Aziz sat alone in the pit, cross-legged in a lotus position, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and steady. He focused on the black ball of energy nestled deep within his body, coaxing it to move faster through his veins, the way water flows through a riverbed. As he trained, he recited the teachings of Master Xiang, the second instructor in the Lowly Serpent Breath manual. Unlike the first master, who had emphasized stealth and combat, Master Xiang’s words were steeped in alchemical wisdom, a study that felt foreign yet intriguing to Aziz.

The teachings felt like a puzzle, each verse a piece that needed to be carefully aligned to unlock the full picture. It was as if Master Xiang, a man from centuries past, was guiding him directly, addressing his unspoken questions with a depth of insight that astonished him.

'Heed my words carefully, hatchling. Too much of anything can be dangerous for the physical body. The same applies to the soul. However, for the snake, it is different. It is possible to become resistant to a poison and, in doing so, make your inner soul stronger. Listen carefully, hatchling—'

The wisdom on the page hooked him, and Aziz found himself immersed in the text. '—Many who come to the Sect seek strength. Strength to pull them from the depths of despair in their consciousness. The key to the strength you seek lies in your despair. You may ask how? Well, you take more of the thing that poisons you until you turn it into a tonic that girdles the world around you.'

Aziz closed the book, leaning his head back against the cold earth wall of the pit. He stared up at the ceiling, at a spot where he often let his thoughts drift. Master Xiang’s teachings swirled in his mind, their profound meanings elusive, just out of reach. It was as if the answers he sought were within his grasp, only to slip away the moment he reached for them.

Sighing, Aziz stood up. Mal, his ever-watchful companion, poked his head out from the shelter of Aziz’s hair. The little black-death snake, though still young, had grown more perceptive, its bond with Aziz deepening.

“Master, should we not see to the others? More disputes have broken out recently. It may spell trouble for us,” Mal whispered, his voice sibilant in Aziz’s mind.

Aziz waved off the concern. “Not our problem. Let them sort it out among themselves. I'm sure the Iron Hearts will keep things in order. I have to train.”

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He had witnessed the first death in Peklo Forest, a consequence of the groups' reckless hunting and the inevitable clash of tempers. The Queen’s Hand and the King’s Guard had been arguing for days over who was at fault. Raven, the man who popped out of nowhere as the new leader of the third group, the Iron Hearts, found himself constantly mediating between the two.

But Aziz had kept his distance. Their affairs were not his concern. His diet of snakes sustained him well enough, and none of the three groups dared to enter the pits again. The absence of light past the doors discouraged exploration, leaving Aziz free to claim the pits as his own domain. Over the last few days, he had familiarized himself with every nook and cranny of his subterranean kingdom.

The pits were a sanctuary, untouched even by the supervisors who monitored the Peklo Forest. They never ventured into this dark world below, a fact that Aziz appreciated—until now.

During his daily patrols on the second floor, Aziz sensed something unusual.

He thought at once it was the great big lizard that dwelled within these tunnels too, but that wasn't possible. Aziz hadn't seen the creature ever since he returned. He had asked Mal about that day too, why he seemed to bow to the thing, yet even Mal had no answer. There were times he would stare down the tunnel when coming down for patrol, hoping to catch a glimpse of its scales. But it never did come. And Aziz never dared to walk down there, his instincts told him it was forbidden. Something like a lizards sixth sense, understanding its place in the hierarchy. One day he knew he would have to confront it. Not today though, for something else had interrupted the quite.

The faint sound of breathing, irregular and labored, echoed through the tunnels. It was not the calculated, controlled breath of an assassin from the Order. This was different. The aura was weak, unrefined, and clumsy. Someone had strayed into his domain.

Mild annoyance crept over Aziz, his instincts telling him to snuff out the intruder who had dared to breach his sanctuary. His fingers flexed, his teeth bared in a silent snarl as he considered the act. But then, he hesitated. When had he become so callous?

“Mister Aziz?” a timid voice called out from the darkness, the vibrations of the sound reaching Aziz through the earth.

The voice belonged to a girl, young and frightened, her breathing uneven. She carried a torch, but it was burning low, the light dimming with each step she took deeper into the pits. Despite her fear, something about her unnerved Aziz. How did she know his name? He had gone to great lengths to remain unnoticed, to blend into the shadows and avoid drawing attention. By now, he should have been a forgotten ghost in the forest, a figure who didn’t matter.

Curiosity sparked for the first time in a long while, and Aziz moved. Cloaked in the Shadow Steps technique, he sprinted silently through the tunnels toward the source of the voice, Mal hissing in excitement.

“Can I eat the human, Master? I have never tasted human flesh,” Mal whispered, his tone eager.

His mind had wondered, responding more instinctually than consciously.

“Maybe,” he murmured. That all depended on what she had to say.