Whitehall watched the sky through the windows of his and Sadi's room on the Skysworn's main Cloudship. The room was a standard Highgold Skysworn accommodation, he was told. However, the door was locked from the outside, and two Truegold guards guarded it at all times. It felt more like a luxurious prison than a room. Lindon's group seemed to have found a peaceful solution to their confrontation with the Skysworns. They found him cycling alongside Meatball once the battle was over.

  Unlike the others, they did not handcuff Whitehall, Sadi, or Meatball with Halfsilver cuffs. At first, Whitehall thought it was because they were only Highgolds, but that would not explain why they did not restrain Meatball. The Skysworns simply asked them to follow and not create trouble. Lindon, Yerin, Orthos, and Mercy were separated from them when they boarded the Cloudship. Whitehall reckoned it was due to their status as Skysworn while he was from the Wasteland.

  Meatball lay down with her eyes closed in one corner of the room while Sadi cycled beside the bird; golden lights danced and collapsed onto each other before her, creating thicker and thicker puffs of smoke. The guards had forcibly entered the room when Sadi's technique created an accidental explosion that rocked the walls. Whitehall had expected the Truegolds to arrest and accuse them of attempting to escape, but they simply told them to be more careful and mindful.

  He quickly realised that the Skysworns were weary of him, Sadi, and Meatball. They tried to keep their distance from them and spoke neither respectfully nor disrespectfully when they had to. Maybe they feared Meatball; the bird was a Truegold, after all.

  He looked down to the lands beneath through the window and could not help but smile. He had flown before on Sacred Beasts and the Wasteland Thousand-Mile cloud, but both experiences were either freezing, or he had to focus on not falling. Now, however, he could relax and enjoy the view.

  He knew he should be cycling and studying his techniques, but he had always wanted to know what flying on a plane was like. This was the next best thing, or even better, he reckoned. A sight in the distance caught his eyes. The sky was dark, but the towering steel reflected the moonlight.

  "Meatball," he called out to the bird.

  "Hmm?" the bird hummed, slowly opening her eyes.

  "What is that giant white sword?"

  Meatball waddled towards Whitehall and climbed up to perch on his shoulders. Her eyes locked onto the towering sword embedded in the ground Whitehall was pointing at. "Some kind of giant sword, I guess," the bird answered.

  Soon enough, a faint ring of white light could be seen in the distance. Whitehall recognised it instantly—Samara's ring. Sadi," he excitedly called out to the woman.

  He must have caught her by surprise as a brief flash of gold light filled the room and disappeared just as quickly. Huh?" she asked after shutting her technique.

  Whitehall pointed towards Samara's ring, and Sadi's enhanced vision allowed her to see without needing to stand by the window.

  "Wow," she said, her eyes glowing gold. "There are so many more colours." Her gaze softened, and she saw a beauty Whitehall could not see. "And so much more."

  "What do you mean?" Whitehall asked. Samara's ring looked the same to him, albeit more faint due to the distance.

  "The invisible light," Sadi awed, her voice barely a whisper. There is a curtain that Samara's ring draped over the whole of Sacred Valley," she explained. Like a jellyfish."

  That prompted Whitehall to ask, "You can see invisible light?"

  "Yes," she replied, then shook her head. "Not really like that. More like sense it, like between using my perception and eyes," she struggled to explain.

  "So that's your home," Meatball pointed out.

  "Yeah," Whitehall replied. He wondered what the other school elders were doing now—if they had stopped his charities once he was no longer there or if someone else had continued them. He looked to his right and saw Sadi's eyes glinting at their home. Stars of white reflected off her gold iris.

  An announcement echoed through the construct on the ceiling. Arrival to Stormrock in forty minutes."

  "You should go back cycling," Meatball said to Whitehall. You need to do your fair share of hard work."

  "What do you mean?" Whitehall asked.

  Meatball looked at him incredulously. Identifying the poisons of our madra," she said as if it was apparent. "What do you think I've been doing all this time? Sleeping?"

  Whitehall did, and it must have shown either through their bond or his face because Meatball snorted and shook her head. Unbelievable."

  "Alright, alright," Whitehall replied, taking a seat by the wall.

  Whitehall closed his eyes and isolated a strand of toxic madra from his core. It carried the essence of a Wood Komodo Dragon's venom. According to the dream tablets he'd studied, the Komodo's saliva poisoned prey over time. But as he delved deeper into the venom's structure, he noticed a flaw in the tablets' description. The poison wasn't designed to kill quickly, like a snake's venom. Instead, it lowered blood pressure and induced shock, creeping through its victim's system until death arrived unnoticed.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  A weapon of inevitability.

  He tried to think of a practical way to use the venom but could not think of one other than sending a message, making sure the target died when they reached safety and into their master's or loved ones' hands. He reminded himself that this was not Earth. Sacred arts changed the rules. The venom itself may be weak, but it could become deadly with advancement. Maybe he could enhance the poison to kill the target whenever he wanted to once injected.

  "You're overthinking," Meatball chirped from his shoulder.

  Whitehall opened his eyes, his focus breaking. "What do you mean?"

  "The dream tablet Ziel gave you was poison-path, right?" the bird asked, her head cocked at an angle.

  "Right…" Whitehall hesitated.

  "But we're not on a purely poison-path, are we?"

  "No," he admitted slowly. "Our Path of the Atterist also uses life madra."

  "Exactly," Meatball squawked, fluffing her feathers. "The enforcer technique idea? Good start, sure. But—" She paused as if trying to untangle her own thoughts. "Never mind that," she shook her head. "Let's just continue identifying the venoms, and then we can take it from there. But don't forget the life aspect."

  Whitehall frowned, sensing there was more she was not saying. "How do you know so much?"

  Meatball fixed him with a look, her beady eyes narrowing as if he'd insulted her intelligence. "I've lived in the Wasteland my whole life. You think I just rotted in my mother's nest like some egg lump?"

  Whitehall raised an eyebrow. "You learned the Path of the Atterist?"

  "Not exactly," she admitted with a shrug. "My situation's… unique. I picked and chose techniques from all kinds of Poison Paths—whatever I fancied. Path of the Atterist was one of my favourites."

  Whitehall waited, sensing there was a punchline coming.

  "And?"

  "Not 'and.' But, " Meatball corrected, her tone smug.

  "But?"

  Meatball's gaze gleamed with the mischievous light of someone about to deliver something outrageous. "But ours will be better. Stronger. Deadlier." She flapped her wings for emphasis. "We'll poison and scheme our way to the top. Our Path of the Godkiller will be unstoppable! Even gods will tremble and beg for mercy before us!"

  Her laughter started low and rose to a maniacal crescendo, echoing through the room. Whitehall rolled his eyes as Sadi stirred nearby, cracking an eye open to see what was happening.

  "Meatball," he said flatly, waiting for her to stop cackling. "You didn't seriously name our Path after my iron body, did you?"

  "Of course not," she huffed, feigning indignation. "Your iron body was named after it. The Beast King botched the reveal, honestly." She waved a wing dismissively. "Now stop brooding and cycle your madra. Don't get stuck on what you could do with venom. Study its effects first, and the uses will come later."

  Sadi closed her eyes, focusing intently on her technique. She was starting to understand now. Whitehall had been right: light was not just a singular force but made of infinitesimally small particles far beyond her perception.

  She summoned a single particle of light, isolating it in her mind. Slowly, methodically, she peeled away its layers. Each fragment sparked golden bursts, like miniature arcs of electricity. The process was painstaking, demanding every ounce of her concentration.

  She felt a guiding presence as she worked—a force smoothing her path and illuminating concepts she could not articulate. Sunda's remnant. She was certain of it. The remnant's guidance was not instructional so much as instinctual, a deep, almost intuitive understanding coursing through her.

  Layer by layer, particle by particle, Sadi persisted. She imagined another dot of light and began the process anew. It was gruelling work, and the strain on her mind threatened to break her concentration. Yet with each attempt, she improved, her progress accelerating. The remnant's warmth reassured her, whispering that true mastery would come after her next advancement.

  But Sadi was stubborn. She wanted to master this technique first. She had done the same with her Blindingwrath—it had been difficult at first but became second nature through repetition.

  Her thoughts drifted as she peeled apart another particle. She lacked offensive techniques, an issue she could no longer ignore. She could fashion light into lances and arrows like the Skysworns, but she remembered how the Beast King scorned the idea. She recalled the dream tablet—the Emperor figure, forging towering pillars of black steel from light itself in the heavens.

  That was her goal.

  She did not need a dozen techniques. She needed one technique, one that would serve every need—striker, defence, enforcer, ruler. She envisioned herself wielding the Emperor's power, refining it into something uniquely hers.

  She snapped her focus back, her determination renewed. Sunda's remnant nudged her forward, but now she worked ahead of its guidance, her instincts sharpening.

  Fifty particles floated in her perception now, each isolated and vibrating with potential. Sadi clenched her fists together like how she would when bowing. The particles obeyed, colliding with explosive force. A shockwave erupted outward with a loud boom, but the wave avoided her, flowing harmlessly around her body.

  When she opened her eyes, the room was filled with smoke, dense as storm clouds. She squinted, her enhanced vision picking out a single speck amid the haze. Her heart leapt. The speck was not there before. She felt it, her madra woven through the dust.

  She had created it.

  "Yes!" she yelled, her voice bursting with joy. "I bloody did it!"

  She spun around, searching for Whitehall and Meatball, but the smoke was too thick. If not for her enhanced vision, her hands would be barely visible.

  The door to their room slammed open, and wind aura rushed in and pulled out the smoke. Once the smoke cleared, she saw two Truegold Skysworns holding a vacuum construct. It was a different set of guards than the last ones that had entered. Neither the man nor the woman looked impressed.

  "You're disembarking in five minutes," the woman barked, her tone curt. She snapped the door shut behind her.

  The Skysworn's reaction did not sour Sadi's mood. She turned toward the far wall, where Whitehall and Meatball stood pressed flat, their expressions a mix of awe and alarm.

  Both were dishevelled—Whitehall's hair and clothes coated in black dust, his breathing ragged. Meatball's feathers stuck out at odd angles, her beady eyes wide with disbelief.

  "Warn us next time, would you?" Whitehall gasped after a long moment, clutching his chest in an attempt to calm his beating heart.

  But Sadi was too exhilarated to care. She held up her finger, where a tiny speck of dust glimmered faintly. "Look at this!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement.

  Whitehall blinked, wiping soot from his face. Meatball tilted her head, her gaze incredulous.

  "She's lost it," the bird muttered.

  House of Blades

  Iteration Requested. Amalgam

  Date? Request Rejected

  Report Complete

  "Remember, Sangkuriang," Dayang said, kneeling to his level and gripping his small shoulders, "you must not go past the border." Her voice was gentle but firm, layered with the same warning she'd given countless times before. "And follow Mang. He'll guide you."

  Beside them, the large black dog let out a short bark, his dark eyes gleaming with understanding.

  Sangkuriang, however, let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms. "I'm six, Mama! I can handle myself." He puffed out his chest as if his small frame could prove his words.

  Dayang’s lips twitched, torn between exasperation and amusement. "Being six does not make you invincible," she reminded him. "You must still be careful."

  The morning sun filtered through the trees, bathing the forest clearing in golden light. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, the hum of cicadas blending with the rustling leaves. It was a beautiful day, perfect for adventure—but danger lurked in places unseen.

  Dayang and Mang had spent the last few years combing the forest, ensuring no sign of the Chained remained. The woods had been peaceful, quiet. Still, she could not shake the feeling that danger could return at any time.

  She took a deep breath. "And be back before sunset."

  "Yes, Mama!" Sangkuriang's excitement bubbled over as he bounced on his feet. He turned and took a step toward the trees, but Dayang pulled him into a quick hug before he could rush off.

  "Alright, just be careful," she whispered against his hair.

  Then, she bent down and placed a hand on Mang’s broad head. The dog’s fur was thick beneath her palm, his presence a comfort. "Keep him safe," she murmured, her voice laced with trust and quiet desperation.

  Mang gave a solemn bark as if promising her that no harm would come to the boy.

  With a final grin, Sangkuriang turned and sprinted into the woods, Mang trotting beside him, a silent shadow.

  Dayang stood at the edge of the clearing, watching until they disappeared into the trees. Only when the last rustle of leaves faded did she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

  The forest was safe.

  At least for now.