Elder Joran padded back toward the large requisition hall of the lower district, acutely aware of the figures trailing him. He sighed softly, a small smile playing on his lips. It was within his rights to kill them, and he could do so without anyone—neither the assassins nor the onlookers on the street—being the wiser. Their bodies tumbling from the rooftops would no doubt cause panic, and as an elder, he’d be obligated to ‘investigate’ and search for the perpetrator. While the idea of searching for himself amused him, Joran wasn’t in the mood for games.
With a single step, he vanished from their sight, adept-ranked Ethra propelling him wordlessly to the front of the group that had been trailing him. To them, it would seem as if he had simply disappeared and then reappeared right before them. They froze, weapons undrawn—they knew it would be futile. Not only that, but Joran could and would go after their entire families, eradicating them as was his right as an elder.
The leader of the group, a ranker dressed in all black, shimmered into view, the reflective cloak he wore doing nothing to hide him from Joran’s senses. It was always amusing how assassins assumed he could see in the literal sense; he had always enjoyed killing them just as they realized their mistake. The leader, a bald man, immediately bowed on the rooftop, pressing his head against the smooth surface without looking up. From what Joran could sense, he was a mid-rank disciple, while the others were early-ranked disciples.
“Great Elder—”
“You know, I’m irritated today,” Joran interrupted, causing the man to seal his lips.
“Not only am I tired, but I find out a pair of insects has been following me. It’s enough to make an elder cranky, don’t you think?” Joran said, his voice casual as the man stiffened. The entire group prostrated flat on the roof, despite its slanted structure.
“Let me guess—Moros?” Joran asked.
The disciple nodded immediately, and Joran tsked.
“What did you see? And be careful with your answer—lying means you all die right here,” Joran warned.
“We saw where you left him, but now…I believe we were simply hallucinating, perhaps drunk,” the leader stammered.
“Oh?” Joran’s smile grew wider. “Does that mean you’re about to lie to an elder of the clan in your reports?”
They trembled, and the leader spoke quickly. “Great Elder, how can we lie when we were genuinely drunk and unsure of what we saw?”
Joran nodded approvingly. “Wise of you. Now, I believe you have punishments to receive from your elder?”
The group nodded before blitzing away at speed, hopping across rooftops, cloaked once more. Joran sighed, knowing Moros would be an obstacle, but he hadn’t expected him to act so soon. Nevertheless, that was a problem for later. He moved again, a drop of adept-ranked Ethra propelling him to the front of the requisition hall. The disciples bowed as he passed through, then he turned and tapped a brick, revealing a dark path that opened before him.
He walked through it, descending into a well-lit tunnel that led to a large room where a familiar figure sat on a chair. The figure looked up as Joran appeared. The room was filled with stacks of books and other items, but the rectangular table with a glowing orb that illuminated the space remained clear, except for an Ethra tester laid on the table.
“I suspected you might return, Elder Joran,” Elder Wren said from his seat.
Joran sat opposite him. “From the look you gave earlier, I figured it was something important.”
“Indeed. In theory, it is. The ramifications of this could surpass anything I ever expected to encounter in my lifetime,” Wren replied.
Joran frowned. “You’re a peak disciple, soon to break into the rank of adept with the clan’s help.”
“Indeed. But there’s a sort of tale—a cautionary warning—given to us keepers and requisitioners upon our elevation to this position,” Wren began, his tone serious. “We’re told to beware of a certain group of rankers known as exiles.”
“Exiles?” Joran asked, leaning forward.
“Yes, exiles,” Wren confirmed. “These rankers somehow manage to obtain base Ethra affinities that are typically within the jurisdictions of the great cults.”
Joran leaned back, keeping his expression neutral as Wren continued.
“Battle, illusion, shadow, speed, balance, technomancy,” Wren recited.
“Shadow,” Joran repeated, a frown creasing his blindfolded face.
“Indeed. But you’re wrong,” Wren said, causing Joran to sit up straighter. “That child—the one you brought back from the wastelands—did not possess the Ethra of shadows as I led you to believe. Although, I doubt any of those disciples or initiates knew what it meant for an Ethra user to possess the affinity of shadows,” Wren hastily added.
“Then what affinity did he possess?” Joran asked, trying to steer Wren back on track.
“I’m getting to it. You see, these exiles emit a sort of inert aura that even the testers can’t accurately gauge, causing them to malfunction,” Wren explained. “Never have I heard of one cracking.”
Joran leaned back, absorbing this information. “What does it mean?”
“I’m merely guessing here, but his inert aura is strong enough to crack a device reputed to withstand the aura of a lord to certain extents,” Wren said, a note of nervousness in his voice.
Joran rubbed his head. It was just his luck that the first student he ever took on would be trouble. He turned to Wren again.
“We’re instructed to report these exiles directly to the high lord or the representatives of the cults in whatever area we find them. They’re considered dangerous if left unchecked,” Wren said.
Joran raised an eyebrow. “The kid could barely fight properly.”
“For now. But with your teachings, who can say?” Wren countered.
“If you report him, there won’t be any training. My best guess is he’ll be whisked off to the empire, and we’ll lose a valuable ranker for the clan,” Joran said.
“Or we don’t, and the cults find out. Then we could be in trouble with both them and the empire,” Wren protested.
“The Heralds could care less about a clan this close to the wastelands,” Joran said with a snort.
“Be that as it may, you’re asking me to take quite the risk here, old friend,” Wren said, worry clear in his gaze.
“The first sign of an anomaly, and you have my blessing to act,” Joran assured him.
Wren hesitated before nodding, finally relaxing.
“So, what was his affinity?” Joran asked, his curiosity piqued.
Wren shook his head. “That’s the thing. It’s not one I’m familiar with or have even heard of.”
Joran sighed. “Then how do you know he’s one of these exiles?”
“Because only concepts or path-known base affinities are strong enough to crack testers,” Wren said with conviction.
Joran mulled it over. “Concepts as base affinities, without a bestowment yet,” he said softly.
Wren shivered under the light. “Indeed. The cults spare no resources when it comes to them, especially if they align with the cults’ concepts in that domain.”
“So, what cult are we talking about here?” Joran asked, trying to piece it together. The kid looked terrible with weapons, so it wasn’t the Bloodbound. He was purely human, so not the technological madmen of the Artificers. He wasn’t sure about the others. Wren simply sighed, staring into the light.
“I have no idea. Its nature is…confusing,” Wren admitted.
“Confusing?” Joran pressed.
“Indeed. The closest I could call it was shadow, but if I were to explain what we saw and what I felt,” Wren said, glancing at Joran, “then my best description would be something limitless and vast, filled with unearthed secrets buried in its depths.”
“Like a void,” he concluded.
*******************
Elyria entered the transport quietly, leaving Tunde with the blindfolded elder who made her feel an instinctive caution. The elder was strong, even for someone of his rank—a peak adept if her senses were accurate. She offered a brief, silent prayer for Tunde’s safety. The transport was a sleek, liquid-metal sphere that floated a few meters off the ground, emitting an almost silent hum as it opened up to reveal a cozy interior. She stepped inside, followed by Rhyn, and the vessel sealed shut behind them, powering to life.
“The Jade Towers,” Rhyn instructed briefly.
The vessel began to move with a smooth, rapid acceleration, twisting and turning as it followed its path. Elyria stared at Rhyn, who stared back.
“You must be quite important in the clan to be afforded a vessel like this,” she observed.
“More or less,” Rhyn replied, unblinking.
“Which makes it all the more curious why you seem interested in a single initiate,” Elyria said, probing for more information.
Rhyn crossed his arms and reclined in his seat as the vessel continued its journey. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business. You’ve made it clear that you’re simply companions by circumstance, haven’t you?”
Elyria nodded. “But I’m also not blind. And seeing as I’m stuck with your clan for the time being, assume he’s family to me,” she responded.
Rhyn nodded, seemingly indifferent. “It still doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. If I were you, I’d be careful within the clan,” Rhyn advised.
“A threat?” Elyria asked calmly.
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
“Far from it—just a piece of advice. We’re approaching some sort of event, and odds are there will be a mad rush for positions, power, and advancement resources. Viable subordinates will be in high demand,” Rhyn explained.
“You want to make him one of your disposable pawns—a ranker from the wastelands without any backing. Easy pickings for you clan members, is that it?” Elyria challenged.
Rhyn shrugged. “You’re a disciple. You must have climbed over a few dead bodies of initiates to get where you are. I see no difference.”
Elyria smiled. “True, but right now, we’re both disciples. And while you have the backing of an entire clan and I don’t, it also means I’m at liberty to act more freely.”
Rhyn’s eyes glowed a dull green, but Elyria’s smile only widened.
“Do I threaten you, Disciple Rhyn?” she asked softly.
Rhyn leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “Careful, Disciple Elyria. The only reason you’re still walking and breathing after threatening a core member of the clan is the fact that Elder Celia desires to speak with you. Once she’s done with you? Well, you wouldn’t be the first disciple to disappear under mysterious circumstances. A shame, really.”
“You’ll find I’m more capable than I look. In fact, you’re surrounded by my affinity,” Elyria replied.
She grasped at the metal of the vessel with her Ethra, watching as it shuddered for a brief second before she released it. Her eyes glanced down as a blade suddenly appeared, perfectly nestled against her neck. She smiled at Rhyn, who smiled back.
“Care to repeat that, Disciple?” he asked.
He froze, the smile vanishing from his face as he sensed the prickle at the back of his neck. Blobs of the liquid metal that made up the vessel had sharpened into points and were now positioned precisely where his neck met his head.
“I’m more than I appear,” she repeated.
The vessel came to a shuddering stop, the power that had been coursing through its body switching off. It took more Ethra control to hold the liquid metal in place, but Elyria kept them there, waiting patiently for Rhyn to withdraw his blade. When he did, it was a slow, deliberate show of control—the blade leaving no scratches or cuts on her neck before flashing away into its sheath. The jade Ethra that had been congealing in the air around them dissipated into nothing.
The vessel’s door opened to reveal Elder Celia standing outside, hands folded behind her back as she observed the two of them, amusement dancing in her eyes. Rhyn broke his stare-down with Elyria, bowing at the waist as he stepped out of the vessel.
“This lowly disciple greets the elder,” he said.
Celia offered a soft smile. “You’re tense, Rhyn. Did a simple wasteland disciple scare you?”
Rhyn said nothing, merely standing silently by her side, while Elder Celia shook her head in mild disapproval. Elyria stepped out next, bowing at the waist to the elder, who sent shivers through her with her mere presence. Elyria was beginning to see that the rumors of the Bloodfire Continent being filled with battle-honed rankers were proving true. Elder Celia spoke.
“Welcome to the Jade Towers—or the outer zones, at least,” she said.
“This disciple thanks the benevolence of the great elder,” Elyria replied.
“And courteous, too. Oh my,” Celia said, glancing at Rhyn, who simply stared forward.
“Ignore my little brother. He tends to believe it is the law for every ranker within our territory to treat us like royalty,” she continued.
Elyria glanced at Rhyn. She had been right—he was important within the clan, a sibling of a clan elder. The adept elder clapped her hands, drawing attention back to her as she turned and began walking toward the large house in front of them. The entire area looked like one large estate, with soft, carpet-like green grass covering the richly dense Ethra landscape. Life and nature Ethra ensured a healthy appearance while invigorating anyone nearby—a cultivation haven for a nature or life initiate.
Behind the house were a pair of large towers that glittered with gold, the sunlight reflecting off their frames. These were the fabled Jade Towers, Elyria deduced. While they were impressive, she had seen enough in her homeland to avoid being overly dazzled. Still, the difference in the architecture and the beauty of the place intrigued her. She didn’t let her guard down, though, watching as the guards at the gate—disciples, early-ranked by the feel of their auras—bowed to the elder and opened the doors to let them in. The building revealed itself to be a large compound, with massive trees whose fruits were so richly dense in life and vitality Ethra that their aura filled the air, creating a soft, sweet-smelling atmosphere. The Ethra was so potent that Elyria could virtually taste it.
In the middle of the compound was a seating area, arranged with still-steaming cups and tea. A trio of maids stood respectfully to the side, bowing to the elder as she sat, Rhyn taking a seat close to her.
“Please, sit,” Celia said, and Elyria complied.
The ground was bare, but it was soft, and with her legs folded beneath her, Elyria watched as the elder’s eyes lit up with approval.
“You sit with the poise of someone versed in proper etiquette. I had doubts about your claim of coming from another continent, though,” Elder Celia said, as Rhyn glanced between his sister and Elyria.
Elyria took a moment to savor the satisfaction that coursed through her. It was nice to put the upstart in his place.
“But now I believe you came from somewhere important—probably a powerful clan or empire?” Elder Celia asked.
Elyria nodded, keeping silent as the elder sighed, nodding in understanding.
“You want to keep your past private. I understand. But you do realize it places you in a tight corner, do you not? It means the clan will have to treat you simply as a guest, and not even as an outer disciple,” she finished.
Elyria nodded.
“And it is on that ground that I wish to ask for your benevolence in allowing me to leave for the empire itself. I intend to make my way to the Technocracy,” Elyria said.
Rhyn gripped his teacup tighter and carefully placed the cup down, his hands trembling slightly, then muttered an apology under his breath, keeping his eyes averted from Celia. Elyria took note of the interaction, sensing the undercurrent of fear and respect that Rhyn held for his sister. She made a mental note to be extra cautious when dealing with the elder; Celia was clearly not someone to underestimate.
"Your request, under normal circumstances, would be granted," Celia began, her smile never faltering. "But with what is about to happen, the clan finds itself in a tight spot."
Elyria remained silent, waiting for the elder to elaborate.
“A beast surge is imminent, and it’s one of the largest we’ve seen in a long time,” Celia revealed, watching Elyria closely for her reaction.
“A beast surge?” Elyria repeated, her voice tinged with surprise.
“Indeed,” Celia confirmed. “The predictions from our superiors suggest this could be one of the biggest surges the world has faced.”
That would explain the heightened precautions, Elyria thought, piecing together the information.
“Pardon my ignorance, Great Elder, but my knowledge of such events is limited. Little is told about them where I come from,” Elyria admitted.
“And with good reason. We don’t want widespread panic. In fact, I’m surprised you used a nexus key and survived,” Celia replied, her tone slightly incredulous. “Most portal travels are canceled around this time, with only high lords and above daring to make such journeys. But by some stroke of fate, you landed safely, albeit far from your intended destination.”
Elyria nodded, the pieces falling into place. The beast surge must have caused fluctuations in the Ethra of the world, disrupting her nexus travel and throwing her off course into the wastelands. She was fortunate to have made it through in one piece.
“The fluctuations in Ethra make things go haywire, especially with nexus travel. We can’t even send you to the empire, and besides, the empire has sealed its borders until after the surge, which could begin any day now,” Celia continued.
“Meaning I’m stuck here until after the surge,” Elyria stated, understanding her predicament.
Celia nodded. “And as such, I’d rather see you put to work for the clan than idle away your time. There’s no place for idle disciples in times like these.”
Elyria met the elder’s gaze, noting the subtle challenge in her eyes. “You need more rankers for the surge,” she observed.
“Indeed. The clan always needs strong and skilled rankers to help during the surge. Of course, you’ll be compensated based on your contributions,” Celia replied.
“Contributions?” Elyria asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The surge isn’t just about surviving the onslaught of beasts. It’s an opportunity to gather beast cores, but more importantly, it’s a prelude to the convergence—a chance for Ethra affinity manifestations. I was a disciple during the last one, and I saw many clan members obtain rare and diverse affinities. I even recall a straw Ethra affinity crystal, though I’m not sure what became of it,” Celia said, momentarily lost in thought.
Elyria took a sip of the tea, savoring its minty yet rich flavor. “So it’s a race to gather as many of these crystals as possible?”
“Exactly. We believe the surge will unleash itself somewhere between the empire and the technocracy on this continent, meaning it will be fiercely contested by many clans. It’s a time of great opportunity, but also a time when entire clans can rise or fall,” Celia explained.
“And these contributions could help convince the clan to support my travels? I intend to reach the technocracy before their own events begin,” Elyria said, weighing her options.
“Oh? You intend to join the cult proper? You must either have significant backing or great confidence in your abilities,” Celia responded, her tone calm and measured.
Elyria bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “I swear that if the clan and the great elder promise to help me reach the technocracy in time, and ensure the safety of Initiate Tunde, I will do my utmost to contribute to the surge and strengthen the clan.”
Celia considered her words, then nodded. “The initiate as well? Elder Joran intends to take him as his student; he’s in safe hands.”
Rhyn remained silent, though Elyria noticed the subtle grinding of his teeth, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Then it’s settled. You will be my outer student, serving the clan through me. I will ensure the welfare of both you and the initiate,” Celia declared, her tone final.
Elyria bowed deeply. “Thank you, Elder Celia.”
Celia tossed her a black metal plate, the crest of the Verdan clan carved into its surface. “This is your identity as my student. Flash that anywhere in the lower districts, and you’ll be treated like a core member. In the middle districts, it will serve you only when you have a message from me.”
Elyria accepted the plate, bowing once more. “I am grateful for your benevolence, Elder Celia.”
Celia merely smiled, snapping her fingers as a maid stepped forward with a bag. “Inside are your robes, a set of medicinal balls, and a few items I personally selected for you. Since you’re an early disciple, we’ll need to work on your strength to push you to the peak of disciple rank.”
“You’re going to train me?” Elyria asked, slightly surprised.
“Of course. How else am I going to rub it in Joran’s face that I got the better deal?” Celia said with a soft laugh.
**************************************
As soon as Elyria departed, escorted by a maid to her living quarters within the inner rooms, the air shifted subtly. The atmosphere grew heavy as a powerful presence made itself known. Both Celia and Rhyn bowed immediately, their voices synchronized in reverence.
“We greet the great lord,” they intoned together.
A tall, muscular man stepped forward, his presence dominating the space. With his hands crossed and a sheathed blade at his waist, he radiated a quiet but unmistakable power. His black hair, deep green eyes, and short beard complemented the sea-green cloak draped over his black inner garments, which bore the crest of the Verdan clan.
“What is your assessment, Celia?” he inquired, his voice carrying a tone of absolute authority.
Celia met his gaze with steady eyes. “She’s strong, my lord,” she replied confidently.
“Is she as strong as Rhyn?” Alaric continued, his gaze shifting slightly to gauge his son's reaction.
Celia noticed the slight flinch in Rhyn’s posture, the way his hands reflexively clenched into fists, even as he maintained his respectful bow. “If not more, my lord,” she answered honestly.
Alaric’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. “That means she’s someone of significance,” he concluded. “As for the initiate, he poses no immediate threat or concern to us. Let Joran proceed as he wishes with the boy. His connection to the revenants seems non-existent.”
“By your will, Lord Alaric,” Celia acknowledged, her tone formal and measured.
Alaric nodded, shifting the conversation to the pressing matters at hand. “The beast surge is anticipated to occur within a month or two. The imperial clan has issued the official notice. We must begin preparations to fortify our holdings and brace for the initial wave.”
Celia nodded thoughtfully. “This period of instability could tempt our neighbors to strike at us, seeing a potential weakness,” she observed.
“Indeed,” Alaric agreed. “The imperial clan has called for a period of peace among the clans, but I wouldn’t put it past those opportunistic dogs to attempt an attack, especially knowing we are currently one lord short.”
“Is Lady Lirien still dealing with the issues concerning the mountain sects?” Celia inquired.
Alaric’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Conveniently, the mountain pass sects have chosen now to rebel, coinciding with the surge. It’s undoubtedly the work of our rivals seeking to weaken us,” he said, sitting down at the table where Elyria had been moments ago.
“No doubt a coordinated effort by our neighbors,” Celia added. “Nevertheless, we have anticipated such a move. All our defenses are prepared and ready.”
Alaric leaned back, his gaze drifting thoughtfully. “We must remain vigilant. We can’t allow ourselves to be caught off guard,” he said, then turned his attention to Rhyn. “And how are your preparations coming along?” he asked, his tone devoid of the earlier warmth.
“All is in progress, Great Lord,” Rhyn responded, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture.
“Good,” Alaric said, rising from his seat with a decisive nod. “With the addition of another adept to our ranks, we can finally set our plans in motion.”
With a final, lingering glance at his children, Lord Alaric vanished from the room, leaving behind a palpable silence.
Celia sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Our father is not one to be trifled with, especially in times of impending conflict,” she remarked.
Rhyn nodded, his gaze distant. “I know. It’s why we need to ensure everything goes according to plan.”
Celia’s expression softened as she looked at her brother. “Be careful, Rhyn. The surge will bring out the best and the worst in all of us.”
Rhyn met her eyes, a determined look crossing his features. “I will. For the clan and for our father, I’ll do what’s necessary.”