The word echoed in Cyril’s mind and soul. It resonated with meaningful intent, a rush of unfathomable emotion he understood only in parallel to his own mortal pathos. Satisfaction, a familial fondness, a sense of reunion.

His Magmatic Heart flared and began trickling energy into his spirit, a fusion of brown Earth and radiant Sun similar to volcanic qi. Now that his will and heart were aligned with Behemoth’s, it appeared the Titan was able to express more of its true strength through its Vessel. Since Cyril’s core could only hold so much, his Heart functioned as a sort of secondary reservoir, pumping continuous streams of qi throughout his channels.

Elys stopped and stared at Cyril, eyes wide. At first, he thought she must have noticed the change within his spirit. Then, he noticed that several of the weaker guards had stumbled into their comrades, blood leaking from their nostrils, their eyes unfocused. One of them, near the back of the retinue, had collapsed to the ground.

No, this wasn’t a result of a secondary core augmenting his spirit. Behemoth’s thought had apparently not been isolated to Cyril’s mind. Perhaps he had spoken it aloud without realizing it, his voice overflowing with Behemoth’s will. The metaphysical force behind the single word had thrown even Late Foundation warriors into disarray. Its ripples had no doubt spread throughout the entire encampment, if not farther.

A few of the guards stared at him with hostile intent. One of the stronger cultivators moved to stand in front of Elys, but she waved him away, frowning. He could imagine how he and Loras appeared to them, especially since his entire body was encased in slabs of bronze: two armored Earth cultivators, deep in the midst of Phoenix territory.

Did Elys even recognize me, or was she just happy to see Uncle? Cyril glanced at Asher. His uncle had a resigned expression on his face, as if he had glimpsed a hopeless future lying in wait for them.

“Lord Galen,” said Elys, projecting her soft voice as maturely as possible. “You understand what must be done. Send some of your finest men, please.”

His face pale, Uncle Asher bowed deep. “I’ll handle it myself.”

Without another word, the head enforcer of the Wandering Phoenix Tribe rushed away. Despite his size, he moved so quickly he looked like an orange blur. Burning some serious qi reserves or a berserker technique, most likely.

Before Cyril could ask for details, Elys beckoned for him to follow her. “Come this way. Better leave the mask on for now.”

In a whirl of sunset fabric, she turned and headed back toward the entrance of the central building. Motes of Phoenix qi drifted about, congregating on the injured guardsmen; their eyes refocused, and the blood trickling down their faces disappeared into wisps of smoke. Her retinue fell into place beside her, suffused with renewed vigor.

A quick glance revealed Loras had transformed into his pure ivory form. It held Cyril’s spear clenched in one hand, and its flute in the other. Cyril raised an eyebrow at Loras, but the cultivator ignored the unspoken query.

They entered the central building behind the tail of Elys’ houseguard. The Celestial Hall looked exactly how he remembered. A pleasing glow from the mosaic walls illuminated the interior. Opalescent columns lined either side, leading up to a chamber furnished with rich tapestries and busts of important ancestors wrought from golden stone.

As they walked deeper into the Hall, guards peeled away from the group, assuming their positions among the pillars and regularly placed alcoves. A pair of spiraling staircases climbed up the far wall, leading up to the second floor. By the time they reached the stairs, most of the guards had dispersed, leaving behind a small knot of seasoned veterans. Cyril recognized most of them, though judging from the occasional hostile glance, they hadn’t yet ascertained his true identity.

Elys whispered to a man in his mid-forties. Last Cyril had seen the man, he had been in the Late Foundation Stage. Though his core was shrouded, the man’s aura radiated outward with the pressure of someone within at least the Early Nascent Soul Stage. Such a leap often required centuries, but he had clearly benefited from his proximity to Phoenix’s Vessel. He nodded and hurried off, reducing their party down to a few guards, Elys, Loras, and Cyril himself.

Cyril still could hardly believe that his sister apparently harbored the Titan of Fire. While she was more worthy than himself based on her innate talent and accomplishments, the likelihood of a pair of siblings bonding with two Titans by chance struck him as impossible.

After its initial outburst, Behemoth had retreated into the back of his mind. Its attention remained, exerting an uncomfortable pressure behind his eyes. For now, the Titan seemed content to watch, but the fact it was flooding Cyril’s body with power made him even more wary about the situation. Behemoth hadn’t seen fit to augment his strength against potentially lethal threats like Hunger-Made-Alive; now that he was supposed to be safe, it had awakened from its careless slumber.

Maybe it’s just the presence of other Titans and their followers that interests it?

The spiraling staircase brought their party up to the second floor. The level split off in either direction as a broad walkway overlooking the ground level, branching deeper into the building in a network of corridors and doorways. Since the Celestial Hall served as the seat of his family’s operations, it contained a variety of meeting areas, temporary living quarters, and other rooms for diplomatic functions.

Elys led them toward one of the meeting rooms seemingly at random. One guard wandered off, perhaps to confuse anyone attempting to pinpoint their exact location, while the other two settled into position outside the door. As they entered, runes flared along the walls. Cyril’s ears popped as an invisible barrier sealed them in.

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He fought down an initial twinge of concern at the idea he was being trapped--even such a complex ward arrangement wouldn’t be able to suppress him and Loras if they went all-out. Most likely, the barrier isolated the room from the outside world, limiting sound and qi conduction.

“Finally, we can talk freely,” said Elys. She plopped down into one of the cushioned seats around the rose quartz table dominating most of the room. The intense heat in her gaze belied her otherwise casual demeanor.

Cyril touched his bronze mask, dismissing it from existence. “Gods, it’s great to see you again, Elys. Despite this huge mess of a situation.”

Elys bit the tip of her thumb. “I’m sorry, Cy.”

Another surge of paranoia struck him. Cyril couldn’t resist the urge to glance at Loras. The metallic man looked as unconcerned as ever, but it remained standing, spear in hand. Despite the relatively high-grade material of the weapon, no one had bothered telling Loras to disarm. Elys looked completely unconcerned about the possibility of being attacked. Was it trust, or had she grown powerful enough to find the idea of them defeating her not worth considering?

“What do you have to be sorry about?” asked Cyril.

Elys shifted in her seat. “How much do you know about what’s going on?”

“Around here?” said Cyril. “Very little. I woke up less than a few months ago, and most of that time was spent in a breakthrough vision. Certain entities have begun to bond with human cultivators, but I’m not sure why or even how. My priority was getting back home and making sure everyone else is fine.”

“Let’s be open with one another,” suggested Elys. “I’ve bonded with Phoenix, and you’ve bonded with Behemoth.”

Hearing the words out in the open made Cyril glance about for eyes in the shadows, but in the end, he nodded. “Like I said, I woke up recently. I still don’t actually know what led up to my bond. My last memory was going to sleep in my room, then I woke up in a crater as Behemoth’s Vessel.”

Elys took a deep breath and sat upright, smoothing the front of her dress. “I guess the first thing you need to understand is that the Titan Cults have been warring against one another for about as long as mankind has existed. There was a rough balance, but within the past century, the Cult of Leviathan has begun to rise to the top.

“I’m still not sure about the specifics of why the Titans are beginning to bond with cultivators. I have a few suspicions based on my limited communication with Phoenix and what I’ve learned about Leviathan. Either Leviathan’s Vessel had his will completely devoured, or is a dedicated cultist who completely surrendered his humanity for the cause. This makes him the most pure expression of the Titans I’m aware of. You still seem mostly yourself.”

“How can you be so confident?” said Cyril, finally taking a seat opposite his sister. “On a similar note, how did you know who I was? Could you sense Behemoth’s presence?”

“No.” Elys shook her head. “Phoenix granted me the Dominion of Knowledge. I’ve brought it up to the Sixth Sphere, and acquired an ability to read other people’s souls. I can’t see your spirit, like I imagine you can’t see mine, but I could read your name and your innate Dominions.”

Cyril whistled, mostly at the fact that she had managed to reach the Sixth Sphere of Knowledge. The Dominion was notoriously difficult to advance, but having a Titan as lucid as Phoenix seemed to be as one’s spirit would speed up the process considerably.

He idly wondered how his sister perceived the world nowadays. Reaching the Third Sphere alone had improved his perception to new heights. Was reality no more than an abstract flow of concepts to her, like the world he’d seen as an astral projection? While he himself had found himself changing and losing parts of his original self, he wondered how much of the sister he knew remained. How much of this radiant figure before him was a stranger?

It doesn’t matter. They’ve all changed since I’ve been gone, but they’re still my family.

“Anyways,” said Cyril,”you were discussing the Cult of Leviathan?”

Elys nodded somberly, her eyes downcast. “Right. Leviathan managed to upset the balance. Phoenix has never been the most powerful or ambitious Titan. Her worshippers were mostly pacifists, focused on comprehending the world through study and reason.”

Her explanation trailed off into silence. Cyril suspected he knew why.

“You said Phoenix’s worshippers ‘were’ pacifists.”

Elys took a deep breath. “The Cult of Phoenix were the first ones to fall. I know about your friend here--Loras, an infamous exile from Fissure. I’m sure you know what happened to the Cult of Behemoth. Suffice to say, it wasn’t pretty when they paid a visit to a bunch of harmless scholars.”

Cyril considered her words for a while, shifting through the various implications of what she had told him. “I still don’t see what you have to be sorry about.”

“One of the purposes behind wiping out the other cults was to make sure that there were fewer suitable Vessels for the Titans. They made sure to hunt down the elders and patriarchs of the various branches. When Phoenix was desperate to bond with someone, I was one of the few remaining candidates left in the world. Our tribe had been spared for so long because we had no official connection to the Cult of Phoenix.”

“That’s not your fault,” said Cyril.

Elys shrugged “Maybe. But it then makes me think, are you really the most suitable candidate for Behemoth, out of everyone in the world? Wouldn’t Loras have made a better Vessel?”

For the first time, Loras spoke up. “I am the least deserving of such an honor.”

Elys tilted her head in acknowledgement, though her eyes never left Cyril’s face. “Either way, it doesn’t really make sense. When you disappeared, I’m told you were looking for me when everyone else had given up. Now you come back here after all this time, bonded with Behemoth? I can’t see how it’s not my fault.”

“This may not have been my original Destiny,” said Cyril, “but this ended up being our fates. Regardless of whatever started up this whole chain of events, we’ll have to see it through to the end. I’m just glad that you seem to be yourself, more or less. You mentioned that Leviathan took over his Vessel completely?”

Elys sighed and crossed her arms. “Yes, that seems to be the case. When I looked at his soul, it simply showed the name ‘Leviathan’ in place of whatever the original human’s name was. Most of his soul beyond that was hidden from me.”

Cyril leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Something about her explanation disturbed him. It took him a few moments to realize the problem. “You’ve met Leviathan in person? How? For what reason?”

“The same reason our tribe hasn’t been annihilated from existence,” she said. “Leviathan wishes for me to be his bride.”