They gathered together while jade city burned around them, the rising smoke amidst the harsh Ethra that flowed through the air churned the skies above them with soot, ash, and raw power. It would rain soon, the cold frigid winds and chill that spread through Elyria’s body was a testament to that, and yet, she couldn’t help but feel a small measure of succour in the fact that if she was to go down fighting, she would do it beside capable fighters as well.
Rhyn Verdan, son of Alaric Verdan stood warily, nerves still frayed as his blade smeared with the blood of revenant cultivators and powered filaments of the dead skeletal minions of the cult was held firmly in his hand. Healing elixirs as well as Ethra boosting elixirs had done the best they could do to the team around her, but the realization of just how large the scale of what was unfolding around them had just begun to settle within them with biting horror.
Elyria pitied the young Scion of the clan, even with Sorin and Shiro at his side, debating if they should head deeper into where the battle was thickest or do their best to protect the outlying areas was the right choice. Elyria found her Ark cut off, long-distance communication with Tunde and the rest at black rock cut off as well, she had considered heading for Thorne, the alarming thought of him stuck within the dungeon actually occurring to her from the onset.
The problem was its location being close to where the main battle itself was going on, lord and Highlord techniques that would obliterate her should they so much as graze her flying through the air. It irritated her, cut off from familiar faces she could trust and left with familiar faces that she could more or less describe as placed together with a common goal, one that at this moment was surviving the onslaught of the revenant cult. Rhyn flicked his blade, drawing gazes to himself as he sheathed the soulbound weapon, swallowing softly before he spoke.
“We need to head deeper into the city,” he said.
Elyria felt the heaviness in the air as the silence stretched out.
“What do you mean head deeper” Shiro asked softly, as if not believing his ears.
Rhyn pointed his sheathed blade towards the distance where the blazing forms of the Highlord and Highlady did battle, tiny floating beings that she guessed were lord Lirien and the two lords of the revenants doing battle around them as well. The sheer aura and strength it would take to hold their own next to the Highlord and lady spoke to their strengths, Elyria dissolved her silver blades into balls back.
“That would be suicidal,” she said.
Rhyn nodded his head, as if realizing what he had just asked of them.
“My family is there” he replied.
“And we’d be no use to them dead” Sorin said, running her hand through her short-cropped hair.
“But we can’t just stay here as well,” Elyria said, squinting as she turned her gaze to the skies above.
“And we can’t escape jade peak either” she murmured, staring at the glowing dome-like barrier that shimmered softly above them.
“you’d run?” Rhyn said harshly.
Elyria shut her eyes, taking a deep breath, calming her nerves before speaking, aware of just how confused and on edge he was right now.
“Do you realize those we just faced?” she asked.
“What?” Sorin asked.
“Revenant cultists, adepts,” Rhyn said softly, like a finely honed blade.
She nodded as she turned her gaze to the ground, the silver metal orbs floating above her head slowly.
“Yes, but are you aware of the nine kings of the cult?” she asked.
She took the answer as no seeing their silence, Rhyn especially.
“We just fought not one, not two, but three different adepts of three different kings, that should let you know the severity of what we’re facing,” she said.
“Enlighten us” Rhyn replied.
Getting irritated at the adept, she exhaled.
“Nine kings, nine paragons rule directly beneath the regent of undeath” she started.
“And you know this how?” Shiro asked.
She could see the unspoken question in their gaze, in their rigid movements, they suspected her.
“You should see the world sometime, much more to see than a single city in the middle of nowhere” she replied.
Rhyn’s eyes widened as he took a step forward.
“You dare” he started, Sorin placing one hand on him.
“Rhyn!” she snarled.
He froze, visibly shaking, Sorin shaking her head as she turned to Elyria.
“Why are you goading him?” she asked.
“Because you all are beginning to behave like children” she replied.
Sorin’s gaze darkened, Elyria shaking her head.
“Look around you, have you asked yourself just what went wrong?” she said.
“They attacked us,” Shiro said.
“Yes, yes they did, and were it not for the surge going on right now, a nexus key would be opening right above your city and the wrath of the heralds would wash through this place like an all-consuming fire” Elyria started.
“But you’re missing the point, how did the revenants get here?” she asked.
It took a few seconds for the question to set in, the gravity of just what she was implying weighing on them.
“The rift duplicator was supposedly protected by the artificer, its workings protected with a series of runic barriers that would immolate anyone not given authority to step close to it, it was sabotaged” she continued.
Rhyn gripped his sheathed blade tighter, as if willing himself not to see the point.
“Only a few people had access to that duplicator, only a few people could have gotten close to it” she continued.
“You don’t even know if that’s the cause” Shiro protested.
“Look to the distance!” Elyria shouted, finally snapping.
“The same device your grandfather commissioned to raise your clan to the heights of the royal clan itself now spewing the forces of undeath onto this very land and you stay in denial?!” she said.
“You lie!” Rhyn roared, shaking off Sorin’s hand on his shoulder.
“You and that abominable existence locked within the dungeons orchestrated this!” he said.
She was this close to bearing down on him, she might get at least a hit or two in before the rest managed to get to her, but she was sure she could do lasting damage, Scion or not.
“You and Thorne scouted the rift first, you, Thorne, and that wastelander brought down the Corespawn on our mines, every single thing that has happened to us started the moment you arrived!” he shouted.
Elyria let him vent off, saying nothing as Shiro sighed, dusting his robes amidst the tense silence, the gulf steadily growing between them, a defining factor at the moment. For that single time, that single moment, Elyria was tempted to speak not just as any cultivator, but as one of the true children of Silvershade, one of the powers of…..she shook her head quietly. Dispelling the thought.
She had left that life behind and all its merits, all its boons and shackles, its glories and curses, she was Elyria of the flowing silver now, and Silvershade was nothing but a memory of a time lost to her. She took a few steps forward, towards Rhyn who had his cold gaze on her, willing her to make the first move so he could unleash his wrath. It was amusing, to be honest; Elyria didn’t necessarily think Rhyn could beat her, sure, he was a monster born of speed, a deadly swordsman, but she had her ways, excluding the fact that she could turn his weapon against him in the blink of an eye.
Instead, she decided to take the route of a pacifist, something entirely foreign to cultivators, much less the war-hungry ones of Bloodfire itself. She opened her mouth, and spoke.
“I, Elyria, swear on my life and my cultivation, that I know nothing of this invasion, and while I cannot speak for those along the way who I once called companions, I assure you, I’m as much an innocent as you are” she completed.
The oath settled on her heart like a chain made of lead, weighing her words and finding her just, its tightening leash that almost threatened to implode her heart from within now unraveling to the horrific looks of Sorin and Shiro. Rhyn swallowed nervously, realizing the errors of his way as he ran his hand through his hair, frustration biting at him.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I apologize,” he said softly.
Elyria merely nodded, while she deserved more than that, she was fine with it, getting an apology out of Rhyn, a sincere one, was no easy feat. Shiro spoke up, the once jovial almost comical cultivator sporting a look of pure deadliness from the moment the invasion started.
“You spoke for yourself, not for the revenant nor the wastelander,” he said.
She wondered if beating him black and blue would convince him to stop referring to Tunde as the wastelander, but she decided against it, let that be his burden, he would face the ‘wastelander’ himself someday.
“Thorne hunts the revenants, at least, according to his words and oath, Tunde simply looks for how to get stronger, and I doubt he’d ever have anything to do with them, just doesn’t look their type,” she said with a mild shrug.
“Then again, as I said, I only vouch for myself, trust comes in short supplies these days, won’t you agree?’ she said, staring at Rhyn.
“You suspect someone” Rhyn immediately said.
Elyria’s mind shouted in alarm, no, this was not her discovery to reveal, not when she didn’t have tangible evidence anyway. She refrained from nodding.
“I have my suspicions like you said” she started.
“But nothing tangible enough to accuse anyone with” she added as Rhyn prepared to talk.
“And as such, I will refrain from mentioning names” she completed.
“What you’re insinuating could lead to treason” Sorin warned.
“And yet, it’s the least of both mine and your problems, seeing as we might not see the end of the day” she replied.
“I beg to differ,” Rhyn said walking forwards, staring at the fighting forms in the air and the flashes of techniques below, the adepts of the clan going toe to toe with the forces of undeath.
“What separates us from the lords?” he asked.
“Stupendous resources and enlightenment” Elyria replied.
“Mostly resources” she added as Rhyn shook his head with a sad smile.
“This was meant to be the dawn of a new age for clan Verdan,” he said in the silence after.
“We were to grow in strength and numbers, our adept now lords, our lords now Highlords, and my grandfather finally advancing to the stage of the powerful masters of the continent, second in power and name only to the patriarch of the empire itself” he narrated.
“Now, all is dust, all is gone, and destruction awaits us on both sides” he finished.
“We could still escape the city,” Shiro said.
“Wait for the battle to recede, get out while the revenants are distracted” he added.
Rhyn turned to Shiro, a sad smile on his face.
“Have you written off my grandfather so easily, Shiro?” he asked.
“The jade blade of clan Verdan, tamer of the wastelands, bane of the wasteland king himself?” he added.
Shiro’s face was like a mask of pure calm.
“No, this battle is far from done” he started.
“But it is not the patriarch nor your father that is at risk here” he added.
Rhyn nodded.
“you’re saying they’d come for me,” Rhyn said.
“Without a doubt” Elyria replied, drawing herself back into the conversation.
“This is an extermination” she continued.
“I have no idea just what they want, but if you think that they won’t take the chance of gaining a solid footing on Bloodfire then you have no idea just what is coming” she warned.
She had seen just what untold horrors the cult had leashed and on their back and call, powerful summoned creatures whose origins she had absolutely no idea about. She had seen their works, the ruthlessness with which they operated, tearing through men, women, and children alike, it was not a fate she wished on her enemies, much less Jade Peak City.
“And he’s high up on their list of targets,” Sorin said, nodding at Rhyn.
“they’d have to try harder than they’ve done if they want to take me” Rhyn replied.
“they almost succeeded, we don’t even know who else they’d had gotten to,” Shiro said.
“Thalas” Elyria breathed with a sigh.
She was loathe to think of the fact that they might save him, but seeing as he was locked up in the same place where Thorne was, a plan was beginning to form in her head.
“We have to go save that bastard, don’t we?” Sorin asked with a sigh.
“That’s the only line of action I see us making, we can’t head for the spire itself, might as well find out if Thalas is still breathing” Elyria replied.
“And the loyalties of Thorne” Shiro added.
Elyria shrugged, Tunde wasn’t here to stand up for the former herald, despite how much it irked her when he did so, and she wouldn’t say anything about him, not when the scenario in front of her was devolving from all angles. Accepting their next line of action, the adepts began making their way towards the dungeon, deep in the heart of the city.
**************************************
Tunde came out into the training room, snapping off his Ethra sight as he ran towards the figure who sat right next to the pedestal where the floating sapphire stone was. He had no idea when he produced a healing elixir from his void ring, holding Joran’s mouth open as he attempted to pour it through, his body shaking. The elder was a mess, his robes burnt, his body scorched and the smell of burnt human flesh wafting up his nose this close to the elder almost had him gagging as terror poured through his entire frame.
A firm hand came up, holding his hand with the elixir in it as the elder spat blood, speaking.
“no” he groaned, steel somehow still in his voice.
“you’re dying” Tunde growled.
The chill that permeated his body refused to subside, its presence a stark realization that something he didn’t think possible was happening right in front of his face. the elder smiled, his blindfold burnt off as his empty eyes revealed themselves, Tunde looking away. The elder’s Ethra felt harsh and powerful, like it had evolved into something brutish and snobbish, Tunde wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did.
It was like a vain, holy presence, staring him down with judgemental eyes even as it waned in power, Tunde shook his head. He held the elder's hand, putting the elixir inside it as he spoke softly but in a hurry.
“Hold fast, I’ll go get help,” he said.
A firm hand grasped his shoulder as two pinpricks of light began to glow from within the elder’s eyes. It froze him in place, Tunde realizing that something was wrong.
“Listen, I don’t have much time,” Joran said.
Against his wishes, Tunde found himself listening, rooted to the spot.
“Things have been going badly, for us, for me” Joran started as Tunde said nothing.
“I advanced to lord rank, I broke through the heaven’s crucible as it’s called, and yet, I wish I hadn’t,” Joran said with a tight smile.
“What do you mean?” Tunde asked softly.
Joran grabbed what was left of his robe, tearing it away to reveal his chest, and the glowing harsh rune on it. It looked like he’d been branded, a set of runic circles layered on top of each other, burning with smoldering fury, and his heart, glowing yellow right through his skin. He smiled at Tunde who stared in confusion at both the mark and his heart, sweat matting his body.
“What happened to you?, did something happen when you advanced, the sapphire stone perhaps?” Tunde asked.
His ignorance came back to haunt him in the most devious way possible, the elder chuckling lightly as he spoke.
“No, Tunde, no, I wish it were so, so many things are beginning to make sense,” Joran said softly.
He took a shuddering breath as he continued.
“I’ve been having visions lately, visions of places I'd never been, fights I never participated in, people I haven’t met,” he said.
“It got a lot worse the moment I advanced, when the crucible unleashed what was inside me and I realized just who I am,” Joran said with a harsh laugh.
“What I am” he added with a whisper.
He glanced at Tunde, the pinpricks seemingly increasing in their glow.
“It’s all been a lie, my motivations, my goals, everything, and I fear that I’ve dragged you into something no adept or lord should you reach that stage, should ever be in” he continued.
“Please, I have no idea what you’re saying, let me help you” Tunde pleaded.
Joran shook his head angrily.
“Listen!” he said, his voice echoing throughout the room.
“We don’t have much time, so listen” he pleaded with Tunde.
The chill in his body went up another notch.
“There is a bigger plan here, the revenants, the cults, the empires, everything, and I don’t understand much, all I know is that there are more like me out there,” Joran said.
“More like you?” Tunde whispered.
Joran tapped the branded circles on his chest that glowed brightly.
“Spread across continents to look for signs of their awakenings” he continued.
Tunde knelt in front of the elder.
“What are you talking about?” he said louder, drawing the eyes of Joran.
“Homunculus,” he said as the golden heart pulsed brighter.
“I’m a homunculus,” Joran said with a shaking voice.
Tunde froze, unsure of what that meant.
“I’ve never been real, a copy of someone, somewhere, someone powerful” he continued.
Tunde found himself shaking his head, that was impossible, the elder hadn’t…
“hadn’t what?” his mind asked him.
What had he known about the elder, about those known as homunculus?, about the world really?.
“The memories came slowly, blurry, whenever I tried using my lord stage Ethra” Joran continued.
“It ate into my lifespan, as if I wasn’t supposed to get that far, built to remain an adept till I died or accomplished my mission, a mission I still have no idea of,” Joran said.
“Your lifespan” Tunde whispered in horror.
Joran nodded as tears that were golden in color poured down his eyes in a single line, coating his cheeks.
“I’ve exhausted the lifespan afforded to me by my creator, a terrifying thought seeing as I wasn’t the only one created,” Joran said.
“What does that mean?” Tunde asked softly, the situation around him not still settling within him.
What was happening?, how had they gone from defending black rock to this?. His gaze was drawn to the pile of ash in a corner of the room, recognizing the huge stalagmite weapon that lay haphazardly on the ground, understanding what happened.
“It pushed me to my limits, that abomination of nature, pushed me to unleash everything I had” Joran explained.
“It was worth it though, I got to see just what sort of peak lord ranker I could have been, perhaps if I had time,” Joran said.
Tunde held him.
“Please, there has to be a way I can help you; artificer Borus is dead, I don’t know- “Tunde said, choking.
Was he about to cry?, no, he was an adept, he had gone past that, and yet, what was the feeling he had in his chest, like an ache.
“Nothing can be done, my time is reaching an end, I’m just glad I get to spend it with you,” Joran said chuckling.
Tunde took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he wiped the tears off his face.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” He said.
He thought of it, testing the oath to realize it had unravelled, confirming his theory.
“Last dying words for me?” Joran joked.
Tunde sat on the ground, looking at the elder.
“No, it’s about this,” he said, raising his hand with the relic on it.
Joran’s expression froze as Tunde began to speak, telling the same tale Borus told him as horror began to dawn on the elder’s face. Tunde noticed, pausing as he got close to the moniker of the creature whose bones had been fashioned into the weapon he now bore.
“What was its name?” Joran asked hoarsely, fists clenched together as if restraining himself.
“Are you alright?’ Tunde asked softly.
“Its name, what was its name?” Joran asked again, urgently this time.
Tunde found himself dreading to answer, like some part of him screaming at him that it was a bad idea.
“Realm walker” he whispered.
As if those words were the trigger to something within Joran, his body immediately became wreathed in pure white and gold fires as he screamed.
“RUN!” he said.
Tunde scrambled backwards in shock and fear, watching as the elder was consumed by pure Ethra and aura intertwined together in such an intricate and complex form that it had him marveling in shock. Raw speed saved him from having the elder skewer his heart, his aura-coated hand slapping the blow of the elder away before hissing.
It had burnt his hand, just the mere touch of the elder’s body had burnt his hand. The being that stood right in front of him wasn’t the elder any longer, an avatar of white and gold flames, aura that bordered on Highlord rank that brought water to his eyes and sigils that danced in the air around him, brimming with raw power. This was what he had sensed the moment he stepped into the training room; this was the judgemental presence that stared at him with all the air of superiority.
It formed flaming wings behind the elder of white and gold, pointing one finger at him.
“Child of the seekers,” it said in a voice that was definitely not the elder speaking.
“Die, for the glory of the keeper” it added.
Lances of scorching power tore through the room towards Tunde who dodged at the last minute, watching the power scorch the very ground he stood on a few seconds ago. Breathing heavily, he summoned Shadowfang, infusing them with his Ethra as the creature upwards into the air, flame wings lifting it up.
“Elder Joran!” he called out.
The creature spread its arms wide.
“The one known as Joran is dead, there is only Astradriel the keeper,” it said.