Miria found herself chained within the underbelly of the sky vessel. Wrapped in heavily linked chains that glowed with inscriptions, she was situated in the middle of a purple-glowing formation. Her mouth was sealed shut, her movements restricted, and her eyes unable to pierce the pitch-black darkness of the room. Miria boiled with rage and tears.

  She had been foolish. They had all been foolish. To trust a member of the imperial clan, to assume Varis or his sister saw them as anything other than pawns. She had been sold to them, this Whispering Phantom Sect as Varis had called them, transported to a location she had no idea of on the grounds of her possessing something belonging to them.

  She attempted to struggle, a jarring thought as she remembered how adepts had subdued her. Adepts. The memory was as insulting as it was shameful. Two of them, clad in the same black fine linen of their sect, had woven through her attacks as if they weren’t there, reminiscent of her spars with Tunde. It had been a one-sided battle, and before she knew it, Miria had awoken in her current condition.

  It had been jarring and profound in her understanding of the cultivation arts of the greater Bloodfire. She had faced true cultivators honed to a finely lethal edge. Thinking back on it, Miria realized they could have killed her because while she had given her all, her umbral limbs lashing even as she struggled to pass through shadows that seemed to restrict her presence, the adepts had simply taken her as the perfect training dummy to beat down.

  She wondered about Tunde, wondered if he was alive and how he was doing, how they were all doing. It tasted bitter in her mouth that she wouldn’t be there to enjoy the fruits of their struggles, to see Black Rock become a proper sect of the empire, that she wouldn’t be there with Tunde. Breathing heavily, the inscription-covered linen wrapped around her mouth glowed purple whenever she struggled, slightly tightening much to her displeasure. She rested her back on the metal walls of the ship, feeling the thrum of whatever aether construct powered its engines.

  “I believe you’re calm now, yes?” a soft voice said from the pitch-black darkness as she snapped her eyes open. Miria saw nothing, struggling to have her lord realm eyes pierce the darkness, a futile gesture. She relaxed her posture, saying nothing, not like she could anyway. If this figure, who she suspected to be the same man who had appeared before her in front of the Highlord, had come again to speak to her, just as he had done before roughly abducting her.

  He appeared, this time without the black linen that hid his figure, stepping into the dim glow of the script formation that lit up the room a bit. Miria could hardly make out his features except for his absurdly pale skin and deep black irises with a pinprick of purple light shining from within them, giving him a haunted look.

  She stared at him with barely restrained hatred, somehow controlling her breathing to keep her head clear. The figure nodded, seemingly content with her current behavior as he stood relaxed in front of her, speaking softly. His aura was non-existent, like he wasn’t there to her senses, and yet, here he stood in front of her. Miria shivered just a little.

  "You are in quite the curious predicament, young one," the man said, his eyes seemingly boring into hers. "You are in possession of something of serious importance to us: the shadow crystal affinity you so greedily consumed," he started, as Miria said nothing.

  "While I understand that it was the spoils of battle, I seriously doubt you were the one who managed to bring down one of our acolytes, hence my curiosity," he said. Miria simply blinked at him in silence as the figure snapped his fingers. She shuddered as a figure seemingly appeared from the shadows behind her, her eyes widening in shock. Had he been there the whole time?

  The male figure, whose features were hidden, touched the linen binding her mouth. The inscriptions flared for a second before dying out as it fell limply away from her mouth. Miria sucked in a deep breath, licking her lips as she eyed the male figure at her side who stood rigidly, staring at her with cold indifference.

  "Although I must apologize for our manner of approach," the man in front of her spoke again, drawing her attention back to him. "We were short on time, you see, and with you behaving so unsightly, I thought it best to show you just what you’re dealing with," he said.

  "Hence the adepts," Miria replied.

  She got an aura blade to the throat for that. The black and purple aura technique sat gently on her throat without cutting it, so long as she didn’t make any unnecessary movements. Her eyes flicked to the figure whose aura was also non-existent, wondering what that was all about.

  "You will not address the Warden unless instructed to do so," he hissed at her.

  Apart from the fact that Miria seriously doubted her ability to take on the figure, who she was sure was lord realm judging from the potency of his aura blade, she itched to smash her fist into his face.

  "That is enough, Blade," the figure known as the Warden in front of her said, as the 'Blade' withdrew the aura blade without a second thought, standing rigidly again. "I believe I asked you a question?" the Warden said, seizing her attention.

  Instincts screamed at her that this was not a person she wanted to mess around with. The Warden gave off the same presence as Varis, but where the Talahan Highlord was a naked weapon of pure wrath and destruction wrapped into a being, this figure in front of her was an impossible weapon, one you didn’t see coming till you were dead—assuming you even knew what killed you in the first place.

  She nodded respectfully. There would be a time to test their capabilities; now, though, was a time for deference. She bowed her head to the ground even if it went against everything within her, speaking softly, "I greet the venerable Highlord," she said, as the figure said nothing, merely inclining his head in response.

  "It is true that I wasn’t the one who acquired it. It was given to me by a friend," she said softly.

  "A friend, you say? And who might that have been?" the Warden asked, a bit of curiosity in his tone.

  "The cultivator with the Highlord Varis," she replied.

  The Warden, with a perfect mixture of a black and white beard, rubbed it gently. "I see. The same cultivator who had a bounty on his head from the Brotherhood. Interesting," the Warden said. "Nevertheless, it was left in the possession of our acolyte, whom he killed for certain reasons, and now, it seems you owe the sect your life," the Warden added.

  Miria stared at him, his face a mask of calm. “Although for the shadow affinity crystal to be in the possession of a cultivator from Crystalreach, I wonder what you’re looking for, so far from home,” he asked.

  “Black Rock is my home,” Miria retorted, keeping her tone light, or as light as she could.

  The Warden gave no response, merely staring at her as if seeing through her. “You have had quite the experience, living so close to the wild creatures of the wastelands and facing an attack by the Revenant Sect. I wonder what that has done to you,” he said

  Miria noticed the Blade at her side twitch just a little. If the Warden noticed, he gave no sign, merely continuing his speech. “That affinity crystal was meant for someone else, someone... better,” the Warden said bluntly, as Miria felt a pang in her chest, a sort of pain she hadn’t expected to feel.

  “Better?” she echoed hoarsely.

  “You took something precious enough that I was sent out to retrieve it,” the Warden said. Miria could swear she could see the darkness behind him wreathing, as if alive. “And yet, I find it consumed, a precious item wasted on a broken vase,” he said.

  Miria gave no reply, shutting her eyes as she dragged out her Ethra, fusing it with her aura even as the chains around her didn’t budge, not even a bit.

  “It is futile,” the Warden said, his dead tone carrying just a hint of amusement. “A true child of the shadows would know better than to forcefully attempt to push her way through obstacles like the mindless drones of the Heralds,” he said, a hint of reproach in his tone.

  Miria growled, relaxing back before calming her breath, watching him. “What is to become of me then?” she asked softly.

  The Warden tucked his hands into the sleeves of his clothes in silence. “You should be dead, but I believe something could be made out of a useless, broken piece of pottery,” he said.

  Miria withheld a snort. “What do you mean, venerable Highlord?” she asked.

  The Warden spoke, his tone seemingly lazy. “We will see what you have made out of the remnants of the shadow affinity you so foolishly cultivated,” he started. “And should you prove to be more than a mindless beast of the borderlands like what I witnessed, then maybe you will be of use to the sect and empire,” he concluded.

  The Warden rose to his feet in silence, his footsteps making no noise as he stared at her. “You have until we reach the Hall of Silence to escape your chains and this room,” he said before turning away.

  “Or what?” Miria asked, gaining no reply as he merged back into the shadows. She turned her gaze to the male figure at her side and saw nothing but shadows.

  ***************************

  Eclipse Warden Rakan left the sealed chambers where their unwanted guest was chained, the door closing soundlessly behind him. He took two steps forward within the darkness of the hidden passageway of the sky vessel, pausing as he stared into the barely lit path.

  "You have questions," he said, his voice a bare whisper even as it moved through the passageway.

  "Of what use is a mindless beast to the sect, venerable Warden?" the voice of the Blade asked, materializing out of nowhere. Highlord Rakan frowned internally, making a mental note to berate the Blade for his sloppy appearance and aura-silencing technique.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Even a beast can be tamed, somewhat," Rakan replied.

  "The only fate she deserves is that of a shadow wraith within the Halls of Silence," the Blade said, almost rather forcefully. Rakan’s gaze shifted to the window, whose once bright glass had been painted a grey hue, revealing the sunny skies in an almost bleak look.

  Not even sunlight was allowed within the ship itself, the vessel near invisible to the naked eye from outside. Covered in runes of obscuration, it didn’t exist, except to the most trained of higher realm cultivators.

  "She should be dead, her kind—"

  "Are the business of the illusion weavers or mist walkers, whatever term they decide to go by," Rakan said nonchalantly.

  The Blade hesitated, and Rakan nodded. "Indeed, your thought is as mine; she is not worthy of my time," Rakan said. The Blade bowed stiffly. "That is why she will become yours to train," he added, as the Blade froze. "There will be no one better to show her just how wide the gap truly is between what she thinks cultivation is and the truth of the sect," he continued.

  Rakan saw the rage die out from the Blade's eyes as he nodded. "By the will of the Warden," he said, as Rakan left him there, seated and staring at the door of the room.

  *********************************

  The tiny insect-like creature crawled out of its shell, latching onto Tunde’s arm with its soft claws. Tunde stared into its seemingly innocent eyes, the tiny black orbs gazing at him with pure curiosity. He felt a slight tingling sensation at the back of his mind, sensing the infant consciousness of the creature touching his, as if trying to communicate.

  "It is said that the bonds between humans and beasts allow both parties to understand each other," Ifa said. Tunde glanced at the sentient arcanist.

  "I feel something," Tunde said, nodding. "Open yourself to that feeling then," Ifa replied.

  Tunde did so, feeling the budding presence seep into his mind. He could hardly explain it in words, doubting the creature understood the rudiments of speech. Instead, all he got was a feeling, one he found himself understanding almost immediately. "Hunger," Tunde blurted out, eyes wide. "It’s hungry," he repeated to Ifa, who nodded.

  "I will confess, I’m not familiar with what Ethralites consume," the arcanist said, as Tunde turned his gaze back to the creature. He opened his void ring, rummaging for any spare supplies he might have left after nearly running out during his travels in the wastelands. Tunde found a piece of dried meat, dangling it in front of the creature, who sniffed it before turning its head away.

  Tunde scratched his head, unsure of what to do next. "The crystals," Ifa said.

  "What?" Tunde asked.

  "The crystals. Any crystals. Bring one out," Ifa said.

  "Just because it’s made of jade crystals doesn’t mean it’ll eat crystals," Tunde replied.

  Ifa shrugged. "Can’t hurt to try, can it?" he said. Tunde shrugged and brought out an ordinary Ethra crystal, a blank one, one of the dozens he had within his void ring. The creature sniffed it with renewed interest, biting down on it for a second before making a weird noise between a grumble and a shriek. Tunde winced.

  "I’m guessing our picky friend here doesn’t approve of crystals?" Ifa asked.

  Tunde hesitated, allowing the jumble of emotions from the creature to prick his mind before speaking. "It’s not that," he started, pausing as he closed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "It’s like... it’s like it doesn’t like the flavor," he said, obviously confused.

  Ifa snapped his fingers, eyes alight as he spoke, "Imbue it with your Ethra," he said. Tunde responded, doing so as the reflective crystal took on a dark grey hue. The insectoid came alive, tiny legs wrapping themselves around the crystal as its mandibles latched onto it. Tunde watched with curious fascination as the creature seemed to bite into it bit by bit, audible crunching noises coming from it as it focused its entire being on devouring the crystal.

  "It seems you have a greedy Ethralite in your hands," Ifa said thoughtfully.

  "Is this normal?" Tunde asked. "Beasts who eat only items imbued with the Ethra of their bonded?"

  Ifa shrugged, eyes still on the creature. "I have no knowledge nor experience with Ethralites," he admitted. "But it’s not uncommon for bonded creatures to have unique needs and abilities tied to their bond. This one may very well thrive on your Ethra, making it stronger and more attuned to you."

  Tunde nodded, watching the creature finish the crystal. "I suppose we’ll learn together," he said, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the tiny being now latched onto his arm.

  Turning his full attention back to Ifa, Tunde spoke, “I want to get stronger,” he said calmly. Ifa, seemingly floating inches above the crystal floor, responded.

  “You want to advance to Highlord?” the sentient arcanist asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

  Tunde paused at the question, shaking his head slightly. “No,” he started, “not advance, get better—my fighting, my cultivation, my body,” he listed out.

  Ifa nodded along, a soft smile on his face, waiting for Tunde to finish. “Who I was and where I was when I first became a Highlord is different from who I am now,” Tunde said. “My battle art of the Asura is steadily improving.”

  “A poor choice of naming, but go on,” Ifa said disapprovingly.

  “Not everyone knows the ancient stories of whoever those Asuras from the other realm you mentioned,” Tunde said.

  “And yet, those who carry that title even now are among the worst of cultivators,” Ifa replied. “When we lost access to the Ark system, whatever that foul machination of the artificers was, I was able to obtain a fraction of the knowledge it held, stolen to the best capacity that I could,” Ifa said.

  Tunde’s eyes widened at those words. “How much knowledge have you acquired?” he asked. If Ifa had access to a limited amount of cultivation techniques and the like, as long as they were of high grade or tier, Tunde was about to become a walking powerhouse.

  Ifa chuckled. “Just enough to wonder what the other cults were thinking, allowing the artificers to create something with such weight of authority behind it,” the sentience said, rubbing his jaw.

  “What exactly is authority?” Tunde asked. He had heard the word thrown about carelessly, like it was a part of cultivation he had totally ignored.

  Ifa waved his hand dismissively. “You are two realms early to understand its workings,” he said as Tunde frowned. “Let’s just say it’s how most of the techniques of masters and above carry such weight behind them,” Ifa said.

  “And the knowledge you have?” Tunde asked again.

  “A bit here and there, the political landscape of Bloodfire, and more reasons why you shouldn’t trust the Talahan siblings,” Ifa replied.

  Tunde nodded. “I knew that already,” he replied.

  “Do you?” Ifa asked cryptically. “Back when our cult stood, there was no Talahan Empire, only the cults who shared the continents. And yet, here I see that not only did this Talahan clan wrest control of half the continent away from the Heralds, but they also have their own regent—a regent,” Ifa said, laying emphasis on the latter part.

  “Is having a regent a bad thing?” Tunde asked, confused.

  Ifa tsked, the blindfolded face frowning. “Regency isn’t something you obtain through cultivation alone; you don’t reach that lofty height by simply enlightening your way to it,” Ifa started. “To reach the realm of a regent, you must be able to touch upon something I cannot explain right now to you, a fundamental part of existence that—” Ifa said, pausing as if choking. “Stupid soul oaths,” he grumbled after coughing for a few seconds.

  “So that’s why you couldn’t reveal some things I asked about,” Tunde said with a dawning realization.

  Ifa rubbed his blindfold, seemingly breathing as if cultivating. “Do you actually need to breathe?” Tunde asked, confused.

  “Hush,” Ifa murmured as he took a deep breath, another action Tunde found odd. “What you are describing is balancing your cultivation stage,” Ifa said, the blindfold on his face simply vanishing, revealing a pair of luminous blue eyes. Tunde stared at them, almost enraptured.

  “Was this what his eyes would have looked like? Joran, I mean,” he asked Ifa.

  “These were the color of my eyes. Now, pay attention,” Ifa said. Tunde nodded, sitting up as a light squeak from the Ethralite drew their attention again. The creature stared at him expectantly, the crystal gone.

  “I believe our little friend wants more,” Ifa murmured.

  Tunde glanced around at the clumps of crystals all around him, getting up to break off a dark green one as Ifa spoke. “You think it’ll eat jade Ethra crystals simply because it came from a being made of one?”

  “That and because I’ll do this,” Tunde said as he forced his Ethra into the already filled jade Ethra. It became a greyish-green mix. Tunde gave the crystal, larger than the entire bulk of the Ethralite, to it. The creature completely unravelled itself from Tunde’s arm, wrapping its insectoid limbs around the crystal as it happily consumed it.

  “Already you spoil it,” Ifa said with a frown.

  “Better now than later when we run low,” Tunde replied.

  “You’ve made up your mind, then. You plan on leaving Black Rock,” Ifa said as Tunde turned to the arcanist.

  “How do you know that?” he asked, wondering if the sentience could read his mind.

  “You have the look of a cultivator who’s itching to explore the wider world and see just how far he can reach,” Ifa said, crossing his arms as Tunde sat back down on the crystalline floor. “Of course, most quickly realize that the safe bubble where they were the peak was far better than the somewhat lawless wild where they could be killed by just anyone a hair stronger than they are.” he continued.

  “And I see it in your eyes, the look of someone who wants to run away from his past... again,” Ifa said.

  “I’m no coward,” Tunde replied forcefully. He had survived despite everything the hegemons had thrown his way, clawing his way back from the very jaws of death over and over again, almost as if spitting in the face of the heavens themselves.

  “I said no such thing. Is that how you see it, young one?” Ifa asked softly. Tunde eyed the presence in front of him distastefully before speaking.

  “I liked it better when you were just a pile of writings on a screen,” he said softly.

  Ifa chuckled. “Somehow, I doubt that,” the arcanist replied.

  Tunde turned his gaze towards Black Rock, the shape of the stronghold in the distance like a black spot. “It doesn’t feel right any longer, staying here,” he said calmly as Ifa listened. “Thorne, Elyria, Joran, even Rhyn,” he said with a snort, remembering the upstart adept of Clan Verdan. Turning his gaze back to Ifa, he continued, “I feel out of place. Everywhere I look, I’m either being treated like some master or being used like a lowly disciple.”

  Tunde swallowed before speaking again, finding himself rubbing the crystal head of the insectoid. “I want to be free,” he whispered.

  Ifa sighed. “True power only comes with strength, Tunde. You of all people should know that by now,” he answered. Tunde nodded distractedly.

  “The scales of power and influence on Adamath swing either towards brute force or an incredulous amount of wealth. Some have one without the other; some, in the cases of the lofty masters and above, have both in equal measures,” Ifa explained. “You, though, are about to crush the scale,” Ifa said with a soft smile, drawing Tunde’s attention back. “Sit straight, begin cycling. It is time I give you but a taste of the inheritance of your bloodline.”

  A thrill rushed through Tunde. He crossed his legs, calming his breath as he cultivated his Ethra. “Our concept, the concept of the Void Walker or Cosmic Ethra, as I so subtly told you during my formative stages as a simple message on your screen, is one imbued both with the powers of creation and destruction,” Ifa started.

  The presence opened his palm, a black void manifesting before opening up into a starry place where Tunde realized, much to his surprise, was the location of his void space.

  Ifa nodded. “Yes, your technique, Void Space,” he said. “What you simply take as a little hole to store items is, in fact, a tiny rift realm you created unknowingly,” he explained.

  Tunde stared at it for a few seconds before speaking. “I created a rift,” he said, as if unsure of what he was hearing.

  “Indeed, you did,” Ifa said with a smile. “You are able to do, although in a tiny fraction of a manner, what masters and those within the higher realms of advancement bend authorities into nexus keys for,” Ifa said as Tunde’s eyes widened.

  “Now, do you understand the implications of who and what you are? The reason why our path is one more coveted than the rest?” Ifa said, as Tunde nodded mutely. “You hold within you the key to the entire power race of Adamath. The Mist Walkers or illusionists, as they are called now, would go to any lengths to either capture or kill you if they find out about you,” Ifa said gravely.

  “The other cults aren’t much different, and so, the power of creation is useless to you,” Ifa said.

  “What about the power of destruction then?” Tunde asked.

  Ifa smiled. “Now that, we can work with,” he replied. Producing a manual out of nowhere, the presence spoke, “How would you like to learn the battle and cultivation arts of the Void Devourer?” he asked Tunde.