Tunde made his way first to the residence of Ifa and Zhu, his steps unhurried, yet his senses sharp. From just outside the entrance to the large building, the telltale clash of weapons rang out—metal on metal, swift movements, and the occasional sharp intake of breath. It was familiar, rhythmic in its chaos.

  As he stepped inside, his gaze fell upon the circular platform that had once played host to Sera's duel against Elder Tianlei’s student. Now, it was Ifa and Zhu locked in combat, though calling it a match would have been generous.

  The Ethralite wielded two curved sickles, each connected to his wrists by tightly wound chains that hummed with latent power. His body had undergone another transformation, stretching into that of a youth in the midst of a significant growth spurt. The peak of the Lord rank was doing wonders for the divine beast, refining him, honing him. But for all his improvements, he was still struggling.

  Tunde folded his arms, watching the Ethralite dance around his master in a series of elegant but ultimately futile attempts to land a decisive blow. The pride in Zhu’s movements was evident, mirrored in Tunde’s own chest as he observed the fight. Zhu, however, made the mistake of glancing toward him, a brief flicker of excitement flashing across his features.

  Ifa wasted no time in capitalizing on the distraction.

  A single, fluid palm thrust connected squarely with Zhu’s chest, sending the young Ethralite careening backward. He hit the ground hard, the impact echoing across the platform as he heaved for breath.

  Tunde winced.

  "First lesson—again," Ifa said sternly, shaking his head. "Do not take your eyes off your enemy."

  Zhu groaned, rolling onto his side as he muttered something under his breath.

  The master turned his gaze to Tunde, scanning him up and down. His sharp eyes missed nothing.

  "You look like you've been dragged through the dirt," he remarked, arching a brow.

  Tunde cracked his neck with a wince. "That obvious, huh?"

  Ifa nodded.

  "I take it the residents of the capital don’t take kindly to an outsider in their midst?"

  "That, and more," Tunde replied, rolling his shoulders. "It seems my imperial master has angered the branch families and the vassal sects by announcing my presence—telling them outright that I am better than them."

  Ifa's expression remained impassive as he asked, "And? Are you?"

  Tunde blinked, caught off guard by the question.

  Ifa took his silence as answer enough. "I thought as much. There is only so far pampering can take those spoiled brats. Compared to you—someone who has been soaked in blood, tested, sharpened—there is no comparison."

  Zhu, who had finally gotten back to his feet, let out a heavy sigh. His two long green-haired antennas began to shrink, retreating as his body seemed to contract slightly, his shimmering crystal scales receding as well.

  The Ethralite was becoming more human in form. A deception. One that could fool the eyes, but not the truth. Tunde knew better than to assume he was anything less than what he truly was.

  That, of course, was something others didn’t need to know.

  "That reminds me," Tunde said, turning to face Zhu directly. "If anyone asks, you are a true beast—not divine."

  Zhu scrunched his face in confusion. "Why?"

  "Because until we fully understand what it means, we can't have anyone taking advantage of you."

  Zhu frowned. "I don't see why it matters."

  "You talk too much," Ifa quipped, causing the Ethralite to roll his eyes.

  "I know what I am," Zhu muttered under his breath.

  Both Tunde and Ifa paused, their attention snapping to him.

  "You do?" they asked in unison.

  Zhu hesitated before nodding. "Yes. I mean… a bit. But yes."

  Ifa's gaze narrowed. "And when did you come to this realization?"

  "When I reached the peak of the Lord realm," Zhu replied, his pride evident in his voice. "Just today."

  Ifa sighed, while Tunde shook his head.

  "Well, let’s hear it then," Tunde prompted.

  Zhu cleared his throat dramatically. "Prepare yourselves, this will stun you," he declared, flashing a grin.

  Tunde arched a brow. "I highly doubt that."

  "I've seen more things in my millennia of existence than you can begin to comprehend," Ifa added dryly.

  Zhu scoffed. "You're that old? No wonder you creak when you walk."

  Tunde snorted, barely holding back a laugh.

  "Do you want to die?" Ifa asked, his tone eerily calm.

  Zhu instinctively took a step back. "Sheesh, relax, old man."

  Ifa exhaled. "Fine. Continue."

  Zhu straightened, his playful expression fading. "I’m a being of Ethra and Adamath."

  Silence.

  Tunde and Ifa exchanged glances.

  "I hate to break it to you," Tunde said slowly, "but we’re all beings of Ethra and Adamath."

  "Yes," Ifa added. "Seeing as we were born on this world, that is hardly surprising."

  Zhu shook his head. "No, I mean, you were, but your ancestors weren’t."

  Tunde and Ifa went still.

  "What do you mean?" Ifa asked, his voice low, measured.

  Zhu rubbed the back of his head, hesitant. "I don’t really know much. It was just flashes of insight during my advancement, but…" He paused, trying to find the right words. "Humans weren’t meant to have Ethra. Adamath itself resents your presence. That, and your… tainted Ethra affinities."

  Tunde frowned. "You’re not making much sense."

  Zhu exhaled sharply, frustrated. "I’m saying… some Ethra affinities weren’t meant to exist. They came from—elsewhere."

  A weight settled in the air.

  Ifa's expression darkened. Without warning, his aura bloomed—a force so vast and suffocating that it enveloped the entire area, severing them from the outside world in an instant.

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  "You will not speak of this to anyone else," Ifa said, his voice thick with authority, with something deeper—something dangerous. "Swear it. Swear it on your soul."

  Zhu’s body trembled, the force pressing down on him like an iron weight.

  Tunde moved on instinct, Ethra flaring as he pushed back against the master’s will. He cycled his power rapidly, mixing in his aura, even the scorching touch of his essence flames, seeking to push back, to nullify the elder’s overwhelming presence.

  It was like trying to halt a storm with bare hands.

  It was a battle he would have lost. Badly.

  Until Ifa relented.

  The aura dissipated. The suffocating presence withdrew.

  Zhu fell to one knee, breathing heavily. Tunde was at his side in an instant, eyes sharp, a glare fixed on Ifa.

  "I’m sorry," Ifa murmured, his fists clenched, jaw tight. He swallowed thickly before speaking again, his voice strained. "Those words… they could see us in shackles, thrown into the deepest pits where even Paragons may never find us. You are speaking of the Great Divide."

  "The Great Divide?" Tunde echoed. "The Great Divide? You mean the closing of the pathways?"

  Ifa nodded grimly. "Yes. And it is deeply troubling that young Zhu here knows of it."

  Zhu straightened; his expression serious. "I swear on my soul," he said.

  Tunde moved to protest, but the Ethralite shook his head, firm in his decision.

  "Ifa, Tunde—I’ve been looking for a way to prove to you that I can be trusted," he said. "That I’m not the tyrant."

  "You had nothing to prove to us," Tunde replied.

  Zhu smiled, but he took the oath nonetheless, binding himself to secrecy.

  "Now," Ifa said at last, his voice steady once more. "Enlighten me. Tell me what you know."

  *****************

  “True beasts are simply creatures of Adamath infused with its raw power. You call it aura, but its name has changed through the ages,” Zhu began, his voice steady as he sat cross-legged on the floor. The flickering lamplight cast shifting shadows across his features, his expression unusually solemn.

  He hesitated for a moment before continuing, his gaze flickering downward. “Some of what I know... I gained from the remnants of the Tyrant’s memories.” His voice carried a weight it rarely did, and for the first time in a long while, he looked genuinely troubled.

  Tunde and Ifa exchanged glances, but neither interrupted.

  “It’s like an inheritance, passed down to me,” Zhu said, tapping his temple lightly. “A culmination of all he knew. And that bastard—” his voice hitched slightly, and he swallowed, shaking his head. “He knew and saw far too much.” A visible shudder ran through him.

  Tunde frowned. “How long had he lived? The Tyrant, I mean?”

  Zhu exhaled slowly, rubbing his arms as if warding off an unseen chill. “Far too long,” he murmured, his usual energy subdued. “And he slumbered for even more.”

  “Let’s stay on track,” Ifa gently reminded, his tone softer than usual.

  Tunde nodded, placing a reassuring hand on Zhu’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. Zhu glanced up and managed a small smile before refocusing.

  “Like I said, aura is something all beings were born with,” he resumed. “But to those whom the world truly favored, it granted something more. Something beyond the norm. It gifted them with its very nature—Ethra.”

  He paused, letting the word settle in the air before he continued.

  “But not just any Ethra. Pure Ethra—untainted, undefiled, the very essence of the world itself. Ethra that could harness and shape all things.”

  Tunde’s brow furrowed. “All things?” he asked. “As in... all the elements?”

  “Yes,” Zhu confirmed.

  He raised his palm, and in an instant, a small clump of jade crystal materialized above it, gleaming like newly unearthed gemstone. Tunde watched in quiet awe as the crystal softened, melting into liquid, shifting its very state at Zhu’s will.

  “Some true beasts were able to adapt to their environments,” Zhu explained, closing his palm as the liquid dissipated into thin air. “They shaped their Ethra to help them survive better. But no matter what they became, they still obeyed the laws of Adamath.”

  “The fundamental forces of nature,” Ifa muttered.

  Zhu nodded. “Fire, water, earth, air, metal, and wood—the six core elements.”

  Tunde listened intently as Zhu continued.

  “But some true beasts evolved beyond even that,” the Ethralite said, his voice growing quieter. “I don’t know why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was something else entirely. All I know is that their aura played a role.”

  Tunde’s expression darkened slightly as he put the pieces together. “Divine beasts.”

  Zhu nodded again. “Divine beasts. Those who grew beyond the elements, those who wielded multiple forces at once. They became rulers of this world, lords over all creation.”

  His voice dropped to a near whisper.

  “Until your kind came.”

  Silence fell between them.

  Tunde turned to Ifa, but the master had grown unnaturally still. There was something in his posture, something in the stiffness of his expression that told Tunde he already knew what Zhu was implying.

  “I see,” Ifa murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “So that’s how it was.”

  Zhu hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “The opening of the pathways…”

  Ifa exhaled sharply, running a weary hand through his hair.

  “The pathways tainted the world,” he said. “The…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I understand now, Alana. I understand why you closed the gates. Why the Hegemon wanted to bring back balance.”

  Tunde clenched his fists. His mind raced with possibilities, but he forced himself to ask the question burning in his thoughts.

  “Are you saying,” he began slowly, “that we—humanity—are interlopers on this world? That we were never meant to be here?”

  Ifa turned to him, and for the first time since Tunde had met the man, he truly saw it—the sheer weight of centuries pressing down on him, a burden too heavy to be shared.

  “Tunde,” Ifa said, his voice measured but heavy with meaning. “There is much I have yet to tell you.”

  Tunde opened his mouth, but Ifa raised a hand, stopping him.

  “Much you need to know. But things are moving too fast. I thought I had more time than this.” A rare flash of frustration crossed the master’s face. “I was wrong.”

  He exhaled sharply, then straightened, his expression resolute.

  “So I swear to you now, on my soul—” His voice carried an unshakable finality. “At the end of this tournament, this banquet, this wretched den of vipers… I will tell you everything.”

  Tunde stared at him, unblinking.

  “All I ask,” Ifa continued, “is that you survive until then. Because something tells me… we are witnessing the turn of an age.”

  His words lingered in the air like the distant toll of a funeral bell.

  Tunde turned to Zhu, who looked just as weighed down as he felt. The Ethralite’s usual playfulness had vanished, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

  Tunde inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and nodded.

  Silently, he accepted the burden.

  **************************

  His journey back to his personal abode was uneventful, save for the occasional greetings from passing servants. He noticed a shift in their demeanor—respect tinged with something else, something uncertain. Fear? Caution? He couldn’t tell, and frankly, he didn’t have the energy to care. His mind was too preoccupied, a roiling cesspit of problems that only seemed to multiply the more he thought about them.

  Ifa had been right. Too many things were happening all at once, and for a cultivator who had only set foot on this path a year ago, he was being thrown into the deep end of a vast ocean with no land in sight. The weight on his shoulders was suffocating. It wasn’t just his own survival he had to worry about—no, that would have been too simple. The burden of rebuilding an entire faction, or cult depending on who you asked, now rested on him. A faction that, by all accounts, had been targeted for complete annihilation.

  He had no doubt he was being hunted. The enemies of his sect hadn’t vanished just because time had passed. If anything, his presence alone might stir the embers of old vendettas, and the moment they realized he wasn’t just some stray remnant but an actual contender, the hounds would be unleashed. Then there was the Talahan clan. Tunde wasn’t na?ve enough to believe that Varis had taken him in out of pure generosity. The old master had warned him enough times—nothing in the world of cultivation was free, and the greater the gift, the heavier the price. He just didn’t know what Varis intended to extract from him yet, and that was almost worse than knowing.

  And then there was the Flesh Binders Cult. A hidden cancer growing unchecked, festering in the dark corners of the world while the Technocracy turned a blind eye out of arrogance or ignorance. How long until their presence stopped being a whisper and became a roaring storm? How long until they struck, and what part would he play in the inevitable war?

  The silent arks troubled him just as much. Massive constructs, entire structures of metal, silent in the void, gone quiet with no explanation. It was as if no one cared, as if no one even noticed. The absence of concern made it all the more unsettling. Were they lost? Destroyed? He had no answers, only more questions piling atop the growing heap in his mind.

  He crossed the palace boundaries, careful to avoid its inner sanctum, and made his way toward his residence. Each step felt heavier, each thought dragging him further into a pit of uncertainty. It was like floating in an endless sea, lost, the few anchors he had—Ifa, Zhu, and the others—slowly drifting out of reach. When had he last heard from Black Rock? Would Varis have told him if something had happened? He wanted to believe so, but a gnawing doubt crept in. The master was meticulous, calculating. If withholding information would keep Tunde focused on the Banquet, then he wouldn’t hesitate to do it.

  His muscles tensed with frustration as he reached the pristine steps of his home. He sank down at their base, the cool stone soothing against his weary frame. The sun was setting fast, and the night air carried with it a strange stillness. Across the capital, luminous lamps flickered to life, dotting the city in an ethereal glow.

  Lifting his gaze skyward, he studied the formation barrier, its shimmering surface casting a faint radiance over the night. A cage, beautifully gilded.

  "One by one."

  He whispered the words to himself, forcing his thoughts to settle. He had no time for doubts, no time for distractions. Whatever awaited him, whatever schemes lurked in the shadows, none of it mattered if he wasn’t strong enough to survive the Banquet.

  The Banquet. A battlefield wrapped in ceremony, where cultivators of his realm and beyond converged in the capital, vying for power, recognition, or something more sinister. He might have thought himself strong before, but his battle with Harumi had been a brutal lesson in perspective. His victories meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

  The skies above were still too high.

  And if he didn’t climb higher—fast—he would be crushed beneath them.