Someone was coming closer. A grizzled middle-aged man with a big fuzzy hat. He was built stocky, laden with muscle and a healthy layer of fat which he wore well. He took off his hat as he got close and kneaded it between his fingers.

Zane blinked at him for a bit. There was a pause, like the man was trying to figure out what to say.

“Good day,” said the man at last. “My name is Jawl.”

“Hello,” said Zane. “I’m Zane.”

“Err,” said the man. “It is tradition on planet Stormhaven for the strongest tribe to send their Champion to serve the Stormhaven Lord, and keep their grounds while they're away—make sure the offerings come on time—and so on. If anything bothers you, do let me know. I will take care of it.”

“Sure.”

“Are there any—belongings, prior estates, any arrays or treasures you’ve brought with you that you wish to put on your new property?” said Jawl. “I’ll get a team of Storm Drake tribesmen on it in an instant. We’ll assist as best we can. We can help transplant most any kind of habitat, gardens, pets, set up cover from the Everstorms—”

He was rambling, still kneading nervously. “It must be a great inconvenience not to be able to bring your own servants into the Lightning Constellation. But we of the Storm Drake tribe will serve as best we can.”

He bowed his head, and waited

Zane swallowed the last of his cookie.

“I don't have any of those things,” he said.

“…You don’t?” said Jawl, looking up. “Nothing at all?”

Zane thought about it. “I brought some pants. My girlfriend packed me some elixirs. And my friend gave me some cookies. …That’s about it.”

They blinked at each other for another bit. Jawl did not look like he quite knew what to do.

“Would you like a cookie,” said Zane.

“…”

They sat down by the fire-lake, eating cookies.

This was how Zane came to know Jawl of the Storm Drake tribe.

Soon a portal flared up—a crystal beam channeling deep into the sky. That was his cue.

“Your grounds well be kept pristine in your absence, lord Zane,” said Jawl, all bright-eyed. He thumped his chest. “I swear it—there won’t be a stone out of place!”

“Great,” said Zane. “Thanks.”

He waved. Jawl waved back.

He ambled on over, and vanished.

***

He emerged on a planet shrouded with ashen mist. Tendrils of the stuff mapped the world far below, dipping in places, streaming down great ravines that ended in just more smoky mist. There was no solid ground below. No birds or beasts as far as the eye could see; just black mists roiling like an upset sea, stretching into a watery yellow distance.

He seemed to be standing halfway up a narrow mountain peak. A peak rising a few thousand feet above that cloud layer. Blocky steps wound their way up. Trees lined the edges, bone-white, no leaves.

Zane went with it, up a narrow winding path—almost too narrow to fit him in places, dropping to sheer cliffs in others. It was strangely peaceful. He saw no animals the whole way up. Heard no sounds either. There was just him and the steps and the trees and the pale sun, bigger than any he was used to and strangely dim in the sky.

On the way, he passed a few servants in simple plain robes, giant clay vials strapped to their backs. They went quietly by, sweating, nodded respectfully.

Soon he came to the very peak. Two stone steeles framed the end of the steps. Gnarled smoldering purple runes were carved down their fronts, silent and dormant.

There was a little monastery up there. Made of simple stone, weather-worn. A single ash tree poked up in the courtyard outside, bearing a single fruit. It was more round than any Zane had ever seen, a deep purple dappled with white, and it swirled like it held a galaxy inside. Not just a pattern on the skin—it gave the impression of a snow globe, transparent; like there really was a galaxy within…

“Zane Walker!”

Zane blinked.

There was a potbellied man shuffling on over—head full of frizzy gray hair, on the wrong side of middle age. He was beaming.

“It’s so very nice to meet you at last!” said the man, holding out a hand. “Ah—I go by Burnwater. I’m a fellow disciple here.”

Zane took his hand. The first thing he noticed was that this man had no aura. He clasped Zane’s hand with both hands, and shook it with enthusiasm.

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“I’ve watched your journey since almost beginning,” said Burnwater. “Great stuff! It truly is so nice you’re here…right, right—the Sage is waiting inside. Go on, now.”

He ushered Zane on through, into the monastery proper. Zane had to duck to get his head under the roof.

There sat a lean old man, cross-legged, on a spartan cot. Pouring a cup of tea on a wood table whose sides were carved with little intricate trees. The hand doing it was missing a couple of fingers: blackened taped-up stumps.

It had to be Noughtfire. He also had no aura. He seemed like a pretty ordinary-looking old man to Zane. The only unusual thing was his eyes: sharp and bright and clear, and when he looked at you, you got the sense he could instantly see a great many things about you—things even you didn’t know.

“Please,” said Sage Noughtfire, gesturing. “Sit.”

Zane did.

“Tea?”

“Sure,” said Zane.

Noughtfire poured him some slowly, patiently. Zane took a sip, then another. It was quite good tea. Every sip sent a warm rush sparkling through his head.

Noughtfire smiled, just a little.

“Welcome,” he said. “To my home. The Lightning Constellation. You are among your own now, Zane.”

He spread his hands, eyes twinkling. “Most everyone you meet here is practicing some kind of Stormfire. Some, especially the common man, the folks of the tribes, practice the most rudimentary pseudo-Stormfire. Others—the most advanced, which are my disciples—do considerably more. You’ll find them scattered throughout the Constellation. There are seven in all, including you.”

Zane finished the cup. It began refilling on its own, trickling from the bottom-up. Zane wondered briefly why Noughtfire had bothered filling it himself if it could refill. He drank some more.

“You’ve met some of them,” said Noughtfire. “Burnwater is one of my most senior. Lin Rai was my most junior before you came along.”

He tapped his chin. “She was very ambitious—a laudable trait—yet overeager, unsure of her station. These things distracted from her true purpose. But…”

He considered Zane carefully. “You seem to me a single-minded man.”

“Yes,” Zane agreed.

“That will serve you well here.”

Noughtfire set down his own cup. His black eyes sharpened, grew more intense.

“This place,” he said gravely, “Can be where the carp leaps the Dragon Gate! Every one of my disciples, I chose because I believe they have the potential to walk the path of Stormfire near its end… and in so doing, achieve a power which shakes this Galaxy. Some already have.”

He opened his palm, and there a mirage of soft flickering flame burst up. A little fiery model of the Lightning Constellation.

“I built this Constellation with my own two hands,” said Noughtfire softly. As he started to reminisce the flame danced in his eyes, reflected. “A Chaos Cycle ago I scoured the Dragonspire Galaxy in search of higher truths. But I could not find the Stormfire I needed here. I tread among distant reaches of the cosmos, journeying through the Celestial Imperium, gathering all the greatest sources of Stormfire I could find… these seven stars are what I came back with. I've brought them here to form the perfect training ground. One which could rival any in the known universe—one which could take you to the very peak…”

He clenched his fist; the Constellation flashed out. Then he sighed.

“By the time I completed it, however, my own potential in this path had smoldered out.”

He inspected the stumps of his fingers with sad eyes. “I’ve walked this path as far as I can. I have perhaps one more breakthrough in me…then my time, too, will come.”

This seemed to pain him quite a bit. Then his eyes flickered to Zane.

“But this need not be true for you,” he said. “I’ve given my life to the Path of Stormfire. If I cannot walk the path—perhaps I can lead others to do it in my stead.”

Noughtfire poured more tea. “Here you’ll have all you need. Especially as this Chaos Cycle reaches its peak… are you familiar with the theory?”

Reina said something about this once, but—“Sort of? Not very.”

“Chaos Cycles wax and wane,” said Noughtfire. “The Universe, rising and falling in concert… at its peak, the concentrations of essence—and Corruption, the power of the Monsters—is at its peak! Here is where legends can rise among the forces of the living. But it is also where the most heinous Monsters gain the strength to break free of their shackles, and enter this galaxy once more… in but a decade, our scryers say the first of the waves will come. It is but the spark before the flame. But it is coming fast.”

Zane nodded. That was pretty much what he remembered of Reina’s speech as well.

“My hope is that when the time comes, all my disciples can take advantage of it,” said Noughtfire. “Are you ready, Zane Walker?”

A pause as Zane gulped down the last of his tea.

Then he set it down, wiped his mouth.

“I am,” said Zane.

Noughtfire gave a hint of a smile. “Then your preparation begins today.”

This Sage Noughtfire was quite a good talker, Zane thought. He knew how to get someone riled up. It got his heart going nicely.

“That’s some good tea,” he said. He could feel it simmering in his head—like a fog of the mind was quickly burning away, leaving behind only a warm clarity.

“It is made from the tears of the Emperor Owl,” said Noughtfire. “It clears the eye of the mind, priming it for comprehension. Do you remember your first incentive?”

Zane nodded.

“It is to achieve Full Fusion—and in so doing, earn a Chaos Fruit. It’ll grant you thirty extra Nascent Levels, and set up your foundation for Ascension! That shall be your first task.”

Noughtfire pointed.

“Go to the Astra constellation! And grasp the last Concept you need.”

The finger came to a rest at Zane’s temple.

Then a dot popped up on his minimap. It showed where they were—near the first star on the Lightning Constellation. A new dot popped up, all the way over at the fourth.

“That is where you’ll find the answer,” said Noughtfire. “May Fate favor you.”

“…I didn’t know you could do that,” said Zane, blinking.

“You can do a great many things with the System,” said Noughtfire casually. “Used right it can be a weapon unto itself. One can spend a lifetime learning to master it. Its maker walked his path perhaps further than any man has walked any other path... Perhaps even glimpsed the Universal Law.”

He waved the thought away.

“But that is nothing to concern yourself with now. For now, Full Fusion—the final step of Stormfire—take it, Zane. And complete the power that lights the stars.”

Zane sensed the old Sage was done. His speech had a bit of a concluded feeling to it. It got its job done—Zane was pretty eager to get started. He set down his cup.

“I shall remain in deep study, in preparation for a stretch of closed-door cultivation,” said Noughtfire, turning away. “I’ll call upon you soon.”

Zane nodded and made his way outside.

There he found Burnwater standing, inspecting that strange galaxy-fruit on the tree.

“Zane!” said Burnwater, bumbling over. “You’re back! Very good. Should you run into any troubles across your path, feel free to consult me. Really it’ll be no trouble—I have nothing better to do. I’ll be in the Lithara System, tending to my gardens—though I tend to wander here and there. If you get lost you’ll bump into me eventually.”

What a nice fellow. So far most of the folks Zane had met here were just about alright.

“Sure,” said Zane. “Thanks.”

He waved, and Burnwater waved, and he made his way back to the steps. A hunched old janitor in a giant straw hat was sweeping the steps as he got there—Zane went on by, and didn’t think much about how the janitor had no aura.

He was off to Astra.