As what could only be construed as a deliberate slight, the representatives from the Sect of Sacred Tears were not permitted entrance within the mosaic courtyard. In fact, they were not allowed to move beyond the very edges of Wandering Phoenix territory.

At first, Cyril was hesitant to accompany them, even if they left Loras behind. If Lady Firouza had survived, she would have spread details about his appearance to the others. In the end, they decided to leave Loras behind and disguise Cyril as one of the house guards. He kept the mask on and deposited the rest of his bronze armor into his storage ring, thankful that he no longer had to materialize a new set each time due to lack of inventory.

In the end, he chose to join Elys, Asher, and Tyrin. He had been worried that Loras would react violently to the presence of enemy cultists; the exile had merely shrugged at the request to remain behind and resumed his conversation with the neighboring body cultivator. Cyril found it slightly suspicious, but Loras had come across as somewhat logical in his insanity. Making an enemy of the Wandering Phoenix tribe was not a price he was willing to pay, especially if he was alone in confronting the representatives of the Sect of Sacred Tears.

Since Cyril had worn bronze armor during the battle in the oasis, as they walked to meet the representatives, Cyril worked on Transmuting the mask into darksteel. His advancement to Late Condensation Stage and thousands of points invested into the Dominion of Earth had finally made it feasible to delve into the higher-quality materials at his disposal. Fingers resting against the cheek of his mask, he poured Earth qi through his fingertips. He sensed the creeping blotch of darksteel spreading across the mask, replacing the E-grade bronze.

Festivities continued throughout the encampment, though a humming tension filled the air. The upbeat and aggressive tempo of the music felt like a call to violence. Elaborate fire displays lit up the sky like a warning--hints of deeper spirituality welled within them, as if they had been intentionally infused with an abundance of Sun qi. Even to Cyril’s senses, it felt like the heavens were ready to burst into an infernal cataclysm at the slightest provocation.

By the time their party reached the representatives, Cyril had managed to Transmute the entirety of his mask at the cost of half of a core’s worth of qi. Due to his improved regeneration after advancing, his core had refilled almost as quickly as it drained. He estimated he could replenish his reservoir of qi in about fifteen minutes now, not to mention that it had undergone a qualitative improvement as well.

The group of representatives consisted of three men and two women. Most of them were visibly seething at the guards preventing them from entering deeper into the territory. Eyes twitched, mouths sneered. One of them kept wrestling his hands against one another, as if barely restraining himself from forming the handsign for some devastating technique.

All of them were in the Nascent Soul Stage, likely considered peerless geniuses within their home tribes, but the Wandering Phoenix contained a greater density of powerful cultivators than nearly anywhere else in the known world. It would have paled in comparison to Fissure, but the Great City had benefited from Behemoth’s divine presence for ages.

Still, Cyril reminded himself, it was destroyed in the end, by the ones these people serve.

The thought sobered him up a little. Despite being outnumbered and outclassed, the five cultivators represented a much larger entity. The shadow of Leviathan’s empire stretched behind them, leading thousands of miles away to a foreign civilization that dwarfed his own. That emboldened them a bit, made them comfortable showing signs of their annoyance.

Out of the group, only one of them looked completely unconcerned with the situation. When a swarm of Phoenix qi motes began to wink and out of existence around the area, the woman standing in the back remained still. Her eyes were closed, as if she was meditating in place. The others shot nervous glances and moved out of the way whenever one materialized within reach, but she didn’t even bother to acknowledge the world around her.

Her voluminous blue robes gave her the illusion of being buried in expensive silk, but it failed to mask her domineering height and straight back. A sapphire hairpin of a dragonfly secured her long, silver hair into place. Though he couldn’t be certain, he suspected her aura was the source of the fresh, salty aroma lingering in the air, too subtle for his limited senses to properly detect. Ocean qi, most likely. It failed to suppress Phoenix’s aura, but it managed to barely hold its ground.

Don’t get too arrogant now, he thought at her. Elys isn’t even focusing on you.

Something about the woman’s elegant, heart-shaped face reminded him of someone. The answer came soon enough after he began searching his memories for recent faces since he had woken up. She looked like Lady Firouza. A relative--maybe her sister. He made a note to watch out for that one in particular. No doubt the others had thought the same.

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Cyril remained at the very back of the house guards, watched as Elys, Asher, and Tyrin approached the group of representatives.

Elys’ voice carried far and wide. “I hear you have some questions for me.”

The woman with the dragonfly hairpin stepped to the forefront of her group. A smile crept across her face, and she opened her eyes. Rainbow irises stared with uncomfortable intensity, gleaming in the reflected glow of the overhead fire displays.

“Greetings, from the Sect of Sacred Tears to Matriarch Elys of the Wandering Phoenix Tribe,” she said, her voice curiously high-pitched and mousy. “I am Elder Ashira.”

“I’ve heard of you,” said Elys. “Word of advice: know your place. Don’t try to compare yourself to me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” said Ashira, still not blinking. “We come to discuss recent matters pertaining to this region, not to engage in conflict. It appears to be a day of celebration for your tribe. May I inquire as to why that is?”

Elys shrugged. “We are a passionate people. Let’s skip the small talk and discuss the matter at hand. I have other things to do.”

Ashira bowed her head in acknowledgement, her disconcerting eyes never leaving Elys’ face. “Forgive me, sometimes I’m still like a curious child. Entertain one more question for me, if you will.” Slowly, she raised a finger and pointed at Cyril. “Why is this man wearing a mask? It makes me uncomfortable.”

The other members of her group looked at one another in surprise. Cyril grit his teeth. He had been worried about this exact situation. Even if Behemoth shrouded his soul, many of the upper echelon cultivators had excellent senses and intuition. Water cultivators in particular could be tricky, their minds freeform and flowing down esoteric paths.

“It’s a punishment,” said Elys, refusing to even look back in Cyril’s direction. “He conducted himself shamefully in some recent affairs, so he is forbidden from showing his face.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like to see it,” said Ashira, her voice pleasantly sharp.

Elys sniffed. “I do, actually. Don’t involve yourself in my family’s business. Now, what are you here to discuss?”

The other representatives began to mutter at the harsh treatment, but Ashira bowed once more and closed her eyes. They apparently took this as a sign to remain silent.

“I believe you are already intimately familiar with a recent trail of violence coming up from the south, leading up to your approximate location. We were concerned that you would be offended by such matters near your borders. Given the amicable history between our people, I hope you may be interested in helping us pursue some criminal elements that may soon prove hostile to you as well.”

Elys ran a finger along her lower lip as she considered the proposition. “So you want to hire us like a group of mercenaries to help you with some trouble? We’re very expensive, you know.”

“I believe this is a matter that concerns all desert citizens,” said Ashira. “Perhaps this is best discussed in a more private area?”

“If it concerns everyone, then everyone should be free to hear it.”

“Very well. The culprits behind the recent incidents are suspected to be drows, working with human traitors related to the Cult of Behemoth. These are extremely dangerous Earth cultivators that have been living beneath our feet. They are residents of a vast underground labyrinth known as the Underdark, host to all sorts of unholy abominations.

“Recently, we captured one of these drows after he fatally wounded my elder sister, Lady Firouza. She is currently frozen in a cryogenic stasis while we search for treatment for her wounds. Our analysis detects that it is some sort of necrotic centipede venom, highly resistant to standard antitoxin treatment.”

Elys sighed. “Do you need me to treat her, then?”

Ashira opened her mouth, closed it as she reconsidered her words. Her rainbow eyes opened once more, though this time they appeared a touch softer. “I had not entertained the possibility, but if you would be willing, our sect would be truly indebted to you. That’s a secondary matter, however. The drow escaped his captivity, despite being bound under several sealing wards and highly guarded. We believe that he is some sort of assassin specialist, targeting high profile figures within the desert.”

It was a reasonable enough story for them to have pieced together based on what her sect knew, but he wondered if that was the entirety of it. Despite her serene appearance, Cyril remembered her elder sister exhibiting similar traits. He also remembered her snarling bloodlust in the heat of combat, after he had withstood her attempts to crush him. In his estimation, Ashira was more likely than not hiding a few details.

Between that older drow escaping and the bizarre girl snapping out of her breakthrough vision, he wondered how soon he’d see them again. While he wasn’t too worried about a dagger in his neck, they had been tracking him for a reason. He wondered if they would dare show their faces to the tribe. Maybe it would be possible to work together with them, if they could forgive an awkward first encounter. If they learned that the Sect of Sacred Tears viewed their entire people as a threat, then he wouldn’t mind making their fears come true.

Before the conversation could continue, a pillar of white brilliance shot up from the center of the encampment. It drowned out the other displays of qi across the sky, for one breathtaking moment illuminating the world in complete daylight. It brought with it complete silence, canceling out all noise.

After a few seconds, the brilliance died away, taking all of the fire within eyesight along with it. Twilight descended over the world.

Motes of Phoenix qi winked in and out of existence, the first signs of returning flame. Then, the rest of the encampment reignited as if nothing had happened. Once more, the cacophony of music raged on, a bit more hesitant than before. After all, everyone within the tribe knew what that display signified. It, in and of itself, was a cause for celebration.

“Look at that,” Elys said. “It seems like my mother wants to speak with you herself.”