"This way," Sadi led the sacred beasts through the cave. She did not know where she was going; her only instructions were to take the sacred beasts' deeper.' Ellie walked next to her; the baby elephant was shaking with fear.

  "Are you okay, Ellie?" She asked, placing a hand on the elephant's back.

  Ellie yelped in surprise, jolting several lowgold and jade sacred beasts behind them. "Sorry, sorry," Ellie muttered. "You just surprised me," she said.

  "Apologies for startling you," Sadi said, keeping her eyes in front. "We're turning left," she said loudly, her voice reverberating through the tunnel.

  "How are you able to see?" Ellie whispered. "It's pitch black."

  Sadi could see that it was dark, but she could see nonetheless. She was not sure how to explain it. "I'm a light artist," she answered.

  "That makes sense," Ellie replied.

  Did it? Sadi wondered. Many elders in Heaven's Glory needed to manifest light when exploring the dark. Even she was not able to see in the dark until very recently.

  "What attacked us?" Sadi asked and she saw Ellie shivered.

  "The Bleeding Phoenix," Ellie whispered as if speaking a forbidden name. "A dreadgod."

  Sadi shivered slightly as well. "How were we able to hold it off," she replied.

  "No," Ellie replied. "That was only its bloodspawns. The Beast King and other Wasteland Heralds are facing the real thing."

  "Can they kill it?" Sadi asked.

  Ellie snorted. "As if. Have you heard about the dread war?"

  "No," Sadi answered.

  "Several Monarchs died the last time they tried to take down the dreadgods. The best we can hope for is to hold it back until it eventually leaves." Ellie inched closer to Sadi so that her belly touched the human's leg.

  "Can they hold them off, then?" Sadi asked.

  "Hopefully," Ellie replied, not sounding confident. "Last I heard, the Akura Monarch is helping. Even then, we won't know."

  —————————

  Whitehall walked lifelessly near the end of the line in the tunnel. His mind was empty, his legs only moving on instinct. Today, he had seen many deaths, but that was not what frightened him. What scared him was how the blood of the dead rose back up, not as remnants but as bloodspawns. And whenever a remnant rose, the bloodspawns devoured them.

  He tried to help whoever he could, but his iron body was not attuned to life aura. He could cycle and use life madra, but his body was designed to poison. His core was empty, and his millions of channels required him to exert more madra than would be necessary.

  He kept walking. He would endure it. He realised today how far they still had to go. One day, he would be stronger. Strong enough to kill dreadgods. Just not today.

  —————————

  The Beast King lay on the bed that had been provided to him. It was filled with soft, dried leaves and cotton. His entire body was covered with scripted bandages. All that was left was to light a fire, and it would be a funeral.

  "How's my apprentices?" He asked the only other person in the room.

  "Uninjured," Ziel of the Wastelands, formerly of the Dawnwing sect, replied lazily.

  "You know I am also including you," The Beast King snorted.

  Ziel shrugged. "I'm not dead yet."

  The Beast King sighed; that was the most he would probably get out of Ziel. "Are the two ready for advancement?"

  "Yes," Ziel replied.

  The Beast King had asked Ziel to prepare Sadi and Whitehall for advancement after the battle with the Phoenix. It seems they needed to move faster.

  "What do you think of them?" The Beast King asked.

  Ziel sighed. "Not much, to be honest. They follow my orders without questions and complete them to the best of their abilities. I don't like them. I reckon they'll dig themselves an early grave."

  The Beast King snorted. "If it helps, they want the same thing as you do."

  Ziel raised an eyebrow.

  "To kill the dreadgods."

  Ziel looked away dissapointedly. "That didn't help. Why take them in any way? They don't seem special. Do they have some bloodline abilities I don't know about?"

  "I have no idea," The Beast King replied. "I was just doing a favour for an old friend, but I have in good conscience that they'll greatly benefit everyone." His old friend had never been wrong before; he still owed them a great deal even if they had.

  "Everyone?" Ziel asked sceptically.

  "Yes," The Beast King replied. "Everyone."

  —————————

  Sadi walked tiredly into the room she shared with Whitehall, sitting on her mattress. Whitehall was by his desk, carved into the wall of their cave room.

  "More lessons?" Whitehall asked Sadi. He turned to look at her. "You're drenched."

  "Yeah," she answered. "Ziel wanted me to have lessons with this anglerfish. They live in total darkness in the deepest part of the waters."

  "You left the cave?" Whitehall asked. "How's the situation outside?"

  They had not been allowed to leave the cave in months and instead studied scrolls and scripts to learn more about their paths.

  "I didn't leave," Sadi replied, drying her wet hair with a cylindrical heating construct. "Turns out the cave runs deep enough that there's an entrance to the ocean."

  "And how was it?" Whitehall asked.

  Sadi touched her face, removing some of the slime off of it.

  "Yuck," she grimaced, wiping her hand on a towel. "Needed to put my head in a jellyfish so I could breathe. It was pretty cool, though," she continued. "The anglerfish have this special organ that allows them to produce light."

  "Wouldn't that attract predators?" Whitehall asked, turning back to read his scroll.

  "That's what they wanted me to learn," Sadi replied, undressing her wet clothes and drying them with the heating construct. "Apparently, the fish has a technique where they use invisible light to warn them of incoming animals."

  "Then why would they need to produce their light if they can use invisible light?" Whitehall looked over his shoulder at her. Surprised to see her state of undress, he blushed and looked away.

  "Oh, please," Sadi remarked. "Nothing either of us haven't seen before."

  That was true, Whitehall thought. Sacred beasts were always naked, so he guessed there was not much in the name of privacy to them. Their toilet was a hole in the corner of their room, with a water construct to shower and flush. Their Master had laughed when he brought them to the room Whitehall and Sadi would share.

  'When you are strong enough, then maybe you can have your own room,' The Beast King had snorted.

  Whitehall and Sadi should count themselves lucky. Almost all the sacred beasts shared rooms with dozens of others in the cave.

  "I'm just surprised," Whitehall muttered. "That's all."

  "Whatever," Said sighed. "And to answer your question, the anglerfish can't see in the dark. And their technique only warns them when a predator is moving fast. Maybe at higher levels of advancement, they can."

  "Interesting," Whitehall uttered. "I can see the benefits."

  "What about you?" Sadi asked. "What are you learning?"

  Whitehall slumped. "Biology," he said tiredly. "Who knew that poison artist needed to study about organs and diseases this much."

  "Sounds like a healer's study," Sadi uttered.

  "Apparently, it's more," Whitehall complained. "Most healers will just need to channel life aura to speed the natural healing process." He pointed to the pile of scrolls and recording constructs by the wall. "For me, though, I need to know everything. And considering how different animals have their unique biology. Well…"

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Sadi snorted. "I thought I had it bad. I wish they'd allow us to spar or train." She began to put on her dried robes.

  They were told not to train or do anything that would tax their madra channels to prepare their spirit for Jade. Neither knew this when they advanced to Jade in Sacred Valley. For them, it was always fight and advance.

  "Same," Whitehall concurred. "If only the other elders could see our preparations for Jade," he said sarcastically.

  Sadi chuckled. "They would insult us to death."

  Her laugh brought a smile to Whitehall's face. Months of fear of another attack and frustration had not been easy for them both. Moments of jokes were rare.

  "Thanks," Sadi said, still half laughing. "I needed that."

  The door of their room, a large circular rock, slid open, revealing Ellie. Sadi sighed inwardly at Sacred Beasts' lack of privacy and knocking, but she would not make a fuss about such a benign thing.

  "Hey guys," the baby elephant trumpeted. "The Beast King asked me to tell you he wants to see you both."

  "Thanks, Ellie," Sadi said to the elephant. "We'll be there soon." Sadi grabbed a bunch of tied-up seaweed from her pouch and tossed it to Ellie, who caught them with her trunk.

  "Oooooh," Ellie salivated, bringing the seaweed close to her eyes. "That smells good. Thanks, Sadi."

  Sadi pressed her fists together and bowed, she was sure Whitehall was doing the same. "Thank you for delivering the message."

  Ellie sighed. "You guys should stop doing that. It's bizarre. Look at me; how am I supposed to bow like that? Can you imagine the chaos among the Sacred Beasts if we have to bow like that, too?"

  "Apologies," Sadi said, continuing to bow.

  "I tried," Ellie sighed again. "Anyways," she trumpeted joyfully again. "Thanks for the snack."

  Sadi and Whitehall waited for Ellie to leave before straightening their backs. They looked at each other.

  "Master have not called for us in months," Whitehall said.

  Sadi shrugged. "Guess we'll find out why. Have you been wondering why he took us in?" she asked.

  Whitehall nodded.

  "Saving us was enough, but giving us an iron body and training us personally is a bit much," She added.

  "It is," Whitehall said. "The benefits have been evident to us. But I don't know how to ask him without causing any possible offence."

  "That's true," Said agreed, exhaling audibly. "Let's just go and see what he wants."

  —————————

  Whitehall and Sadi bowed with their fists pressed together to their Master. The Beast King had long given up on getting them to stop bowing every time they saw him.

  Whitehall's body shivered as he felt the Beast King sensing his spirit. He felt Sadi also shivering slightly next to him.

  "Good," The Beast King said.

  He was no longer covered in bandages as they had last met. He was back to his full strength. His demeanour had changed, however. Ever since the attack of the Bleeding Phoenix, The Beast King had looked and sounded more serious.

  "You two are ready," The Beast King said. "Show me your cycling technique."

  They both breathed in the pattern that they had been taught.

  Satisfied, their Master told them to stop. "Use this," he held a hand, revealing two identical parasite rings.

  They both wore the ring and immediately felt it harder to breathe, as if a great weight had pressed down on their lungs.

  "I want you both to go in your cycling rooms and cycle with the ring on. And make sure to keep your perception out," The Beast King ordered.

  "Master, is this what I think it is?" Sadi asked the question that Whitehall had also wanted to ask.

  For the first time, The Beast King grinned. "Yes. You both are advancing to Jade."

  —————————

  The Beast King sat at the opening of a vast root, entwined with the ancient life force of the thousand-year-old Menhua tree. Its gnarled, silver-barked tendrils reached skyward, whispering stories of centuries past. Sunlight filtered through its emerald canopy, casting dappled patterns across the ground where sacred beasts and offspring gathered in sombre silence.

  "You should not have fought," he muttered, his voice cracking.

  His words felt small—like a child throwing a tantrum. He clenched the earth beneath him, knuckles white, feeling the pulse of life deep within the roots. This place had the strongest concentration of life aura in The Wasteland. Yet it was not enough.

  In front of him lay Sunda, the once-majestic golden bird now faded and frail. The ethereal glow of his feathers dimmed like a sunset retreating beneath a storm cloud. Around them, sacred beasts on the path of life stood solemn, their eyes reflecting the weight of an impending loss.

  "Come here, King," Sunda's voice broke through the air, warm and commanding, yet softer than the Beast King had ever heard. Only Sunda ever called him by that name. It was not the title the world knew but the name of a promise, an identity forged in his despair.

  He approached, each step feeling heavier, each moment stretched out in a painful eternity. His mind wandered to the night they met fondly.

  Broken, battered, and exiled, he was left alone in the wasteland to die. Instead, Sunda had found him, nursed him back to health, and taught him the way of the wastelands.

  "What is your name?" Sunda had asked back then, sitting by the boy's makeshift bed inside a hollowed cave. Her golden feathers glowed softly in the dim light, filling the darkness with her warm light.

  "Umm," the young boy hesitated, looking at the majestic bird with awe.

  "You may choose any name you want," the golden bird suggested gently. Her voice was soothing, like a lullaby in his unending nightmares.

  "Anything?" he had whispered, eyes wide with wonder.

  "Anything," she assured him.

  The young boy beamed then, hope igniting in his chest. "King!"

  Sunda had laughed. Her laugh rumbled like a distant thunder, yet gentle and comforting. "A bold choice."

  Now, the Beast King knelt beside Sunda. Her golden feathers, once a blazing sun in the wastelands, were now like autumn leaves, fragile and dimming. The bird reached out, a wing gently brushing the Beast King's cheek.

  "You've grown so much," the bird whispered. "I am so proud of the beast you have become."

  The Beast King could not help but shed a tear for his master- his parent in all sense but species. He would allow himself to shed a tear for her.

  "Did you know?" he choked. "Did you see this day coming? Did you know you would die?"

  Sunda's eyes softened. "We are never meant to stay in this world forever, my dear," the bird replied gently.

  "I can call for Northstrider," The Beast King insisted desperately. "He will help if I do him a favour."

  Sunda's expression hardened, and she looked up at the sky. "Never trust the current Monarchs. They poison us for their selfishness," the bird hissed with a ferocity that he had only seen once. "I would rather die a thousand times before I reveal myself to them."

  "I can't let you die," The Beast King clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "Not like this. Not from some bloodspawn."

  "That's where you're wrong, my dear," the bird said, closing her eyes in serenitiy. "I still have my remnant," she tried to joke.

  The Beast King snorted. He closed his eyes, too, feeling the fading warmth of Sunda's golden feathers. Memories washed over him. He remembered their lessons, the laughter, and the battles they fought.

  "How are your apprentices?" Sunda's voice brought him back to the present.

  "They're currently advancing to Jade," King answered. The realisation hit him, and he looked at his master wide-eyed. "You can't mean-"

  The ancient bird nodded, a knowing smile on her beak. "Let the girl absorb my remnant; we were always meant to be together."

  "You knew? That was why you sent me to save them," the Beast King muttered, the pieces falling into place.

  "Fate has always been fickle," the bird explained. "But this eventuality was set in stone the moment I was born in Cradle."

  "It doesn't have to be like this. You could bond with her instead."

  "Don't be sad, my dear," The bird brushed the Herald's unkempt hair. "I will never die."

  "And the boy?" The Beast King muttered.

  "I would like to see him first once he advanced. I would like to talk to him."

  ----------

  Iteration requested. Asylum

  Date? Request Rejected

  Report Complete

  "No! I won't allow it!" Malin's mother's voice rang out, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the stillness of their small home.

  Malin, now thirteen, stood his ground, his heart pounding. This was the first time he had dared to voice his dream aloud—to become a merchant, to sail the seas, to see the world beyond their village. But his mother's reaction was fiercer than he had anticipated.

  "But why?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of frustration and confusion.

  His mother's face twisted with emotion, her eyes wide with fear—almost terror. "Because," she began, her voice breaking. She hesitated as if the words were too heavy to speak. Tears spilt down her cheeks, glistening in the dim light of the fire. "Because... your father."

  Malin froze. This was the first time his mother had ever spoken of his father. All he had ever been told was that the man had abandoned them when Malin was just two years old. The rest had been shrouded in silence, a mystery Malin had long stopped asking about.

  His mother's expression shifted, her sorrow giving way to a simmering rage. "He said the same thing—that he wanted to travel, to become a merchant. And he never came back!" Her voice rose, raw and trembling. She jabbed a finger at her chest. "I took care of you! I raised you! I skipped sleep every night to make sure you had food to eat! I sacrificed everything for you!" Her voice cracked, and her face fell, the anger draining away to reveal a deep, aching sadness. "And now you want to leave me too."

  Malin's heart ached at her words. He stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "I won't leave you, Mom. I know how much you've sacrificed for me. I won't leave you."

  His mother's sobs grew louder, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate fear—the fear of being left alone, of losing the one person she had poured her life into. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and Malin rushed into them, holding her tightly.

  They stood there, mother and son, clinging to each other as the fire crackled softly in the background. Malin could feel her trembling, her tears dampening his shoulder. At that moment, he felt the weight of her sacrifices, her fears, and her love. And though his dream still burned within him, he knew he could never abandon her—not after everything she had endured.

  "My son," she began, her voice trembling as a single tear traced a path down her weathered cheek. "I only ask one thing of you. Once you've made your fortune, once you've prospered... please don't forget about your mom. I'll always be here, waiting for you."

  Malin had never brought up his dream again after that first time. But she had seen it in his eyes—the way he gazed longingly at the ships that docked at their village harbour, their sails billowing like promises of adventure. She had noticed the envy in his expression as he watched the sailors and the other village boys board those ships, their laughter carrying over the waves as they set off for distant lands.

  With a heavy heart, she unlocked the small wooden basket where they kept their meagre savings. From it, she pulled a worn envelope, its edges frayed from years of being tucked away. "This is some money I've saved for you," she said, pressing it into his hands. Her fingers lingered for a moment as if reluctant to let go.

  Malin looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise. His mother managed a faint smile, though her lips trembled. "I've cried many nights, wishing you would want to stay," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But deep down, I always knew this day would come."

  Tears welled up in Malin's eyes, spilling over as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "Mom," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I..."

  "It's okay, Malin," she interrupted gently, her hand stroking his back. She hadn't realized when it had happened, but her son had grown taller than her, his shoulders broader, his frame stronger. "You're an adult now. It's time for you to find your own path." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "A merchant ship at the harbour has agreed to take you on. The pay isn't much, but it's a start."

  Malin pulled back, his tear-streaked face a mix of confusion and hope. "How?" he asked.

  "One of their crew is an old friend," his mother replied simply, her smile bittersweet.

  Malin took a step back, his face breaking into a wide, radiant grin. It was the smile of someone who could see the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.

  "Just don't forget about me," she said softly, her voice cracking. "Come visit me whenever you can. That's all I ask."

  Malin placed his hands on his hips, his confidence shining through. "Don't worry, Mom! I'll come back as often as I can. Once I succeed, I'll take us out of this place. We'll have the biggest home in the village, and we'll even open a shop to sell our sweet bread!"

  His smile was so full of hope, so full of determination, that it made her heart ache. She had never doubted he would succeed. She had always believed in him.

  But now, fifteen years later, she cried herself to sleep every night, her pillow damp with tears. The house felt emptier than ever, the silence a constant reminder of his absence. She had let him go, believing it was the right thing to do. But as the years stretched on with no word, no visit, no sign of him, regret gnawed at her heart. She had given him her blessing, but she hadn't prepared herself for the possibility that he might never return.