The Verdan clan's prison was situated deep within the heart of their main territory, a decision that Elyria found both disconcerting and vain. It spoke volumes about the clan's perceived strength, though she knew it wasn't her place to question their logic. The prison's location ensured that the numerous adepts and the two lords of the clan could swiftly intervene if anyone or anything foolish enough attempted to break out the prisoners.
And then there was the presence of High Lord Kaius Verdan, the elusive power that kept watch over his clan from the borders of the wastelands. His aura, rough and abrasive like sandpaper on the skin, made Elyria instinctively retract her own. It exuded sharp, unyielding lethality—a clear manifestation of his power. Even while seated in the carriage beside Elder Celia and Rhyn, who sat stone-faced with clear displeasure at their journey, Elyria could feel the oppressive weight of Kaius' aura. It was a constant reminder that, despite the clan’s location on the fringes of the wastelands, they were led by a man who personified raw power.
Throughout the journey, Elyria remained silent, leaving Rhyn to his brooding. Elder Celia hummed quietly as she read from a blank-covered book, and Elyria used the time to meditate, focusing on her breathing and cycling her Ethra in harmony with the transport vessel's. The vehicle itself was an oval-shaped construct, powered by a strange blue Ethra—an affinity unique and powerful in its own right.
The technocracy's secrets were as vast as they were enigmatic, their strange Ethra affinities geared toward advancing machines and technology. It was no surprise that the Silvershade continent shunned them. Still, no one could deny the conveniences their innovations provided, particularly in places like Jade Peak, where their constructs were employed. Elyria made sure to only cycle the metal Ethra of the vessel, leaving the unfamiliar blue Ethra alone as she passed the time in meditation.
As they approached the main territory, Elyria opened her eyes, taking in the sight of the massive jade gates guarded by peak-ranked disciples. The walls stretched as far as the eye could see, and even from this distance, the jade peak that capped the mountain radiated an Ethra so powerful it left Elyria in awe. She was certain the peak itself was close to being a master-grade resource, a thought that shook her to the core. It was only a matter of time before the High Lord of the clan ascended to the master rank, though she knew such advancement was far easier said than done.
For a lord, constant progression required constant battle and the acquisition of rare resources, often necessitating dangerous expeditions into the far reaches of the planet. But for a clan leader, straying too far from their domain could invite rivals to seize their power. It was a delicate balance. With the surge approaching, the clan needed strong rankers to gather resources and bolster their strength against neighboring rivals.
As their vessel passed through the jade gates and into the expansive territory, Elyria braced herself against the overwhelming presences she felt within. Two lords were present, their auras palpable. Glancing at Elder Celia, Elyria saw her own unease reflected in the elder's gaze.
“This is more than just a visitation, isn’t it?” Elyria asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You didn’t really think we could make our way to the second most secure spot in the entire city without drawing some attention, did you?” Celia replied, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
Elyria nodded in acceptance. She had expected this, but to come face to face with the true powers of the clan was more intimidating than she had anticipated. She had seen lords before—beings with terrifying techniques and abilities capable of erasing a disciple from existence with a single move. This wasn’t the time to be overly clever; her chances of leaving the clan peacefully after the surge depended on the impressions she made today.
The vessel came to a stop a few paces from a large building constructed from jade blocks inlaid with gold, a testament to the clan’s wealth. The doors opened, revealing a grand room with a polished black wood floor and jade columns arranged in a circular pattern. In the center of the room sat a man with smooth dark hair, two strands hanging down his face—whether a fashion choice or a sign of a bad day, Elyria couldn’t tell. Behind him was a jade throne, flanked by carvings of scaled feline creatures, their snarling visages a symbol of the clan’s ferocity.
The man’s eyes opened, revealing a deep green gaze that sent a tremor through Elyria. His raw aura, despite his attempts to suppress it, was overwhelming. It was the same man who had killed the bandit prince in the blink of an eye, the same man whose deadly presence shook Elyria to her core. His gaze was that of a lord—one who saw those beneath him as nothing more than insects to be crushed. Elder Celia was the first to bow.
“We greet the lord of the clan,” she said softly.
Rhyn and Elyria followed suit, keeping their eyes downcast.
“Please, sit,” the lord said.
It was not a request.
Elyria lowered herself onto the soft cushion beside her, joined by Elder Celia and Rhyn. She avoided eye contact with the lord, though she could feel his gaze on her, her very soul quaking under its weight.
“Celia informs me that you ranked fifth in the entire clan,” Lord Alaric said, his voice like granite. “While I’m disappointed in the disciples of the clan, I’m truly impressed with your performance.”
Elyria met the lord’s gaze deliberately for the first time. “I am honored that the venerable lord thinks so highly of me,” she replied, bowing slightly.
Lord Alaric grunted, studying her before continuing. “There was an incident in the wastelands a few days ago, just after we left with your companions.”
Elyria’s heart skipped a beat as Alaric spoke, her composure wavering slightly. The involvement of the cult was inevitable, given the nature of the revenant in their possession.
Before she could respond, another figure entered the room. Rhyn and Elyria both bowed as Elder Joran, clad in light green robes with a white cloth blindfold and his ever-present soft smile, strode in as if he owned the place. He cast a curious glance at Elyria before bowing to Lord Alaric.
“Lord Alaric, I apologize for my lateness, though it seems I’m far from being the last participant to arrive,” Joran said, taking a seat next to Elder Celia.
“The elder has taken leave of this meeting,” Alaric said, resting his head on his clenched fist. “He views the issue as of no concern to him, as he has no vested interest in the dealings of outsiders.”
Elder Joran nodded. “And I agree. Perhaps he views my student as a threat, no?”
Alaric gave a faint smile, one that held equal parts amusement and menace. Elyria watched the exchange, noting how casually Elder Joran handled the situation, seemingly oblivious to the danger. Or perhaps, she thought, she was overanalyzing; not everyone played hidden games as they did back home.
“On that note,” Alaric said, “I was informed you sent an initiate into the forest within our territory. Isn’t that quite a risky investment?”
Elyria saw Elder Celia and Rhyn exchange surprised glances—clearly, the lord was referring to Tunde. Elder Joran maintained his smile as he nodded.
“Some might see it as such, even as doing too much. But I view it as hedging my bets,” Joran replied.
Alaric responded with a non-committal “hmm.”
“The family heads see it as a waste of resources,” Alaric said. “Then again, you have considerable wealth accumulated. But spending a hundred lumens a day to have an initiate reside in the forest for an unspecified period seems wasteful, especially on someone who can’t even pass the Tier 1 zones.”
Elyria remained silent, piecing together the implications of their words.
“He’ll die there,” Elder Celia said, though Joran’s smile didn’t waver.
“If he does, then I’ve wasted my resources, and Elder Moros gains uncontested access to the Tier 4 rift. I seem to be the only one at a loss in that scenario,” Joran said.
“And the clan as well,” Alaric added, a frown forming. “The patriarch and I allowed this little gamble because we need as much solidarity as possible between your three factions. We hope that whoever wins the coming duel will have the grace not to rub it in the face of the loser.”
“Knowing full well that the loser will most likely end up dead?” Joran asked.
Elyria’s expression grew grim. A duel to the death—Tunde had been tossed into their power games, just as she had seen so many times before. Elder Joran turned to her.
“I can feel your disappointment from here, young lady,” he said.
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Elyria maintained her indifferent expression, bowing slightly even as she sat. “Nothing of the sort, venerable elder. I merely observe and listen, eager to gain the knowledge of the adepts and lord.”
Lord Alaric chuckled, and Elder Joran tilted his head toward her.
“Well-mannered,” Alaric said, “though I must mention that the patriarch is considering rescinding his death order.”
The two elders turned to him immediately, and for the first time, Elyria saw a frown on Elder Joran’s face.
“I don’t understand,” Joran said slowly.
“That’s one reason I requested your presence,” Alaric continued. “It seems the patriarch has taken an interest in your initiate and wants to make a deal with him—through you, of course.”
Elder Joran remained silent, watching.
“The road to peak disciple,” Alaric said, as Elyria’s eyes widened and Elder Celia sucked in a breath.
Elder Joran folded his hands, his expression unreadable, while Elyria tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Lord Alaric turned his attention to her.
"What do you know about this initiate companion of yours?" he asked.
"I helped him break through to initiate rank. Nothing special about him, apart from his tenacity and drive to grow stronger," Elyria replied, earning a nod from the lord.
"No," Elder Joran interjected.
Lord Alaric raised an eyebrow. "No?" he asked, seeking clarification.
"No," Elder Joran repeated slowly.
"Joran," Lady Celia began, "Perhaps it is better you reconsider—"
"No," Joran said for the third time, cutting her off.
Alaric's voice carried a thinly veiled threat as he asked, "Enlighten me."
Elyria froze, unsure why an adept like Joran would refuse the offer of a high-lord. Was he jealous of the resources that would be allocated to Tunde? That didn't seem likely—Tunde winning the duel would grant him access to a lord-tier rift, something that aligned with Joran's interests.
"The initiate is my student, meaning he is subject to my methods and path for his advancement, correct?" Joran asked.
"Indeed," Alaric replied, "but you do realize I could take him off your hands?"
"Very true," Joran conceded, "but I doubt a lord would want to sully his hands with training an initiate, not when the clan has numerous disciples and families to boast of."
Joran's voice hardened as he continued, "It's bad enough they're in an uproar about me taking in a nobody as a student when they made it perfectly clear that they wouldn't have their initiates train with an outer elder. No, this is some ploy by the family heads. I know it, you know it, and the patriarch knows it."
"Careful there, Elder Joran," Alaric said, his words carrying a warning like a blade pointed at the elder. Even Rhyn froze, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Rushing him to discipleship would mean it would take him longer to advance to adept. You know this, and they know it too. They realize they could stunt his growth, binding him to the clan for as long as he lives—a chain around his neck, similar to another scenario, wouldn't you say?" Joran finished.
Elyria began to shiver as the aura in the room intensified, pressing down on her like a blade to her throat. Sweat matted her forehead, and her heart pounded in her chest. She couldn't cycle her Ethra, couldn't move—couldn't even breathe. This was the barest hint of a lord's anger, and it left her quaking, trying to hide, to whimper, even though the fury wasn't directed at her.
"Lord Alaric," Lady Celia said softly, placing a calming hand on Rhyn, who had collapsed under the pressure.
The lord glanced at the two disciples and sighed, releasing the oppressive aura. Elyria gasped, her vision swimming as she realized she hadn't been able to breathe.
"My apologies, disciples," Alaric said, turning back to Elder Joran, who locked eyes with him—at least, Elyria assumed so beneath his blindfold.
"The patriarch cannot allow a divide this close to the clan's advancement, our chance to ensure the numerous adepts of the clan become lords and hold their own against the clans closer to the imperial family. This is a way to settle things amicably and quickly," Alaric said.
"I, Elder Joran, do solemnly swear that I will abide by the rules of non-aggression should I lose the forthcoming duel, that I will work for the benefit of the clan and the empire, and that I shall do my best to ensure the clan's objectives are fulfilled," Joran said, his voice steady.
Lord Alaric frowned skeptically. "That wasn't necessary."
"And yet, I grow weary of the family heads—adepts, might I add—who seem to think they have a say in my actions due to their positions. Let them come for me and my position personally, if they dare," Joran replied.
"I have not touched any of the clan's resources; rather, my own resources and funds have gone into raising my student since the moment the duel was accepted. Please, extend my gratitude to the patriarch, but if I am to win this duel, it will be through my tutoring, the strength of my student, and not with the help of the patriarch or the high-lord," Joran finished, bowing.
Throughout the exchange, Elyria remained silent, observing. Lord Alaric simply stared at the bowed elder before nodding.
"Very well. If that is your decision, and by extension, your student's, then it is accepted," the lord said.
"Although I must say, advancing the initiate to disciple rank within a month doesn't guarantee he would do well against the top disciple of Elder Moros. I hear he intends to present Thalas Verdan as his contestant," Alaric said with a soft smile.
Elder Joran chuckled. "I would expect no less from him."
"Then it is settled. Now, onto my main reason for being here," Alaric said, turning to Elyria.
The disciple felt her mental strength wilting under the casual gaze of the lord.
"The revenant is to be sentenced to death, by beheading, to be carried out by me," he said.
Elyria blinked softly. "Okay?" she replied, uncertain.
Elder Joran snorted softly, while the lord rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
“Funny, I expected you to have the opposite reaction, perhaps even plead for his life,” Alaric remarked.
“As I mentioned earlier, we were merely companions by chance. I have no ties to him or the revenants,” Elyria responded.
“And does your other companion feel the same?” the lord asked.
Elyria paused, aware that all eyes were on her as she carefully considered her answer.
“I can’t speak for him, but I believe he might harbor a misguided sense of debt to Thorne, given that Thorne provided him with what little training he received in the wasteland,” she replied.
“A bit rough, but impressive work nonetheless,” Elder Joran added with a nod.
“So, he might want to plead his case,” the lord observed.
“Out of ignorance, yes. As I said earlier, he’s unfamiliar with the ways of the world, which I found puzzling,” Elyria replied.
The lord nodded. “Very well. The revenant claims to be a member of the heralds, though I find that hard to believe. Our sources indicate that the heralds are currently en route to the capital.”
“Apparently, they believe the revenants’ plans—whatever they may be—are aimed at the heart of the empire, especially with the imminent beast surge,” the lord continued.
“I don’t understand,” Elyria said cautiously.
“Sooner or later, their attention will turn to us. The clan, so close to the border, heard nothing about the revenant. We’ll be forced to present him,” the lord replied.
“I thought he was to be sentenced to death?” Lady Celia asked.
“He claims to be a herald, and revenant or not, we can’t simply order his execution, at least not officially,” the lord replied again.
“You’ve sent a message to their headquarters in the mid-lands,” Elder Joran stated matter-of-factly.
“Indeed. This fulfills our obligations to the cult, tedious as they may be, but it also gives us some leeway,” Alaric said.
Elyria silently cursed her luck as she listened.
“You want to use him as an active participant in the coming surge,” Joran suggested.
“The heralds despise the revenants, not us. If it serves our purposes in the meantime, then yes,” the lord replied.
“I see. How long will it take for the message to reach the mid-lands?” Lady Celia asked.
“Two weeks to reach the mid-lands, and another two weeks for them to send a representative back to take him into custody,” Alaric responded.
“Assuming the heralds in the capital don’t reach us first,” Elder Joran added.
“With the turbulent weather and fluctuations of Ethra, it’ll take them more than a week to reach the capital, and another week to get here in time for the start of the beast surge. Assuming they aren’t delayed, travel during that period would be suicidal, with rifts opening up everywhere,” the lord explained.
“Our entire strategy hinges on the beast surge being a factor, but I see no reason why we need the revenant. Isn’t that right, Elyria?” Lady Celia asked, drawing everyone’s attention to her.
It was the last thing Elyria wanted—to have everything hinge on her opinion. Elder Joran seemed indifferent, while Lady Celia remained skeptical. Elyria wasn’t sure how things were done on this continent or how the heralds operated, but she had seen the fury of the wild wardens against the revenants and envoys, followers of death affinity. She could guess it would be the same for the heralds.
“Pardon my assumption, but is it safe to say the clan needs the surplus benefits of the surge to improve its standing with the imperial family?” she asked.
“More or less. Go on,” the lord said, nodding.
“I would presume this beast surge is an event that spans the entire continent, meaning the empire will be keeping a watchful eye on it. This also means you’ll be competing with other clans, both small and large, for the best resources,” she continued.
“I see why Celia took a liking to you,” Alaric said.
“With my limited knowledge, I would caution against using the revenant known as Thorne for several reasons,” Elyria said.
They waited for her to continue.
“First, using a herald during the surge—or at all—could lead to complications with the heralds, which could escalate into something far more dangerous,” she added.
Elder Joran snorted. “You don’t know the half of it,” he said softly.
“Another concern is that he could come out of the surge stronger. From what I’ve heard, revenants are extremely difficult to kill. If he ascends to lord rank, it could pose a problem for the clan,” she said.
“I agree with that,” Lady Celia said.
Elyria nodded in appreciation. “Any other reasons?” Lord Alaric asked.
“Yes, and I say this cautiously, as I have no concrete basis,” she warned before continuing. “You mentioned his presence could be part of a revenant ploy to harm the empire, though I doubt it. But if it is a ploy, wouldn’t it be safer to keep him on a short leash until you understand what’s really going on?”
The lord stared at her for a few seconds before speaking. “Your warnings are noted. While I’ve already made my decision, I’d like to hear your suggestions on how to handle the situation.”
Elyria straightened, releasing a short breath as she began to speak.