The Beast King sat on an uncomfortable chair at a long wooden table. The cushioned seat was too soft for his liking; he preferred the solid feel of hard logs. Moreover, the decor of the Sage of Silver Heart's fortress left much to be desired, adorned in an unappealing mix of black and purple.

  "Charity," he acknowledged the Sage for the first time since his arrival, unsheathing a dagger from his boot to clean under his nails.

  "The Beast King," she replied, her hands busy carving a small wooden log.

  "I see you're preparing an urn for a dragon," he observed casually, not bothering to meet her gaze.

  "It seems so," she answered, maintaining her even tone.

  A knock interrupted the moment. "Come in," Charity commanded.

  The door swung open, revealing Old Man Lo, who bowed before entering, a trolley of various foods in tow. The appetizing aroma of barbecued tomahawk assailed the Beast King's senses.

  "Thanks," the Beast King said as the servant set the feast on the table. "And bring me something to drink," he ordered.

  Old Man Lo's expression turned conflicted, and he frowned as he glanced at the Sage for guidance. She remained silent, clearly content in making the Herald wait.

  The Beast King relished the tension. He could afford to wait; his disciples were off in Ghostwater. But this situation felt different.

  Ah, this is a power play by Old Man Lo , he thought, realizing the subtle dynamics at play. The servant was intent on reminding the Beast King of his subordinate status beneath the Akura Clan. Perhaps he was just more afraid of Charity than he was of the Beast King. Regardless, the Beast King did not feel like playing the Monarchs games today. Instead, he felt it necessary to remind the servant of proper respect.

  With a surge of will, he fixed his gaze on Old Man Lo, who froze under the weight of his spirit. The servant's eyes betrayed no fear, but the Beast King could smell it.

  "Young man," he whispered to the wrinkled, white-bearded servant, his voice low and menacing, "you will treat me with respect. I have eaten more salt than you have rice." The words sunk into Old Man Lo's bones, setting off a shiver down his spine.

  "Please, let him go, Beast King," Charity interjected, her voice calm but firm. She did not make an effort to stop the Heral's working. "I still have use for him."

  The Beast King smirked, keeping his focus on the servant, sensing the man was cycling to stop himself from shaking.

  "Kids these days," he quipped, glancing at Charity. "They forget how to treat their elders." With that, he released Old Man Lo, who collapsed onto the floor.

  "Get our guest some refreshments, Lo," Charity ordered.

  The servant scrambled to his feet and bowed. "Yes, mistress." He added an abrupt bow to the Beast King before retreating.

  Once Old Man Lo had left the room, Charity turned to the Beast King. "Was that necessary?" she asked.

  The Beast King shrugged and dug into the meat with his hands, grease dribbling onto his beard. "It's important to keep the younger generation's ego in check," he replied, uninterested in providing further explanation. The food was simply too delightful.

  "Want one?" he offered, extending a tomahawk toward Charity.

  "I've had my fill," she declined, shaking her head. "I invited you here on behalf of the Akura Clan."

  He ignored her and took another hearty bite, knowing she would get to the point eventually.

  "It's about your golds," she continued.

  "What about them?" he mumbled, his voice muffled by meat.

  With a flick of her hand, Charity opened the door, revealing the servant carrying a cup. She utilised wind aura to pluck it from his grasp before handing it to the Beast King. A wave of her arm shut the door in front of the servant. The Beast King caught the cup, activating its scripts, causing water to rise from the bottom.

  "My grandmother has ordered me to include your golds in an upcoming event I'm organizing to raise new Underlords for the tournament," she explained.

  The Beast King nodded as he sipped the water, careful to keep his emotions in check. Northstrider was more eager than he had previously suggested during their last meeting—he hadn't even waited for the golds to finish with Ghostwater.

  "My grandmother was impressed when you sent the Bleeding Phoenix after the dragons," Charity continued. "But I wasn't," she added dryly. "The dragons blame us for it and have ramped up their attacks on our territory because of your actions."

  A toothy grin appeared on the Beast King's face. "I was just defending the Wastelands," he replied sarcastically.

  Charity's expression remained inscrutable. "We have allied ourselves with your Monarch of the Wastelands."

  Not my Monarch , the Beast King thought but chose not to correct her.

  "Thus, our interests align. I have agreed to allow your golds to attend my event. But—"

  She paused, and a disturbance rippled through the pocket world.

  "It seems we have unexpected arrivals," the Beast King said with a smile, enjoying the unpredictability. "One of yours, I believe."

  "A vassal," Charity confirmed, her tone shifting as darkness enveloped the space.

  As she activated her mind space, darkness consumed the world, and representatives from the other factions that had arrived on the island appeared within it.

  "What is the meaning of this, Charity?" hissed Xhorus, Herald of the Gold Dragons.

  "They are from a backwater vassal state. We did not permit them to participate," Charity replied. "I will remove them."

  "I say let them stay," The Beast King interjected, getting straight to the point. "What, a low gold and two weak Truegolds?"

  "We have altered the rules for you by allowing the cripple to enter," groaned an old corpse—the Blood Sage. "But he is bound by the rules. Hers are not," he pointed a wrinkled finger at the Sage of Silver Heart.

  Xhorus smiled as she realized the uninvited guests were weak and merely a vassal of the Akuras. "I agree with The Beast King. If my niece is so weak that a backwater vassal poses a threat, then she will prove herself a failure."

  Moments later, they all felt the Jade doorway to Ghostwater crumble.

  Xhorus cackled. "More for our golds."

  The Blood Sage chewed on his bloody fingers, deep in thought. "Agreed," he finally grumbled.

  The Beast King nodded, and the mindscape dispersed. He found himself back in his cushioned chair, resuming his meal.

  "As I was saying," Charity continued, picking up from her earlier conversation without a second thought about the distraction, "I have agreed to help your golds—"

  "But?" The Beast King interjected between bites.

  "I want a favour in return," Charity concluded.

  The Beast King took another gulp from his cup, clearly not one to give favours easily. "Name it, and I'll see if I'm willing to help," he said.

  "The heir to the Akura clan is on the island," Charity replied.

  The Beast King raised an eyebrow in response.

  "Our enemies will seek to take the opportunity to eliminate her. In return, I would like you to protect her while she remains on the island. At least from those of higher advancement," Charity explained.

  He ran a finger through his greasy beard. "And why can't you protect her yourself?" he asked.

  "The Akura clan is barred from providing her with any aid," Charity replied.

  "But I am not," the Beast King nodded. He did not feel the need to inquire about the politics within the Akura clan; this was a straightforward request.

  "She will remain under my protection while on the island," he agreed.

  Charity nodded. "I look forward to seeing your disciples' capabilities."

  So she was aware, the Beast King thought. Ziel's servants were not actual servants. He grabbed a plate of meat with one hand. "Are we done then?"

  The Sage nodded. "We are." She snapped her fingers and opened a portal.

  The Beast King stepped through it. He hated portal transport, but he respected its convenience. He emerged in the middle of a forest, with the Wasteland cloudships nearby.

  Ellie came running toward him, her eyes wide and mouth drooling at the sight of the meat. "Can I have some?" she begged.

  The Beast King looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "You don't eat meat," he pointed out.

  "No," Ellie shook her head. "But I can make the dogs bring me food with that," she said, salivating.

  The Beast King sighed and tossed two tomahawks to the baby elephant. She caught them, wrapping the meat with her trunk tightly. "Go on, then."

  "Thanks!" she exclaimed and began to run away.

  Ziel heard the ringing vibrations of a familiar handpan in his mind and sighed at the sound of The Beast King's signal for the start. He was already ahead of the Herald.

  "Yeah," he replied, wondering if the connection was one-sided or if the Herald could hear his thoughts.

  “Umm, Elder Zeal,” Whitehall said from behind. “Where are we going?”

  “Who was the Blackflame?” Ziel asked, ignoring Whitehall's question.

  There was a pause before Whitehall answered. Ziel looked around and noticed that the dragon and the Redmoon had left. The Akura boy remained seated, cycling on his boulder.

  “He was a disciple of the Heaven's Glory school. He is the one who told me about the incoming dreadgod,” Whitehall replied.

  “He is the Unsouled?” Sadi asked, her voice trembling.

  The quiver in her voice caused Whitehall to turn toward her. He noticed her hands were shaking, and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed hers. Her trembling stopped.

  “You alright?” Whitehall asked.

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “The Sword Sage disciple just brought back unpleasant memories.”

  “Sadi,” Ziel's voice hung heavy in the air. She realized he had stopped walking. He remained silent for a moment and sighed. “There's a habitat of madra aspects a hundred and fifty meters ahead. Lead the way.”

  Whitehall sensed disappointment in Ziel's voice but felt it was not directed at Sadi; it seemed like Ziel was disappointed in himself.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Yes, Elder Ziel,” Sadi replied and stepped toward the edge of the air bubble.

  “Are we going after the Blackflame?” Whitehall asked as he stepped next to Ziel, following behind Sadi.

  “If we have time,” Ziel replied. “We have our priorities.”

  “Everyone ready?” Sadi asked, her eyes fixed on the ocean beyond the bubble. “I think I can see it.”

  “Ready,” Whitehall said as he took a deep breath and held it.

  Ziel nodded.

  Sadi dove into the ocean, her eyes wide with a spectrum of beautiful colours— hues of sapphire, emerald, and amethyst. Streams of violet shimmered in the depths, mingling with the soft blues and greens, creating an ethereal tapestry of light that pulsed and swirled.

  She spotted the habitat Ziel had mentioned—a soft, aquatic green glowing bubble. She channeled waves of invisible light aura around her, feeling the vibrations as the light echoed back to her. This was a technique she had picked up from the anglerfish back in the sanctuary of The Wastelands.

  She brushed past a plant with translucent purple leaves. Surprisingly, the fish with large teeth avoided their path. She assumed they fled once they sensed Ziel's spirit. It seemed Ziel was the apex predator.

  She wanted to slap herself as the light waves bounced back to her.

  Whitehall swam peacefully through the dark waters, with Ziel's glowing horns being the only source of light guiding his way. One moment, everything was dark, but then Sadi threw a ball of golden light ahead of them. Whitehall felt his blood run cold as the light revealed a massive Serpent looming before them.

  The Serpent unleashed a blue blast from its mouth, aimed directly at them. "Sadi!" he yelled, but the water muffled his voice.

  Ziel's green glow vanished in a flash, and he materialized next to Sadi. He pushed her out of harm's way just in time. Then, Ziel moved again, appearing in front of Whitehall. He extended his hand, and a green circular script appeared. It caught the blast and the shield held firm.

  Whitehall noticed that Ziel was holding a giant hammer in one hand and wondered where he had gotten it. The Serpent stood tall and roared a challenge at Ziel. Without looking back, Ziel grabbed Whitehall's tunic and threw him at the Serpent. Whitehall felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as Meatball's talons dug into him.

  The Serpent opened its mouth wide, preparing to take in its next snack. Whitehall needed to think quickly. He released poison madra directly into the creature's mouth. Meanwhile, Meatball launched black feathers at the Serpent's glaring yellow eyes. As Whitehall drew closer, he was struck by the size of the creature's fangs; they were as large as his entire body. The creature clamped its jaws shut, but fortunately, Whitehall moved fast enough to avoid them. Instead, the Serpent ended up swallowing the poisonous madra.

  Looking back, he saw Ziel battling the creature. Green scripts accompanied each strike of his hammer, and the sound of each blow reverberated through the water.

  Whitehall felt Meatball flapping her wings and turned to face the direction she was swimming. Sadi was there, knives in each hand, gazing directly at him. She pointed two fingers toward her eyes and then gestured back at the serpent engaged in battle.

  Whitehall sensed Meatball signaling him through their connection: Distract .

  Ziel sighed as he fought against the Serpent. In theory, the creature was a Truegold, and despite his weakened spirit, Ziel should have been able to defeat it. However, he had lost his will to fight long ago. The only thing sustaining him was his desire for vengeance over the loss of his sect, but that fire had long since faded to mere embers. Now, he wondered why those embers were beginning to spark back to life.

  Whitehall's poison had begun to seep into the Serpent's spirit. The boy did not realize how terrifying his madra truly was. Unlike other poison artists, his madra did not merely poison the body; it infected the entire spirit. He pondered why The Beast King had chosen to grant him such a path, but Ziel would not question those who had assisted him without expecting anything in return.

  Ziel hammered the creature's jaw, sending it reeling back. The serpent roared back in defiance. Then, the serpent's eyes turned bright white, and it moved erratically due to the sudden blindness. The creature blasted blue breath in all directions, and Ziel felt Whitehall's madra enter its mouth. The serpent's attack continued to weaken as it ran out of madra. Ziel activated his enforcer technique and lept towards it when it became weak puffs of blue bubbles. The serpent must have been using an enforcer technique; now, out of madra, Zeal's hammer crushed its skull.

  ----------

  Sadi spat out salty water. Beside her, Whitehall and Meatball gasped for air.

  "Let's not do that again," Meatball said, coughing.

  "Agreed," Whitehall replied, still heaving.

  Sadi was about to respond when she paused to take in their surroundings. They were in a garden filled with exotic, rainbow-coloured plants that grew neatly along a stone path.

  She activated her perception and was overwhelmed by force madra. Ziel stepped through the air bubble, dragging a large black stone behind him.

  Sadi's eyes widened; it wasn’t a stone—it was a chunk of the serpent's flesh.

  "Where did your hammer go?" Whitehall asked Ziel, causing Sadi to raise an eyebrow in realization.

  Ziel stared at them disinterestedly, his voice slow as if he was straining with each word. "My Soulspace," he replied.

  "Soulspace?" Sadi asked.

  Zeal sighed, too tired to speak. "You'll begin to unlock it when you reach peak Truegold."

  He dragged his feet to the centre of the garden and dropped onto the stone like a sack of rice.

  "Pick two seeds from each type of plant," he muttered. "Then you may eat." He closed his eyes and began to cycle.

  "Yes, Elder," the two lowgolds replied, bowing.

  Ziel opened one eye. "Cycle the meat when you eat," he instructed. "Or I'll have to explain to the Beast King why his disciples died from eating." He closed his eyes again and returned to his cycling.

  Sadi was unsure if Ziel was being sarcastic, but she decided to be cautious just in case he was not.

  She looked at Whitehall and Meatball, saying, "I'll start from the left." She pointed at Whitehall and continued, "You can take the right." When she pointed at Meatball, the bird interrupted her with a yawn.

  "That battle made me sleepy," the bird chirped as she flew and landed on Ziel's head. She curled up into a ball and closed her eyes. "Wake me up when we're leaving."

  "Is she—" Sadi began.

  "No," Whitehall replied with a sigh. "She's fine. Just lazy."

  Sadi felt a sense of pride as she gathered the seeds from the plants. She believed these seeds would be planted in the Wastelands and that a monarch's plants would greatly benefit the forest.

  The seeds came in a variety of colours, shapes, and sizes. One short plant, with leaves as broad as its body, produced seeds no larger than tiny ants. In contrast, a small plant with even smaller circular leaves had star-shaped seeds.

  Some plants appeared to be fused from two different species, their upper halves displaying a bark colour distinct from that of the lower half. One such plant bore fruits, and Sadi made sure to collect them. Once her hands were full, she headed over to where she had laid their pack. Whitehall had already gathered a few seeds himself.

  She glanced at him; his mask caused her to feel a mix of pride and sorrow. Their eyes met, and he waved. Although his brown left eye was in shadow, she could still see it clearly. She waved back.

  The garden was small, and it didn’t take long for them to finish collecting the seeds. Once they were done, they sat next to the serpent’s remains. The serpent’s black skin had a stony texture, and the green meat emitted a putrid smell.

  "So," Whitehall began, scrunching his nose at the pungent aroma. "How are we going to approach this?"

  "Raw, I suppose?" Sadi winced as the stench from the meat intensified. She unsheathed her knife and carefully sliced a thin piece, handing it to Whitehall.

  He pinched his nose with one hand as he accepted the slice. "Not poisonous," he gagged, using his perception to assess the meat. "At least, there's no poison madra."

  Sadi cut a piece for herself, eyeing the green flesh warily. She brought it close, sniffing the acidic odour before recoiling slightly.

  "Well, no time like the present," Whitehall grimaced, steeling himself. He opened his mouth wide and stuffed the entire slice inside, using his hands to force his jaw shut.

  Sadi watched as his body tensed, then fell backwards onto the floor. His breathing was controlled, so she knew he was cycling.

  With a grimace of her own, she ate the meat. It evaporated in her mouth into gas but with the metallic taste of blood. Her tongue revolted, but she was unable to gag. Her eyes went wide as her muscles stiffened. She fell onto the floor like a training dummy.

  Her madra channels ignited with a simmering heat that coursed through her body and into her core. As she closed her eyes and began to cycle the madra, a black blur flashed overhead, but it was too late for her to react; her eye muscles had already closed, and she was unable to react to the sudden movement.

  Meatball sniffed the air with her eyes closed. Alongside the scent of the delicious serpent, she detected something different. She decided to wait until Whitehall and Sadi finished gathering seeds, as seeds made a delightful pairing with meat. Focusing again on the new scent, she realized it smelled like dragons, though there was a distinct human odour as well.

  Her instincts told her that the intruder was a lowgold, likely one of the gold dragon's servants. Although the intruder was attempting to veil their spirit, they did so poorly. Meatball wondered why Sadi and Whitehall hadn’t noticed the intruder yet. Through their bond, she sensed that Whitehall was unaware of the presence nearby. She recalled her mother telling her that humans had weak perceptions; they couldn't detect their surroundings as acutely as her species could.

  Ziel remained motionless beneath her, and Meatball sighed inwardly. She realized she would have to handle the situation. However, feeling kind today, she decided to allow the intruder to look around. Once they saw that there were no treasures here, they would surely leave—definitely not because she was feeling lazy or too comfortable. After all, Whitehall's hair was short, leaving little to hide under.

  The intruder stepped out behind a bush as Sadi's form fell to the floor. Their hand reached for the bag of seeds and the remaining fish. A flare of anger flickered inside Meatball. How dare this servant try and steal her food. Her feathers sharpened into poisonous black needles, and she shot at the intruder's back.

  They did not feel the needle sink into them. It evaporated into gas, not leaving a single wound. A few seconds later, the intruder fell to the ground, mouth foaming.

  Meatball opened her eyes and sighed. She needed to ensure that her food wouldn’t be stolen. Climbing down Ziel's grey robes, she waddled toward the bag of seeds. Sadi and Whitehall were still down; she wondered when they would finally wake up. Biting the strap of the bag, she dragged it closer to the meat. Drool gathered in her mouth; the meat and seeds smelled so good.

  Whitehall woke up with a jolt. His core had been buzzing like bees since he ingested the serpent meat. He watched his hands as he clenched and unclenched them, realizing that his forearms felt larger and denser with muscle. That meat was something else. He wondered how much time had passed.

  Across from him on the floor, he saw Sadi. He guessed she was still cycling. He thought about whether his Godkiller iron body made it easier to process the meat. His gaze was drawn to her bare arms, where veins and muscles rippled beneath her skin, pushing and pulling against the tissue.

  He saw that Ziel had now shifted to a cycling position; his eyes were closed and focused. Only after did Whitehall see a body clothed in white behind him near the bubble's walls. He recognised her as one of the dragon's attendants. Her skin was dark purple and wrinkled like her body had been consumed from the inside. Their bag was next to the body. And on the top opening, he saw Meatball's wing.

  Panicked, he rushed to the bag, calling out to the bird, “Meatball!”

  There was no reply. He reached through their bond and slowed himself down. Meatball was not hurt; she was satisfied and feeling a little mischievous. He checked inside the bag and saw the bird lying there. Her body was as stiff as a rock, but she was breathing. A smile spread across her face, and her belly bulged. Bits of chewed green meat decorated her cheeks, and not a single seed remained in the bag.

  Sadi woke up to find herself smothered by a fluffy cloud of black feathers.

  "Sadi, help me!" Meatball squawked in a panic. "He has totally lost it!"

  Sadi yanked the bird off her face, and Meatball flopped onto her neck, burrowing into her hair like a frightened ostrich.

  "What in the world is happening? Is he under the effects of a technique?" she asked, glancing nervously at the bird's progressively panicked expression.

  Whitehall's slow and heavy footsteps echoed through the bubble. She noticed his arms. They were more muscular and defined. He threw their bag at Sadi, and it landed on her feet. Sadi looked in. It was empty.

  "Someone devoured all our hard work," Whitehall said, his tone somewhere between calm and completely bonkers.

  "Meatball!" Sadi glared, her hands on her hips.

  The bird hid further beneath her black hair and did her best to blend in.

  "Where I come from," Whitehall paused dramatically, towering over Sadi and staring down at Meatball. "Black chicken is a delicacy."

  Sadi's expression morphed into a mischievous grin that could rival a cat eyeing a frazzled mouse. She tilted her head slowly, giving Meatball the kind of look that made him feel like sweets in front of a hungry toddler.

  "I'll fetch the knives," Sadi whispered, her eyes gleaming.

  Meatball sweated.

  Whitehall and Sadi stood over the dead body while Meatball waddled through the garden, gathering seeds.

  "Nothing," Whitehall informed, running his hand through the dead sacred artist's clothes. "I doubt the dragon would be far away. She wouldn't send her attendants out otherwise."

  Sadi nodded. "The dragon went after the Unsouled and the turtle. I saw them when we swam."

  Lindon felt a rush of warmth spread through his chest as the golden dragon's tail slammed into him, throwing him back onto the sand. He rolled to his feet almost instinctively, aware that the Path of Blackflame was meant to keep his opponent on the defensive. But now he found himself on the back foot.

  In a heartbeat, he ignited his burning cloak and dashed behind a cluster of boulders, weaving through the tall stalks for cover. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of a long strand of orange madra extending from the dragon's hand, a whip that sent a chill down his spine.

  Determined to increase the distance between them, he ducked low through the stalks and leapt agilely over the boulders, focused on evading the imminent strike.

  A man in white appeared before him and swiped at Lindon's feet. Lindon leapt over the kick, and his dream-well-enhanced senses detected two new spirits while airborne. A woman, invisible to Lindon's eyes, leapt towards the man in white, stabbing two knives into his chest.

  Lindon did not have time to thank the woman because a Silverfang Carp was rushing towards him from behind. He hoped she was friendly. His Remnant arm caught the Silverfang Carp by its jaw, and he was pushed back as the fish swam through the water aura in the air. His arm began to consume the Carp's madra, and Lindon fired dragon's breath into the fish's mouth.

  Lindon turned back to where the man in white was, and he saw Ekeri leaping over the servant. "Watch out," he warned.

  Three black needles of toxic madra flew through the air at the dragon. She twisted her body mid-air, dodging the oncoming attack. Ekeri turned to the unknown attacker when she landed.

  Lindon recognised the Sacred Artists. Although a wooden mask half covered his face, Lindon recognised his small stature and the brown rags he wore. "Elder Whitehall," he called out.

  "Behind you," Elder Whitehall pointed.

  Lindon turned and saw schools of Silverfang Carps swimming towards him with gnashing teeth. An invisible hand was placed on his shoulder, and he heard a sharp whisper.

  "Down, Unsouled," a woman's voice echoed.

  A pang of sadness flickered through his chest at the mention of an old language. He buried it deep in his mind. He needed to focus on other things.

  He lay flat on the ground and saw the Silverfang Carps changing their target. They went after Ekeri. When he looked at himself, he realised he was invisible.

  "Can you buy me some time?" he asked the unknown woman.

  "Yes, but not too long. She is a Truegold," the woman replied.

  Ekeri yelled in frustration at the oncoming fish and used her ruler technique of golden fire, incinerating the creatures swarming her.

  At the same time, Whitehall released a miasma of toxic madra, poisoning the water aura in the air. It weakened the Silverfang Carps coming for him, but they were beginning to overwhelm him. He began to regret not getting himself a weapon. Sadi appeared by his side, carving the fish into tiny pieces with her knives.

  Damn , Whitehall swore inwardly. Do not harm her, he urged the poison madra. But the madra did not acknowledge his command—not out of defiance; instead, it felt unnecessary as if it knew Whitehall's intent since the beginning— As though the poison was already aligned with his will.

  Ekeri screamed as her flames burned the last of the Silverfang Carps. Her eyes blazed at the newcomers. How dare they get in the way between her and her treasures.

  Unbeknownst to Ekeri, Lindon's eyes focused on her. The Void Dragon's Dance was as ready as it could be. He sent a tightly wound disc of blackflame aura at Ekeri. She pushed it back with her spirit. The Wasteland woman's technique must have stopped because Ekeri's head snapped towards Lindon in surprise.

  Lindon stretched a hand towards her and clenched his fist before she could unravel his technique. He unleashed the Void Dragon's Dance.

  Whitehall watched as a pillar of blackflame consumed the dragon. His eyes were wide as he stared at swirling black-and-red fire. Lindon's technique was not any normal flame. He felt the destruction aura empowering the technique. He watched in horror and astonishment as anything the flame touched disintegrated instantly into nothing.

  The technique lasted only a second but consumed everything around Lindon in a circle. Carps, stalks, and plants were completely erased, leaving only Lindon and sand behind.

  A figure rose, covered in black smoke. Ekeri was still alive, Lindon realised. Her clothes were burnt and smoking, and her scales were charred. Her eyes glowed gold as she snapped them open from beneath the smoke. She activated her enforcer technique and lept at Lindon, and her whip stretched outwards for his neck.

  Whitehall was the first to react, throwing a poison madra needle at the dragon. She did not bother to dodge, and the madra needles dissipated as they entered through her skin. Lindon caught the whip with his Remnant arm and struck her core with an empty palm.

  Ekeri's enforcer technique vanished, and her expression turned to one of confusion and disbelief before being replaced by panic. Lindon was sure he had the same expression as he tumbled back and pulled Blackflame. With what little madra he had left, he fired a thin line of dragon's breath.

  She fell on top of him, and her jewellery fell apart. Lindon shoved her away, pushing himself backwards through the sand. He tried to activate another dragon's breath, but a hand covered his view of the dragon. It was a woman wearing the same rags as Whitehall.

  "Finish her!" Lindon blurted.

  "She's dead," Whitehall's voice echoed through the now quiet bubble.

  Lindon shifted his head to see Ekeri. She was sprawled on the ground, unmoving, her face buried in the sand. As he looked closer, he noticed a hole in her back, and the scales on her body were black—too dark for scorch marks.

  "It took a while for my poison to take hold," Whitehall explained, looking down at the body whose scales had begun to fall off. "Truegold's bodies are tough."

  Lindon stared at the dragon's body, then his eyes shifted to the sand beside her. "Mine," he yelped without thinking, leaping at the jewellery pieces.

  Elder Empire

  Iteration requested. Asylum

  Date? Request Rejected

  Report Complete

  Mande was in the middle of storing her sweet bread, preparing for another day at the harbour, when she heard her neighbour's voice calling from outside her home.

  "Mande! Your son is back!"

  Her hands froze, the loaf of bread slipping from her grasp. "Malin has returned?" she asked, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, my son just came back from the harbour," her neighbour replied, her face alight with excitement. "Malin's returned with a fleet of twenty ships! His clothes are finer than anything we've ever seen, but they say his face is still the same."

  Mande's legs nearly gave out beneath her. For years, she had prayed and cried, begging the gods to bring her son back safely. Every night, she had lain awake, wondering if he was alive, if he was well, if he ever thought of her. And now, he was here.

  She dropped her basket, the loaves of bread spilling onto the ground, but she didn't care. Her heart raced as she turned toward the door.

  "Just go," her neighbour said, already bending to pick up the scattered bread. "I'll clean this up. Don't worry about it—go see your son."

  "Thank you," Mande muttered, her voice barely audible as she hurried out the door. Her steps quickened as she made her way to the harbour, her heart pounding in her chest.

  When she arrived, the sight took her breath away. The harbour was bustling with activity, and the docks were crowded with people unloading crates and barrels from a fleet of magnificent ships. And there, standing tall among the chaos, was Malin. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, his face more mature, but she would have recognized him anywhere. He was dressed in fine clothes, his presence commanding as he directed the crew and handed out goods to the villagers.

  Mande's eyes filled with tears as she pushed through the crowd, her gaze fixed on her son. "Malin!" she called, her voice breaking. "My son, it's been too long. I've missed you so much."

  She reached him and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. For a moment, she felt his arms encircle her, holding her tightly. But then, without warning, his grip tightened—too tight—and he pushed her away. She stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

  Confused and hurt, she looked up at him, her heart breaking at the rage and sorrow etched on his face.

  "You shameless woman!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the noise of the harbour. "How dare you pretend to be my mother!"

  Mande stared at him in shock, her mind struggling to process his words. Her son—her Malin—was looking at her as if she were a stranger.

  "Is this your mother?" a richly dressed woman asked, stepping forward. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp, studying Mande with curiosity.

  "No," Malin said firmly, shaking his head. "She's just a beggar pretending to be my mother. Probably hoping to profit off me."

  Mande's heart shattered. She opened her mouth to protest, to remind him of all the years she had spent raising him, of all the sacrifices she had made, but no words came out.

  Malin turned his back on her, his shoulders slumping. "My mother is no longer here," he said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. "She's probably moved somewhere else. Or..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

  The richly dressed woman placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure she's well," she said gently. "For what it's worth, I'm glad I was able to see where you grew up."

  Malin smiled at her, a small, sad smile that made Mande's chest ache. She watched in silence as her son and the woman walked away, leaving her alone on the dock. Her heart felt heavier than it ever had, even heavier than the day she had accepted that Malin's father would never return.

  As the ships began to depart, Mande closed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists. "Dear gods," she whispered, her voice trembling with anger and grief. "Show him the wrongness of his actions. Make him realize his mistakes. Punish him for what he's done."

  In the darkness of her mind, something stirred—a presence she hadn't expected. It seized her prayer, its grip cold and unyielding. Mande gasped, her eyes flying open as she fell back onto the ground, her body trembling with shock.