Whitehall had always regarded policing forces with disdain, shaped by bitter experiences from his previous life. The Skysworn, however, were different. Their missions genuinely impacted the lives of Stormrock's locals and the residents of whatever city their base happened to hover over. He found a strange satisfaction in seeing grateful smiles from the people they helped.

  Of course, not everything was perfect. Nepotism ran rampant, particularly among those with ties to major families. But the Skysworn still did the work they were meant to do—helping the people. No task was too small or too large for them. From clearing sewers to dismantling organised crime rings, they handled it all.

  These jobs weren't destined to change the world, nor would their effects endure forever, but Whitehall found solace in their immediate impact. At least for now, he could do something meaningful.

  His relationship with Yerin, however, remained strained. Their conversations were rare, limited to curt exchanges. Instead, he spent more time speaking with Lindon, while Yerin seemed to grow closer to Sadi, likely bonding through their relentless sparring matches. Meanwhile, Meatball and Orthos had become inseparable, their whispered discussions the source of much curiosity. Meatball kept her silence, and Whitehall suspected Orthos was equally secretive whenever Lindon pressed him for details. The way Lindon occasionally stared at the dragon betrayed his frustration.

  Their first mission as a team had been to clear out an infestation of diseased sewer rats. By the time they arrived, the task was already done. Eithan, unfazed, simply pulled out another mission—this time, to handle a similar problem in a neighbouring village.

  Whitehall had used a poison derived from the root of a Zigar Ubi plant. The results were...disappointing. The rats died almost instantly, leaving him little time to study the poison's effects. He needed tougher subjects. Eithan's next set of missions—dealing with bloodspawn remnants or their enthralled victims—offered some hope. The chaotic energy of the bloodspawn made them resilient enough to allow for observation.

  In one mission, he discovered venom from a desert snake species that broke down blood with uncanny efficiency. Unfortunately, testing on humans was more challenging. Criminals and gang members who refused to surrender were his usual subjects, but the others always dispatched them quickly, unwilling to prolong their suffering. Whitehall understood, even agreed with their pragmatism, but it stymied his progress.

  Now, he knelt over the corpse of a Sacred artist on the Path of Wind. The woman's body had already begun to rot, though she had only been dead for minutes. He had poisoned the air she breathed, but it would have been more effective if he'd delivered the toxin directly into her bloodstream. He didn't yet have the technique for that. The long gash across her torso, courtesy of Yerin, complicated matters further. Her intoxicated blood had already started to eat away at her flesh. Without knowing her iron body, he couldn't determine how it might have influenced the poison's effects.

  He shook his head, banishing his thoughts. Memories of his previous life surged—of soldiers conducting horrific experiments on his people. He couldn't let himself become anything like them.

  "Elder Whitehall," Lindon called from behind him.

  "Hm?" Whitehall replied without looking up. Lindon's usual glaring expression always made it hard to read his thoughts.

  "I've been thinking," Lindon began. "You need live subjects to test your poison. Since my iron body was forged from Sandviper venom and blood—"

  "No," Whitehall interrupted firmly, echoing a tone Ziel often used. He sighed, aware of how frayed he felt. The pills Eithan had given him allowed him to stay awake, but they were no substitute for proper rest. He rubbed his eyes, dismissing the haze of fatigue. Rest could wait. He can sleep when he is dead.

  Eithan burst into the room, his pipe lit and a grin on his face. "I'm afraid I must agree with the Elder," he said, clapping Lindon on the back. "Using Whitehall's poison on yourself wouldn't help you build immunity."

  Lindon's shoulders slumped, visibly disappointed.

  "Don't fret, young disciple. Once you reach the Lord stage…" Eithan trailed off, leaving Lindon to fill in the blanks. The hint of future potential seemed to brighten the boy's mood.

  "Until then, then," Lindon nodded. "Elder Whitehall," he lowered his back before straightening it and nodding at Eithan. "Eithan, if that is all for today, then I'll be heading to dinner with Yerin at Fisher Gesha's."

  Eithan waved him goodbye, and Lindon left without saying another word. "It always surprises me that he puts you in such high regard," Eithan muttered out of Lindon's earshot.

  "Me too," Whitehall replied with a sigh. He looked down at the dead body with self-disappointment.

  Eithan clapped hard. "Let's not wallow in self-pity. Look at the bright side. You have identified most of the effects of this poison."

  "I am not wallowing," Whitehall drawled. "I am allowing myself to feel. It is easier to move on once you admit how you feel."

  "Spoken like a true philosopher."

  "How may I help you, Eithan?" Whitehall covered the body with the woman's cloak and stood up.

  "Actually, I am here to help you," the blonde man replied. "How often have you been using those pills I gave you?"

  "Every night," he shrugged. "Don't worry about the side effects; I had plenty of time discovering how to counteract the side effects."

  "Really?" Eithan asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Yep," Whitehall nodded. "All one hundred thirty-four of them."

  "That's brilliant," Eithan said, genuinely impressed. "But I think you've overlooked one side effect."

  "Which is?"

  "Addiction," Eithan said bluntly. "You've been using it so often that you forgot when not to use it. As I said previously, any weapon pushed too far will eventually break. There is no replacement for proper rest."

  Whitehall allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. "I appreciate your concern, Eithan. I really do. But now isn't the time to rest."

  Eithan gave him a conflicted smile, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Then do what you need to. But I want you to remind that you and Sadi upstairs have been sprinting faster than my students. And I push them hard."

  "The Beast King--"

  "The Beast King has pushed you from Copper to Highgold in less than two years," Eithan cut in. "Sadi had explained about your damaged lifeline to me, and I would've done the same if I were your master. However, you no longer need to keep moving at this pace."

  Whitehall gazed at the ceiling, his voice quiet. "This world is cruel, Eithan. If I can help, even a little, then I must."

  "It's a noble goal," Eithan said. "But a single night's rest won't stop you from helping others."

  "A single night's rest could be the difference between life and death for thousands," Whitehall replied, his voice firm. He thought of Renfei, the Skysworn woman who had died in Ghostwater, and how her death had been swept aside with no consequences. "I may not change the world, but I'll keep trying anyway. Someone has to."

  He began leaving but stopped by the doorway momentarily to look over his shoulder at Eithan, who was smiling at him. Whitehall did not know why, but he felt Eithan needed these words. "You're a good master, Eithan. And a kind man." Then he was gone.

  Eithan stood alone, smiling faintly. "Kind, am I?" he murmured to himself before turning to clean up the remnants of their work.

  A month later, Whitehall found himself journeying toward Blackflame City, the heart of the Blackflame Empire. The Emperor had issued a summons to all young Truegolds across the Empire for reasons that remained a mystery. As a Highgold, the call technically didn't extend to him, but Eithan's squad—aside from Mercy and himself—consisted entirely of Truegolds, and they had no choice but to answer.

  Now, in the stillness of the night, Whitehall sat in his quarters, bent over a desk cluttered with dream tablets provided by Eithan. He swallowed another of the pills Eithan had given him, their bitter aftertaste lingering on his tongue. Despite the blonde man's lecture a month ago, the pills kept appearing—like clockwork. Whitehall never even needed to ask. Somehow, Eithan always knew when he ran out. Every morning, a fresh satchel would appear at his doorstep.

  The current dream tablet shimmered faintly under the lamplight as Whitehall activated it. His vision blurred before the image of a scholarly debate flickered to life. A group of researchers animatedly argued about the Everwood Rattlesnake, a creature capable of consuming the deadly Moonblew flower without harm.

  "I'm telling you, it's this organ between their liver and large intestine!" a three-eyed scholar proclaimed, jabbing a finger at his diagrams.

  "You're wrong, as usual!" another scholar, wearing thick goggles, snapped. "That organ exists in other reptiles that die instantly from Moonblew flowers! You clearly don't know anatomy."

  Madra crackled in the air as their tempers flared, the tension threatening to ignite into violence.

  "They are not the same organ! Your research is flawed!" the three-eyed scholar retorted.

  Before Whitehall could see the fallout, the recording ended abruptly. He exhaled in frustration as the scene dissolved, his vision returning to the dimly lit room. Carefully, he placed the now-useless tablet aside, adding it to a growing stack on the desk. It was the eighth tablet he'd gone through tonight, and like the others, it was ultimately worthless.

  It wasn't that the dream tablets were entirely without value; the first hundred or so had been a treasure trove of knowledge. But now, they felt like the dregs of a well he had long since drained.

  "You should work on your enforcer technique," came a muffled yawn from behind him.

  Whitehall glanced over his shoulder. Meatball lay sprawled on the bed, and her wings stretched lazily across the mattress. A feeling from their bond caused Whitehall to raise his eyebrows at the bird. Meatball was still asleep; she was just sleep-talking. She had mentioned to him how he should work on his enforcer technique more diligently. He had taken the advice of course, it made sense. The different poisons he learned had helped him find ways to make changes to his body.

  "I'm serious. You don't need dream tablets," the bird muttered in her sleep, punctuating her words with smacking sounds. "Just test it on yourself."

  Whitehall chuckled under his breath, the bond between them pulsing with exasperation. Meatball had been encouraging him to focus more on his enforcer technique for weeks, and now, even in sleep, she refused to let it go.

  But she wasn't wrong.

  Despite all the knowledge he'd accumulated, there were limits to what the tablets could teach him. Theories and observations only went so far in a world where life artists could heal nearly any poison or injury with ease. Yet there were cracks in that armour of complacency— a poison killed a monarch. So, despite the lack of need for modern medicine, there were cases where their lack of it was exploited.

  He closed his eyes again and began cycling. He watched the grey boiling venom madra inside his core and isolated one of them at random. Eyeing the light green madra, he could not tell the source of the atter. Path of the Atterist, he was reminded why the path was called that way. Yet the name of the one he was currently on was incomplete. Life aura ran through his madra channels, yet he had not been able to isolate or pinpoint them.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  "Medicine and poison are the same," he murmured, reciting the words given to him when obtaining his iron body. "The dose of the poison makes the medicine."

  Eureka. He wanted to slap himself for forgetting the basics of his path. The reason he had been so blind to the life madra in his channels was because he always regarded them as poison. And that was because it was the same. Focusing on the isolated green madra, he decided to throw precautions to the wind. With a deep inhale, he injected the venom into his blood. Life and death were going to be his dominion, and if he was not willing to experiment on others. He will test it on himself.

  Two months after reaching Blackflame City, Yerin was flying again on a broad raft of clouds with the rest of her squad. She had not gotten used to wearing the armour, but after requesting some adjustments here and there, she was surprised to find how comfortable it was. Her movements were not restrained, and she appreciated always having a thousand-mile cloud on herself. Mercy also made some adjustments to her armour, removing the pauldrons to free up the movements of her shoulders.

  Still, it gnawed at Yerin that she wouldn't have been able to afford the adjustments if Sadi hadn't chipped in.

  Sadi had offered to help fund the alterations after Yerin threatened to rip the armour apart in frustration. At least she'd been more gracious in accepting the gift than Mercy. Yerin smirked at the memory. The Akura heir had stubbornly refused the idea of a gift, not realising she was terrifying the Soulsmith to the point that Yerin had to physically restrain her.

  Now, perched on the Cloudraft, Yerin tried to focus on cycling her madra, ignoring the high-speed wind battering her face. Her Bloodshadow stirred within her, a sensation that could only mean two things. The first was unlikely—Lindon was cycling on the cloud behind them. Cracking one eye open, she confirmed the second possibility: Sadi was seated nearby, gazing at the landscape below.

  "Warn me when you're about to come close, will you?" Yerin muttered, turning toward her.

  Sadi blinked, looking over her shoulder. "What?"

  "My Bloodshadow stirs whenever you're around."

  "Huh," Sadi said, raising a curious eyebrow.

  "Don't ask me why. The monster's got a mind of its own," Yerin grumbled, gesturing toward her core. The Bloodshadow twisted in protest at her words, and she clenched her will to push it back into place. "That's enough," she spat, annoyed.

  "You should try being nicer to her," Sadi said with a shrug, returning her gaze to the horizon.

  "Her?" Yerin exclaimed, incredulous. "That monster killed my family! I'd bet my soul it'd eat every one of you if I let it off its leash."

  Sadi didn't flinch. "You're a Truegold now, aren't you? The Redmoon artist in Ghostwater didn't seem to have trouble controlling her Bloodshadow."

  Yerin bristled at the comparison, watching Sadi's hair flutter in the wind.

  "How would you feel if someone kept a boot on your neck?" Sadi finally asked.

  Yerin huffed, crossing her arms. "Bleed and bury me. Did Eithan put you up to this?"

  Sadi shook her head. "No. It just seemed obvious. Your Bloodshadow didn't wake up until recently, right? Why blame her for something she didn't even know she'd done?"

  Yerin's knuckles whitened, her Bloodshadow stirring again, almost in agreement. "Bleed and bury me!" she snapped. "You're sounding just like Eithan!"

  Sadi shrugged.

  "You want me to follow his plan, huh? Is that it?" Eithan had appeared outside Yerin's door one day, saying he needed to tell her something in private. Her sword arm had swung for his head when he suggested she strengthen her Bloodshadow. Eithan had dodged out of the way as he always does. She had refused his request as she should.

  "I don't know what Eithan's plan is," Sadi replied calmly. "I'm just saying you should treat her better."

  "What's got you staring so hard at the ground?" Yerin asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

  Sadi straightened, caught off guard. "Nothing," she mumbled.

  "Bored of us already?" Yerin teased, settling next to her. Their legs dangled over the edge of the cloud.

  "Never," Sadi retorted. "It's just… I can't shake the feeling there's more to Eithan's plan than he's telling us."

  Yerin snorted. "Yeah, we get that a lot. But he doesn't crack unless he wants to."

  "True," Sadi said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I've been trying to figure out my personal revelation for Underlord. Eithan said it's supposed to connect me to the world. I'm trying to narrow it down."

  Yerin raised an eyebrow. "You chipped in the head or what? You just hit Truegold four months ago, true?"

  "Has it been that long?"

  "Has it been that long," Yerin mocked. "Most sacred artists stay at Truegold for decades. Some never advance past it."

  Sadi blinked, clearly surprised. "I didn't know that. Whitehall and I advanced pretty steadily under the Beast King. We thought gold is nothing outside of Sacred Valley."

  "Steadily?" Yerin's eyes narrowed. "When did you two leave the Valley?"

  "Less than two years ago," Sadi replied, thinking. "We regressed to foundation soon after."

  Yerin looked at the woman with wide eyes and renewed respect. "You two are chipped in the head," she remarked. "Now, I get why Eithan said our training was soft compared to yours."

  "What do you mean?" Sadi scrunched her eyebrows. "We were hardly sent into battle until I reached Lowgold; even then, it was to scavenge rather than fight."

  Yerin felt like swinging her sword at the Beast King. It would not end well for her, but it would be worth it. Probably. "That's because you need to fight and have extra time to let your spirit settle at your new advancement. Even I am surprised to see your spirit intact, knowing you reached Truegold in that short amount of time."

  "Probably thanks to Ghostwater," Sadi mused, rubbing her chin. "Do you think my master knew about it and rushed us for that reason?"

  "Of course he did," Yerin crossed her arms. "Your master is practically Northstrider's lap dog. I doubt he hadn't had it planned this whole time." She needed to ask Lindon for more of the well waters he brought from Ghostwater. She wasn't jealous of their advancement. Why would she be? She just felt like she was missing out. "No offence," she raised a hand at Sadi apologetically when she realised she had just called the woman's master a lap dog.

  "None was taken," Sadi returned the gesture. She returned her gaze to the valleys below. "It is just that something happened in Ghostwater to Whitehall that caused him to change, and I am trying to figure out what he learned."

  "He wouldn't tell you?"

  " He can't. That's the problem," Sadi sighed. "Whatever he found out, he was forced to swear an oath to keep it a secret. But I am pretty sure my master knew the secret already."

  "What about Eithan? You think he knows?"

  Sadi looked at the blonde man standing at the lead cloud with Orthos and Meatball. The man's smile had not moved an inch since he called them and announced he was taking them to a special place.

  "I doubt it," she said. "But if he did, it would make sense why he keeps supplying Whitehall with that scholar pills. Whitehall sleeps once every few weeks, but Eithan kept reassuring me that he is fine."

  "Bleed and bury me. Every few weeks?" Yerin scoffed, turning to face Lindon and Whitehall's cloud. "Is that why his eyes look like a resurrected dog's these past few months? At least at the eye, I could see." She watched the large dark circle underneath Whitehall's visible eye. She remembered how red they were whenever he opened them previously.

  "Yeap," Sadi answered. "What about you? Discovered anything about your revelation."

  "Not even close," Yerin admitted. "Revelation is more complicated than I thought it would be."

  Sadi made a cheeky smile, "Have you asked her?" she pointed at Yerin's core.

  "I'll stab myself before it gets to that point," Yerin snapped.

  "I know, I know," Sadi smiled. "Care for words of advice?"

  "Why do I feel like you're only going to repeat what you said earlier?" Yerin replied, annoyed.

  "Because deep down, I think you know I'm right."

  Yerin sighed. She didn't know why, but Sadi had a way of getting things into her head. If it were Lindon telling her this, she would scoff, and he would leave it alone. Eithan, she would swing a sword at. Sadi, however, was different.

  "Fine, say it," Yerin relented.

  Sadi smiled sympathetically. The woman stayed silent for a while and to Yerin's surprise, the woman didn't repeat herself. Instead, she asked. "It's difficult, isn't it?"

  For the first time since her master passed, Yerin felt heard. Someone finally saw the unseen weight she had been carrying on her shoulders: her master's death, her breaking of his remnant, and the death of her family at the hands of the Bloodshadow that resides within her, whom now she was told to reconcile with. Her shoulders sagged, and she felt her eyes grow moist. She looked away, nodding silently.

  Eithan's voice carried effortlessly over the morning air, crisp and clear against the quiet rustling of wind through the grass. "We're setting down over there!" He pointed to a cluster of low hills rising from the surrounding grasslands, their slopes dusted with mist from the night before. He continued speaking, likely explaining something about the terrain, but the wind snatched his words away before they could reach the rest of the group.

  The morning sun had barely lifted over the horizon, casting long shadows across the land. A cool bite lingered in the air, the last traces of night retreating before the growing warmth of the day. The grass swayed in waves, rolling like an ocean beneath the drifting Cloudraft. To an untrained eye, the landscape looked unremarkable—just another stretch of open land. But something about it felt wrong. The stillness was too deep, the hush too unnatural.

  When they landed, boots pressed into the damp earth, leaving faint imprints in the dew-soaked grass. The moment Eithan stepped down, his gaze flicked toward the sky as if recognising something unseen.

  Sadi caught the movement and stepped beside him. "Do you know this place?" she asked.

  "Yes," Eithan replied, his usual cheer muted. Before she could question him further, he raised a hand, cutting her off. "Listen carefully. We don't have much time."

  At that instant, a black feather shot out of Meatball, slicing through the air in a blur. A distant shriek rang out as the feather struck an owl that had been circling above them, watching. The bird dissolved into a swirl of silver-and-violet smoke, its remains vanishing into the wind.

  Eithan didn't even glance at it. Instead, he continued. "A massive pillar of darkness will erupt before us in a few moments. Your instincts will tell you to run. Don't. Fight them and run into it."

  Mercy took a hesitant step forward, her grip tightening around her staff. "A pillar of darkness?" she repeated nervously. "How do you even know about this?"

  Eithan turned to her with his usual bright smile, but this time, it felt sharper. "See for yourself," he said, gesturing toward the empty field ahead.

  As if waiting for his cue, the earth rumbled beneath their feet. Sadi instinctively spread her stance to keep steady, her perception flaring outward just as a ring of stone towers and statues blinked into existence around them. The sudden shift sent a shock through her senses—however, she quickly realised there was no collision of light particles involved. She saw the faint lines of complex scripts running over the stonework.

  Teleportation?

  Before she could confirm her suspicions, a deep hum resonated through the ground, and then—

  Darkness erupted.

  A wall of pure shadow surged from the earth, stretching endlessly skyward, blotting out the rising sun in an instant. The air turned thick, suffocating, as if the very essence of the night had been ripped from the heavens and forced into this single, concentrated mass.

  Sadi's instincts screamed danger. Every part of her urged her to turn, to flee. Yet, at the same time, another part of her—a deeper, older part—felt something else entirely. A pull. A challenge.

  "I can't sense anything inside it," Whitehall called from behind her. His voice wavered slightly, but when she turned, she saw the determination in his one visible eye.

  "I'll take the lead," she responded instantly. "I should be able to see." I hope.

  Without waiting for a reply, she launched into motion, sprinting toward the pillar of darkness.

  To her left, Orthos was attempting to flee in the opposite direction, his claws digging furrows into the earth. But Meatball had a firm grip on his shell, and together with Eithan, they dragged the protesting turtle toward the shadows.

  Behind her, Whitehall's footsteps were light and quick, keeping pace.

  Whatever lay ahead, there was no turning back now.

  In the Seishen Kingdom, King Dakata stood atop the grand balcony of his palace, his gaze fixed on the dark purple sky above. The air was thick with the scent of impending rain, and the faint rumble of distant thunder echoed through the heavens. High above, amidst the swirling dark clouds, the Sage of Silver Heart floated, her presence commanding the attention of every soul gathered below. Her silver robes shimmered faintly, catching the dim light of the moon, and her voice carried an otherworldly weight as she concluded her speech.

  The Sage's piercing eyes locked onto Dakata's youngest son, Seishen Daji, who stood among the gathered elites. Her gaze was cold, unfeeling, and utterly devoid of emotion as she delivered her warning after finishing her speech. "I will make myself clear," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "If you face Wei Shi Lindon before you reach Underlord, you will surely die ."

  Daji's face twisted in shock, his mouth opening as if to protest, but no words came out. Dakata clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he fought the urge to stride over and slap some sense into his son. Daji was rash, overconfident, and far too accustomed to victory. The boy had never faced true defeat, having bested every opponent in the Kingdom at his level. It was a source of pride, yes, but also a deep-seated frustration for Dakata. Pride without humility was a dangerous thing, and Daji had never learned that lesson.

  Dakata's eyes flicked to his eldest son, Kiro, who stood nearby, calm and composed. Kiro was everything Daji was not—respectful, measured, and wise beyond his years. He would make a fine king one day, but his lack of Daji's raw talent was a constant thorn in Dakata's side. If only the two could be combined into one perfect heir. His gaze drifted further to the corner of the garden where Meira, Kiro's servant, tended to the flowers with quiet diligence. Even then, his heir still had his issues.

  The upcoming Uncrowned tournament the Sage had created this little qualification game for, however, was much more important than what he thinks of his sons. Being chosen to participate would open immediate new opportunities that would benefit his Kingdom greatly.

  So, before Daji could embarrass himself further, Dakata stepped forward, his voice firm and commanding. "Say no more," he said, cutting off his son's inevitable retort. "Describe this Wei Shi Lindon to my oldest son, and you have only to sit back and watch."

  The Sage's head snapped toward Dakata, her silver eyes narrowing slightly. The air around her seemed to grow colder, and Dakata felt a shiver run down his spine. "The Blackflame should not be your only concern," she said, her tone as icy as her gaze. "Traveling with the Blackflame Empire will be two disciples from the Wastelands."

  Dakata swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Had he overstepped? The Sage's presence was overwhelming, and even a king could feel small in her shadow. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect and submission. "Wastelands?" he asked cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper. His thoughts turned to politics. Was she about to order them to spare the Wastelanders? His sons would obey her wishes, but even the Sage must know how battles unfolded. If the disciples fell in combat, surely she wouldn't hold them responsible for—

  But the Sage's next words caught him off guard. "Kill them if you must," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. "And you will be rewarded for your service."

  Dakata's eyes widened, his mind racing. Rewards from a Sage were not to be taken lightly, but neither were her warnings. The weight of her words settled over him like a storm cloud, heavy and foreboding. He glanced at his sons, then back at the Sage, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy and caution.

  The darkness swallowed everything.

  Whitehall felt it seep into his bones, a formless, endless abyss that devoured sight, sound, and even the sensation of his own body. His Jade perception flickered uselessly, and his Copper sight—usually sharp enough to catch the faintest shifts in madra—might as well have been smothered under a mountain.

  He reached for the ground beneath him, for the familiar rhythm of his footfalls, but there was nothing. No texture, no sound, not even the resistance of air. If not for the rapid beat of his own heart, he might have wondered if he had been erased entirely.

  Yet, amidst the abyss, one thing remained.

  Sadi.

  She was a flicker in the void, a tether so faint he might have mistaken it for a phantom thought. But it was real. He could feel her—not through his senses, but through something deeper, something raw. A connection that existed beyond the physical, beyond madra, beyond logic.

  It was weak, fragile as a thread spun in the wind. But it was enough.

  His feet, unseen and unfelt, still moved. He did not know if he was running on solid ground or through nothingness, but he kept forward, driven only by the certainty that Sadi was ahead. That was all that mattered.

  House of Blades

  Iteration Requested. Amalgam

  Date?  Request Rejected

  Report Complete

  Dayang's knees buckled as she stumbled upon the scene, her breath catching in her throat. The sight before her was a nightmare made real. Her husband's body lay broken and brutalised, a grotesque mockery of the man she had loved. His right hand was severed, lying several meters away, fingers curled as if still reaching for something. His head was impaled on a jagged tree branch, the wood jutting grotesquely from his open mouth. His right foot had been placed atop his head, a cruel and deliberate insult to his memory.

  The forest around them was a wasteland. Trees had been uprooted, their massive trunks tossed aside like twigs. Others were sliced cleanly in half, their splintered remains scattered across the blood-soaked ground. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smell of torn earth. It was as if a storm of violence had swept through, leaving only devastation in its wake.

  Sangkuriang, her son, doubled over and retched, his small frame trembling as he emptied his stomach onto the ground. The sight was too much for him, too much for anyone.

  "Why?" Dayang whispered, her voice breaking. She fell to her knees, her hands clutching at the dirt as if it could anchor her to reality. Her tears fell freely, mingling with the blood staining the earth. "Why didn't you listen to him?" Her voice rose, raw and trembling with grief and anger.

  Sangkuriang looked up at her, his face pale and streaked with tears. "Mama?" he asked, his voice small and fearful. He had never seen her like this—her fists clenched, her eyes blazing with a fury that terrified him.

  "Why didn't you listen?" Dayang repeated, her voice shaking as her grief morphed into frustration, anger, and helplessness. "He told you to stay back. He told you to be safe, and you... you didn't listen! You—"

  Her heart was heavy with so many emotions, none of which she could process. In a burst of pure, overwhelming grief and rage, Dayang reached out without thinking. Her hand collided with Sangkuriang's head with a sharp crack.

  Her palm didn't meet his skin directly. It was the wooden spoon she had been holding, still gripped in her hand from when she had been preparing food earlier, that struck him. The spoon the back of his head with enough force to knock him backwards, reeling.

  Sangkuriang stumbled back, his hands flying to his head, wide-eyed and terrified. His breath hitched as blood flowed from the wound, and he looked up at his mother in shock, her face a mask of anguish. His expression twisted into one of hurt, disbelief, and confusion.

  "Mama…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

  Dayang's heart shattered at the sight. Her son, her sweet child, was looking at her as though he didn't recognise her. As though she were someone else entirely. The impact of what she had just done hit her like a storm.

  Dayang's chest heaved as she stared at her son, her anger giving way to a crushing wave of guilt. "Sangkuriang…" she whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out to him, but he scrambled backwards, his small hands slipping in the bloodied dirt.

  "Mama, I'm sorry!" he cried, his voice breaking. "I didn't mean to! I didn't know!"

  But Dayang's heart was too heavy with grief to hear his pleas. She took a step toward him, her hand still outstretched, but he turned and ran. His small figure disappeared into the shattered remnants of the forest, his sobs fading into the distance.

  "Sangkuriang!" she shouted, her voice raw and desperate. She chased after him, her feet slipping on the torn earth, but the forest seemed to swallow him whole. She called his name again and again, her voice cracking with despair, but there was no answer. Only the eerie silence of the ruined forest remained, a haunting reminder of all she had lost.