Yes, him, Elder Joran,” Wren responded with a hint of exasperation.
“He’s a nobody—just some random initiate we picked up from the wastelands. Absolutely trash, for now, anyway,” Joran said, still speaking loudly.
Tunde shifted uncomfortably as he noticed initiates sizing him up, even the disciples. Whatever Joran was trying to do, it was drawing the attention of the entire room, and Tunde had it. Wren glanced at Tunde again and then back at Joran, who kept smiling.
“And why is he following you around like some tamed cub?” Wren asked.
Tunde wanted to point out that they were holding up the line, but he doubted the crowd cared. They were clearly invested in whatever Joran was doing.
“I came to find out what Ethra affinity he has,” Joran replied. “That, and to acquire a few items for him, seeing as I’m taking him as my direct student,” Joran finished.
If the previous looks had been of curiosity, they were now of pure envy. The entire room focused on Tunde, and he stood a little straighter, meeting their glares despite knowing he could barely face them. Wren blinked at Joran and then at Tunde before speaking.
“I’m sorry, but did you just say student? As in, you intend to take him as a disciple in training?” Wren asked, as if not believing his ears.
“Indeed, old friend! Finally, I have my student!” Joran said, sounding proud of himself.
Wren glanced at Tunde with a pitiful look. “Poor kid,” he muttered.
“Hey!” Joran exclaimed, feigning offense despite the smile on his face.
“That is indeed a joyous thing, Elder Joran,” Wren said, smiling. “Of course, assuming he doesn’t die first from the literal hundreds of ascenders who have no doubt been hoping for the chance to be taken as your student or disciple in training,” Wren added.
Joran let out a hearty laugh, his voice raised once more. “Well, of course! Although, anyone stupid enough to come after him without my express say-so…well,” Joran said, his tone promising something deeply unpleasant.
The entire crowd shuffled uneasily, murmurs breaking out as they averted their gazes. But not before Tunde caught a few looks of anger from some of the initiates. Elder Joran had marked him as his territory, but that didn’t mean some wouldn’t be foolish enough to try. Those who did, Tunde knew, would be dealt with by the elder. He faced his new master, watching as Elder Wren shook his head, a soft smile on his face.
“If he doesn’t have the ability to fend off a few scraps, then he truly shouldn’t be worthy of being called your student,” Wren said.
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“Well said, Elder Wren, well said,” Joran replied.
“Shall we?” Wren asked, bringing out a device. It looked like a slab of stone, gray in color, with a weak pulse of light emanating from it intermittently. Wren turned to Tunde, tapping the device.
“This, young student, is known as the Ethra tester,” Wren explained. “While I’m sure, due to your barbaric roots, you may or may not have seen such a device, they are only used in civilized places,” Wren said.
Tunde blinked, unsure if he should be offended, but he merely nodded, and Wren continued with a satisfied look on his face.
“Created by the Artificers Guild, one of the great cults of the world and our distant continental neighbors, it serves to help test new initiates to determine their true Ethra affinity,” Wren explained.
Tunde nodded attentively.
“You place your hand on it, and it reflects the Ethra path you have. Quite the nifty invention,
if you ask me—saves us a lot of stress. Why, in the old—” Wren began, but stopped as Joran coughed quietly.
“Ah, yes, yes. Apologies, I get lost in my lectures,” Wren said.
“No problem. In fact, I would like to request your recommendation to the great knowledge halls for my student, you see?” Joran said.
“Oh? Well, I can see why. Sorely lacking in knowledge as he is,” Wren replied, seemingly satisfied with Joran’s answer.
Satisfied, Wren instructed Tunde to place his hand on the device. Tunde felt its cool but rough surface light up the moment he touched it. The device hummed for a few seconds, and Tunde glanced at the slab, then at the elders.
“Pardon me,” he asked, drawing their attention, “but is anything supposed to happen now?”
“Yes,” Elder Joran said with a frown, his blindfolded face creasing.
The stone cracked slightly, causing Wren’s eyes to widen. He quickly grabbed the stone from beneath Tunde’s hand, glancing between Elder Joran and Tunde, whose heart began to race.
“Was that a good thing?” Tunde asked softly, his voice laced with uncertainty.
The entire hall had fallen silent, all eyes on the scene. The rock in front of Tunde gave a short, heavy pulse, and then a small, round ball materialized in the air before him. For the first time, Tunde felt truly in tune with his Ethra, sensing its form. The ball was black but speckled with tiny, star-like dots. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving nothing in its place. Tunde felt a pang of disappointment at its disappearance.
Elder Wren cleared his throat, exchanging a look with Elder Joran—who, Tunde wondered, could somehow see through his blindfold.
“Well, Ethra of shadows,” Wren announced, as the room erupted into whispers.
Elder Joran chuckled, but for the first time, Tunde caught a flicker of emotion on his face, gone as quickly as it had appeared. The elder folded his hands behind him.
“Indeed? A formidable Ethra affinity. The wastelands truly produce curious rankers,” Joran remarked.
“Quite so. I believe the usual initiate bundle would suffice?” Elder Wren asked.
Elder Joran nodded, and Wren glanced at Tunde once more before turning and shouting orders. Tunde watched as some young children nodded and ran deeper into the building. They avoided eye contact with him, and even with Elder Joran, who maintained a smile. Tunde was thoroughly confused. He had always assumed he had an affinity for the Ethra of light. Had it always been darkness? Did that explain his ability to see well in the dark and his Ethra sight?
When Elder Wren resurfaced, he carried a folded, light green, armless robe made from the tough hide of some creature. The crest of the clan was emblazoned on its back. The fabric was stiff to the touch. Along with the robe, Wren handed over a pair of long pants and a light green top. Resting on top of the clothes were several pouches and a small black metal piece. Wren cleared his throat again before speaking.
“These clothes will be your official robes and attire from now on. The black metal signifies you as a core student of one of the elders,” Wren explained. “Inside those pouches are healing, vitality, and endurance pills.”
“Now, considering we always have more than enough for initiates, they will be subsidized for Elder Joran here. Everything together, minus the void ring since you already have one, will be a thousand lumens,” Elder Wren said.
Tunde nodded, turning to Elder Joran, who raised an eyebrow.
“What? Did you think I’d pay for you? An initiate who owns a working void ring? That can only mean you have quite the respectable sum with you,” Joran said.
Tunde nodded respectfully, knowing there was no point in arguing. Elder Joran tapped a finger on the counter expectantly. Tunde discreetly opened his void ring, counting out a thousand lumens, and placed them on the table for Elder Wren, who nodded in approval. Wren then placed a pair of animal hide boots and a short knife on the table as well.
“Courtesy of the clan, and from me,” Wren said.
Tunde bowed deeply. “Thank you, Elder Wren.”
Wren also wrote on a parchment and handed it to Elder Joran. “This should get him started in the knowledge hall—history of the continent and clans, as well as a few other things he should be aware of.”
“My gratitude, Wren. Do have a lovely day,” Elder Joran said, turning to the crowd, which bowed as he passed, with Tunde following behind.
Tunde could feel the stares burning into him, but he kept his eyes on the elder, moving directly behind him without glancing at the crowd. Once they were outside, he took a deep breath, trying to shake off the sensation of being scrutinized. Elder Joran chuckled.
“Exhilarating, wasn’t it?” Joran asked with a grin.
“Elder Wren?” Tunde asked, still a bit confused.
“No, I mean the looks of envy and malice. Frankly speaking, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Joran said, laughing.
“Pardon me, elder,” Tunde said, hesitating.
“You want to know how I see,” Joran said, pointing to his blindfold.
Tunde nodded wordlessly. It had been unnerving, seeing how Elder Joran was so aware of his surroundings despite the blindfold. Tunde had wondered if the elder could see every action he made—and he suspected so. Elder Joran chuckled again as they walked, Tunde holding his new items close and watching as they moved through the crowd, the elder waving when he could.
“That, is frankly none of your business,” Joran said, the smile never leaving his face.
Tunde quickly bowed his head. “My apologies, I—” he began, but was cut off by a sudden, painful slap to the back of his head. Tears sprang to his eyes as he wobbled slightly, glancing at the elder.
“What did I tell you about looking like a weakling?” Elder Joran asked, his tone stern.
Tunde shook his head wordlessly.
“No disciple of mine will look like some weak prey—not while I live,” Joran said with a smile.
Tunde wanted to point out that Joran could have simply told him, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
“Let me rephrase my earlier words: You are simply not worthy of knowing that yet,” Joran continued. “To me, you’re nothing but a worm. Until you prove yourself as my true student, then and only then will I deign to tell you anything about me. For now, you may simply continue to address me as Elder Joran,” he finished.
“Yes, Elder Joran,” Tunde replied, and Joran nodded in satisfaction.
They walked in silence until they reached an area where large wooden buildings were built next to each other along a perfectly paved street. People bustled about, attending to their business, bowing when they passed.
“This is known as Petal Street, the residential area of the clan’s rankers in the lower district,” Elder Joran explained.
The houses all looked similar, except for the carved icons above the doors. Some bore horns, others arrows, spears, blades, or trees. The one they stopped in front of had the image of a blooming flower, painted red. Elder Joran folded his hands behind him as the door opened, revealing a red-haired woman who bowed to him with a smile.
“Elder Joran, this is a great honor to both me and the Red Blossom House,” she said warmly.
She had milky skin, red eyes that matched her hair, and wore a faded brown gown. She glanced curiously at Tunde, who stood awkwardly behind her, before glancing back at Elder Joran, who had taken a seat on a chair in the middle of the room. The room itself, built like a tavern with rows of tables and chairs, was quiet and welcoming. Tunde bowed politely to the woman.
“To what do I owe this honor? An elder of the clan in the lower districts?” she asked.
Elder Joran waved his hand dismissively, chuckling. “Nothing serious. I merely wanted to place my student in the very capable hands of the lady of the Red Blossom House,” Joran said.
The woman blinked in confusion. “Student?” she asked politely.
“Indeed, Lady Ryka. Meet Initiate Tunde, my first and probably only student and disciple in training,” Elder Joran said.
“Oh, well, then I bid you welcome, Initiate Tunde, to the Red Blossom House,” she said, bowing to him.
Tunde bowed back. “Thank you for having me.”
“Although,” Ryka began hesitantly, “this simple house lady simply cannot fathom why the student of an esteemed elder of the clan would stay in the lower district.”
“Because he isn’t worthy of the middle or upper districts yet, and I do so love your house,” Elder Joran replied smoothly.
“Then I am humbled and grateful. We of the Red Blossom House will strive to live up to the great elder’s expectations,” Lady Ryka said, bowing her head slightly.
Elder Joran nodded. “He’ll settle his bills for staying here, though I would ask that you look somewhat kindly on him. Initiates aren’t known for their large pockets,” Joran added with a chuckle.
Lady Ryka offered a light smile as Elder Joran stood up, smoothing his robe that didn’t have a wrinkle or crease to begin with. He folded his hands behind his back.
“Well, I’ll be taking my leave now. Clan business never ends,” he said.
He paused and turned to Tunde. “By the crack of dawn tomorrow, I expect to meet you at the training zone of the lower district. If the sun meets you outside of the training zone, I’m not sure you’ll survive your first day,” Elder Joran said with a smile.
Tunde nodded enthusiastically, though he felt a chill at the underlying threat in the elder’s words. He tried to maintain a calm expression.
“Good. You’ll receive the books from the Hall of Knowledge tomorrow, so be careful with them, or you’ll face the wrath of the keepers,” Elder Joran warned as he left, the door closing behind him.
Lady Ryka turned to Tunde with a thoughtful expression. “I’m not sure if I should consider you lucky or pity you,” she said.
Tunde gave her a tired smile, and Lady Ryka nodded in understanding.
“This way, please,” she said, leading him upstairs.
They ascended the stairs and entered a long hallway where doors lined each side. They walked in silence until they reached a door with a blank nameplate. Ryka removed the nameplate and turned to him.
“Your thumb, please,” she requested.
Tunde complied, albeit confused. He jolted slightly as he felt a prickle on his thumb, watching as a drop of blood touched the nameplate. It glowed faintly before Tunde watched in awe as his name etched itself into the plate. Ryka smiled at his reaction.
“A nifty piece of marvel from the Artificers’ Guild. The room will now only open to you,” she explained.
She stepped aside, allowing Tunde to grip the door handle. He heard a latch unlock as he turned the handle, and the door swung open to reveal a large room with a single bed on the floor. In one corner was a desk and chair, neatly arranged with a pile of paper, ink, and a crystal-looking pen. Tunde glanced at her; eyes wide with surprise.
“This is mine?” he asked, incredulous.
Lady Ryka nodded. “Indeed. Rent per month stands at four hundred lumens, including breakfast and dinner. However, since you’re a guest of the venerable elder, your first month is on the house,” she said with a smile.
Tunde bowed deeply; his voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you. I thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Initiate,” she said as she exited the room and closed the door behind her.
Tunde glanced around the room, taking in the wooden walls and the coolness of the floor beneath his feet. He dropped the pile of clothes and other valuables on the bed before lying down, allowing his mind to catch up with everything he had just experienced.