Tunde felt his mouth taste like ash and stale wine as he groaned, eyes fluttering open. He lay on a wooden floor, watching the clouds go by as he struggled to sit up, breathing slowly, his very movements hurting his ribs. Glancing down at the bandage that wrapped his entire chest down to his waist, he touched it gently, feeling a soft spongy substance below the white linen used to wrap him up.
He blinked a few times, his mind catching up to what had happened before he passed out, “I won” he thought to himself, the words as unbelieving to him as he whispered out. The wooden door to the room he was in opened as a woman carrying fresh folded bandages paused, eyes wide as she hastily bowed.
“This humble one greets the dark fist,” she said, her voice trembling but loud.
A spatter of footsteps from beyond whatever room he was in announced others as Elyria burst in, eyes wide, behind her Isolde, Draven, Harun, and Giselle.
“you’re awake,” Elyria said with an astonished expression.
Tunde gave a painful smile as they rushed in, pausing inches from him as Draven pushed himself to the front.
“The young man just had his ribs shattered in numerous places and you all want to hug him?” he bellowed.
“Speak for yourself” Elyria snorted from where she had waited at the door, staring at him with what Tunde could only translate to be admiration in her eyes.
“To the latest number two disciple of the entirety of jade peak!” Harun said.
A cheer went round as he winced, Tunde feeling a subtle presence he had grown accustomed to creep into the room, eyes on the door where elder Joran appeared, arms folded behind his back in silence, a soft smile on his face. the disciples in the room bowed in silence.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, disciple Tunde,” the elder said, all formal.
“This student greets his teacher,” Tunde said softly, bowing low at the waist despite the pain that flared up in his ribcage, biting it back with not as much as a groan.
“Shattered ribs, dislocated arm, internal bleeding, concussion, lacerations, Ethra depletion as well as slight damage to the Ethra lines within your body, and yet, here you are, awake and talking” Joran counted.
Elyria gave him a double look, the same as the other disciples, one of hesitation and astonishment.
“I mean we knew you were broken like discarded wood, but to that stage, how are you even awake?” Isolde asked.
“And walking too, can’t you, Tunde?” Joran said.
Tunde swallowed softly, placing his hands on the ground as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, swaying gently, eyes swimming. The pain pounded audibly along with his heartbeat, swallowing drily as he placed one hand on the wall.
“The chief Rejuvant of the clan ordered no healing elixirs or pills for you, your body was to heal naturally,” Elder Joran said, still standing at the door.
“Personally, I feel it’s simply a form of revenge for making him lose thousands of lumens on your fight, but I approve” the elder continued.
“Your body must and will grow accustomed to the pain, in time, you will learn to embrace it” the elder finished.
Tunde groaned as a flash of pain ran through his body, his fingers on the wall tightening gently as cracks shot out from the spot where his hand was, wide looks of shock on the faces of the disciples except Elyria who raised an eyebrow.
“That explains how you shattered not just a soulbound weapon but adept ranked gauntlets as well,” she said.
Tunde didn’t have the strength to correct her that Shadowfang had done that, alarm in his eyes as he searched around the room till he saw the weapon lying calmly in a corner.
“You should be resting,” Giselle said.
“No, better he sees what is happening and even more, where we’re going” Joran replied.
Tunde nodded gently, taking one pain-filled step after another, making his way to the door without the help of either the elder or the disciples who all watched him in silence. Finally making it to the door, breathing heavily as his soaked bandages drenched with sweat rubbed off him uncomfortably. Elder Joran gave him a once over.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“pain” Tunde croaked.
Jora chuckled lightly.
“I guessed as much, with what you went through, no one would expect any less” he replied.
“But I’m talking about your victory” Joran added.
Tunde swallowed again softly, taking a short deep breath.
“I won?” he hoarsely said, as if unbelieving of that fact, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
“Well, for the past five hours you’ve been out, it looks that way, yes” Joran responded.
“I, don’t know how to feel” Tunde replied honestly.
“Proud should more like it, that and seeing as we’re making all haste to our clan’s new home should tell you quite a bit,” Joran said.
“Why are we on a sky vessel?” Tunde asked curiously.
“Elyria?” Joran called.
“Because every disciple, adept, or cultivator that placed exorbitant sums on Thalas defeating you now have a bone to pick with you, plus if we didn’t get out when we did, Red Blossom house would feel the full brunt of their wrath” she explained.
Tunde felt his heart hammering within his chest.
“Lady Ryka,” he said.
“So long as we’re not within Red Blossom, anyone who so much as attempts to cause chaos within the territory would answer to the clan, even Jashed himself,” Joran said.
Tunde couldn’t help but hear the tone of pleasure coming from the elder.
“And Thalas, is he all right?” he asked.
“More or less, he’s alive, I wouldn’t want to be him if I were in his shoes” Joran replied.
Tunde nodded silently, whatever shame he would have faced had he lost to the Scion of Jashed, Thalas would no doubt face it ten times, he wondered if he hadn’t just created an enemy for himself with access to a substantial amount of resources. He closed the thought the moment it came up, he was a disciple now, on his way to the peak of that rank, and soon enough adept rank.
Glancing below, staring at the dry landscape, he saw dust in the distance, straining to catch up with the vessel, squinting his eyes, he picked out a few shapes, attempting to use Ethra sight when he felt like his head was about to split open, crashing to one knee as he heard his heart beating loudly in his chest, one hand gripping the wooden railing of the ship.
“Ethra depletion Tunde, what part of that don’t you get?” elder Joran’s voice echoed around him.
He saw a hand over him a bowl of water, struggling to his feet as he collected it, draining it and wiping his mouth to see Elyria looking at him with concern in her eyes.
“Might want to stop fainting every time, you have initiates that look up to you now,” she remarked, nodding towards a corner where a bunch of initiate tier rankers hurried away like they were busy.
He nodded to her, shaking his head a little before speaking.
“what’s that?” he asked, pointing to the rising dust in the distance.
Elyria glanced at it, snorting before turning away.
“That, my student, are the potential recruits for your house” elder Joran replied.
Tunde turned to stare at both of them before returning his gaze to the dust.
“I don’t understand” he struggled to speak, already exhausted.
“From the moment you won, every unaffiliated disciple within Jade Peak, or most rather, have been pleading with elder Joran to join his house, even though they might have to abandon Jade Peak behind” Elyria explained.
“And this is my way of weeding the weak from the strong, it’s one thing to leave all that you know and love behind, it’s another thing to survive the wastelands,” Joran said.
Tunde had so many questions, with his head swimming, he could barely stay upright.
“And you?” he asked Elyria, his tongue already heavy.
He felt her hold him up with one hand over her shoulders.
“I go wherever I please” she replied as Tunde passed out again, cursing his weak body.
*****************************
Elyria laid him gently on his bed, Isolde covering him up with the dried and cured animal skin, watching him shiver.
“The Rejuvant said he wouldn’t wake till two to three days,” Draven said.
“And yet, he not only did but walked,” Harun said softly.
“It speaks to his iron-clad willpower, something you all as members of house dark fist must now carry,” Elder Joran said as they stared at Tunde.
“With exception to you, lady Elyria,” the elder said.
Elyria gave a curt bow.
“I go wherever Lady Celia sends me” she answered.
“And yet, Celia informs me that it was your idea, growing bonds with your, ah, companion, lady Elyria?” elder Joran asked.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Elyria paused before speaking.
“he’s gone through everything you could throw at him, impressing even me, to watch as someone might attempt to kill him while he’s at his lowest doesn’t sit right with me” she replied.
“You think we can’t protect him?” Giselle asked, one eyebrow raised.
“I could cut through you all right here and now before you even thought of cycling your Ethras” Elyria replied.
“With exception to you, of course, elder Joran” she finished.
Joran laughed as the mood of the disciples darkened.
“Well spoken, lady Elyria, but do you really think anyone with such intentions would get past me aboard this vessel?” he asked.
Elyria froze before answering, she had heard the threat and perceived insult in his words, calmly going through her words before speaking. Bowing to him at the waist, she spoke carefully.
“Your presence would have been no doubt accounted for, I am unschooled in stealth techniques, elder Joran, but it was the opinion of Elder Celia that a random presence be added, mine” she explained.
“Well, I suppose that’s true, you can never go wrong with extra strength” Joran replied, scratching his beard before folding his hands behind his back, Elyria releasing a soft sigh of relief.
“Let him rest, we have a lot of work to do when we reach our new home,” Joran said leaving.
Elyria sat close to the wall, shutting her eyes as she felt the gazes on her, a soft smile on her lips.
“Any one of you that doesn’t believe me might as well spar with me,” she said.
No one took up the offer.
******************************
Thalas Verdan woke up with a gasp, finding himself lying on an obsidian green floor, a rock imported from the far reaches of the empire, to the far north of the empire, expensive, but treasured and afforded only by the most powerful of rankers. Realizing where he was, he turned to his left, freezing as he stared at the two lords that flanked a veiled room where Thalas could feel nothing coming from. Lord Alaric stared at him with cold detachment, nothing more than abrupt dismissal while Lady Lirien, his grandmother, stared at him with eyes that burned with fury.
He had failed, the memory rushing back to him as he trembled, struggling to crawl and place his head on the cold hard ground. He tore at any feeling of helplessness and pummeled his tears back into his eyes with his raw willpower as he uttered not a single word. What could he say?, he had lost to a wastelander, to a nobody and he had dragged the reputation and glory of the Verdan clan through the mud. His name would be forfeit, his history torn from the records of the clan, and his life in the hands of whatever the lords decided.
Or the high lord.
Thalas was no fool, he knew exactly who was behind the veiled room, that he couldn’t feel either presence or aura spoke of just how powerful his great-grandfather had become. No words were spoken, just the soft sound of a blade being sharpened.
“Thalas” the firm but powerful voice of Rowan Verdan came from within the room.
Thalas bowed lower despite his faintness, saying nothing as he listened.
The room, adorned with intricate tapestries and ancient relics, served as the backdrop for the conversation that was about to unfold.
Thalas had only seen the high lord once in his entire existence, but he could imagine the patriarch’s steely gaze fixated on him; the lines etched on his aged face deepening with displeasure.
His voice, laden with the weight of generations past, cut through the stillness of the chamber.
" I have watched from the beginning, I have followed it all, both you and the wastelander. I had hoped for more from one bearing the mantle of our esteemed bloodline. Alas, you have fallen, not to a warrior of renown but to an unknown ranker, a nobody with no claim to our noble legacy." The patriarch said.
“You shame not only the clan, but my name, has my bloodline grown so weak as to fall to a starving wolf?” he asked.
Thalas lowered his eyes, a mix of shame and frustration evident in his posture. The weight of his failure hung heavy in the air, he clenched his teeth hard, forcing himself to stay still as he listened, rage and shame finally welling to the forefront of his mind.
"You have tarnished the Verdan name with your defeat, and your weakness has become a stain upon our honor. Such disgrace is not befitting of one who carries the blood of our ancestors. You are a wayward leaf, detached and adrift from the strength that courses through our veins."
“you’ve given the glory meant for the strong to the weak, you have forgone the pride and reputation of the clan”
Rowan's tone, while laced with disappointment, held a certain refinement, a condescension veiled in the traditional decorum of their ancient lineage.
"However, I am not without mercy. There remains a thread, however fragile, that binds you to redemption. The upcoming Beast Surge shall be your crucible, Thalas Verdan. Your chance to restore what you have so recklessly squandered. Succeed in this endeavor, and perhaps the Verdan name may regain a modicum of its former glory."
Thalas looked up, staring as the piercing eyes of the lords bore into him, a challenge implicit in the words of the patriarch. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken with the weight of expectation, and the room, despite its opulence, became a crucible of ancestral judgment.
Rowan Verdan's voice remained a stoic cadence as he continued, the weight of his words carrying an implicit ultimatum that echoed through the hallowed halls of the jade Citadel.
"Should you falter once more, should the wastelander prove superior in the Beast Surge, consider this a solemn decree, Thalas Verdan. You shall be stripped of your name, your birthright, and the legacy that has been woven through the tapestry of our lineage for generations untold."
A hushed silence settled in the chamber, emphasizing the gravity of the pronouncement. Thalas felt the weight of not just his own failures but the burden of the entire Verdan legacy pressing down upon him.
"You stand at the precipice of oblivion, Thalas. The choice is stark — redemption or the annihilation of your very existence within the annals of our lineage. You will either rise from the ashes of disgrace or become a nameless specter, a reminder to future generations of the consequences of weakness."
The words hammered into Thalas, unyielding and unwavering. The air hung heavy with the tension of a decision that could reshape the fate of a Verdan. The patriarch's final words carried the weight of centuries of honor and tradition.
"Let the Beast Surge be your crucible, Thalas Verdan. The wastelander may be an inconspicuous and relentless adversary, but in surpassing him, you shall reclaim your name and, by extension, the honor of our illustrious clan. Fail, and your very identity shall be swallowed by the abyss of our ancestral disappointment."
***************************************
Tunde awoke again for the second time, realizing the vessel had finally landed, the bustling and shouting of various voices coming from outside. Feeling a bit better, he opened his void ring, taking out two vials of healing and endurance elixir of the second grade and swallowing them both. It was like his sight had been blurry but suddenly clear, shaking his head as he felt his body readily absorb the revitalizing Ethra from the elixir.
Getting to his knees, he noticed the pile of food and jugs of revitalization-infused water lying close to him, no doubt left just in case he woke up. Grumbling about how he had wasted two good elixirs, he scoffed down the food with wrath, his body begging for more till his stomach had been filled. He wasn’t at his peak, but he was better, unraveling the bandages around his body to see what was more or less the shape of a fist on his ribcage, the point where Thalas had shattered his insides.
He ignored it, wearing another robe he also noticed had been folded at the side of his bed before stepping out of his room and towards the railings, staring in shocked silence at what was going on around him. Three more sky vessels, three times the size of the one that had brought them back to the border of the wastelands itself, hundreds of people disembarking, moving logs of wood and bricks as well as other items Tunde realized were to use in a building.
Watching in silence, he caught sight of Elyria, Harun, and Giselle leading what were exhausted disciples toward the distance, a flare of Ethra coming in the direction they were going. Carefully, he cycled Ethra from his heart, watching as his body responded, boosting his speed a little. He was moving towards them, dodging them before Elyria turned, about to give an order when she paused at the sight of him.
The disciples glanced in his direction; eyes wide as they bowed to him despite their exhausted states.
“We greet the dark wolf,” they said.
Tunde blinked; unsure they were referring to him before speaking.
“My name is Tunde,” he said hesitantly.
“The dark wolf, student of the blind tiger” a female replied, hair in a tattered mess.
“Blind tiger, eh?” elder Joran’s voice came from behind them as the female froze in terror.
Bowing immediately, she began pleading.
“This disciple is useless and has offended the great elder, I offer my life-“
“I might as well take you up on that, seeing as a tier 2 rift just opened up right next to the one you’re heading to” the elder added.
“Too much popping up around us,” Harun said.
“I can go,” Tunde said.
“No, not yet, besides, they need to face it head-on, if they want to still be considered to join the house that is” the elder added.
The disciples stood straight, nodding as Elyria glanced at him.
“Heal well, the surge is close, and your house will need you,” she said before turning to leave.
Tunde watched them go, Elyria leading them at a steady pace as they pushed towards the distance.
“Feeling better?” elder Joran asked.
“Yes elder” Tunde replied.
“Good, cause in less than a week, the clan mobilizes to push towards the neutral zone occupied by the mountain sects,” Joran said.
“The tier 4 rift?” Tunde asked.
“Indeed, as the winners of the duel, we will be granted first right in breaching the rift itself when we arrive, we might just have to fight our way through to get to it” Joran replied.
“I thought the mountain sects were our allies?” Tunde asked.
At least, that was what he had read in the history book.
“Ally is a strong word, I’d say neutrals between us and the Acacia clan, let’s just say they decided to throw their lots with the water clan” Joran explained.
“But that’s at the other side of the city, why did we come out this far then?” Tunde asked.
“To consolidate your advancement, what does your heart feel like now?” Joran asked.
“strong” Tunde replied immediately, the elder chuckling.
“Yes, no one doubts that now, and your Ethra?” the elder asked.
Tunde projected it in a ball on his hand, staring at the black mass in his hand, the weight to it.
“Strong,” he said again.
“You just crossed the threshold to peak tier disciple, one of the refining advantages of battles,” the elder said.
“Come, I have somewhere to show you,” the elder said.
Tunde realized he left Shadowfang in the sky vessel, moving to take it when the elder waved his hand.
“If you’re bothered about your soulbound weapon then don’t, the vessel belongs to us, only an idiot would attempt to steal from us right here in the middle of nowhere,” he said as if reading his mind.
Tunde nodded, moving along with him, watching as they drew closer to the cleared mining area.
“What will happen to the mines?” Tunde asked.
“Abandoned, they were drying up anyways, the clan had wanted to take what they could before tracing another deposit far to our south, now they have a legitimate reason to start earlier” Joran explained.
“So we’re building on top of the mines?’ Tunde asked.
“Precisely, they have stood the test of more than a century, plus, with the already somewhat stable foundation it has, which will be reinforced by the builders,” the elder said.
“let’s just say it won’t be easy to bring down” Joran finished.
The entrance to the abandoned shaft he had passed through to face Kurl underground had been opened up, various people carrying all manners of equipment and devices below. The once dark path had been lit up, Ethra crystals burning brightly as Tunde realized the steps had been reformed no doubt with rock Ethra to a more sturdy and new shape.
“The clan gave us two days to get ourselves acquainted with our new home, and prepare for the surge before it hits this part of the border,” Joran said.
“I thought the surge was coming from where the rift was?’ Tunde asked.
“Beast surges are like natural disasters; they don’t just pop up in one place” the elder explained.
“All signs point to this border as a viable place for it to open up as well, the rifts are evident of that, and even if prematurely closing them down in the manner Elyria and the disciples would do might help, it’s concerning that by the time we return, it would be in full swing,” the elder said.
Making their way deeper, Tunde passed the rooms he had done battle in, filled with workers that bowed to them, spotting Draven and Isolde who seemed to be checking out a crevice, waving to him before their attentions were stolen by a man who described something to them.
“They might not be rankers, but they will have their role to play in the house,” Joran said.
“As long as they’re happy” Tunde murmured.
The elder stopped.
“Happiness without strength can only lead to death in this world we live in, something you should know by now,” he said as he glanced at Tunde.
“They are mid-tier disciples; they should be able to protect themselves” Tunde replied as he glanced at them.
“For now, but with your inevitable rise comes stronger enemies, they cannot afford to be stagnant, that falls on you, house head,” the elder said as he moved on.
Tunde kept quiet, ruminating on what the elder said, oblivious as they finally entered a room he was more than familiar with. He glanced up to realize he could still see the skies, feel the traces of rift Ethra in the air as his body began cycling, drawing it in. What drew his attention though, were the black-tinged Ethra crystals that jutted from the walls around him, what was even more surprising was the Ethra he could feel from them.
“Natural forming Ethra crystals,” the elder said.
“With my Ethra,” Tunde said, moving close to one as he touched it.
He felt the nascent Ethra within it, like he was back to initiate rank, he could drain them all and not feel a thing in his heart.
“Still weak, but with an Ethra gathering array, which by the way is ridiculously expensive, we could see your cultivation grow in leaps and bounds,” the elder said.
Tunde imagined the possibilities, hope, and greed flaring in his eyes when the very ground began to vibrate.
“what’s happening?” he asked alarmed.
“Ah, the other thing I wanted you to see,” the elder said as a large structure overshadowed them, Tunde turning his gaze upwards and gawking in shock.
A large silver and gold pillar-looking structure floated past them, its presence seemingly pressing down on them, and then it passed, heading in the direction of the clan itself.
“What was that?” Tunde whispered, turning to the elder.
“The mandate of the regents, or rather, the creation of the artificer’s guild, that is an ark,” the elder said.