Tunde was propped up just outside the doors of his home, slumped against the wall, his breathing shallow and ragged. Blood clung to the edges of his lips, every exhale a struggle. The night air was heavy, thick with tension and the scent of iron. Ifa knelt in front of him, one palm pressed against Tunde’s abdomen, his brow furrowed in growing alarm.

  “What did you try doing?” he asked, his voice low but tight with urgency.

  “Technique… aspect… too powerful,” Tunde croaked, his voice hoarse as he coughed violently, blood splattering onto the stone beside him.

  “We can ask the questions later, Elder—he’s dying,” Sera interjected, her voice sharp with concern, her eyes flicking anxiously between the two men.

  “It would take more than core damage to kill someone as stubborn as this,” Ifa muttered, half to himself.

  Still, the concern in his tone lingered as he glanced down at the collection of pills he held in one hand. After a brief pause, he offered them to Tunde.

  “I’ve assessed them,” he said.

  “They’re strong. They’ll heal you—but only if you can cycle them properly.”

  Tunde’s eyes flicked to the pills, dull with pain but still alert.

  “And these,” Ifa continued, producing a vial of faint blue elixir.

  The liquid shimmered under the moonlight, cool and ethereal. Tunde accepted it without hesitation, downing it in one go. The chill of it hit him like a gust of mountain wind, a shiver running down his spine. Then, one by one, he swallowed the pills, wincing slightly as he settled himself into a seated lotus position. With a slow, trembling breath, he began to cycle.

  The world receded.

  Noise faded. Pain dulled.

  Darkness fell away like mist as he sank inward, plunging into the quiet sanctuary of his inner world. There, within the spiritual realm of his core, he stood once more before the heart of his power—a radiant golden cocoon wrapped protectively around his damaged core.

  Ethra—the fundamental essence of cultivation—leaked in faint wisps from fractures in the shell, only to be hungrily drawn toward the looming stone wall that pulsed ominously nearby.

  Tunde narrowed his gaze. The wall was ancient and strange, consuming the escaping Ethra like a starving beast. He shifted his attention then, sensing the faint presence nearby.

  The wolf was there.

  His wolf—a manifestation of his aura and ego—lay curled near the core, no longer proud and powerful. It was lean now, its once luminous coat dulled, ribs faintly visible beneath its fur. It mewled softly, a pitiful sound that twisted something deep in Tunde’s chest. He knelt beside it, gently placing his forehead against its own.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” he whispered, his voice steady despite the weight of exhaustion.

  The wolf let out a quiet huff, not in defiance, but weariness.

  He exhaled, settling cross-legged before it, resting one hand gently on its flank. Its body was cool, but not lifeless. A spark still burned within.

  “You’re my aura. My ego,” he said quietly. One of the wolf’s eyes cracked open, watching him with dulled curiosity.

  “The path of cultivation—it twists more the higher you climb. I’ve always known that. But it shouldn’t be this tangled, not here. Not at Highlord.”

  His gaze turned to the massive stone gate looming behind them both. Its surface was veined with ancient, unknowable symbols, and it continued to siphon Ethra without pause. His golden core struggled to maintain itself, the cocoon shaking ever so slightly under the strain of keeping the damage contained. And for the first time, doubt crept into Tunde’s heart.

  Had he pushed too far?

  Not only had he drawn power from a corner of the void he barely understood, but he had dared to grasp at an aspect belonging to the Pathwalkers themselves—those mythic cultivators who forged entirely new paths through sheer will and madness.

  His path—the Void Concept—was meant for annihilation, for erasure. It was not meant for this. Not for shaping. Not for building. And now… he stood at a crossroad, not just in cultivation, but in identity. He felt stuck, locked inside a brutal bottleneck, unable to move forward, unable to retreat.

  He extended his hand and summoned the sphere—the strange relic taken from the Keeper. Gold and silver swirled together in elegant contrast as it shimmered into existence within his palm. It pulsed faintly in rhythm with something beyond his understanding.

  The gate responded.

  It groaned—a deep, resonant sound like grinding stone—and a weight pressed down on him, almost knocking him over. His vision blurred as the pressure mounted. The wolf snarled low, its hackles rising, though it did not move.

  Alarmed, Tunde willed the sphere away. The moment it vanished, the pressure lifted, dissolving as though it had never been there.

  He let out a long breath and slumped forward, resting his head gently against the wolf’s flank. The warmth of its body grounded him.

  He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know if he was on the right path. But for now, he would trust in the old ways: silence, patience, cultivation. He would allow the pills and the elixir to do their work. He would heal.

  And then, he would rise again.

  Tunde spent the entire night outside, unaware of the large leather robe that had been draped over his shoulders, or the extra pills Ifa had silently administered throughout the night. A web of intricate protective formations shimmered faintly around the perimeter, layered down by Ifa himself—precautions in case Varis or any other threat attempted to strike while Tunde was vulnerable.

  When the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose, Tunde shuddered. He exhaled slowly, a plume of violet aura drifting from his body like soft smoke, ethereal and potent.

  The air around him vibrated gently with power, his very presence resonating with a newfound strength. The others stirred at once, drawn by the pulsing hum of his body, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his breath. With one final, long exhale, a wave of release washed over him.

  Ifa crossed his arms, his gaze lifting toward the heavens in what seemed like silent gratitude.

  “Peak Highlord realm,” Sera whispered in awe, her wide eyes fixed on him as if seeing a stranger.

  Tunde opened his eyes. They were no longer the usual pale grey—they now glowed violet, deep and unwavering, as if he had peered through a veil and emerged changed. He glanced at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly, then spoke. Though his voice was quiet, it carried a profound and grounding weight.

  “My core is healed,” he said simply.

  He rose carefully to his feet, testing each motion, raising one arm and flexing it before turning to the others. Then, in a gesture of humility, he bowed his head.

  “Thank you.”

  “Maybe repay me with the core of that thunder roc?” Zhu suggested slyly.

  Sera smacked him upside the head, eliciting a playful scowl. Ifa chuckled.

  “How do you feel?” Ifa asked, studying Tunde carefully.

  Tunde gave a small, sad smile.

  “Advanced,” he said, “and yet... I don’t feel the thrill or joy that should come with it.”

  Ifa nodded knowingly, as if he’d walked that same weary path.

  “Such is the burden of a seeker,” the elder said solemnly.

  “Neglected, shunned—and yet we grow through adversity.”

  Tunde’s shoulders shifted with a quiet shrug.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Indeed,” Ifa agreed, gesturing toward the inner sanctum. Tunde’s gaze drifted to the shimmering barrier at the edge of the compound.

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  “The thought of not being safe... even here,” he murmured.

  “Nowhere is safe for people like us. You know that,” Ifa replied as he led the way inside.

  They said nothing more until they were deep within the building. Ifa approached a wall and pressed his palm to a concealed spot. A muted grinding sound echoed, and a section of the floor receded, revealing a narrow stairwell carved in stone, descending into darkness.

  “How did you even find that?” Tunde asked, surprised.

  “Our... guest knows more about the capital than I ever imagined,” Ifa replied carefully.

  Liu.

  The elusive arcanist had remained conspicuously absent, hiding from those hunting him. That he was here, among them, unsettled Tunde. The man was a danger magnet—and yet, he was still within their fold.

  They descended the shadowed stairwell in silence until flickering Ethra crystals ignited, casting a cool light that revealed a figure seated at the bottom. Legs crossed, a scroll in hand, Liu glanced up, his face obscured beneath layers of cloth. His voice was calm.

  “Peak Highlord. Congratulations,” he said with a nod.

  “Liu,” Tunde greeted him softly.

  “Who’s that?” Sera asked warily, her stance guarded.

  “It is not safe to let more people know of my presence,” Liu said without rising.

  “Sera is family,” Tunde replied firmly.

  “Nothing is hidden from her.”

  Zhu nodded in agreement.

  “Very well,” Liu said with a polite tilt of his head.

  “I am Liu of the Arcanists, Lady Sera—of the path of blood and blade.”

  Sera returned his nod, her eyes steady.

  “Skip the pleasantries. Time is against us,” Ifa interjected, sitting cross-legged nearby.

  “Of course,” Liu said smoothly.

  “Are they aware of what’s coming?”

  “Aware of what?” Tunde asked, frowning.

  Ifa sighed deeply.

  “Before we begin, you should know—Liu is aware of our origins... and far more besides.”

  Tunde’s eyes narrowed.

  “That makes him a potential threat.”

  Liu raised an eyebrow, clearly offended.

  “Seriously? I’ve risked myself repeatedly for your sake.”

  “Well, are you?” Sera asked flatly.

  Liu turned to her with a coy smile. “For you, fair lady, I could be anything.”

  Sera blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

  “What does that even mean?”

  Zhu stifled a laugh while Liu looked genuinely baffled at his own words.

  “Please, stay on point,” Ifa muttered, clearly annoyed.

  Liu nodded, refocusing.

  “The factions—both orthodox and unorthodox—are aligning. Their regents are gathering here, planning a joint attempt to break through to Hegemon... during the banquet.”

  Tunde frowned.

  “I thought they hated each other.”

  “They do,” Ifa added.

  “This competition is the only reason they even tolerate one another.”

  “Hate is a luxury,” Liu said.

  “When power is involved on this plane, even the deepest enmities can be set aside.”

  “You used the word ‘plane’ earlier,” Sera noted, puzzled.

  Liu glanced at Ifa, who nodded for him to continue.

  “There’s no use hiding it anymore,” Ifa said quietly.

  “They all deserve to know.”

  Liu straightened, then raised one hand solemnly.

  “I swear upon my soul—what I say now is truth, and what you reveal to me shall remain secret until the end of my existence.”

  Tunde felt the pulse of the soul oath clamp tightly onto Liu, and his eyes widened.

  “That was... unpleasant,” Liu muttered.

  “Why take such a risk?” Zhu asked.

  “Because I know Tunde is the last of the Seekers—and more importantly, I know what’s at stake. The future of your cult, your path, everything—rests on your shoulders. And I wish to help bear that burden.”

  Tunde’s violet gaze locked onto Liu’s veiled eyes.

  “You know the dangers. Why would you want that?”

  Liu nodded, unsurprised by the question. Slowly, he reached for the silk blindfold covering his face and lifted it.

  Tunde sucked in a breath. So did the others.

  Liu smiled faintly.

  “Yes. Quite the reaction, isn’t it? I never get tired of that.”

  “Your eyes,” Sera whispered.

  “They are called the Scholar’s Eyes—or Sight, if you prefer.”

  “What do they do?” Tunde asked, breath catching.

  “They allow me to see through illusions, unravel formations, understand runes instantly. The most prized gift among the Arcanists,” Liu said.

  “And why they want you back,” Tunde added.

  Liu shrugged.

  “That, and the small matter of me trying to sabotage their plans with the factions.”

  Zhu shook his head slowly.

  “Still can’t believe all these regents are working together.”

  “You’d better believe it,” Liu said grimly.

  “The catastrophe about to be unleashed on Adamath will change this plane forever.”

  “You’ve said ‘plane’ again,” Tunde noted.

  “Because Adamath is just one plane,” Liu replied.

  “One small, secluded isle in an ocean of other higher planes. Hidden. Isolated. Like a dark room, hoping nothing opens the door.”

  Tunde shivered slightly.

  “I think that might already be too late.”

  “Ah yes, the entity,” Liu said.

  “Elder Ifa told me about your battle with the Fleshbinders.”

  Tunde glanced at Ifa, surprised by how much the elder had shared without telling him.

  “Tunde,” Ifa said, his voice low, “there was a time I thought we could do this alone. Just you, me… maybe Zhu.”

  Tunde’s frown deepened.

  “But now... I realize I was wrong,” Ifa continued, his voice growing heavy.

  “The future is bloody and uncertain. The cult cannot rise on one man’s back. It needs pillars. Foundations. And these—” he gestured around them “—could be yours.”

  Tunde’s voice darkened.

  “Joran. Miria. Getting close to people just means I lose them.”

  Zhu looked away, pain flashing in his expression. Sera reached out and squeezed Tunde’s shoulder.

  “Then we fall together,” she said softly.

  “You’re not alone anymore.”

  “And me too,” Liu added quietly, eyes meeting Tunde’s.

  "But yes, I know of the Fleshbinders. There is little that occurs around Adamath that the Arcanists remain unaware of," Liu said, his tone matter-of-fact, yet layered with the weight of long-held knowledge.

  "Perhaps that is part of the reason the Regents now seek to ascend into hegemony—guided, no doubt, by the hand of the Patriarch of the Talahan Clan," he added, his voice tight with disapproval.

  "How does that endanger Adamath?" Tunde asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

  "Because this plane cannot withstand the presence of Hegemons without shattering like an egg… or, at the very least, suffering damage so severe it may never recover," Ifa replied solemnly.

  "Adamath, as you call it, once belonged to divine beasts," Zhu said grimly, his voice heavy with reverence and sorrow.

  "True Beasts were perversions—abominations allowed to seep into this plane."

  "What you refer to as Rift Creatures," Liu continued, picking up the thread, "are merely entities from within the Planar Seas. These are conscious beings without defined form, seeking entry into stable planes through ruptures we call Rifts."

  "Precisely," he said, nodding.

  "The Convergence is nothing more than the potent Ethra bleeding in from higher, more powerful planes. It trickles downward because Adamath is still tethered to the Planar Tree."

  Tunde rubbed his forehead, wearied by the abstract complexity.

  "Planar Trees and Seas," he muttered under his breath.

  "Think of it this way," Liu explained, "the Planar Tree is a massive structure that links together the near-infinite planes of existence. The Planar Seas are the vast, chaotic spaces between those planes—shifting, fluid realms of possibility and raw power."

  "Ah, I see," Sera said, nodding slowly.

  Tunde raised an eyebrow at her.

  "Do you?"

  "No. But frankly, I can’t be bothered to. Just point me at who we’re fighting," she replied, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips—one that echoed faintly on Tunde’s face.

  "So, if I understand you correctly," he began, "Adamath is the lowest of all planes?"

  "As far as we know, yes," Liu responded, but his voice lacked certainty.

  "Why we’re here, though—that I simply cannot answer." He glanced at Ifa.

  Ifa—the last of the ancient Seekers, the abyssal walkers, ancient keepers of truths now lost—looked distant as he finally spoke.

  "Even I cannot say for sure. I was born here, on Adamath, shortly after the great exodus to this realm," he said, his voice soft with memory.

  "Alana… she only ever gave one directive: that the Paths must remain sealed. No matter the cost. For to open them again would be to risk our entire existence to the mercy of beings that cannot be reasoned with."

  "More powerful than Hegemons?" Tunde asked, hesitating.

  "I have no idea," Ifa admitted.

  "But if the entity the Fleshbinders once served is any indication, then yes… I would say so."

  "By your description of what you saw back then," Liu said thoughtfully, "I can only assume what you faced was one of the more advanced beings of the Planar Seas. These entities… some of them have managed to acquire sentience—and even crude, transient bodies."

  Tunde leaned back against the wall, processing it all.

  "So you’re telling me the Regents plan to harness the excess Ethra flowing in from the greater planes… and use it to ascend to Hegemon status—regardless of the cost to those living here?"

  "Yes," Liu confirmed. "But Ethra alone will not suffice. There are profound laws—absolute truths—that govern the nature of every plane. Some planes abide by them loosely. Others, like Adamath, are bound tightly by their influence."

  "Yes… the profound laws," Tunde said slowly.

  "A saint I once met spoke of them briefly."

  Liu nodded.

  "There are seven. Seven laws of existence, each one fundamental. The Regents are on the verge of violating several—without hesitation, without remorse."

  He began to count them off.

  "First, the Law of Equilibrium, or Balance. This law dictates that no single force—orthodox or unorthodox—can dominate a plane without consequence. Power must remain in dynamic balance. The keepers were meant to safeguard that equilibrium, but ironically, the Luminous Brotherhood has upheld it better than they have."

  "And now, by uniting, the Regents bypass that law entirely," Zhu interjected.

  Liu nodded.

  "Exactly. Next, the Law of Correspondence: every action in one realm reverberates outward into adjacent realms. The ripple effect maintains systemic harmony."

  "But… we’re cut off," Tunde said with a frown.

  "Precisely," Ifa answered grimly.

  "Which means those reverberations have nowhere to go. And what happens when divine pressure builds in a sealed chamber? Heavens only know."

  Liu continued.

  "The third law they’ve already violated: the Law of Reversion. Every plane must, in some way, preserve a fragment of its original nature. The divine beasts—once custodians of that original state—were hunted to near extinction to ensure their vision of control went unchallenged." He glanced at Zhu, who returned a slow, knowing nod.

  "If they’ve broken so many laws, how have they gotten away with it?" Sera asked, her voice edged with disbelief.

  "As of now," Liu replied grimly, "they’ve only fully broken one—Reversion. But with Adamath sealed, there’s very little holding them back from committing worse."

  He paused, expression darkening.

  "And then there is one final law—the worst of them all. Should they succeed in violating this one, I cannot even begin to imagine what the aftermath will be."

  "And that would be…?" Tunde asked, already bracing himself.

  "The Law of Cycles," Ifa said from where he sat, the words heavy with meaning.

  "All things—life and death, rise and fall, creation and destruction—follow a cycle," Liu explained.

  "The Law of Cycles governs the very flow of time and existence. It ensures nothing escapes the loop. No soul. No empire. No plane."

  "And how in Heaven’s name do they plan to break that?" Tunde asked, incredulous.

  "By breaking the chain of death itself," Ifa said.

  "They intend to claim the souls and essences of those who should perish—divert them from the cycle—and use that stolen insight to draw power from the Planar Seas directly."

  "You’re not making any sense," Tunde said, confusion washing over him. "Steal the… deaths?"

  "He means," Liu said gravely, "that the Regents plan to slaughter half of Adamath. A mass sacrifice. Using a grand formation my mother—the Queen of the Arcanists—is preparing. The victims’ very souls, essences, and paths will be consumed, harvested… all to fuel the Regents’ apotheosis into the realm of Hegemons."

  Tunde sat there, stunned, horror writ across his face.