“Fear not long roads, but short ambitions.”

— The Ascetic.

Kyu Sezha saw his father’s ship sail through the dense fog of Port Cheng-Kai. Compared to the small fishing schooners and merchant barges, the Wanderstar looked positively massive. Banners emblazoned with the emblem of the Kyus, a compass wreathed with flowers, danced in the air on tall wooden masts. The Kyus were the most powerful family in the region, and they liked to display it in ostentatious ways; the ship’s figurehead was crafted from pure gold, the finest their city had to offer.

What was once a simple well-to-do family with a foot in the textile industry had turned into a regional hegemon. They had changed, more than Sezha liked to admit. Moji had managed to wrest the heirship away from Sezha. And Yunan was still missing. They had searched far and wide, but he was gone. His father had grown cold and distant, and his mother surrounded herself with sycophants and pretty fools.

When Sezha had approached his father on finding a Paragon’s heart, he had been laughed away. They didn’t understand. No amount of gold could bring Yunan back. And before Sezha knew it, he had been ostracized from the rest of his family. A black sheep who spent his days chasing after fairy tales and myths.

He cast a quick glance down at the sprawling metropolis of Cheng-Kai. From his spot atop the observatory balcony, he had a clear view of the entire port. The Kyus had chosen to move out from their humble estate in the countryside to the bustling city. Sezha had no complaints—it meant he could stay out of his family’s way.

He had rented a room in a small inn tucked away in an alley far from the main roads. There were many such inns in the bowels of Cheng-Kai. The city had grown at an impressive rate since the Kyus had moved in. The port had expanded to nearly twice its size, and the old trade routes had been revitalized. As far as anyone could tell, Cheng-Kai was at the height of its prosperity. It was even called the jewel of the Lowlands.

“Will you see the honorable Patriarch now?” a scratchy voice asked from behind, “You can’t keep hiding forever, young master.”

Steward Lai stood at the doorway, leaning against his walking stick. His face was gnarled like the bark of an old tree, and his once brown eyes had faded to a murky white color long ago. The steward had been with their family for as far back as Sezha could remember.

“He wouldn’t want to see me,” Sezha said, gazing down at the Wanderstar. It seemed so small from where he was. “And I can think of better things to do with my time.”

The old steward frowned. “That’s no way to talk, young master. The Patriarch loves you very much.”

Sezha clicked his tongue. “If he loved me, he’d listen to me.”

“He has been preoccupied as of late,” Steward Lai said. “But perhaps tomorrow’s festival is an opportunity to voice your concerns to the honored Patriarch.”

“My concerns? My concern is that his constant over-reaching will lead to the end of us.” Sezha stepped away from the balcony railing. However, he didn’t turn away from the view of the city. Even from his perch at the top of the observatory, he could see the decorations being put up at the city center. “This festival is a ploy, isn’t it?”

"The festival will proceed as planned,” Steward Lai replied. “If all goes to plan, our forces will be bolstered by skilled artists of the Path, and we can finally consolidate our standing in the Highlands. At least this is what the Patriarch believes.”

Sezha snorted. “Artists of the Path? They’re hardly better than brigands. But at least brigands have the decency to stay mortal like the rest of us.”

“You shouldn’t be so liberal with your words,” Steward Lai said, shaking his cane at him. “If a divine artist heard you, I am afraid there will be consequences, even for an esteemed gentleman such as yourself, young master.”

Steward Lai sighed with a touch of exaggeration. “Alas, if only Yunan was still with us today,” he continued. “He would have made a fine divine artist, not at all like the riffraff flocking to our city. There was even talk of him joining one of those mysterious sects.”

“What about Moji? Has she not been training?”

“I’m afraid the young mistress has reached a bottleneck.” The old steward sighed again. “Unless a miracle occurs, she is destined to remain at the Foundation Realm forever. The Patriarch hopes to find a suitable tutor for her, but no such experts have appeared.”

“Then I suppose this festival is a ploy for her as well. Though I doubt there are any suitable tutors among the thugs invited here by Father.”

Steward Lai ambled to Sezha’s side. “Might I be so impertinent to make a suggestion, young master?”

“You may.”

“Perhaps it is not too late for you to start practicing again,” Steward Lai said, stroking his thin wispy beard. “The Path can be walked by any mortal, as long as they have the dedication to persevere through hardships.”

Sezha chuckled sharply. “If I couldn’t even step foot on the Path all those years ago, what makes you think I can walk it now? Long ago, I’ve accepted that not everyone is meant to soar through the skies and split mountains.”

“I see,” Steward Lai simply said, backing away to the doorway. “Your mindset may be what is preventing you from taking that vital first step.”

“You speak as if you’re well versed with the divine path,” Sezha glanced behind him. But the old steward had disappeared. He was surprisingly agile for his age, even with the cane.

The shriek of a hawk drew Sezha’s attention. He was all too familiar with that grating sound. The bird circled the observatory slowly before landing on the balcony railing with another ear-piercing shriek. A folded note was tied to its foot by a thin piece of twine.

Meet me at Frog’s Head Tavern, the note read. Come alone. No guards. No friends.

Sezha rubbed his brow. The hawk belonged to a local info broker who fancied himself a sage. It had been costly setting up a meeting with him. But the sage was a knowledgeable old bag, and no one else in Cheng-Kai had traveled as far and wide as him.

Although Frog’s Head Tavern was in a rather disreputable part of Cheng-Kai, Sezha had no need to worry; the emblem on his cloak made an excellent ward. There wasn’t a thug alive in Cheng-Kai who didn’t know what the golden compass meant. The Kyus were the absolute overlords of the city, and the only thing that would come of crossing them would be a burial at sea.

The tavern was nestled between two old ramshackle warehouses. It was a squat building, with thick vines creeping up its grime-colored walls. The stench of cheap alcohol and unwashed bodies assaulted Sezha as he stepped through the doorway.

A ragged-looking tavern wench tossed him a disinterested look from the bar counter, and despite his cloak and fine robes, she made no move to greet him.

Perfect, Sezha thought bitterly.

Curling his lip, Sezha glanced around the taproom. Not a single person appeared sage-ly. Was he supposed to question every last occupant? For now, he decided on setting himself down on a table in a deserted corner of the taproom.

The tavern wench finally got up from her stool. She made eye contact with Sezha, then trudged over to his table. “Well?” she asked with a hand on her hip. “Something to drink, then?”

“Water,” Sezha replied. He couldn’t find it in himself to trust whatever foul brew they had down in the cellars.

“Did I hear that right?” The tavern wench picked at her ear. “Water for the young lord? Too good for the common man’s drink? I’ll get you some water. But don’t complain if it ain’t too clean. Nearly impossible to get good water here, that it is.”

“Off with you now,” Sezha said, waving her off.

The tavern wench made a rather rude gesture, then stalked off. Sezha watched her disappear through the kitchen doors with a grimace. Perhaps the commoners didn’t have as high of an opinion of his family as he thought. He would need to remind himself to never walk through these parts unattended again.

It took nearly ten minutes before Sezha saw the tavern wench walk back out of the kitchen doors. She held a bucket in one hand and a ladle in the other. “This’ll be three copper rings.”

Sezha frowned. “Three coppers? This is blatant robbery. Are you not scared I’ll report this to the magistrate’s office?”

“Scared?” the tavern wench asked, setting the bucket down on the table. “Well, I suppose you could do that. We’ll just set up shop elsewhere.” She shrugged and tossed the ladle into the bucket. “Will this be all, young lord? If you’re interested in something with a kick, the cook just caught a lightning-spine eel in the canal the other day.”

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“Fine,” Sezha growled, tossing the tavern wench a string of copper rings. “Just take the thing and leave me.”

The tavern wench caught it with a toothy grin. “That I will, young lord.”

Sezha stared at the contents of the bucket. His own face reflected in the dirty brown water stared back. The wench had not lied. He pushed the bucket to the side. Suddenly, he wasn’t feeling so thirsty.

“Good day,” a gravelly voice announced. “You are my client, no?”

Sezha looked up from the bucket. A man who appeared to be even older than Steward Lai stood before him. His face was covered in a thousand creases, and there were only a few thin white wisps of hair still attached to his scalp. Sezha knew without a doubt, he was the sage.

“That depends,” Sezha said. “How many fingers did the man who contacted you have?”

“Twelve,” the sage replied. “Six on each hand.”

“Then I am your client.”

The sage cleared his throat. It was a horrible, guttural sound that sent shivers of disgust down Sezha’s spine. “Aye,” he said, pulling up the chair across from Sezha. “I understand you have a question for me, boy?”

“My name is Kyu Sezha.”

“Yes, yes,” the sage muttered. “I’m sure you belong to a very wealthy and prestigious family. I’ve heard it all before. Now tell me, boy, what do you seek to know? Please make it quick—I’m a busy man with many appointments to keep.”

Sezha felt an ache coming on from the back of his head. He had paid three month’s worth of allowance for this rude, little man? “Very well. Have you ever heard of a Paragon’s heart?”

The sage squinted, then took a swig of whatever was in the leather canteen he had at his belt. “Paragon’s heart? For what reason do you seek knowledge on this particular subject?” He chuckled softly, which led to a fit of hacking coughs.

“It’s none of your concern, old man.”

“Indeed,” the sage drawled. “I suppose it isn’t. The heart of a Paragon isn’t something you can buy with silver or gold. These are matters far above the likes of mere mortal men vying for a small corner of the world, young boy of the Kyu. If you were sensible, you would halt this foolish quest and go back home to your manor. Little frogs should stay in their wells, lest a passing hawk swallows them up.”

Sezha shook his head. “I’m not leaving until I get what I paid for,” he said resolutely. “I hope you’re not trying to scam me out of my rings.”

“Fine,” the sage spat. “Thirty miles north of Cheng-Kai, there lies a ruined temple of pure black stone. There’s a small village near the area. Any of the locals can show you the way. While I doubt you’ll find a Paragon’s heart there, the temple is heavily connected to the Path. I wish you the best of luck, young lord.”

“We’ll see if your information holds up,” Sezha said. He rose to his feet without another word to the sage, then turned for the entrance.

“I advise you caution, young lord,” the sage called from behind. “Old ruins are no place for young nobles to be exploring alone.”

Sezha made his way outside and looked up at the moody gray skies. He would need guards to accompany him to the ruins. But with the tournament festival tomorrow, he would be hard-pressed to find someone who didn’t have a posting. Tonight, he decided. With the Highland Purebloods his father had just purchased, traversing thirty miles would take but a moment.

It took nearly an hour to navigate his way to the manor through the winding roads and alleyways of Cheng-Kai. As always, the city was busy. Shopkeepers and stall owners hawked their wares to passersby. Soldiers patrolled in pairs, their eyes glued to the many mercenaries wandering throughout the streets. Even the occasional divine artist could be spotted in the crowd. They were easy enough to distinguish; there was a certain vibe to them that just screamed danger. He didn’t see what was so divine about them. They were like common mercenaries, except capable of killing a charging bear in one punch.

By the time Sezha reached the family manor, the sun had dipped well below the horizon. Darkness began to descend over Cheng-Kai, and from the hill on which their new estate had been built, he saw the city light up. Life never stopped in Cheng-Kai, even at night.

“Halt,” a burly guard shouted, raising his hand as Sezha approached the main gate. But once he stepped into the torchlight, the guard bowed and retreated to the side. “I greet the young master.”

“Go to the barracks at once,” Sezha demanded. “I’ll be requiring the services of some able-bodied men. How fast can a retinue of four be put together?”

The guard furrowed his bushy brows together. “Well, I’ll have to ask the captain—”

“That won’t be necessary, guardsman,” Sezha interrupted. “Meet me at the stables after you’ve done what I asked.”

“It will be done, young master,” the guard said, giving a curt nod and setting off towards the manor barracks.

The estate stables were a considerable distance away from the main gate, and Sezha had to take care to not trip over any exposed roots.

A middle-aged groom jogged out to greet Sezha. “How can I help the young master tonight?” he asked, bread crumbs visible on his thick beard. “We were just about to lock up.”

“You can lock up after I’m back from my trip,” Sezha said. “How fast can you get five Highland Purebloods saddled and ready for riding?”

The groom cocked his head and frowned. “Does the honored Patriarch know-”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Sezha said, adding just enough coldness to his words to make them slightly menacing. Although it wasn’t pleasant threatening the family servants, he reckoned the less his father knew about his trip, the better. “You will answer my question and do as you are told. Am I clear on this?”

“It will take but a moment, young master.” The groom hastily disappeared into the shadows of the stable’s wide entrance.

Four cloaked guardsmen arrived just a little over a minute after the groom had finished saddling the horses. Each of the guards carried an array of slender blades and knives at their belts. With any luck, they would have no use for them tonight.

“We ride north to a small village thirty miles from here,” Sezha announced once everyone had picked their mounts. His own horse had a dark coat that blended well into the night. From up on his saddle, the ground felt very distant. Sezha hadn’t expected the horses to be so large. But unlike the lumbering pack horses that often came through Cheng-Kai carting goods, there was a certain elegance to these Purebloods. Their limbs were long and lean, and every step they took was done with fluid grace.

At Sezha’s command, his party departed from the estate, kicking up a storm of dust and dirt in their wake.

They rode along Cheng-Kai’s massive walls before breaking away at the northernmost tower.

The wind rushed through Sezha’s long black hair as the wilderness passed by them in a blur. Although he was hardly the best rider in his family, riding was almost too easy with the Pureblood. The love for speed had been bred into the Pureblood’s bloodline for generations.

They came to a shuddering stop in front of a rickety wooden gate after a hard few hours of non-stop riding. A signpost staked into the ground beside it read in bold white paint, Roosterhead Village. One of the guards leaped down from his horse and hurried past Sezha to unhitch the gate, clearing the way for the rest of them.

Sezha urged the Pureblood through the gate with a gentle kick to his side. The horse bolted forward so suddenly that Sezha was nearly thrown off his saddle. But a firm draw of the reins kept the horse’s impulse to run in check.

Roosterhead Village was what Sezha assumed most rural hamlets looked like in the Lowlands. It had a smithy, a tavern for the locals, and around a dozen huts with sloping straw roofs. The only structure with a second story sat at the center of the village. Likely the village chief’s dwelling.

Although there was a small stable beside the village chief’s house, Sezha and his men had no need for it. They wouldn’t be staying long. He left a guard to watch their mounts as Sezha stepped up to the front door.

“Is this where the head of the village resides?” Sezha asked, giving the door a few knocks.

Sezha heard the sound of footsteps, then the door cracked open to display the annoyed face of who he assumed to be the village chief.

“Who is it?” the chief asked, peering at Sezha’s guards with wide, suspicious eyes. He was a heavyset man with red cheeks and a balding scalp.

“My name is Kyu Sezha. May I come in?”

The chief nodded and pulled the door open. It was dim inside, with only a single window in the wall to provide moonlight. The only other sources of light were the few lanterns left hanging around the ceiling beams.

“So, how can I help you today, young lord?” the chief asked once everyone was inside.

“I need the services of a guide who knows this land well,” Sezha replied.

The chief pursed his lips in thought. “There are plenty of farm boys who do a little extra hunting on their own time. They know this land better than anyone.”

“Good,” Sezha said. “What I’m seeking is a temple of pure black stone. Can anyone take me there immediately?”

The chief’s ruddy cheeks turned pale at once. “Void-Light Temple? At this time of the night?” He shook his head and grimaced. “You could be offering a fortune and still not find a soul willing to take you there. There's something off about that place.”

Sezha’s eyebrows lifted in interest. “Can you elaborate?”

“People tend to go missing near the temple,” the chief said, lowering his voice. “I’m not doubting the strength of your guards, but dark things are at play in Void-Light Temple.”

“I just need a guide,” Sezha said, staring into the chief’s beady eyes. “There must be someone in this village willing to take me to Void-Light Temple.”

“Young lord, with all respect, I mean it when I saw that there’s not a single soul in this village willing to go anywhere near that heaven-forsaken temple.” The chief sighed, then glanced at the door, obviously wondering when he would be free of his sudden guests.

Sezha glared at the chief. He hated what he would have to do next. “Look me in the eyes.”

The chief met Sezha’s eyes.

“If you don’t tell me where I can procure an experienced guide right at this moment—I will have your village torn down. Then, raze this land to the point where no one can ever make a living here again.”

“Young lord,” the chief stammered, “let’s not be so—”

“That won’t be all,” Sezha continued. “I will have you thrown into the deepest dungeons of Cheng-Kai, and you will never see the light of day again. Your family will starve, and your children, if you have any, will grow up without a father nor a home. Now, what will it be?”

Understanding dawned in the chief’s eyes. The man was no doubt envisioning his bleak future if Sezha carried out his threat. “There’s someone who might be willing to help,” he said in a small voice. “I don’t know if she—”

“Might?”

“She’ll help,” the chief squealed. “The girl’s an orphan. Why if you dangle enough gold in front of her, the wench will run into the depths of hell itself for you, young lord.”

“Good man,” Sezha said, patting the trembling chief on his shoulder. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Where can I find this girl?”

The chief gestured to a vague location outside. “The house at the edge of town. The yard is littered with trash. Wheels, old broken tools, and the like, her father was a craftsman. You can’t miss it, young lord.”

“You’ve done well,” Sezha said, striding away from the chief and back to the door. His guards followed after him.

For a moment, Sezha wondered what he would've done if the chief had further resisted. He decided it was best not to think about it.