The black and white blistering cosmic Ethra clashed against the yellow Ethra of earth in a cataclysmic display of power. Tunde pitted his entire might against the effortless strength of the beast, whose techniques morphed into deadly Sandshards. His essence flame wrapped around his Ethra strikes, allowing him to keep pace with the creature's overpowering assaults.

  A deep, mocking laughter echoed as their surroundings turned yellow with earth aura. The sand armor adorning the creature glowed brighter, amplifying its power. For the first time, Tunde found himself outmatched, the creature's mastery over its environment giving it an insurmountable advantage. He fought a two-sided battle: one against the creature and the other against nature itself.

  Aura-imbued sand transformed into razor-sharp blades that slashed at him, his Ethra sight struggling to keep up with the barrage of attacks. Everywhere he looked, yellow dominated his vision, the overwhelming strength of earth and sand affinity obscuring his sight. Despite the cuts and bruises, Tunde maintained his composure, throwing everything he had at the creature.

  Almost everything.

  Void touch remained his ace, but instincts warned him that revealing it would alert the creature. Dodging across the sands, Tunde shot towards the beast, gathering another Ethra strike in Midnight. The blade surged with a black and white aura, slashing through the air to crash into the creature's sand armor. A twist of his sword arm deflected an aura blade, wincing as it grazed his skin. He gathered Void touch in his free hand and drove it into the beast's chest.

  The sand armor shattered with an explosive crunch, the creature's eyes widening in shock. It staggered back, Tunde capitalizing on the opening. As the armor began to reform, Tunde thrust Midnight forward, aiming for the creature's heart. A stone arm intercepted the blade, both combatants locking in a struggle of strength. Tunde cocked his fist back, the creature's eyes widening in recognition.

  It summoned sand Ethra again, a massive sand fist materializing and glowing with earth energy. The fist descended with immense force, clashing with Tunde's own attack in a powerful explosion that sent them both flying apart.

  Ears ringing and spitting blood, Tunde's body struggled to dispel the remnants of sand Ethra, the relic absorbing the worst of it. The true beast fared worse, black blood leaking from its wounds as it fought to heal. Staggering to his feet, the sand armor dispersed in clumps around it.

  In that instant, Tunde moved, imbued fist ready to unleash another Void touch. The creature exploded in a flare of essence flame, forcing Tunde to retreat. He watched in horror as the flames morphed its humanoid form into the massive, true form of a Sandshard, a deafening screech filling the air.

  The creature lunged, Tunde barely dodging the razor-sharp pincers. It spat a glob of acid, some landing on his skin with a sizzling burn. Agony engulfed him, but he knew surrender meant death.

  Midnight still in hand, Tunde went on the offensive, his skin searing with pain as his Ethra sight flickered. The monstrous centipede attacked with relentless fury, its sharp mandibles snapping at him. Void touch covered his left arm, essence flame, and aura burning on Midnight in his right.

  The blade parried a slash imbued with yellow aura, Tunde weaving left as another acid glob shot from its mouth. In a moment of desperation, as the creature's legs pierced his stomach, Tunde drove his Void touch through its mouth and released it.

  The beast exploded like a balloon, the force ripping through its body. Blood and gore splattered as Tunde was thrown through the air, landing hard on the ground. He drifted in and out of consciousness, pain consuming him under the scorching sun of the wastelands.

  Time lost meaning as he lay there, until a shadow loomed over him. He felt his mouth forcibly opened and a liquid poured down his throat. Pain wracked his body, consciousness fading in and out until darkness finally claimed him.

  *************************************

  Lady Ryka stood at the imposing doors of the quarters where the imperial siblings resided. Keeping tight control of her emotions, she stared calmly at the two lord-tier guards standing sentinel, their cold detachment palpable. She knew they could cut her down in an instant if they chose to, so she kept her gaze steady, her hands folded into the sleeves of her robe.

  A brief flare of aura from within the quarters signaled the guards to part. Their black armor moved silently, allowing her to pass through into the opulent room. The decor had changed drastically from the bland look it had when Varis had occupied it alone. Now, furniture fit for a master, exotic tapestries hanging on the walls, and the sweet, soft smell of incense filled the space, exuding wealth and power. For once, Ryka felt the full weight of the imperial clan's influence. The aura in the room was rich with power, and even the crystalline clean water in a large glass container held enough Ethra for cultivation.

  Her focus, however, was on the two figures seated before her. One held a gleaming silver blade, while the other lazily bit into a bunch of grapes. She bowed deeply as she approached, maintaining the posture of humility.

  “This humble adept greets the master and Highlord of the empire,” she said softly.

  Varis, sharpening an unfamiliar blade with a whetstone, did not respond. Rhaelar Talahan, on the other hand, glanced at her, the master's mere presence enough to place a boulder on Ryka's chest. Her spirit strained under the pressure until Rhaelar's gaze withdrew.

  “You wanted to see us,” Rhaelar said.

  Ryka nodded sharply, bowing lower. “If it pleases the Highlord and master, I would like to present a proposal.”

  Rhaelar waved a hand, signaling her to proceed. “Unusual, but go on,” she said softly.

  Ryka took a deep breath, summoning her courage to meet those fathomless eyes of pure power. The master exuded such raw might that most would bow and grovel, but Ryka knew that showing weakness would undermine her cause. Steeling herself, she spoke.

  “I would like to formally request that Black Rock become an independent vassal sect of the empire,” she declared.

  Varis paused, surprise flickering across his features as Rhaelar raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. Then she laughed, a sound so rich and powerful that Ryka's entire frame vibrated. She waited for the master to calm down, wiping a tear from her eye before speaking.

  “Why in the hegemon's name would you imagine we would consider, let alone grant, such a ludicrous request?” Rhaelar asked.

  “I believe we could be valuable to the clan and empire at large,” Ryka replied.

  “Oh really? You and what cultivators? Your measly adepts and throngs of disciples?” Rhaelar chuckled.

  Ryka avoided Varis's gaze, sensing the Highlord's displeasure. She should have approached him first, but she knew Rhaelar would ultimately decide. The Highlord represented the empire's interests in the patriarch's absence.

  “The independent sects of the empire have the strength to stand on their own, having accumulated high-ranking cultivators and resources over decades, if not centuries,” Varis said darkly. “You barely have a lord to your name and a fledgling one at that. To call you a sect would insult the true sects of the empire.”

  Ryka chose her next words carefully. “All sects start from somewhere,” she began. “Yes, we are weak and may not match even the lesser sects of the empire. But we have survived and grown through the trials we faced.”

  Forcing herself to meet Rhaelar's gaze, she continued. “The clan has nothing to lose by considering us. In fact, they have much to gain.”

  “Enlighten me,” Rhaelar replied, intrigued.

  “While you may see us as less than viable, you wouldn’t want one of the greater clans or sects to take Black Rock as their vassal,” Ryka said boldly.

  A sudden quiet filled the room, chilling her to the bone. The master's full gaze fell upon her, causing her spirit to scream with strain. She crumbled to the ground, head bowed.

  “Sister,” Varis said softly.

  The pressure vanished, and Ryka dared not raise her head, fully aware of the danger she was in.

  “Adepts,” Rhaelar began, “insignificant worms playing at the games of Highlords. Do you presume to understand the empire's intricacies?”

  Ryka timidly shook her head.

  Rhaelar sighed, reclining in her chair. “You and your people are so uninformed, so ignorant of the empire's ways, that teaching you would be like teaching children.”

  “At least they learn quickly,” Varis added, his voice laced with disapproval.

  Ryka braced for the reprimand she was sure would come, but she had spoken her mind and would accept whatever verdict they gave.

  “Nevertheless, you have made an interesting, albeit amusing, and somewhat valid point. Look at me,” Rhaelar commanded.

  Ryka’s head lifted without conscious thought, fear ingrained in her bones. She stared at the lady's powerful form, her smooth skin radiating raw power.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Clan Verdan were fools, but they were our fools. Now, we are left with less than a shadow of them,” Rhaelar continued. “While making you a sect is tempting, the nature of your situation makes it nearly impossible.”

  “Not only do you lack the basic numbers to even call yourselves a sect, but you don’t have a Highlord. A single lord and a handful of adepts would fall before the might of a lesser sect with more lords and hundreds of adepts,” Rhaelar explained.

  “What they have in numbers, we can make up for in quality,” Ryka whispered, bowing lower.

  “You think you can face adepts of the lesser sects and triumph?” Rhaelar asked curiously.

  Ryka extended her hands in supplication. “One must try first before deciding,” she answered.

  “Very well then,” Rhaelar replied. “You will have your chance to prove if you are worthy of becoming a sect of the empire.”

  Ryka shuddered slightly with relief, watching the master raise one hand before speaking.

  “While I am impressed that you have gathered this much from the little knowledge you have, your people are sorely lacking in strength and understanding,” Rhaelar started. “The three lords that accompanied us represent the three greater clans with an interest in Black Rock. If you can match their adepts in a duel, then and only then will we consider Black Rock worthy of being recognized as a sect.”

  Ryka’s eyes widened at those words.

  “You will pick four of your strongest adepts to duel against four of their strongest adepts. Should you win three out of four of those duels, not only will you be recognized as a vassal sect of the empire, but I will personally reward you with affinity crystals and resources from my private vaults, to help with the growth of your so-called sect,” Rhaelar explained.

  Ryka’s heart soared at those words. Ethra affinity crystals aside, the chance at valuable resources from a master’s possession was practically unheard of. She saw the look of surprise on Varis’s face, the Highlord glancing at her dubiously before speaking.

  “And if they lose?” he asked his sister.

  “Well,” Rhaelar replied, resting her head on one hand. “They might as well be handed over as a gift to one of the actual lesser sects in need of extra cultivators.”

  While that was not a bad deal, Ryka understood the implications. They would go from being independent to being slaves again. She bowed low.

  “The benevolence of the master is truly profound,” she said, her head touching the ground.

  “There is so much wrong with the cultivators of the borders, so much knowledge lost that rebuilding the foundations would take not just resources but manpower. Should you actually impress me, I believe my brother here would be kind enough to become your patron, yes?” Rhaelar said, glancing at Varis.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Varis replied softly.

  “Great!” Rhaelar said, clapping her hands together. Ryka jolted, gathering her thoughts. “Then we are in agreement. I will inform the brats of the greater clans to prepare.”

  Ryka swallowed gently as she prayed to the hegemons for strength for her next words. “Esteemed master, I beg your indulgence to speak,” she said.

  Rhaelar paused, and Ryka regretted even thinking of the idea. “Yes?” she said lightly.

  “If it pleases you, what if we could increase the stakes?” she asked softly.

  Varis’s voice turned icy. “I apologize,” he said, and Ryka quailed, eyes wide, terror pushing through her system. “It seems I have spoiled them, perhaps a lesson is in order,” he added, raising one finger.

  Pressure unlike any other settled on the room, and Ryka crashed to the ground, unable to move a finger. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Brother,” Rhaelar said softly. Varis winced and nodded.

  “I apologize for that. My brother tends to put me in bad moods,” Rhaelar said.

  The pressure had come from the master. Ryka began to wonder what cruel fate had brought her before a master. Rhaelar smiled at her softly. “Go on,” she said.

  “Tunde, our lord, against one of the lords of the clans,” Ryka said.

  Rhaelar’s gaze darkened, and Ryka saw her death looming. “It is one thing to think you have a chance against the adepts of the clans,” Varis said. “It is another to go against their heirs.”

  Ryka said nothing, frozen as she stared into the master’s eyes, feeling herself shrink.

  “What are the terms?” Rhaelar asked.

  Varis turned sharply to her. “Surely you aren’t entertaining the thought,” he said, raising a hand to halt her.

  “If you win, what are the terms?” Rhaelar repeated.

  “Authority to absorb the ruins of Clan Verdan’s territories,” Ryka squeaked, “as well as trade with the empire at large.”

  “You will draw Black Rock into the eyes of the clans of the empire and their ire as well,” Varis said. “Defeating an heir of the clan would put you on their bad side. Is that what you want?”

  Ryka shut her eyes tight, finding it easier to speak that way. Without staring into their overwhelming gazes, she blurted out her words rapidly. “If we cannot prove our right as a sect, then we don’t deserve the backing of the empire.”

  Rhaelar sighed. “Very well then,” she said, and Ryka felt a pressure leave her chest. “It should prove an interesting decision; we will entertain your offer.”

  Ryka bowed low to the ground, then hurried out of the room as fast as she could. She didn’t stop, moving past the guards and those along the way, making her way to her quarters before slamming the door and crumpling to the ground, heaving heavily.

  Her heart pounded nonstop, and she gagged reflexively, crawling to the corner of her room as she shuddered. She had been in the presence of a master, a subject of their attention. A chuckle that sounded close to madness escaped her lips as she gathered herself, wiping a tear from her eye.

  She had done what was considered impossible. Now it was time to put things into motion. Their entire freedom depended on it.

  ****************************

  Varis watched the door close, the adept's hammering heartbeat receding before he spoke. "I have to admit, that was more than I thought her capable of."

  Rhaelar chuckled, crossing her legs. "Ignorance of status within these parts has created surprisingly resilient people," she replied.

  "She almost passed out from your presence," he said dryly.

  "And yet, many lords and Highlords would rather face shame than be the subject of my attention," she answered.

  He sighed, sending his soulbound weapon back into his void ring with a thought, a gift bequeathed to him by his uncle. "The heirs will take this as a chance to cement their authority, a show of power," he said.

  Rhaelar glanced at him. "You don’t think he’s ready," she said matter-of-factly.

  "Tunde? Hard to say, to be honest. He’s unique," Varis replied calmly, and Rhaelar waited for him to continue. "He doesn’t think the way other cultivators, especially those of the heartlands and capital, do. He views every battle as a death sentence. He’s been thrown into so many life-and-death situations that I daresay the best way to utilize him would be to send him to the borders against any infringements by the Technocracy."

  "Then he should have no problem against the heirs," she said.

  Varis shook his head. "What he has in sheer ferocity and strength, he lacks in techniques. Rudimentary imbuement and projection techniques are all he has. No dominion—he doesn’t seem to understand their nature. For some reason, he layers Ethra and aura over his weapons as if one won’t work without the other."

  Snapping his fingers, he added, "And he has essence flames."

  Rhaelar seemed impressed. "That early into his cultivation? Where did he learn that?" she asked.

  Varis shrugged. "My best guess would be blind luck from the heavens themselves. The way he attempts to sneak them into his techniques tells me he subconsciously realizes it’s something precious."

  Rhaelar dropped the bunch of grapes, speaking. "Seems like you have something precious in your possession after all," she said.

  Varis stared at her dubiously, not sure he liked the gleam of anticipation in her eyes.

  "Tunde’s raw power is undeniable," Varis continued. "But his lack of refined techniques and understanding of dominion could be his downfall. The heirs are well-versed in advanced cultivation arts and will exploit any weakness."

  Rhaelar leaned back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Perhaps this duel will be the crucible he needs. If he can survive the heirs' onslaught, he might just evolve into a true lord."

  "Or he could be crushed," Varis said grimly. "I don’t want to see him destroyed because of our underestimation."

  "Every great cultivator has faced trials that seemed insurmountable," Rhaelar replied. "This will be his. If he can overcome it, Black Rock will gain not just recognition but true power."

  Varis sighed again, rubbing his temples. "I suppose we’ll see soon enough. I’ll prepare him as best I can, but the outcome is uncertain."

  "That’s what makes it exciting," Rhaelar said with a smile. "The potential for greatness or ruin."

  Varis nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Very well. I’ll inform Tunde of the stakes. He needs to be ready for what’s coming."

  As Varis turned to leave, Rhaelar’s voice stopped him. "And Varis, remember—sometimes raw talent needs to be honed through fire. Don’t hold back his potential because of your fears."

  Varis gave her a curt nod and exited the room, his mind already racing with strategies and training regimens for Tunde. This was a pivotal moment, not just for Tunde but for the future of Black Rock. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but it also held the promise of unprecedented power and recognition.

  **************************

  Tunde woke groggily, blinking against the harsh sunlight piercing his eyes. Groaning, he gathered his senses, the taste of ash lingering in his mouth. He found himself in a cave, propped up against a stone wall, his body aching. Noticing Miria in a corner, shrouded by darkness, her aura flowed in wisps as she cycled her Ethra. Her eyes snapped open the moment he stared at her.

  "You're awake," she said softly.

  He said nothing, opening his void ring to retrieve a leather skin filled with vitality Ethra-infused water. Swallowing mouthfuls, he winced as his body stung from within. He washed his face gently, shaking his head. A figure stood in front of him; Tunde looked up into the red irises of Sera, wondering why he hadn’t noticed her before.

  The barbarian lady stretched out her hand, a glowing yellow core in it. Tunde glanced at her inquisitively.

  "You killed him; it’s yours," she said.

  Swallowing it into his void ring, he nodded, watching as she sat down in front of him and produced a knife. Her aura flared on it, and Tunde watched cautiously, his throat sore. She slit her palm, blood welling up before the cut sealed almost immediately, her adept-rank body more than enough to handle it.

  "You saved my life twice," Sera started. "My foolishness would have disgraced those who died so I may live. I owe you a debt unrepayable."

  The blood dripped on the blade, sizzling as she handed it to Tunde, hilt first

  "There is a lot I do not know about this kingdom or the world at large, but Lord Miria explained a little, and I understand just how weak I am," she continued. "So, I swear an oath, on my soul, that as long as you have this blade, I will be yours in return. A blade for you to hone and point at your enemies. I will follow your every command."

  Sera bowed her head to the ground, the blade still extended towards Tunde.

  "All I ask is that you take me along on your journey to grow stronger, so that I may repay those who have done this to my clan twofold," she whispered, her voice trembling.

  "I want friends, companions, not servants," Tunde said hoarsely.

  He didn’t bother cycling his Ethra, the pain in his heart was enough to discourage it. The battle had taken a toll on him, and he realized how much he had strained his Ethra lines. It was a reminder of how far he still had to go.

  Grabbing the blade from her, he pushed it into his void ring. Sera raised her head.

  "I don’t trust you yet, not entirely," he started, feeling Miria’s eyes on him. "But I understand your pain, and I feel it. Miria and I are probably the last of our people, as far as we know."

  "I will hold on to that blade until either of two things happen. The first is I get you revenge for what happened to you, or we become companions, and I accept your oath," he finished.

  Sera nodded sharply, but Tunde could see the relief in her eyes. He stretched and got to his feet, Miria doing the same.

  "You came back for me," he said.

  "You didn’t really think we were going to leave you behind, did you?" she asked.

  Tunde gave a soft smile before frowning. "He was strong, whatever that thing was, and he called itself a true beast," he said.

  Miria looked confused, and Sera spoke up. "True beasts," she said, drawing their attention.

  "You know of them?" Tunde asked.

  She nodded grimly. "Strong wasteland creatures that somehow began to gain human form, making them stronger. They were just stories to us, until they started leading those abominations against strongholds."

  Tunde frowned thoughtfully. "We need to get this information to Varis. Things are worse than we thought," he said.