"My relic," Tunde said.
“Yes, or did you somehow get to the root of it within the rift?” Borus asked, glancing at it.
Tunde glanced at Elder Joran, who had remained silent, calmly observing.
“No, nothing of the sort,” Tunde replied.
The Black Swan was descending slowly, docking on one of the platforms designated for sky vessels. Artificer Borus clapped his hands together as he rose.
“Good! We’ll get to that as soon as I find a place to call my smithy within this gigantic structure you’ve built,” he said with a smile, moving past them, disembarking, and heading toward Black Rock itself.
Tunde turned to the elder, speechless. Joran seemed to take a deep breath before exhaling.
“Be careful,” he said.
“Is something wrong?” Tunde asked.
The elder appeared on edge, turning his gaze toward Jade Peak. “What would make an artificer leave the safety of a city to come to the edge of the wastelands?” Joran asked.
Tunde looked at him, but they paused as four disciples greeted them—Harun, Giselle, Draven, and Isolde—all smiling as they glanced toward the ship.
“You think the clan threatened him?” Tunde whispered.
Joran snorted. “Not even Rowan would be foolish enough to get on the bad side of an artificer, no,” he replied. “My guess is that something big is happening at Jade Peak City, something he suspects could have rippling effects across this entire land.” He turned to Tunde, tapping a finger on his chest. “That, or he wants something from you,” Joran finished.
Joran made his way down the ship as well, and Tunde watched the disciples approach, bowing at the waist in greeting. He glanced up, meeting the gaze of the artificer who stood at the large stone doors of the stronghold, watching him before looking away. The familiar cold comfort of the relic band around his wrist reminded Tunde of his own questions about what had brought the artificer all the way from Jade Peak, as the elder had speculated.
Isolde and Draven reached him first, beaming as Draven pulled him into a tight hug, lifting him off the ground.
“An adept!” Draven cried in his deep voice.
Isolde hugged him the moment Draven set him down. “Thank the hegemons you’re alive,” she said softly, her single eye wet with emotion.
“It’s good to see you all,” Tunde replied with a smile, as Harun and Giselle bowed respectfully.
“The disciples of Dark Fist greet their adept,” they said in unison.
“Brings tears to my eyes,” Draven said, as Isolde gently smacked him, and the group shared a laugh.
“Come, Lady Ryka is anxious to see you,” Draven said.
“Among other things,” Isolde added with a frown.
Tunde turned to her, hearing the tone in her voice. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Not now. You’ve just returned an adept—we should celebrate!” Draven said, casting a chiding look at her.
Tunde glanced at Harun, who inclined his head respectfully, lips sealed. Tunde’s gaze shifted to the walls, where newly installed Ethra cannons gleamed, manned by disciples patrolling the perimeter.
“Have any rifts been opening up?” Tunde asked.
“A couple. Nothing we and the cannons couldn’t handle,” Giselle replied.
“Although, we’ve been cutting it close these last few days,” Harun added.
“Meaning?” Tunde asked as they walked toward the stronghold, disciples and initiates bowing as they passed. He found it strange that only a month or two ago, he had been one of them, yet fate and determination had lifted him above.
“Meaning a few rifts almost reached the walls, which would have required the full might of the house—disciples and initiates alike—to stop them,” Harun explained.
“That, and the fact that we barely have any Ethra-imbued weapons left,” Draven muttered.
“What about the Golden Pavilion? Haven’t they been supplying us?” Tunde asked, remembering the arrangement they had made with the Golden Pavilion and Baron Dale.
“Not yet. Apparently, we’ve exhausted our funds on the construction of Black Rock. We’ve been selling off cores from the rift creatures as quickly as we can to offset the debts we acquired for construction,” Isolde replied.
“Just how much do we owe?” Tunde asked.
Isolde pointed at the cannons as they walked. “Each of those heavy weapons costs at least one to two million lumens,” she said as Tunde stopped in his tracks.
“That much?” he asked, trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.
Isolde nodded as they approached the stronghold doors. “Exactly as you heard. The cannons ate deep into our funds, and right now we’re running on air,” she said with a wince.
“Not for long,” Tunde muttered.
The doors opened to a moderately lit hall with grey-marble floors, the symbol of House Dark Fist—a large black fist clenched together—emblazoned on the ground. The hall was filled with all kinds of people, from cultivators to tradesmen and others, who turned as the doors opened. Whispers filled the air as they bowed in deference, Tunde moving through them awkwardly, nodding to a few he recognized.
With Draven and Isolde at his side, and Harun and Giselle behind, they crossed the hall and entered a large garden bathed in sunlight from the dome-topped ceiling made of reflective glass. Tunde had to admit the pavilion had proven its worth, given the absurd number of lumens spent; the garden was filled with marble chairs and large black columns that glowed softly.
Tunde paused, touching one of the columns as a light current ran through him.
“We’re not entirely sure, but from the way Baron Dale explained it, it’s some form of spatial power that makes the inside significantly larger than the outside,” Giselle said.
“And this must have cost another fortune,” Tunde replied.
“I asked around,” Draven said. “This is considered low-end spatial construction. Even then, only the patriarch’s home could boast such a feature.”
Tunde removed his hand, clenching his fists as they moved deeper into the building, with Isolde leading them from the common hall to a secluded area. They climbed a few stairs leading to another floor and headed straight to a room where Elder Joran, Baron Dale, and Lady Ryka were seated around a table. They turned as he entered, Joran holding a large scroll.
“About time,” he said.
Tunde bowed to Baron Dale and then to Lady Ryka, who looked on in surprise.
“It’s good to be back,” he said, taking his seat next to Elder Joran, who handed him the scroll.
“That’s the latest on the house’s development, as well as everything that’s been going on,” Ryka explained.
Tunde paused, turning to her. “Shouldn’t this go to the elder?” he asked.
Joran chuckled. “You’re the adept of House Dark Fist now. I’m just a background figure, a lazy one at that from here on out,” he replied, still smiling.
“Besides, I can’t read,” Joran added matter-of-factly.
“The short version is that the surge is drawing closer. The second cycle is about to begin, and the calm you noticed upon arrival is just the prelude to something greater—and worse,” Ryka explained.
“The Cycle of Resolution,” Tunde said, and they nodded.
“Someone paid attention in history lessons,” Joran teased.
Tunde glanced at the elder, smiling, then turned back to the scroll, scanning it until he stopped at a certain passage. He looked up at them, back to Joran, and then returned to the scroll.
“Am I reading this correctly?” he asked.
“What does it say?” Joran prompted.
Tunde clenched the scroll tightly, his tone calm but his temper rising. “It says here that, by order of the patriarch, all cultivators and everyone connected to House Dark Fist, including Red Blossom House, are to move to Black Rock,” he said.
Joran went quiet, crossing his arms as he stretched. “Well, that was to be expected,” he said.
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Baron Dale sighed, pushing his hands into the folds of his robes, and looked at Joran. “I warned you about this plan of yours,” he said.
“Excuse me—what plan?” Tunde interjected.
Joran pursed his lips, gesturing toward the baron in acquiescence.
“Your elder here had the idea to keep pushing the boundaries of the clan’s territory,” Dale explained. “His, and by extension, *your* plan to establish dominance over this resource-rich area wouldn’t sit well with the patriarch—especially not during a surge.”
“In the patriarch’s eyes, we’re just interlopers, looking to reap where we haven’t sown,” Ryka said.
“So we’ve been pushed right where we wanted to be, but without any aid from the clan. They don’t care if we’re overrun; in fact, that may be exactly what they’re hoping for,” she finished.
Tunde clasped his hands, resting his chin on them. “So you’re saying they want us gone.”
“Us and anything that triggered the whirlwind of changes in the clan,” Joran said. “Told you so,” he added.
“I want to make it clear here and now that the Golden Pavilion will not incur the wrath of the clan or patriarch on your behalf,” Dale said.
Joran nodded. “Again, as expected.”
“However, I do believe you may change your mind when you see this,” Joran said, producing one of the more potent blue glowing flowers.
Tunde watched as the baron’s expression shifted from disbelief to awe. Dale took the flower from the elder with reverence, Lady Ryka looking on in fascination.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The core ingredient in nearly every advancement pill or elixir,” Dale replied breathlessly. The flower immediately vanished into his void ring.
“How much of this do you have? The Golden Pavilion is ready to buy them at one thousand lumens apiece,” he said instantly.
Elder Joran raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit low, wouldn’t you say?”
Baron Dale froze. “Haven’t we given enough for your house already?” he asked stiffly.
Joran chuckled as he straightened in his seat. “Given? We paid for every block, stone, and adhesive used for everything done here!” he protested.
The baron tapped his fingers on the table. “A batch of these for the design drafts of an Ethra cannon. Word is, you’ve somehow obtained the services of an artificer—though I’ve no idea how you pulled that off,” the baron said.
Lady Ryka drew in a sharp breath, quickly controlling herself.
“Those things cost over a million lumens,” Tunde said warily.
“Exactly. So you see why I say you’re getting your money’s worth,” Dale replied.
They all turned to Joran, who continued smiling.
“What?” Dale asked warily.
Joran reclined in his chair. “You and I both know this particular plant is worth much more than that,” he said.
“Don’t push it,” Dale warned.
Tunde watched with interest as the two seemed poised to haggle over the plant.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, I have more than enough to supply our current batch of rankers within the house and still fill a few large boxes. What would you say to that?” Joran asked.
Tunde mentally nodded to himself—the elder was right; they had spent an unholy amount of time gathering those flowers.
“Then I’d say you’re either lying, or the heavens somehow favor you,” Dale replied cautiously.
Joran waved dismissively. “Please, apart from the mythical hegemons we hear about, I don’t believe the heavens are bestowing any goodwill on us,” he said.
“The hegemons are the heavens,” Ryka said.
“Arguably. If you’re saying they’re figures who’ve transcended our world, then yes, I’d agree. But that they’re somehow looking down benevolently on us? I doubt it,” he replied with a snort.
“Careful there, Elder—you’re bordering on heresy. The cults won’t like that. Throw in a box of the flowers for me, and I’ll get you another sky vessel,” Dale proposed.
“I don’t get it. What makes this plant so valuable?” Tunde asked. “I mean, I understand and experienced its potency,” he continued.
“That explains your advancement,” Lady Ryka said, looking him over once again.
“But enough to warrant such high prices?” Tunde asked, nodding in appreciation.
“That plant, as you call it, is known by many names. None are exactly right, but the closest I’ve heard to a fitting name is the *Heavenly Bloom Flower*,” Dale explained, turning to Tunde.
“As you may have noticed, these plants grow only within areas blessed by the Azure Springs,” he continued.
“You may not have known this, but that water helps stabilize a cultivator’s advancement. A pity you hadn’t taken some along—it might have helped stabilize your current stage of advancement,” Dale added.
Tunde glanced at Joran, who merely smiled. Realizing the implication, the baron sputtered.
“Just what was in that rift?” he asked.
“Death,” Tunde said abruptly, and they all turned to him in silence. “Bloodshed and death, nothing more,” he finished, avoiding their gazes.
Joran gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before speaking. “Allow me to clarify, Baron,” he began. “Not only do we have the *Heavenly Bloom Flower*, as you call it, but we also have the Azure Spring water itself—enough to fill a small pond,” he continued.
“And we may or may not have found the crystal that channels the spring’s power to nurture the plant,” he said as the baron sat up straight, gripping the arms of his chair tightly.
"So here’s the deal: we could advance every initiate of House Dark Fist to peak disciples overnight, possibly even push some to adepts if we choose. I’m betting that would go a long way in helping with our surge problems,” Joran said.
“What would you want for steady access? And please, remember—we’re but a small business,” the baron said, a bit subdued.
“Linked to a larger conglomerate, yes, I know of the Golden Lion Pavilion. You should really come up with a name that’s not your father’s,” Joran replied as the baron froze.
“Not only do I want the design drafts for the Ethra cannons, but also your best advancement pills, elixirs, and general pills,” Joran continued. “We’re about to make you so rich the Alchemist Guild might start asking questions. Of course, our surge deal still stands. Fair, don’t you think?”
The baron seemed to consider it, then sighed. “Fine, but I’ll need an advance of at least one box of—” He broke off as Joran dumped a large cluster of flowers onto the table.
The baron froze, then quickly swept the cluster into his void ring, licking his lips slightly. “Not to question you, venerable elder, but what about the spring water?” he asked carefully.
Elder Joran chuckled, tossing him a ring. “A common void ring—not very large inside, but filled to the brim with a portion of spring water. This should help cement our new contract, yes?”
Baron Dale nodded. “Of course. When do you need the resources?”
“As soon as possible. Oh, and throw in a few good imbued weapons—the more you send, the happier I’ll be. Are we in agreement?” Joran replied.
The baron rose to his full height, nodding. “Yes, we are, venerable elder. Now come, I’ll show you to the training and meditation chamber you requested.”
****************************
The large training and cultivation room exuded a powerful blend of pure and rift Ethra, interwoven so carefully that regular cultivators could actually train there without suffering the side effects of rift Ethra. Made from the same black stone as the stronghold itself, the circular room centered around a fountain that poured glittering water, illuminated by a single large skylight where sunlight poured in.
Tunde surveyed the room, his Ethra cycling as he drew in the latent energy around him, closing his eyes and feeling the power surge through him. He opened them, walking toward the waterfall and gazing up into the sunlight. It was here that he had fought the Corespawn leader, where Elder Moros had tried—and nearly succeeded—in killing him.
Elder Joran crouched near the waterfall for a few minutes, dipping his hands into it, then bringing the water to his mouth.
“Vitality-infused,” he noted.
“Of course,” Baron Dale confirmed.
Joran nodded, rising to his feet as he pulled a blue glowing crystal from his void ring.
“Sapphire Vein,” Baron Dale said breathlessly.
Immediately, the crystal’s power filled the room. Tunde activated his Ethra Sight to watch as blue tendrils of power spread across the chamber, into the walls, and slowly began to settle. It could take months, even years, but this room was on its way to becoming a powerful cultivation site for Tunde and his house. He watched as the elder placed the stone on the fountain rock, replacing an idle stone, allowing the water to flow through it, now glowing with a soft blue hue.
Tunde dipped a finger into the water, bringing it to his mouth. A jolt of power surged through him, widening his eyes. He nodded at the elder, who smiled, hands in his robes.
“This is the start of something good,” Joran said softly.
Tunde left the elder alone and, following directions from Isolde, made his way to his quarters, finding a room set aside for him within the vast stronghold. It was larger than his old room at Red Blossom but still sparse, with only a simple bed, a washroom, and a large window overlooking Black Rock.
He tossed his belongings on the bed, collapsing onto the cool ground, and stared up at the black ceiling, blinking. The full weight of his recent experiences finally settled within him. He breathed deeply before peeling off his clothes, letting his robes fall in a heap. The water in the tub was warm, small stones emitting heat Ethra to warm the otherwise cold bath.
He spent close to an hour soaking, scrubbing, and mentally drifting as his mind replayed the events of the rift and what they had left behind. Though unspoken, Tunde knew they weren’t finished with the Cult of Undeath; the revenants had gained control of the rift, and even with its crystal gone, something felt wrong. Rifts were supposed to destabilize when their crystals were removed.
The heart of the lord, replaced on the pedestal, had started affecting the rift somehow. Lord Alaric’s urgency indicated as much. Tunde knew that sooner or later, the rift would resurface, but until then, he had to focus on his advancement. Exiting the bath, he dressed in a fresh set of robes left folded on his bed, feeling mentally drained as he fell into an exhausted sleep.
********************************
The rift duplicator stood near the Jade Palace itself, home of the clan patriarch. Constructed from Ethereon metal and other rare materials, it had begun its work, its top blinking red as it drew from the dense Ethra in the air. The rift surge had raised the Ethra density across the city, pushing initiates into the early disciple ranks and disciples to late or peak tiers.
The duplicator also helped maintain a steady reserve of Ethra, relieving the pressure on weaker cultivators whose bodies couldn’t handle the ambient density. For the Verdan main family, though, it was an opportunity ripening, a chance to atone for their weaknesses during the first cycle of the surge.
Adept Jashed Verdan’s burial had drawn the entire Jade Peak to the event, with the patriarch leading the procession to the large jade crystal atop the palace, where Jashed’s name would be etched alongside his ancestors’. The duplicator was left under guard by two disciples from allied lesser families.
Not that it needed much guarding; the duplicator was keyed to recognize specific individuals, and anyone else approaching would be reduced to ash by the numerous defensive constructs protecting it. On the moonless night, where every breeze carried the cold promise of the surge, a cloaked figure moved silently, too quick for any initiate or lower disciple to notice. The duplicator was fenced off by a high metal barrier, a clear warning for anyone to keep their distance.
The figure leaped over the barrier in one fluid motion, landing gracefully and moving toward the guards, who remained oblivious. Shimmering in the darkness, they moved past the guards in a blink, heading underground as the security constructs buzzed in reaction—an expected response even when a rodent crossed their path.
The constructs halted in front of the figure, who revealed their face. After scanning it, they powered down, allowing the figure through to the main chamber. The duplicator stood like a tall needle spire attempting to pierce the heavens, with two structures that could open a rift between them.
The controls to the machine took up what little space remained in the excavated chamber. Metal pipes linked a series of boxes, all converging on a tiny black box that floated atop a pedestal, inscribed with glowing symbols. The figure paused, staring at it for a few moments before producing a dimly glowing green crystal, carefully wrapping their aura around it to prevent its Ethra from leaking and alerting the guards.
They anticipated a struggle to replace the black rock key to the duplicator’s Ethra reserve. But to their surprise, as they prepared to wrest control, the rock split open, revealing the previously drained crystal inside.
The figure hesitated. Did this mean there was another agent from their benefactor already inside Verdan’s ranks? Regardless, the signs were clear. The heavens truly favored them, and the time had come. Gently, the figure replaced the crystal with the one they’d brought, a faint film of light settling over the once-green crystal, turning it stark white and concealing its power.
All was done; all was ready. As the figure slipped away, the same way they had entered, they knew there was no going back—the die had been cast.