Tunde made it to the Red Blossom House, the streets filled with whispers about the wastelander who took down three of the top twenty initiates of Jade Peak. Even as he quietly made his way to the house, he noticed the stares and hushed whispers as he passed by, wondering just how fast the news had spread. It was dusk when he got to the Red Blossom, light filtering through the windows as he opened the doors, a hush falling across the large room where initiates were drinking the night away.
An awkward, tense silence settled as Tunde stood out of place, Lady Ryka behind the bar staring at him with a smile on her face. An initiate stood up, brown-haired with a hefty look, clapping slowly as the rest of the initiates stood up as well, following suit, leaving Tunde confused. He found himself being welcomed into their midst, seated at the long polished wooden table where Ryka arranged platters of all sorts of delicacies for the numerous initiates, still lost for words.
She placed a plate of steaming meat and soft bread in front of him, the meat in a light brown soup filled with vegetables. One thing Tunde swore he wouldn’t take for granted was access to hot steaming food, not dried rationed seeds, and barely grown crops that had survived the harsh conditions of the wastelands. Awkwardly smiling as he stuffed his mouth with bread and meat, his aching body being slapped over and over as he winced. Lady Ryka stood in front of him on the other side of the table, her kitchen helps hurriedly moving around behind her as they brought out plate after plate for the ever-hungry mouths.
A large glass mug in his hand filled with a cold golden liquid that foamed at the mouth, a smile on her face.
“To the high ranker of Red Blossom House!” she shouted.
“To the high ranker!” a loud roar replied.
Tunde glanced at her, surprise on his face. “High ranker?” he asked, confused.
“You beat not just one but three high-ranking initiates from the other houses of the lower districts; you just won us a lot of tax reduction and resource distribution, kid,” she said, folding her arms below her ample cleavage, the initiates next to him leering openly at her.
“I don’t understand, they attacked me; I merely defended myself,” he replied hesitantly.
Lady Ryka nodded. “And what marvelous defense it was,” she said with a smile, snapping her hands as a floating orb moved close to her.
Its inside reflective but hazy, she took out a lumen and dropped it into the shimmering body of the orb as it glowed before reflecting light in the air, the initiates cheering.
“Within the city of Jade Peak, there are ranking systems,” she explained.
“Top twenty rankers are known as high rankers, anything below that are known as dregs, bottom barrels,” she continued.
“And you, Tunde, I believe, wiped the ground with the high rankers of houses Red Rose, Silver Thorns, and Green Vine,” an unknown lady said, sitting next to him.
A tall woman with one eye sewn shut, dark yellow hair, and a pair of large circular blades at her waist nodded at him, a smile on her face. Tunde glanced from her to Lady Ryka.
“And what I did somehow helped the house?” he asked hesitantly.
“Helped? No, my new friend, what you just did catapulted us to the top five houses of the lower districts, and with no disciple house patron at that!” a loud voice that visibly shook Tunde said, coming up from behind him to slap his shoulder as he bit back the tears of pain from his body.
“Do be gentle on our resident high ranker, Draven; he’s looking less than up to shape,” Ryka scolded the bear of a man who bellowed loudly with laughter, sitting next to him.
Tunde’s attention was drawn to the large screen that showed his fight, Tunde embarrassed with every cheer that came from him taking down an initiate. He glanced at Ryka, who smiled softly at him, and then back to the screen.
“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand,” he said, wincing at the cheer as he brought down the knife user.
“There are ten houses within the lower districts and nine houses in the higher districts,” the girl said.
“I’m sorry, you are?” he asked.
“Isolde, Isolde Red Blossom,” she said.
“Red Blossom?” he asked, turning to Ryka.
“All initiates with no ties to the families of the clan take on the name of whatever house they reside within as a sign of loyalty, old custom,” Ryka said, waving her hand dismissively.
“And I am Draven Red Blossom!” the large man at his other side said as Isolde shot him a glare.
He smiled awkwardly at the man.
“As I was saying, the houses of the lower districts have only initiates, while the higher districts are home to houses with mostly disciples and initiates who were either born filthy rich or their families own those houses,” Isolde said.
“These upper houses, as we call them, sponsor lower houses, and they, in turn, are contracted by the elders of the clan, or at least, two elders,” Ryka said.
“All except our house, although we are rumored to have ties with Elder Joran?” Draven said, glancing at Ryka, who shook her head.
“For the tenth time, Draven, Elder Joran merely fancies the house; he’s not our patron,” she said.
Tunde saw the look Ryka shot him, Tunde barely nodding in understanding, perhaps the elder was closer to the house than they knew. The large man gave a small snort.
“Fat lot it does for us; we don’t even have a foot in the higher districts,” he said.
Draven, who also bore the name Red Blossom, wore a pair of worn-looking gauntlets, his body telling tales of hard work with scars and thin lines across his frame. Ryka turned to Tunde.
“The top five houses of the lower districts all have high rankers within the top twenty, all destined to grow to discipleship within the year or two, barring the clan gaining access to rifts,” Ryka said.
“Rifts?” Tunde asked.
“Large tears in reality, filled with all sorts of treasures, a guaranteed ticket to peak initiate or disciple rank, assuming you don’t get killed, that is,” Isolde said.
“Drink up while it’s cold; ice is worth an initiate and more around here,” Ryka said, pointing to the glass tumbler.
He brought it to his lips to the glass, eyes widening at the rich taste that burst within his mouth, draining the glass at a go.
“More, please,” he said, staring at the glass.
“First one was on the house; a glass costs ten lumens,” Ryka said with a smirk.
Tunde barely nodded as he dug into the bread and meat, relishing the burst of flavors within his mouth as Isolde spoke on.
“Those initiates you defeated were rumored to all be from the Ivory Tower house, the fifth-ranking house of the lower district, their patrons being the Citadel House, whose patron is Elder Moros himself,” she said, a satisfied smile on her face.
“So we have no patron? Higher house, I mean,” Tunde asked, swallowing a piece of meat as he nodded gratefully at Ryka, who wiped her hand on a rag.
The two initiates kept quiet as Ryka spoke, a sad smile on her face.
“He’s one of us, no? Noticed he said we,” she said to them as Tunde bent his head into his food, Draven laughing.
“We once had, at least, so the lady tells us, the Crimson Rose,” he said.
“According to the lore, the entire house was wiped out in a rift run, although Lady Ryka believes foul play from one of the other higher houses,” Isolde said.
“And the clan did nothing?” Tunde asked.
“No evidence, the other houses claimed not to have encountered the Rose within the rift, its sort of like a spatial space filled with untold horrors and the likes,” Draven said grimly.
“Besides, the clan only cares for its resources, nothing more; such is the way of life for rankers on Adamath,” Ryka said.
Tunde chewed on his meat for a few seconds. “So my victory pushed our house to the top five, displacing the Ivory Tower House, and now I’m a high ranker? What rank?” he asked.
“Official rankings will be out tomorrow, hopefully high enough to get us a good spot during the next big rift or purchase of advancement materials,” Draven said.
“We’ve got a lot of initiates stuck at the mid-tier; the unavailability of resources or funds to purchase said resources is taking a toll,” Isolde said softly.
Tunde glanced between the two of them, awkwardly realizing he did have the funds. Ryka cleared her throat, drawing attention to herself.
“Our high ranker has had a tough day, and no doubt the houses will be coming for him soon enough,” she said.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“What?” Tunde said, choking.
The lady sweetly gestured for him to finish up.
“Guess you’re going to have a busy day tomorrow,” she said, ignoring the look he gave her.
Isolde and Draven left him to finish up, receiving more pats as he silently drank the broth, Ryka watching him.
“You’re fitting in just fine,” she said.
Tunde glanced up, nodding distractedly.
“Listen, is there any way I can get to find a… friend of mine?” he asked hesitantly.
Ryka raised an eyebrow.
“A friend?” she said.
“Yes, a disciple. We got separated when we arrived; I was hoping to, ah, check up on her,” he replied.
“Like a lover of some sort?” Ryka asked again.
Tunde shook his head vehemently.
“No! Nothing of such, merely companions,” he said as Ryka giggled.
“Relax, I was joking with you,” she said as Tunde smiled hesitantly.
“Well, I’d say you make your way to the higher districts, but they don’t let just any initiate into the district,” Ryka said.
Tunde wondered just if Elyria was alright. She was a disciple, she could handle herself, but this was a proper clan, with disciples that felt almost on par with Thorne and adepts that felt even stronger. And then there was Thorne, no information about the revenant; it was like he had suddenly vanished into thin air.
“But you’re the student of an elder, an adept. My best guess is for you to ask Elder Joran,” Ryka said.
“Do you think he’d help?” Tunde asked.
The elder hadn’t shown his face since the incident occurred. Tunde was sure he’d gotten news of it, and his absence was puzzling. Ryka shrugged, wiping the table as she packed his plates.
“Who can tell? The elder is as mysterious as he’s powerful, wouldn’t hurt to give it a try,” she replied.
Tunde made his way to his room, cleaning up and laying on the bed, his eyes shutting off before he realized as he fell into a deep slumber.
***************
Elyria was given an entire wing of the large estate belonging to Elder Celia, so much room in fact that she wondered if it wasn’t an entire building in itself. Her first order of business was to politely ask the maid given to her to procure as much metal as possible, leaving the puzzled maid to go find them. Her second order was to scout the entire wing, looking for secret doors or spying holes and the likes; just because she was some glorified student of an adept didn’t mean she believed she was with allies.
She had been given a new set of robes, one with gold trimmings at the edges, silk if she guessed, and handwoven from the looks of it, an expensive attire. Even as she ripped the arms off to wear it, she wrinkled her nose at its look, sure it portrayed her as some spoiled princess. Her hair tied up in a bunch with one hand, something she had learnt to do from an early age, she sat on the mat in the middle of her large room, closing her eyes as she stilled her heart. Her Ethra heartbeat in the rhythmic flow she had taught herself.
Being the odd one out in her entire clan had forced her to take drastic measures, some she regretted to date, like the phantom pain from her armless shoulder. Silvershade was not a forgiving place; the literal rules of the jungle applied, seeing as the entire continent was one hot, sweltering place filled with terrible rankers, and her clan had not been excluded from such. Feeling a rap on the door, she opened her eyes, moving to the door with a burst of speed as she opened it. The maid was there, sweating, initiate rank as she remembered, and behind her an entire pile of metal rods and discarded parts.
Elyria glanced from the maid to the pile.
“You hauled them all yourself?” she asked.
The maid bowed.
“Forgive me for my tardiness, great disciple,” she said.
Elyria sighed, opening her void ring and throwing a pouch of lumens to the astonished maid.
“My lady!” she gasped.
Elyria rolled her eyes.
“That’s for you, no complaints, nothing, here,” she said, throwing the maid another pouch.
“Within this is a sum of five thousand lumens,” Elyria said, staring at the almost fainting maid.
“I need a pile of high-grade healing, endurance, and vitality pills. Also, see if whatever apothecary resides within this city has access to metal Ethra elixirs as well,” Elyria said as she threw the maid another pouch.
“Just in case,” Elyria said, stretching her hand to the pile of metal as the large hide sack moved to her side.
Grabbing it, she shut the door on the still-speechless maid, dragging the large sack to her mat as she sat with a sigh. Elyria was stupidly flowing with funds, something she had been too embarrassed to admit. Even as she watched Tunde and Thorne scrape Sandshard carapaces to sell for funds, she had been acutely aware that she had no need for such. The carapaces sat within her void ring, Elyria rubbing the ring guiltily as she sighed again.
There was no use thinking of it; she wouldn’t be so flush with funds forever, but for now, she was sure she could spend her way to lord rank. However, she had another plan in mind, and it all hinged on her getting to the technocracy and the empire that ruled the other half of the Bloodfire continent. Seated in front of the sack, she began cycling the Ethra from the metal, feeling it permeate her body, eyes closed as she was sure the metals were deteriorating right in front of her. Taking enough to relieve her heart of pumping, she began constricting it within her heart, purifying it as she opened one palm, rust Ethra coalescing within it.
Access to knowledge had allowed her to realize that her affinity for metal had both its creative and destructive sub-affinities, something she was undecided about. Choosing a concept was a dream that depended on her getting to adept rank, and even then, what were the odds that she would attain the fabled technomancy concepts she had always dreamed of obtaining? Right now, all she could do was slightly shape metals into different weapons or, at most, a metal arm for her missing limb.
And then there was the other sub-affinity she never spoke about, the affinity for rust. It wasn’t a full-on Ethra affinity, but her purification process allowed her to expel the rust within the Ethra she consumed, and as she once realized, taint other metals with it, rapidly deteriorating them. A nifty trick she also learnt was being able to remove the rust from already deteriorated metals and use both rust and metal again.
Her Ethra was as versatile as it was as deadly. It was a pity she wasn’t accepted back home. She cast the thought of Silvershade from her mind; that was the past, and there was no use dwelling on it, not anymore. Methodically, she began crafting herself a new arm, her old one discarded the moment the Verdan clan had taken them hostage in the wastelands. This one, she would make to perfection, and she did, spending an entire hour in its details. Her Sylveran heritage showed with the artful method with which she crafted every single part of the limb.
Smooth-looking metal with five fingers, even to the brown nails she shaped, each holding enough rust Ethra she could use at once. It had been a deadly incident that allowed her to realize her body was immune to the damage of rust poison; any other ranker would be foaming at the mouth within a few seconds of its introduction to their bloodstreams. She had allowed herself a few indulgences, like etched drawings of branches and trees that were native to her home continent.
And then she had fused the entire purified Ethra she had absorbed from the metals into the arm, feeling it hum with power. She couldn’t wait until she was adept rank and had enough Ethra to continually power the arm, but for now, she would make do. A single rod of metal was left, and with that, she forged a double-edged blade, getting up as she went through her own created stances. Imagining the infuriating Rhyn, she danced across the room, carefully created steps to match what she knew would be an established swordsman. It was amusing how she was falling into the same stereotypical ranker idea of getting a weapons Ethra affinity to create a concept.
Most rankers that reached the rank of adept decide to take a weapons Ethra affinity. Not only did it ensure that they would get to lord rank with few hassles, but it ensured that whatever shaky roots they had become solidified. The downside, however, and few knew of this, was that the limit they might reach would be Highlord, when they realized that both affinities they have might not be as compatible as they would have thought.
Her metal Ethra affinity ensured she would become a powerhouse from lord rank, assuming she survived to that stage, and it would be prudent to take a weapons affinity as well. She still had time and doubted she needed to follow the weapons affinity route. Elyria wanted her concept to be as fluid as a mage's. Now those were the real powerhouses, with few limits. Mages could fuse any two affinities into something powerful and disastrous, leaving Elyria wondering why they weren’t ruling the world.
She had heard of a mage born with a lava affinity—a concept in itself, as it combined fire and earth. Most mage families or clans sought to intermarry, hoping for offspring born with a concept affinity, a natural bestowment without its downsides. Kieran, Highlord of Magma Ash, or so she had heard, managed to gain the affinity of ash as he rose to adept rank. It must have cost his clan a fortune, but the returns were staggering.
His clan claimed an entire sector of the continent under its rule, which necessitated intervention by the Wild Wardens to prevent a war among the clans of the half-continent they oversaw. Kieran was given an honorary role as a Highlord of the Wardens, to the anger of the other clans, but none dared complain aloud. Retaliation meant Kieran could drown their territories in ash and lava—a very possible scenario with volcanoes everywhere in Silvershade.
It was peculiar how each continent had its rankers, almost foreign to another continent. Elyria hadn’t seen a single mage on the continent of Bloodfire, whereas they were rampant in Silvershade. Her clan was among the strongest in the continent, yet here she was, embodying something abhorred by the entire continent: metal and all its forms. Lost in her movements, it took a loud bang on her door to drag her out of her training. Sweating, she opened the door to see Rhyn, who looked her up and down.
“You are needed at the main house,” he said simply.
“What for?” she asked, knowing it would needle him.
She saw him visibly take a breath before speaking. “The rankings are today. As of this moment, you belong to the Argent Rose House as an honorary member. Today is the deadline for the ranking system. You are called to duel to decide your rank,” Rhyn said.
They stared at each other for a moment before she slammed the door in his face, taking her time freshening up before meeting with Rhyn, who stood outside her door, still as a statue.
“Keep frowning, and you won’t get married anytime soon,” she said.
Rhyn sighed, placing one hand on his sword as if he wanted nothing more than to fight her. Saying nothing, they walked for a few minutes to the main house, where ten disciples sat on the ground in silence. Elyria and Rhyn joined them, their eyes tracking them as they sat before Elder Celia, who smoked a pipe.
“Welcome, the top ten disciples of the clan,” she said with a smile.
Elyria glanced at them, noticing the bristling Elder Moros and the smiling Elder Joran, who waved cheerfully at her despite his blindfold. It creeped her out the way he knew his surroundings, and she had her suspicions about his affinities. Turning away, she heard Elder Celia speak.
“Normally, your positions are uncontested, but today has been a day of surprises,” she started. “No doubt, most of you have heard of the change in rankings in the lower districts. Initiate Tunde, the chosen student of Elder Joran here, defeated the 16th, 17th, and 18th-ranked initiates of the entire city, pushing his rank from 150th to 16th—the highest push in initiate rank in the history of the clan.”
Elyria stared, mouth open, while Rhyn stared grimly ahead. She glanced from the smug-looking Elder Joran to Elder Celia, who smiled at her.
“Now, I used to think that wastelanders from the outskirts were just children playing at power, but Tunde’s actions have convinced me that we may have hidden gems among us—like my disciple, for example,” she said, nodding at Elyria.
She felt their gazes, their assessments, and she met every eye with cold precision, staring them down. She wasn’t some backwater clan disciple playing at power. She came from the deepest, most brutal jungles of Silvershade, where tier 4 and 5 creatures battled for fun every day. Watching as they averted their gazes, Rhyn looked at them with disgust. Elder Celia continued, “It is for this reason that I wish to display her prowess, to show that I didn’t play favoritism when picking her. Meet Elyria, a disciple with metal affinity Ethra, and as of this moment, a contender for the position of high ranker within the clan,” Celia said.
“Those who want to challenge her, please step forward. Should you defeat her, I will drop her position as my student and consider the winner,” she said.
Elyria sighed, getting to her feet as she cracked her neck, watching disciples hurry to their feet with greed. She turned to the elder, bowing. “May I add another bet?” she asked.
Elder Celia inclined her head. “I get to obtain whatever the contents of the void rings the disciples have with them,” she said.
Elder Celia smiled, nodding her approval. The battles were short, brutal, and eye-opening, with Elyria walking away with her void ring filled with all manner of resources. The disciples were left broken. It had been a good test for her arm; she had a few tweaks to make to it, but as she stared at the badge that placed her at number five in the clan, she smiled to herself.
Perhaps her stay wouldn’t be so bad after all.