44th of Season of Air, 59th year of the 32nd cycle

  Newt, his eyes closed, sat on his bed in the airship’s private cabin. Within his realm, he toiled, making what few improvements he could while the ship raced towards the gathering spot for the Sage’s Realm tournament.

  Elders Alabaster and Flameax each spent two moons working with him for five hours every day. Newt’s techniques were average for fourth-realmers, which sounded impressive, but Newt knew he could do better than that. Unfortunately, he lacked time.

  Newt crawled through the tunnel of his underground spell formation, doing one last check for imperfections before he unleashed lava through it, when the chime sounded.

  “We’re landing in half an hour.” He looked around. “I’ll take three more minutes before I can let magma into this spell formation.”

  He frowned. “Is it lava or magma if it’s flowing underground, this close to the surface?”

  Newt’s passing thought was a question some might discuss at length, but whatever the answer, it changed little for him. He corrected a minor crack and removed a bump before confirming everything was as perfect as he could make it.

  He left the spell formation’s interior, temporarily sealed the exit, which would one day connect it to the next spell formation in line, and unleashed the magma.

  Nothing out of the ordinary happened, no leaks, and the barrier halting the flow held. Satisfied with his work, Newt opened his eyes and left the privacy of his chamber.

  The sight of clouds sailing past the window evoked slight trembling deep within Newt’s heart, but he squashed the emotion. Sect Master was with them, and unless he allowed it, nobody could tamper with the airship under his watch.

  Newt entered the spacious chamber, where the rest of the disciples had gathered. Emeraldstreak stood there along with the rest of his sisters and brother. Against all odds, Stegorock had found them in the Savage Wood. Of Sharpcut, there was no trace. The sect added his name and an empty urn to the pagoda, considering him an honorable fallen.

  Explorer’s Gate had only fifteen slots for the tournament, five for each of the three realms allowed inside, but they had brought over a hundred disciples to see the wonders of the Sage’s City and mingle with other talented cultivators of their realm.

  Newt was glad to see Twochains, but there was no sign of his younger brother. Fifty-four core disciples were down to forty-six. Along with them, there were a dozen second realmers a bit younger than Newt, and sixty-odd inner disciples, mostly at third realm.

  Rose was among them, and Newt was just about to talk to her when the clouds parted, revealing a snow-capped mountain. The top was flat, as if cleaved by a giant, and a vast city of white buildings sprawled across the plateau.

  As the airship slowed, Newt observed the scene in silent awe. The snowy mountain rose above the clouds, which swirled like a white sea surrounding a rocky island.

  A low murmur filled the room, turning louder and more excited as disciples spoke above the surrounding noise.

  “It is an inspiring sight,” Elder Woodhopper said, and the disciples’ conversations died sudden deaths.

  “I took part in the tournament long ago, and I was just as excited as you are,” she continued. “Soon we will land, then you will follow us to our accommodations. I expect none of you will cause any trouble. That means, you are not to shout, curse, goad, or speak rudely with disciples of other forces. You are not to fight, brawl, or challenge anyone to duels. Lastly, in no way will you offend the city’s law enforcement, the organizer, or the memory of the revered Sage, the seventh emperor. Is that understood?”

  Everyone nodded without uttering a word. One needed to be touched in the head to speak ill of any imperial, let alone legendary hero.

  “Good. If the law enforcers approach you or even take you into custody, you will remain polite and obedient. The odds of something like that happening are negligible, but some of you are trouble magnets, and you never know.”

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  A few smirks and sharp looks were exchanged, and Newt realized there were at least five people others thought matched Elder Woodhopper’s description, even though he was certain the friendly gibe was meant for him.

  Elder Woodhopper retreated to the exit, giving the disciples enough room to talk, but nobody broke the silence of their brewing excitement. Newt considered the type of events awaiting, hoping he could win his sect the first place. One first place and two in the early twenties should see them in the top ten, or at least top fifteen.

  The venerable heading the Chamber of Instruction had explained the past events, and they were a mixed bunch. Some individual, some group, some directly competitive, where groups were pitted against each other, while others were solitary affairs without opposing teams.

  The city outside the window grew larger. Its towers and spires rising impossibly high, stabbing into the blue sky, and as the Explorer’s Gate airship approached, Newt realized just how gigantic the largest structures were, and how tiny he was in comparison.

  “The city houses over ten million residents,” Stegorock said. “Once upon a time, twenty-six cycles ago, the greatest sect in the world resided here, and in their arrogance, they decided to overthrow the imperial family.”

  Newt listened to the story with interest, he had not checked the library for information regarding the tournament, since the venerables told them anything remotely relevant.

  “The Sages’ Association had twelve tenth realm grandmasters, four of them slayers. Over the course of centuries, they had gathered numerous allies, and when the time was right they attacked. The Sages’ War started a chain of events which brought about the end of the sixth cycle and gave rise to the seventh emperor.”

  Newt listened, not noticing the ship slowing down. They were about to land.

  “The imperial family received little support, with the majority of sects taking a neutral stance, letting the two greatest forces destroy each other. The imperials withdrew all their forces to the capital. Histories say they did this to reduce the collateral damage, but it’s more likely they lacked the manpower to defend dozens of cities against an army moving freely through the countryside. Whatever the case, the attackers conquered city after city without resistance, and soon reached the capital, where the decisive battle was fought.”

  Stegorock grinned.

  “Everyone expected the imperials would hide behind their walls, but they attacked instead. The previous emperors, presumed dead, charged into the attackers without support from their lower realm descendants. Six against twenty, they fought, destroying the entirety of the enemy force with the aftershocks of their combat. The only ones to flee were four ninth realm rebels.

  “The battle had lasted for two moons, the imperial capital and its loyal citizens protected by the world’s strongest spell formations while the land bled and heaved with each blow and each death of legendary warriors. In the end, only the second emperor survived. Grievously wounded, he returned, crowned the ninth realm Saphir as the seventh emperor, and passed away as her exalted reign started.”

  The ship landed, but everyone listened to Stegorock’s telling.

  “Her forces poured out of the imperial capital, recapturing all which the imperial family had lost, and reached here. Instead of condemning and butchering the surviving rebels and their families, she gave them a choice. All cultivators above the eighth realm were to gather at the headquarters of the Sages’ Association.

  “Once there, the emperor gave them an ultimatum. They would either sacrifice themselves to give birth to the strongest secret realm, which would benefit all of humanity, or the imperial family would march upon their sects and families, wiping them out until the last drop of traitorous blood was purged from the empire.”

  Stegorock stopped talking and headed for the exit. A wave of silent fury passed through the crowd at that moment — he left without finishing the story.

  “What happened then?” Newt asked, reading the mood.

  “The elders and sect masters obeyed, and the emperor gave their sects a hundred years of guaranteed peace in exchange for the grand realm they had created.”

  Stegorock kept walking.

  “And what about the four ninth realm survivors? What happened to them?”

  Stegorock shrugged. “The four ninth realm elders of the Sages’ Association remained unaccounted for, the rest of their sect annihilated, their ancestral territory turned into an imperial city.”

  Stegorock left the airship, the rest of the group following, and Newt hurried to catch up to him.

  “There was no reason to leave in the middle.”

  “It made for a better story.” Stegorock smiled. “If I had just told it, it wouldn’t have been nearly as memorable, but this way, with you having to tear words from my mouth, it made the story more interesting and filled it with a bit of eerie mystique.”

  He looked Newt in the eye.

  “Did the venerables survive? Did they plot revenge? How did they survive when all the others perished? The questions are endless, and since the story was cut short, now those questions drift in everyone’s mind.”

  “Leave him be, Newt.” Greenbow shook her head. “Our brother has always been on the eccentric side, thriving on attention. I bet deep down he wishes he was an airhead.”

  “Nonsense,” Stegorock beamed a smile. “I’m as earth-aligned as one can be. I’m a pure diamond.”