Tunde woke again to the soft hum of a sky vessel he was now familiar with, finding himself in quarters he didn't recognize.

  Rather than the pain of broken bones he had grown accustomed to, what saturated his body was a bone-deep exhaustion so thorough he could only manage a croak.

  A shuffling to his left drew his attention as he struggled to turn his head.

  "Tunde. You're awake. Thank the hegemons," came the calm but tired voice of Isolde, her eye-patched face looking down at him.

  Relief flooded through him at the sight of her. He swallowed painfully and managed a cracked smile as she helped him sit up, his back settling against the metal wall of the vessel.

  She handed him a leather skin, and he drank from it. The water carried a sweet, tingling taste of energy-infused Ethra.

  "Easy. Elder Joran said to sip it little by little," she said.

  Tunde paid little attention to her warning, his body drinking the liquid in like parched ground, absorbing every ounce of it gratefully.

  He wiped his lips with a deep sigh, shuddering as he closed his eyes, taking a few seconds to gather himself before clearing his throat.

  When he opened his eyes, he found the sleeping form of Draven nearby, white cloth bandaging wrapped around his midsection and chest.

  "What happened?" he asked softly, still feeling weak.

  Isolde reclined back on her heels, sighing as she tightened her fists, her one good eye closing sharply before she spoke.

  "After we left the tunnels, we were attacked by Corespawns and rift creatures. The rage with which they came at us," she said with a shudder.

  "And then there was a tier 2 Corespawn."

  Tunde furrowed his brow.

  "Tier 2?" he asked.

  He had faced two of them himself and had assumed they were the only ones. He could only imagine what that encounter had looked like for her and Draven without the relic at their disposal. Isolde nodded.

  "Some sort of bird-human hybrid. Very strong. Draven had to use a berserker elixir to put it down. We barely survived as it is," she said with a sad smile.

  Tunde swallowed heavily.

  "I'm sorry," he said softly.

  "For what?" Isolde asked.

  "I should have realized that sending you out to the surface would mean running into trouble," he replied.

  Isolde snorted.

  "Look at you, acting all high and mighty like a proper jade peak disciple," she said.

  Tunde kept quiet at the comparison.

  "And for the record, those disciples couldn't care less," she continued after a moment. "No one does, not unless you have something tangible to offer or your fate is tied to theirs."

  "Still," he said, "we were a team. And I'm glad you're alive."

  "A few seconds more after we fought that tier 2 and we would have been dead, had it not been for Elder Moros," she said.

  Tunde let out a quiet breath of gratitude. His instinct had been correct. His absence had pushed the elder to act.

  "Where was he when you were fighting the tier 2?" he asked.

  Isolde shook her head.

  "Not watching, I don't think. At least, I doubt it. We were making our way to find him and the ship when we crossed paths with the Corespawn. Our clashing Ethras probably drew his attention at the same time it drew the rift creatures and lesser spawns," she explained.

  "At least we survived," Tunde said softly.

  "That and more," Isolde said, studying him with a quiet smile.

  "You killed a tier 3 Corespawn as a disciple. The news is spreading across every ship in the fleet. No doubt it's already reached Petal Street and Jade Peak as a whole," she said, admiration evident in her voice.

  "Technically, it wasn't a tier 3. Just a tier 2 boosted by the rift core of a tier 3 rift," Tunde said wearily.

  Isolde nodded.

  "That may be true. But it doesn't change the fact that you won, and in full view of most of the clan's adepts and Lord Alaric himself," she said, dropping her voice to an excited whisper that carried equal parts thrill and dread.

  Tunde's heart lurched at that last part. Lord Alaric. Not the lord he had been hoping to impress, though he knew little enough about the man. Lirien, on the other hand, scared the living Ethra out of him.

  And yet, somehow, her words also gave him a sense of forward motion.

  He offered a soft smile, raised his arms experimentally, and felt the soreness deep within them, something the revitalizing water alone couldn't resolve.

  "We're heading home?" he asked, then caught himself feeling odd that he had used that word in relation to Jade Peak.

  No. Not Jade Peak. Petal Street. Red Blossom. That was home, even if he had only been there a matter of weeks.

  Isolde nodded.

  "Yes. You've been asleep for more than a day. We're close to the city now," she replied.

  "More than a day?" he said, genuinely startled.

  Resonance had taken far more out of him than he had anticipated. Full-body resonance. Something that had been as dangerous to himself as it had been to the creature it was aimed at.

  His arms spasmed faintly as the memory of the technique passed through him. He exhaled, rubbed his eyes, and steadied himself.

  The door to the quarters opened. Elder Joran entered at the head of three servants carrying platters of food. Isolde rose quickly. She bowed to the elder in silence. Tunde moved to do the same when the elder raised one hand.

  "Reserve your strength, Disciple Tunde," he said quietly.

  "Your body has earned it after that technique you pulled," he added.

  Tunde settled back against the wall, nodding. Joran turned to Isolde.

  "How is Draven coming along?" he asked.

  "Better, venerable elder," she replied, her posture stiffening slightly.

  Tunde noted the tension between them but said nothing. Joran gave a brief nod.

  "You may leave us. I wish to speak with my student in private," he said.

  The servants took that as their cue, set the platters beside Tunde, bowed to him quietly, and followed Isolde out. The door clicked shut behind them.

  The room felt immediately smaller with just the elder's presence filling it, his blindfolded face an unreadable mask.

  "This student greets his teacher," Tunde said softly.

  His stomach growled immediately afterward, breaking the tension.

  "Eat," the elder said, seating himself.

  "Your body requires nourishment after what you put it through."

  The first bite was tentative, but the moment the rich flavor of tier 3 fish hit his tongue, Tunde was filling his mouth without restraint, his body absorbing each mouthful as fast as a bonfire consumed wood.

  "You can absorb rift Ethra," Elder Joran said.

  Tunde paused and looked up. The elder nodded, continuing.

  "It took me some time to recognize it, and I'm surprised you haven't understood it yourself. But your affinity carries traces of rift Ethra within it," the elder said.

  Tunde set down the bone he had been working through.

  "Rift energy? It's from the relic. I can absorb it, but—" he stopped, unsure of how to frame the rest.

  "That relic, whatever it truly is, can manipulate rift Ethra. That's what you're trying to say, isn't it?" Joran asked.

  Tunde nodded in silence.

  "That may be so. It's something I've long suspected," Joran said.

  "But rift Ethra, or energy as you call it, is as much a blessing as it is a curse." He paused.

  "Naturally, pure untainted rift Ethra nourishes the environment around it despite drawing on the robust Ethra nearby. A two-way exchange between nature and rifts, you could say."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Summoned rifts, as Isolde described the ones you encountered, are another matter entirely," the elder continued.

  "They are unnatural, man-made, an aberration to reality and nature, forced into existence. Their energies taint the world around them, acting as a slow poison for rankers and the environment alike. Rumor says that was how the wastelands were formed, though no one alive today, with perhaps the exception of the hegemons or regents, was there to witness it. So we can never know for certain."

  "The bandits and barbarians use Ethra in the wastelands," Tunde said.

  "Precisely why I don't entirely believe that theory. Or perhaps over countless centuries the taint faded, leaving only a wasted landscape behind. Either way, you take my point?" Joran asked.

  Tunde nodded.

  "Both Isolde and Draven will need to purify their bodies once we return to Jade Peak. Prolonged exposure to rift Ethra in the body can damage a ranker's future advancements," the elder said.

  "Now, despite the Ethra barrier I've placed around us, what I'm about to say needs to remain between us."

  Tunde lurched forward slightly, surprised to find he hadn't sensed the elder's Ethra at all. He moved to activate his Ethra sight and immediately groaned as his eyes ached sharply.

  "Your body is recovering from the extensive drain you put on its reserves. You would be a fool to strain it further," Joran said as Tunde fell still.

  "The explanation provided to the healers and Lord Alaric is simply that you expelled every iota of Ethra within your body with that final attack, which forcibly expelled whatever taint had accumulated in the process," Joran said.

  "While I'm glad you managed to avoid scrutiny, you'll be resting at Petal Blossom in preparation for the duel, which is now a week or so away. Not that you'll actually be resting, will you?" the elder asked.

  Tunde wasn't sure if it was rhetorical. He reached for another piece of meat.

  "The Corespawns were strong," he said.

  "I'm guessing Thalas is stronger?"

  "Without the revenant intervention that empowered the Corespawn leader at the last moment, and considering what Moros told me about the fight, then yes," Joran said.

  "There's a reason you were sent and not Rhyn or any of the top-ranked disciples. Though aren't we glad that happened?" he finished with a quiet smile.

  "Then I'm still far from his level," Tunde concluded.

  "What Thalas has over you is battle experience and a slight advantage in both strength and refined technique," Joran replied.

  "And Rhyn?" Tunde asked.

  "Don't push your luck. You'd be cut into perfect cubes before you could even think of using resonance," Joran said with a chuckle.

  Tunde nodded.

  He already knew that. Hearing it confirmed by the elder was what he needed. He set the meat down and wiped his hands on his robes.

  "I want to beat him," he said.

  "Logically, that's what we're working toward," Joran replied.

  "No. Not Thalas. Rhyn. I want to grow strong enough to challenge him," Tunde said softly.

  Elder Joran went quiet. A slow smile spread across his face, and Tunde took that as his cue to continue.

  "I don't care how. I want to reach a level where I can challenge the best of what Clan Verdan's disciples have to offer," he said, adding the last word quickly.

  "You've come a long way from the timid thing that stepped onto Jade Peak, but you're not far enough yet. You know that too. Good," Joran said with a nod.

  "Barring the thorough investigation that's going to follow Thorne when we return, given that it was the same revenants he claimed no ties to who just attacked us, you and I are about to undertake the most demanding training you've done yet," the elder added.

  "You think he's connected to the attack?" Tunde asked.

  "A revenant appears, and suddenly we're attacked from the wastelands by Corespawns with revenant backing? Even a blind man such as myself can see the thread," Joran replied.

  Tunde nodded. There was nothing he could do about Thorne for now. He could only hope the man was able to prove himself innocent.

  "Until I say otherwise, no use of your Ethra. You're an invalid until after the purification process. In the meantime, I'll be going to collect our rewards for completing the mission," Joran said.

  "Does that mean House Dark Fist has been fully approved?" Tunde asked.

  Joran gave a slight nod.

  "That's beside the point for now. Your ability to absorb and manipulate rift Ethra. Explain it to me," the elder said.

  And Tunde did. The entire process, how the energy entered his body, how it served as a substitute for Ethra-based attacks, all of it. When he finished, Elder Joran rubbed his beard slowly.

  "Your affinity seems to grow more unusual the stronger you become," he said with a sigh.

  "Even among the unorthodox sects, only the revenants and envoys carry any form of immunity to rift Ethra's taint. And your affinity carries none of the stench or chilling quality of undeath or death Ethra," Joran continued.

  "And yet I cannot shake the feeling that it's connected to rift Ethra in some way. That, combined with the fact that you've been fighting entirely through the strength of your body and this peculiar resonance of yours, which seems to either disintegrate whatever it strikes or erase all trace of it," the elder said, trailing off in thought.

  Tunde shifted slightly where he sat.

  "You think I use rift affinity?" he asked.

  "Either that, or your affinity is a concept unto itself, in which case the hegemons truly smiled down on me the day I found you. But I doubt it," Elder Joran said.

  "Either way, we'll know once you reach adept rank and begin the process of Ethra bestowment. Until then, we work with what we have and what we can acquire."

  He rose to his feet, arms folding behind him. Tunde watched him in silence.

  "Rest, Tunde. You'll need it for the days ahead," the elder said, and left him alone in the room.

  Tunde cleared what remained on the platters and lay back on the bed, breathing deeply and staring at the ceiling. He had survived the mines. He had done the impossible.

  And yet more impossibilities were already waiting for him.

  He opened his eyes, glancing at the void ring on his finger, where numerous tier 1 Corespawn cores sat alongside two tier 2 cores and two rift cores.

  He smiled to himself, anticipation already stirring beneath the exhaustion.

  ****

  Adept Kenji of the revenants knelt on the plain grey floor of the room, head bowed, awaiting the verdict from the figure whose back was turned to him.

  His lower half ached as it slowly regrew, the constant stream of pure undeath Ethra that permeated the entire realm pouring into his form and cleansing it of the foreign Ethra that had seized him before he was rescued.

  He shivered faintly. He could feel the thousands of eager creatures of undeath baying just beyond the doors of the room, seeking any crack of weakness to devour.

  To show vulnerability in the realm of undeath was to become food for its inhabitants. Kenji had understood that since his initiate days. Yet, in three centuries of existence, he had never imagined being brought this low.

  By a blind adept, no less.

  Bitterness warred with rage within him, and yet he remained as still as stone in the presence of the lord before him.

  This was the Necropolis of the revenant cult, their home within the rift realm, a place where the sickly green glow of undeath Ethra saturated the air and cast an unsettling pallor across the landscape.

  The ground pulsed with its unnatural energy, skeletal vegetation twisting around jagged rocks to form eerie silhouettes against a dimly lit sky.

  The architecture of this spectral realm was a grotesque fusion of materials. Towering spires, ashen and skeletal, pierced the horizon. Archways, contorted and warped, created a disconcerting geometry across the desolate terrain.

  The structures, fashioned from obsidian, bone, and shadows, stood as haunting monuments to the unholy union of the living and the undead. Labyrinthine catacombs sprawled beneath the surface, guarded by fleshy skeletal sentinels.

  Ethereal wisps drifted through the air, carrying with them the faint whispers of lost souls. Massive specters, remnants of ancient beings, moved silently through the shadows, embodying the essence of the Necropolis itself.

  At its heart stood a grand mausoleum, its spires reaching toward the heavens like accusing fingers. The air hummed with a resonance as though the very fabric of the realm were alive and aware.

  A place where life and death merged into a somber tapestry, each element feeding the morbid whole.

  The lord stirred.

  Kenji pressed his forehead to the floor. None of this had been his plan. But the failure was still his to bear, and that bit at him more sharply than the shame of his condition. Even as the undeath Ethra waxed and waned with the lord's presence and continued empowering him by proximity, Kenji swallowed.

  "Do you understand the situation we are now in, Kenji?" the lord said softly.

  To answer was to invite losing his head. Kenji wisely stayed silent.

  "Not only must I report the shame of your failure to the sect elders, but the considerable resources spent building a bridge to the Bloodfire continent have been wasted in what appears, from the outside, to have been a reckless and premature move on my part," the lord said.

  Kenji felt him turn. The gaze of his direct master settled on him.

  "And you come to me with tales of a seeker from a cult continents away, who, by the way, were known as keepers, not seekers," the lord said, as Kenji looked up sharply into the fathomless dark gaze of the lord.

  "Keepers?" Kenji whispered.

  "Keepers. Not seekers. A mistake I find repeated in lore books wherever I travel," the lord said.

  Kenji bowed again, deeply.

  "But my lord," he started.

  "The relic. Its power burned with the energy of rifts," he said, pressing the point.

  A frown was his only answer.

  "Did you consider, even once, that the Heralds could have placed someone within the ranks of the clan?" the lord said, his voice frosting over.

  Kenji's mouth moved without producing sound.

  "The Heralds responded to our move in the wastelands. Did you believe they would leave that position undefended a second time?" the lord continued.

  "And now they are aware of our influence. You can expect this surge to be significantly more dangerous for every faction involved," he finished.

  Kenji shuddered as the lord's aura pressed down on him.

  "Fortunately, they have no knowledge of our true goals, something you somehow did not compromise. Were it otherwise, you would already be flesh for the creatures of this realm," the lord said softly.

  "But my lord, the plan was not mine to begin with," Kenji said weakly, straining beneath the aura.

  "Correct. You did not ask for this assignment. But you were chosen for your capabilities," the lord said.

  "Capabilities I now find severely wanting. You are nothing but a stain on my honor at this moment. Hear me, Kenji," the lord continued, his voice carrying a force that pressed deeper than sound.

  "The surge is upon us. Forces dormant for a decade are moving again. The plans of the regent himself remain opaque to us, and yet roles have been assigned to all. The artificers seek the same thing we do, or so the high lords claim. We cannot allow this opportunity to pass. Wait for my signal this time, Kenji," the lord said.

  "What will we do?" Kenji asked quietly.

  The lord sighed. He folded his hands behind him and began walking toward the doors. The baying beyond quieted as it felt his approach.

  "The rankers of Bloodfire have grown complacent. They have forgotten what it feels like to face the cult of undeath. Perhaps it is time to reintroduce ourselves to the younger generation," he said, as the doors opened of their own accord and closed silently behind him.

  *****

  By the time the sky vessel arrived at Jade Peak, Tunde could move around comfortably.

  He feigned slight weakness as he was shepherded to the healers' building on orders from the lord himself, along with Isolde and Draven, who had woken from his coma looking frail and hollow-eyed.

  Together, they underwent the cleansing process the clan itself had arranged. Tunde reclined deep within the wooden tub as the healing properties of the bubbling bath worked their way through him, his body absorbing them gratefully.

  He felt like a new man when he stepped out of the building. Isolde and Draven had gone ahead, something about an urgent matter to attend to.

  Tunde, given orders to meet Elder Joran in the blacksmith district, made his way through the throngs of people filling the inner district streets. Stares followed him as he walked. The nature of those stares had shifted.

  Where they had once held caution edging toward disdain, what he felt now was unambiguous respect.

  He stopped at the entrance to the smithing district, took a breath, and made his way deeper through the rows of shops toward the Iron Wolf itself.

  Hands in the pockets of his robes, he spotted Elder Joran in the distance, standing in silence before the forge's doors as people bowed when they passed him.

  The elder had disappeared the moment they touched down in Jade Peak to report to Lady Lirien. Tunde had wanted to accompany him and had been talked out of it without much difficulty.

  He bowed when he reached the elder.

  "You look better," Joran said.

  "The purification process helped," Tunde replied.

  "That and your body greedily consuming the resources. I'm surprised it didn't trigger another tempering. Though your body hardly needs one at this point," Joran said.

  Tunde nodded, his gaze moving to the forge's doors. "Is he inside?" he asked softly.

  "I should hope so. How else are we going to discuss the refund he owes us for that sham of a gauntlet?" Joran replied.

  "What?" Tunde asked, confused.

  "Vengeance, or whatever he named them. Those weren't adept-ranked weapons. Peak disciple at best, tier 2 if we're being generous," Joran said.

  Tunde drew the gauntlets from his void ring and stared at their mangled, warped form, his brow furrowing slowly.

  "Artificer Borus owes us an explanation," Tunde said, his voice dropping to a quiet but pointed edge.

  Elder Joran chuckled and pushed the forge door open. Hot air rolled out, warming the space around them immediately.

  "Indeed he does," the elder replied, and they stepped inside.