Elder Moros sat within his secluded room, built of the same smoothed wood as the training room. Dressed in his blue and green robes, he opened his eyes to stare lazily at Tunde and his team as they entered his abode.Cold yet inquisitive eyes watched them as he gestured for them to sit, even as they paid their respects. The servants and workers of their tiny vessel bustled around the ship, leaving echoes of footsteps everywhere.

  All were initiates except for the captain, an early-ranked disciple from one of the numerous lesser families that served the clan.

  Tunde had barely exchanged a word with the captain, who preferred to be heard rather than seen, the initiate workers shying away from him the moment they realized he was a high-ranking disciple of one of the outer families.

  It settled wrongly within Tunde, realizing they viewed him in the same light he had once viewed the disciples of the clan when he first arrived, Rhyn being the clearest example.

  His efforts to bridge that gap had fallen on deaf ears; the servants mistaking his attempts to bond with them as outright orders. Isolde had shaken her head at his efforts.

  "They would rather go unnoticed, no matter what you do. Initiates within the sight of disciples have never been a good thing," she said.

  "Think of it like this. If you make an enemy and they know you have servants or initiate friends but can't get to you, who's next?" she asked.

  Frowning to himself, he understood her point. The realization that he was sharing a vessel with the teacher of the very disciple he would soon face in battle was not something he could take lightly.

  Calmly watching the elder, Moros produced a silver disc, tapping its surface as white inscriptions blazed to life.

  The disc gave a faint hum, and the familiar features of Elder Joran, white blindfold and all, revealed themselves. Elder Moros nodded stiffly as Tunde, Isolde, and Draven bowed as well.

  "I trust you're doing well? No problems?" the crackling voice of Elder Joran said in greeting.

  Elder Moros sighed predictably.

  "None, venerable elder. Elder Moros has been of most help through our journey," Tunde replied, glancing at the elder, who ignored him.

  "State your reason for this call, Joran," Elder Moros said.

  "We draw nearer to the mines. We cannot afford our presence being found," he added.

  "With an ego as big as yours, I'm surprised they hadn't seen you coming from the moment you left Jade Peak," Elder Joran replied as Moros's gaze grew cold.

  "We do not have time for your antics. State your goal, or I cut off this communication," Elder Moros said.

  Tunde internally wondered why Elder Joran derived such pleasure from taunting Elder Moros, wincing at the thought that the elder might decide to take it out on him and his team in ways he would never see coming.

  "Relax, Moros. Believe me, you're going to enjoy my next words. Not so much you, Tunde," Joran said, growing serious.

  That drew Moros's curiosity as he stared at Joran. Tunde sat straight, a sense of impending trouble looming over him as he nodded.

  "The truth is, you three were meant to be decoys, scouts really. The clan expects you all to die at the mines, but die slowly enough that it would buy them enough time to muster the forces of the clan to come down hard on the Corespawns," he said.

  Tunde froze, unsure of what he was hearing, trying to find the hidden meaning in those words but coming up short.

  "Pardon me," Draven said, his voice hard as Elder Moros shook himself from his stupor.

  "But does the elder mean we were sent here to die?" he asked.

  Tunde glanced at Isolde. She was lost for words, her hands squeezed together in a fist, visibly trembling. Tunde took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he waited for the elder to continue.

  "Yes. In fact, Elder Moros here would not interfere the moment the miners are onboard the vessel. Odds are, he'd be happy leaving you all behind, especially you, Tunde," Elder Joran added.

  "You dare discuss clan secrets with mere disciples?" Moros growled, eyes alight with his lightning affinity.

  "I have the authority and permission of the two lords. Calm yourself, Moros. You have disciples watching," Joran said with a light smile.

  Tunde could see the look of smug superiority he had always attributed to Elder Joran, wondering what the elder had managed to arrange.

  "Why?" Isolde asked, her voice hardening.

  "What crimes could we have possibly committed to warrant such a cruel fate?" she continued.

  "Your lives are left in your hands," Moros replied.

  "Whether you live or die isn't as fatal as my fellow elder here would have you believe," he added, gesturing at Joran.

  "Oh? So you're saying you would come to their rescue when they inevitably fall upon the horde of Corespawns?" Joran asked.

  "What is this madness you're brewing, Joran?" Moros asked, turning his full anger on the elder.

  "Why would you place such weight on their shoulders before such a vital mission? On your own disciple, no less?" he added.

  Tunde simply watched the elders clash, seeing Elder Moros in a new light. It was obvious the elder disliked him, but had Elder Joran painted Moros in such a light that Tunde had never once considered whether the man was as evil as he had assumed?

  "Because I'd rather tell them the reality of their situation, both good and bad," Joran replied.

  "What good could come out of this?" Draven blurted, as Elder Moros glanced at him, eyes flashing.

  Tunde felt genuine terror at the thought that the elder might erase Draven from reality. No doubt it would cause irreparable damage to the vessel they needed to return home, but surviving in the first place was his first priority.

  The elder seemed to calm himself, Joran clearing his throat before speaking.

  "As I was saying, the good part is that I've been able to negotiate a reward should you survive, one that you would all be glad to hear of," he said.

  "And what could that be?" Moros asked cautiously.

  "A pathway to advancement," he said simply.

  "Explain," Moros said, eyes narrowed.

  "Well, seeing as they're about to walk into unknown dangers, the lords have decided that should they survive, as bleak as that sounds, House Dark Fist would have the honor of building its base within the area of the mines themselves!" he exclaimed, proud of himself.

  The entire room grew silent. Elder Joran turned his head, glancing between them.

  "Wow. I expected more happiness from you three," he said.

  "Not Moros though. I doubt he's smiled once in his life," he added.

  "What could you possibly gain from such an endeavor?" Moros asked.

  Tunde wanted to ask the same. The mines were reputably a passageway into the wastelands themselves, used by various merchants who landed on Bloodfire rather than take the long route to the other cities leading to the empire's heartlands.

  "Really, Moros? I understand why the disciples wouldn't, but you?" Joran said.

  Moros said nothing, simply staring at Joran.

  "And what were the terms of such a deal?" he asked.

  "Finally," Joran said, sighing.

  Then Tunde saw the true visage of the elder he knew, the cold and meticulous planner, as he listened to every word that followed.

  "Disciples of House Dark Fist, listen well," he started.

  Tunde watched Draven and Isolde pull themselves from their state of hopelessness, the elder's words somehow cutting through to them.

  "Your mission will be as follows. Within the limit of three days, you will find those Corespawns. You will do as much damage to whatever they're doing out there, and you will end their threat to the clan," he ordered.

  "Whatever means you use is not the clan's business. The eradication of those Corespawns takes precedence. Whatever you find along the way is yours, loot and all, no taxes," he ordered.

  Tunde glanced at Elder Moros, who said nothing, watching Elder Joran speak. When he finished, he folded his hands.

  "If those are the orders of the lords, then we will follow them to the best of our abilities," Moros said as the communication disc waned, Elder Joran's image cutting off.

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  Elder Moros turned his full attention to them, staring wordlessly for a few seconds before speaking.

  "Do any of you have questions about the insane manner of mission your supposed patron just placed on your shoulders?" he asked lightly.

  Tunde glanced at Isolde and Draven, who said nothing, perhaps still at war with the nature of the mission within themselves. Isolde raised her hand gently. Elder Moros nodded at her.

  "Venerable elder," she started.

  "Would it be possible to withdraw from this task?" she asked.

  Tunde restrained himself from glancing at her, understanding where she was coming from.

  "Oh? Does the lure of advancement not sit well with you?" Moros asked.

  Tunde suspected sarcastically.

  "Not when I'm not alive to see it," she replied.

  "And you?" he asked Draven.

  The large disciple glanced at Tunde before shrugging.

  "The road to advancement is paved with trials," he replied.

  "I've been an initiate all my life. Suddenly, he turns up, and I advance to disciple. Might as well see if the hegemons' blessings extend further to my destiny," he said.

  "I see. And you would willingly place your life in the hands of a wastelander?" Moros asked again.

  "Not necessarily, but if it leads me further along my path, then yes," he replied.

  "Disciple Isolde," Moros said.

  She sat straight.

  "Your request has been denied," he responded.

  Tunde heard the quiet glee in his voice. Elder Moros might not be as evil as he had suspected, but he was petty to his core.

  He watched the light die from her eyes as she turned to him briefly before looking away in shame.

  "Your patron has so willingly decided to throw your lives to the proverbial wolves," he continued.

  "Something the clan already decided to do," Tunde said, cutting in.

  Elder Moros turned his full gaze on him. Tunde cycled his Ethra fast, bracing for retaliation.

  "Me striking you would reduce you to a pile of charred meat," Moros sneered.

  "So no. I would derive my pleasure in watching you flail about down there in the mines. And maybe, just maybe, when you beg for my help, I might save your excuse of an existence, wastelander," he said.

  Tunde saw red, but even so, he maintained his breathing and steadied himself as the elder taunted him. Nodding satisfactorily, Moros continued.

  "We draw ever closer to the mines. This vessel will drop you at the borders, where you will proceed on foot. We, on the other hand, will take the vessel to bombard the mines and rescue the miners, or what remains of them, in a flash attack before withdrawing to the checkpoint where the bulk of the clan's forces will gather," Moros explained.

  "Pardon me, elder, but why don't the lords simply come and clear up the mess themselves?" Tunde suddenly asked.

  Logically, it made no sense to delay things like this, not when the mines were the clan's primary source of income. Elder Moros blinked at him as though he were stupid.

  "You want lords to deal with at most tier 2 threats?" he asked, his tone condescending.

  Tunde swallowed slowly, berating himself inwardly for speaking as freely as he would with Elder Joran. It was another stark reminder that finding favor with one elder didn't guarantee it with another.

  "I believe what Disciple Tunde is trying to say is—"

  "And you believe to correct my assumption as well?" Moros said, cutting off an already sullen Isolde who had tried standing up for him.

  He bowed stiffly.

  "Forgive me. I'm still naive in the ways of the civilized," he said softly.

  If Elder Moros had been expecting him to apologize, it didn't show on his face. Instead, he sighed.

  "A few hours into this journey and already I see how it ends in nothing but failure," he replied.

  "You may leave. In five minutes we reach the borders, and there I leave you to your fate," he said dismissively.

  The three disciples bowed. Isolde departed hastily, and Draven followed alongside Tunde as they returned to their quarters in silence.

  Closing the door behind him, Tunde sat on the wooden floor of his small room. A narrow bed, a wooden desk, and bare walls were his only companions, along with the constant hum of the vessel.

  He was an early disciple despite what his body suggested. As he crossed his legs and closed his eyes, willing his Ethra to cycle in preparation for their drop into territory he knew nothing about, he felt alone, somehow exposed.

  Without the guiding voice of Elyria or the brutal truths of Thorne, he had only himself to chart the path ahead. A knock sounded on his door minutes later, a servant initiate opening it with a bow.

  Nodding, he was on his feet, swallowing his fears as he moved out to meet a silent Isolde, her one eye red-rimmed, and Draven, who wore a grim look and had strapped a large axe to his back.

  Together, they made their way to the upper deck of the vessel, where Elder Moros stood with the winds whipping at his robes. He turned to them.

  "Once you land, follow the map provided to you, and may the hegemons protect you," he said, in a tone that suggested he didn't believe it.

  Tunde watched as the sky vessel began to descend through the clouds and onto the brown, dusty terrain below. Sharp-looking rocks and sparse grass littered the entire area, the distance smoking with what Tunde guessed to be the location where the stronghold had once stood.

  The moment the vessel drew close to the ground, he vaulted off it, Draven and Isolde in tow, and the trio landed with a crunch before shooting off at full speed toward the supposedly hidden entrance of the mines.

  The shaft was said to have been abandoned by the clan when its deposit of jade crystals and other minerals had run dry, leaving it a husk. Tunde watched as the vessel took to the skies again, pushing deeper into the distance.

  Screeches filled the air.

  He activated his Ethra sight and watched as large shapes shot toward the vessel. He was about to cry out in alarm when flashes of lightning burst from the vessel, followed by the booming of thunder.

  The creatures disintegrated instantly. Tunde stared slack-jawed, smelling the sharpness in the air like a storm about to break.

  ****

  Atop a mountain within the Verdan mine territory, a Corespawn opened his eyes, large wings unfurling as raptor-sharp eyes pierced the distance, watching as an entire flock of servant wind griffins was wiped from existence.

  Uslog Swifttalon, tier 2 beast kin, flapped his dark brown wings and took to the skies, tearing through the winds like a blade before landing with a gust in front of the large rock structure hastily constructed deep within the mining lands.

  It would have taken an average tier 2 ranker at least a few minutes to reach the base. It had taken him seconds.

  His lesser kin, the tier 1, knelt in submission as he passed, knowing better than to meet his eyes. It would lead to immediate execution.

  A firm hand was needed, lest they tore free of their leash. Walking deeper into the structure where the two other tier 2 stood, he watched their lesser kin finish carving odd shapes into the ground, the markings glowing pale green.

  Uslog had misgivings about the nature of their endeavor. He would rather spill the blood of rankers and take the normal path of advancement for their kind.

  But if it worked as Jath promised, they could usher in a new age, at least for those who had followed Jath in his rebellion.

  The leader of their horde, Jath Black Claw, turned as his feline ears twitched. Their brother at arms, Kurl, stood beside him.

  "They've arrived. A tier 3 along as well," Uslog said.

  Jath frowned, black claws tapping his jaw.

  "That was faster than expected," he replied.

  "Do we withdraw our lesser kin from the mines?" Kurl asked in his deep voice, his features hidden behind the retractable stone helm he currently wore.

  If Kurl was the guardian of Jath, not that their leader needed one, then Uslog was his blade, the one their enemies wouldn't see coming before he struck.

  "No. Whatever forces they sent, they couldn't have mustered their powers that quickly," Jath replied, turning fully to him.

  "It's a reaction force, a jab at our boldness, no doubt here to save what remains of their miners," he continued.

  "Let our kin off their leash, and the captured tier 1 beasts as well. Draw the attention of their adept away from the true nature of our work. Kill some of the miners too, the ones who worked on it. We can't have them telling the empire what we're doing here," he ordered.

  Uslog's eyes flicked to the glowing carvings on the ground, then back to Jath.

  "How long?" he asked softly.

  Jath's eyes settled on him in that eerie, quiet way of his, making absolutely no sound, a creature of pure stealth.

  "Soon, brother. Soon. Not even the one called king would be able to hold us back any longer," he said.

  Uslog gave a terse nod before turning and taking to the skies. As he went, he realized it wasn't the Wasteland King who truly bothered him.

  He opened his mouth and loosed a scream that echoed through the skies, aimed in the direction of the vessel.

  ****

  Moros stood before the charred and smoking bodies of the lesser Corespawns he had brought down from the skies.

  The servant initiates combed through the wreckage of the miners' living quarters as what few survivors remained on the surface were quickly taken into the vessel.

  Whatever remained of them beneath the surface would be left to their fates for now. The vessel couldn't take all of them, and it had only come to survey what remained of the mines before the clan brought its true might to bear.

  Still, Moros wrinkled his nose in distaste.

  With a flick of his hand, his blade rings floated around him. His eyes turned to the sky and the darkening mass of Corespawns filling it, shrieks of raw rage carrying from them.

  They were the equivalent of initiates, simple-minded beings who had taken the easy path and reaped madness in return, slaves to the feral nature of the beasts they had consumed.

  He had no mercy for them, not after seeing their work, the bodies of the various miners torn limb from limb, with signs of even worse fates among the wreckage.

  His blade rings, four in number, flew upward and began to rotate with pure speed, lightning crackling from them as they gathered energy before releasing it in bolts that Moros seized with his hands.

  He felt both his heart and nascent forming core resonate with the Ethra-forged lightning itself. The rings were able to generate lightning from the natural Ethra in the environment, storing it gradually before releasing it.

  Moros had been gifted the weapon by Artificer Iphan himself, forged from the remains of some unknown tier 3 creature.

  It compensated for the shortcoming that would only be resolved when he advanced to lord rank, namely dominion, the ability to influence the surrounding environment through one's affinity and turn it to advantage.

  Most adepts as far along their rank as he was had stable control of this third technique. Moros, however, had maintained his place as one of the three great adepts of the clan largely through the mastery of his weapons.

  It was what secretly irritated him about Joran, the other elder having achieved complete dominion despite being only a peak adept.

  The rumors were that Joran could advance at any time, though no one knew why he chose not to.

  Moros couldn't care less about that as he whipped the lightning around himself, controlling the various bolts with pure willpower and precise Ethra control, tearing dozens of Corespawns from the skies.

  Then a particular form tore through the air, drawing his eye.

  Chuckling to himself, he twisted the bolts, nodding appreciatively as the form nearly got vaporized but escaped with the aid of its seemingly large wings.

  Whoever that Corespawn was, he was far stronger than the average ones, which meant he was one of their leaders.

  Without hesitation, Moros gave chase, projectile technique fused with his imbuement, lashing lightning through the skies like tentacles. The creature twisted and turned with all the agile grace of one of the wasteland's great sky predators.

  He got a good look at the humanoid turned monster as it opened its mouth to unleash a sonic attack.

  Moros halted his advance, vaulting between cliff faces to put distance between them, even as the creature immediately reversed course and shot skyward, climbing rapidly before vanishing through the clouds, cradling a burnt hand.

  Moros tsked, annoyed at himself for falling for the escape trick, before turning back toward the vessel. He watched the initiates fight valiantly as the vessel's cannons powered up and blasted the Corespawns assaulting the construct.

  Tearing back toward the ship, he stored the image of that Corespawn in his mind. He would need to claim those wings when they returned to take the mines. It would make a fine addition to his wall.

  ****

  Creeping through the narrow passage until they reached the entrance of the mines, Tunde placed one hand on the sealed rock tunnel and channeled resonance, disintegrating the rocks to sand.

  Vengeance glowed softly, and he realized with surprise that the weapon augmented his resonance as well.

  "Well, that certainly improves our odds of stealth," Draven said as sand poured down the worn stairs.

  "The tunnel leads down to the abandoned shaft and living quarters of the miners who once worked this place," Isolde added.

  Tunde's eyes saw clearly down the darkened tunnel. He nodded to himself and turned to both of them.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  Draven grabbed the axe from behind his back. Isolde drew her blades before nodding hesitantly. Tunde was aware of the tension in Isolde, but they were about to move. Now was not the time to address it.

  "Good. Light crystals ready?" he asked.

  "Still sure you don't need one?" Isolde asked, glancing hesitantly at what were no doubt his glowing eyes.

  Tunde turned to the tunnel, tracing the lines of yellow and green Ethra that interwove through the dark, lighting the path ahead for him.

  "No, I don't," he replied, before stepping forward into the tunnels with Isolde and Draven close behind, leaving the booming of cannons and Elder Moros far above.