That morning Miss Naai was at his side, her shaking motions waking him up. "Whatt?" he mumbled as light bathed the room, highlighting his dry mouth and strange feeling. Instinctively, he summoned his core energy, snapping into consciousness.

"Yes. I am awake," he affirmed, halting her movements.

"Come down, now. Quickly." Immanuel's attire was disheveled; he was scarcely clothed with his robes hanging only partly over him. With swift, adept motions, Miss Naai stripped him of his robe and draped a pristine white one over his shoulders, accenting it with a blue shawl around his waist. "Go," she instructed.

Walking fast Immanuel listened to Naai's directive leading him into an inner garden. A woman awaited him there, clad in trousers and a shirt—a stark deviation from the traditional togas. Her sharp features, crowned by a tightly woven braid of black hair, regarded him with a piercing gaze.

"You are the wandering cultivator," she stated.

"I am. Immanuel," he replied, suppressing the urge to extend his hand as her frown directed him to present his open hands instead.

After a brief touch to her shoulder she inquired with a sly smile, "What stage are you?"

"I believe I'm at stage two."

"You believe? Can you open your channels?" she probed.

"Now?" Immanuel asked, hesitant.

"Yes."

So Immanuel started burning his core energy.

Her smile turned mischievous. "I'm glad I came. Can you externalize elsewhere?"

“Externalize?”

“I can see your eyes lighting up. Can you direct your zeal elsewhere?”

“My zeal? Well I can do this.” He burned more of his core and showed his hands. They lighted up with the same vibrant golden energy.

Her grin widened. "Perfect."

"I am Val Neer of the Blue Dome. Walk with me," she instructed, leading him to a grand carriage drawn by four majestic deer-like creatures with long, slender legs and curiously truncated horns. The carriage itself was an opulent affair, with two inward-facing couches and a low table set between them, exuding luxury. A man in a white toga sat on a small bench behind the animals, guiding them forward.

The carriage progressed, entering a lively district of the city. Here, tree-story houses stood in rows, their architecture a harmonious blend of stone and wood topped with gleaming red roof tiles that caught the sun. The streets buzzed with activity, lined with a myriad of shops inviting passersby with open doors and windows. People milled about, their movements a tapestry of color, wearing togas in a spectrum of hues that added vibrancy to the already bustling city.

Shops opened their doors to the morning air, and the streets teemed with people, many pushing carts by hand. The woman beside him seemed attuned to Immanuel's curiosity, allowing him a moment to look around.

“Your family constructs the skyships?" Immanuel asked when his eyes saw one gliding through the air.

She offered a confirming smile. "We do. So, you crossed the Darkwoods as a stage two?" She replied.

"I was the sole survivor, yes. I only ran and sailed, never fought."

Her laughter at his admission was melodic, a pleasant sound in the din of the city. "How painfully honest," she remarked.

Immanuel continued, "I was told that the Green Pyre family oversees cultivators here."

Her smile took on that mischievous quality again. "True. But you, an unaffiliated cultivator—it's a different scenario from standard registration, isn't it?" Her question seemed rhetorical.

Immanuel stayed silent, his attention caught by a man narrowly dodging their carriage, a precarious stack of planks balanced atop his head.

"I overheard something and decided to verify it personally. Fortuitous for you," she added.

Immanuel nodded, feeling the need to come clean. Whatever she thought he was, he wasn’t.

"Look, I need to be honest with you," he began.

"Good," she cut in sharply, encouraging him to continue.

"I lost most of my memories in a crash on the great plains and know next to nothing about cultivating, or anything else. Untrained and frankly, just relieved to have reached this city without being eaten," he confessed, the realization hitting that he had left behind his staff and sword.

"I don’t even know the basics of cultivating and maybe you can help. How strong can cultivators become? What strengthens them? How many are there?" he asked, a need for understanding evident in his voice.

"You've truly lost your memory?" she asked, a note of skepticism in her tone.

"Yes," he affirmed, "the basics—"

"Interrupt me if I become too elementary. Strength is garnered by absorbing 'zeal', typically through beast cores or rare natural treasures. There are other methods," she mused, gazing into the distance. "Taking in a beast core much higher than your own core will be fatal, rupturing your core.”

“Let’s see. Most cultivators in our city harbor 'crimson zeal’. They amplify their strength until reaching their personal limits; stage three is common, but some exceed far beyond." She leaned closer, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "Crimson zeal remains internal, while 'azure zeal' can be externalized." Demonstrating, she conjured a wisp of blue lightning between her thumb and forefinger.

"There are—" She paused abruptly, turning her attention to something behind them. Immanuel followed her gaze just as two men and a woman approached, running alongside the carriage.

"Stop the carriage, Val," commanded the largest of the trio in a resolute tone. "Stop," she echoed, the carriage halted, her eyes locked on the figures. Adorned in snug combat attire, black with green trimmings, they bore the insignia of an insect-like emblem on their shoulder. A tense silence fell, the crowd instinctively giving them a wide berth. Immanuel's eyes darted between Val and the newcomers.

"It's customary for us to deal with unregistered cultivators," the man stated.

"Yes," she replied sharply, "and he will be escorted to you for registration. For now, he is under my guidance as my liaison. His actions fall under my purview, ensuring our enigmatic city remains unthreatened."

After a moment's standoff, the man issued a warning, "Don't push it," then departed with his companions.

Turning to Immanuel, a sly grin spread across her face, she murmured, "Little do they know." Louder, she commanded, "To the Blue River Compound," and the carriage lurched forward once more. "We'll be taking a slight detour."

They arrived at the Blue River Compound a little later. It was a beautiful sprawling complex next to the river. A part of the river was diverted and went through the compound, flowing past various houses all made of dark red wood. They went through the gates, opened by two guards, and the carriage stopped in the middle of a grassy courtyard. "Know that you are our guest. I have to arrange a meeting. Feel free," she said, then jumped out of the carriage, making it shake violently. She landed deftly on the ground halfway to the gate and sprinted out of the compound.

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The driver slowly stepped out and, upon looking at Immanuel, he saw that the man was very old. "I will show you around," he said with a raspy voice. Immanuel hopped out and followed the man. "As a guest, you are free to use the whole building," he said, stopping in front of a two-story pagoda. "I will have some food sent to you. Anything else we can do for you?" "Uhm, no thank you," Immanuel replied. With that, the man bowed slightly and walked away.

‘Well, new day, new house,’ Immanuel thought.

He went in, and it was sparsely decorated but in pristine condition. He walked through the main room, which had a big terrace next to the river, far away enough to have privacy. ‘Well this is certainly more luxurious than I’m used to.’

He explored the house, finding a bedroom, a room with comfortable chairs, and a completely empty room, large, with weapons on the wall. He went back to the terrace and saw three men placing food and drink there. They bowed to Immanuel and left.

So, Immanuel sat down and started eating. There was some nice tea here, piping hot. He closed his eyes and meditated. All the time on the boat really helped him understand his core and how it interacted within his body. He could burn a little or flare it open. There were ways to direct the energy more by pulling it into his hands from his core.

A little time later, a servant came in. "Please follow me," he said. Immanuel followed him to another compound, a beautiful red wooden house where the wood seemed to have been melted together. There were no seams. Inside was filled with paintings of heroic battles. A man pulling a heart from a beast that lay there with its tongue out. A woman floating between the clouds with blue lightning shooting from her hands and feet.

Immanuel followed the servant through a hallway into a windowless room. Val was sitting in a chair, back straight, and three other men were standing around the room. One big and imposing, Immanuel felt the instinct to kneel or bow or plead, 'Please, don't attack me.' He was wearing what looked like a metal coat and pants with an overcoat that flowed like silk, all in light blue. He had a beautiful crown adorned with mythical beasts with two blue protrusions like horns on the side. He looked at Immanuel intently, and something shifted. The man became the center of the world. Immanuel could feel the man's heartbeat, strong and steady like the rhythm of the world itself.

He then spoke and his voice filled the room, "After years of searching, you come across your greatest treasure, the fulfillment of your deepest desire. You open the treasure, what do you see?"

"A portal," Immanuel answered.

"A portal to where?"

"My wife and child."

"Where are they?"

"Not on this planet."

There was a pause then, and it was like the whole world held its breath.

"Are you trained?"

"No."

"Have you ever killed a man, woman, or child?"

"No."

"Do you know The Veilborn?" Immanuel shook his head.

"No."

“Do you know The Necrotic Conclave?”

“No.”

"How did you land in the Great Green?"

"A being kidnapped me, left me behind."

"Describe the being."

"Power beyond measure."

"Describe the being's appearance."

"I cannot."

Another pause enveloped the room, the atmosphere dense with expectation, the pressure almost a tangible cloak around him. And then, just as suddenly as it had mounted, it dissipated. The room, ever-present, snapped back into sharp relief, its details once blurred by tension now clear and still. Amidst the quiet aftermath, Immanuel was left with a profound sense of weariness, and the weight of his answers hung in the air.

"Activate your zeal," the man commanded. Immanuel complied, feeling a rush of vitality as the power surged within him, flooding his veins with power. He flared his energy to its full extent, a sense of self returned to him. The man observed him intently.

"I would like you to join the family," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of an undeniable offer. "We can provide essential training, resources, protection, and guidance. I will not allow you to join other families, which means you would need to leave the city. You cannot join our enemies either, so your paths are through the Darkwoods or along the Fieldsroad towards the Empire of the Twin Moons. Decide now."

Immanuel wrestled in silence, his mind racing through his tumultuous thoughts. Leaving was inconceivable; the dangers he had faced, he was not ready for that. The choice seemed to make itself. "Yes. I will join," he affirmed.

"I am Eren Danued. Our paths will cross again," the man stated before stepping aside, vanishing in a shimmer of azure light that left a lingering chill in the air.

Val rose to her feet with a fluid grace. "Meet Jager and Elio," she introduced. Jager, the elder, had an ascetic appearance. Black hair in a ponytail.. "I will oversee your training. Elio is my pupil."

"We will assess your capabilities," Jager then stated, already moving towards the back door with a stride that spoke of single-minded purpose.

"Oh, come on," Val interjected with a light-hearted chuckle. "He just went through 'the gaze.' Let's sit for a moment. I'll have something brought." She walked out of the room without waiting for an answer.

Immanuel ceased channeling his zeal and sank into a convertible chair that seemed to mold to his form. Elio, a picture of youthful strength with his chiseled, muscular frame, rested against a nearby table, while Jager took a seat. Val returned and joined them.

"What was that?" Immanuel inquired with a sigh.

"The gaze? It's intense, isn't it?" Elio remarked, “it is power.” he said looking dreamily. His bald head shone under the light, his skin pale like it was never touched by the sun.

"You traveled through the green?" Elio probed.

"Yes, lots of angry beasts, relentless chases, and mostly luck," Immanuel recounted briefly.

"What does it mean to be part of the family?" Immanuel asked

‘Fuck this is all happening so fast. Joining the family? This was not an offer, this was an extortion.’ He felt frustration bubble up when Jager answered, “It is a great honour.”

He let that hang in the air for a moment, giving weight to the words before continuing.

"It means investment in you—a thorough assessment and integration into the family's fold, where responsibilities grow with one's stature," Jager elaborated. "Among the five ruling families, there's a relentless war on the front, beasts to be culled, outposts to fortify, trade to govern, and incessant training."

Servants then arrived walking behind Val, discreet in their duties, placing refreshments before the group. To sooth his nerves Immauel reached for some notes.

Val sipped her tea, her eyes meeting Immanuel. "I am sorry about your wife and child. I hope their lives were meaningful."

Immanuel needed a moment to understand what happened. Not in this world he answered. They think they’re dead..

"...I am still grieving," Immanuel responded a moment later, his voice a whisper. "The isolation of the boat, the escape—it feels like I’ve been running for ages."

"Let's ensure that you no longer need to run," Jager stated with a resolve that brooked no argument. "Your proficiency with weapons—what is it?"

"A walking stick is my usual choice, and I have a sword, but I forgot it this morning" Immanuel admitted.

Laughter from Elio, a knowing smile from Val, and a reproachful glance from Jager filled the moment. "We start with the sword then," Jager decided, challenging Val with a gaze before leading the way.

‘That’s it for the refreshments.’ Immanuel thought, grabbing a handful of delicious nuts.

Immanuel followed them into a vast training room within the same compound. Elio, swift and precise, selected two wooden swords and tossed one to Immanuel.

Elio positioned himself, a predator’s focus in his stance. Immanuel moved to face him, trying to mirror his stance. On the sidelines, Jager and Val stood watching.

Without warning, Elio launched himself across the distance, his movement a blur of deadly intent. He swung, and Immanuel's attempt to parry came too late; the force of the blow sent him sprawling backward, the thud of his body on the floor echoing through the room. Pain flared. He only then activated his zeal, Immanuel's eyes snapped open to see Elio's glance to Jager.

Fuelled by surging energy, Immanuel rose, the world sharpening around him into clearer focus. He advanced, sword in hand, only to be met by Elio's swift, punishing strikes—each one a lesson in speed and agility. Frustration boiled over into anger, and Immanuel's swings grew wild, imbued with bursts of zeal—until his wooden weapon shattered, sending splinters cascading through the air.

"These practice swords aren't meant for channeling zeal," Jager intoned.

Regaining his composure with deep breaths, Immanuel recalibrated.

"Take a real sword," Jager instructed.

Elio took two curved swords from the wall and presented one to Immanuel. They faced off once more. Elio's blade whispered past Immanuel's defenses, each strike a sting of silver that marked his flesh.

Immanuel's responses grew desperate, but Elio was like a wraith, untouchable, his final tap on Immanuel's forehead a punctuation to the lesson.

"Enough," Jager declared, “Untrained, indeed."

Val approached Immanuel who was double over breathing hard, her touch gentle on Immanuel's bruised face. "But that healing, not that is a rare gift," she noted, her eyes locking with his..

As she exited, she said to Jager, "Be discreet; the goblins won't like this."

Jager's did not wait, "Elio, teach him the basics," before he too departed.

Elio smiled as he adopted a left-handed stance across from Immanuel. "Copy me, lefty," he said.