"That..." Tunde began, then faltered, the word hanging lifeless in the air as he struggled to find anything more.

  His chest rose and fell with the weight of too much knowledge, too much horror. He looked around, eyes darting between Ifa and Liu, their gazes vast and starry—like the cosmos themselves stared back at him.

  "Why?" he finally asked, his voice low, rough. It was all he could manage.

  "Power," Liu answered, flat and unflinching.

  "It’s as simple as that. Although..." he hesitated for just a breath, "I have another theory."

  Ifa's expression shifted sharply, a flicker of alarm passing across his ancient features.

  "No," he said, voice firm and immediate, cutting Liu off before he could continue.

  "It’s not possible."

  Tunde’s eyes narrowed.

  "What theory?" he asked slowly, turning his gaze on Ifa now.

  There was no room left for shadows between them, no more space for secrecy.

  "No secrets any longer, remember?" he added, his voice firmer now, more insistent.

  Ifa exhaled quietly, reluctantly, before nodding once—short and heavy with resignation.

  Liu cleared his throat and spoke with careful precision.

  "Alright. We now understand the structure of the planar tree—the vast, interconnected network that binds all planes—and the seas that separate them. We also know that, long ago, the ancestors of both orthodox and unorthodox factions came to Adamath and deliberately severed its connection to the planar tree. Not completely—but enough to mask its presence from the grander planes."

  He looked around the room, letting that statement settle.

  "The question is: why?"

  Tunde folded his arms across his chest, his brow furrowed in thought.

  "You think they were running from something?"

  "Yes," Liu said, his tone serious. "What that something is, we can only guess... unless the elder here can illuminate the dark for us?" He turned his gaze toward Ifa.

  Ifa shook his head, slowly.

  "As I’ve said before, Alana told us little. Only that the Pathways had to be watched at all times. She didn’t seal them completely—at first."

  "Oh?" Liu asked, interest lighting his eyes.

  "Indeed," Ifa continued, his voice distant as memories stirred.

  "Back then, Hegemony was still possible. There were Regents, yes—even Alana was one of them—but Ethra flowed freely, and Adamath was..."

  "Free," Zhu finished quietly, the word solemn.

  Ifa looked at him and nodded. "Yes. Free."

  "But the factions outside never trusted us," he went on.

  "They believed we were hiding the paths to the more lucrative rifts, the ones they craved for advancement and power. To them, we were gatekeepers. Obstacles. So they plotted to take us hostage, to pull us down from our elevated state and grind us into servitude."

  He paused, his expression hardening.

  "Alana would rather have died."

  "So she sealed the Paths completely," Tunde said, his voice tight.

  "Yes," Ifa confirmed.

  "She severed the links to fresh sources of Ethra. From then on, we had only the slow trickle from the Convergence—the residual Ethra gathering in the outer layers of the plane."

  "And now..." Sera interjected, her expression grim.

  "You think that by advancing to Hegemon through the monstrous act they’re planning, the Regents could shatter the seal?"

  "I wish that were the case," Liu replied quietly.

  "But no."

  He looked up, his eyes dark with something that was almost dread.

  "You see, from the moment I heard about that creature—the thing that nearly forced its way into our plane through the Sect of the Ashen Flame—I had a sinking feeling. Especially when, not long after, all the powers of Adamath began to stir."

  "And that feeling is...?" Tunde asked.

  "That Adamath has been found," Liu said, each word deliberate and heavy.

  "Not just by the horrors that drift through the planar seas... but by other planes. Great ones. Vast in power. And I believe the Regents know this."

  He took a breath.

  "I believe they’re trying to ascend to Hegemony not merely for the sake of conquest, but because they know something is coming. And they want to be strong enough—need to be strong enough—to meet it when it arrives."

  Silence fell. A thick, suffocating silence that pressed down on the room like a storm cloud.

  "Do we even want to imagine what that might be?" Zhu asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "No," Ifa said, his voice a low murmur—haunted and certain.

  "All I know is this: it was enough to make Alana seal an entire plane from the rest of existence. Enough to abandon progress, to sacrifice freedom, to isolate a world. Whatever they are... we probably don’t want to meet them."

  “So, let me get this straight,” Tunde said, his voice tight with disbelief.

  “We’re trying to stop the most powerful individuals on the plane—the pinnacles of power—from wiping out a good portion of the population. And we’re doing that how, exactly?”

  The silence that followed only made the weight of his words heavier.

  Sure, he was strong. Stronger than most. But there was no reality where he was getting within two feet of a Paragon, much less a Regent. Even the idea of going toe-to-toe with a Master gave him pause. That thought stuck with him like a splinter in the back of his mind—since when did I even start considering fighting a Master?

  He shook the thought off and turned to something else that had been gnawing at him.

  “And how did the people of Adamath even know about Hegemons, if none of the original cults ever reached that level?”

  “Because,” Ifa said, his tone low and measured, “as you may have heard long ago, each of the cult leaders came with a spirit beast—beings that were the living pinnacles of their respective cults.”

  There was a strange, reverent hush to his voice, but it was edged with reluctance—as though the memories he summoned were ones best left buried.

  “You’ve heard of Luwaye, the Howling Wolf,” Ifa continued. “But the rest… the rest were different. Not all of them should have been called beasts.”

  Tunde nodded slowly. He remembered now—Borus, his old traitor mentor, had once mentioned them back when Tunde was still wide-eyed and na?ve. Before war and reality ground those illusions to dust.

  “So the cults got their names from the beasts?” Sera asked, eyes narrowing in thought.

  “Yes,” Ifa confirmed.

  “Though calling them beasts was... generous. They were spirit entities, creatures of great power, grown strong enough through cultivation to serve as guardians for the Regents themselves. And you know how beast cultivation works.”

  Tunde did. They all did. Beasts always punched above their weight. Zhu was a perfect example—he could already fight at the peak of the Highlord realm despite being only in its early tiers. A terrifying fact, and one Tunde tried not to think about too often.

  He rubbed his face with a tired chuckle that held no humor.

  “So everything about Adamath... is a lie?”

  “A beautifully crafted one,” Liu replied.

  “A lie rehearsed and performed across generations. Even the endless battles between the orthodox and unorthodox factions—they’re just part of the act. The ones who truly suffer are the sects, clans, and schools beneath them. Pawns in a grand deception.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Sera’s brow furrowed.

  “But where did those people even come from? I thought Adamath had no humans originally.”

  “Ifa?” Liu prompted.

  “They came along with the factions,” Ifa said.

  “At least, that’s the tale I was told. As humans do, they branched out. Spread like fire and seed. Built kingdoms, raised empires, fought wars, and bled across the land. Countless dynasties and lineages have risen and fallen since then—so many that most are now little more than whispers in dusty records or forgotten tombstones. Footnotes in the great book of history.”

  Tunde glanced at Ifa, suddenly aware of the unspoken age behind the man’s calm demeanor. Of how long he had drifted in silent sleep, his consciousness sealed in the relic. And then he looked at his right arm—where Alana’s soulbound weapon lay dormant, forgotten. It had been so long since he’d even considered touching it.

  “As for how we’re going to stop the Regents,” Liu said, drawing their attention back, “know this: forces are already moving. Quietly. Strategically. I cannot name them, but they exist. And before this tournament ends…”

  He let the sentence trail off like a blade hanging in the air, waiting to fall.

  “Talahar will become a bloodbath,” Tunde finished grimly, the weight of those words sinking into the very bones of the room.

  And this time, no one disagreed.

  “So what do we do now?” Tunde asked, the bitterness in his voice seeping through.

  “Pretend like the end of the world isn’t about to happen and just carry on with the tournament?”

  Liu nodded solemnly.

  “For you all, yes. The tournament must continue. Leave the rest to the elder and me.”

  Tunde stared at him, stunned by how casually he said it. Liu, however, seemed already resolved.

  “The Talahan clan hunts for me,” he continued, “on orders from my mother herself. But this plan… this plan has been in motion for a long time.”

  There was something grimly prophetic about his tone, as if the pieces of this moment had been falling into place long before any of them were born.

  “Just a simple question,” Sera interjected.

  “Do we have any Regents of our own?”

  “No,” Liu said without hesitation.

  “We have Paragons… and Saints. A lot of Saints.”

  Tunde nodded wordlessly, though he took no comfort from the answer. The plan was just as bleak as it sounded. Saints and Paragons might have been a reason to hope—once. But knowing the enemy had those and Regents made it feel like they'd already lost the war before the first blow was struck.

  “We can’t be here when it happens,” Tunde said quietly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

  “To be fair,” Liu replied, his voice grave, “nowhere will be safe if their plan succeeds.”

  Tunde rubbed his forehead, the tension knotting behind his eyes like a second skull trying to push its way out.

  “I need to get in touch with Black Rock,” he muttered.

  “I can’t—”

  He stopped, swallowing hard.

  “Why does it feel like no matter how strong I get, there’s always something worse around the corner? Some greater threat, waiting?”

  “Because that is the nature of things,” Ifa said, his voice gentle but unwavering.

  “It is inevitable.”

  “A few weeks ago, you would never have thought it possible to defeat the student of the Paragon of Death. Or survive an encounter with a Keeper. And yet, here you are,” Ifa said with a faint smile.

  “A living testament that Alana’s bloodline hasn’t weakened.”

  “Speaking of which,” Tunde said, shifting his focus.

  He opened his void ring and pulled out a small glowing object—the sphere of gold and silver light that pulsed faintly in his hand.

  Liu sucked in a breath the moment he saw it.

  “What is that?”

  “A key,” Ifa replied before Tunde could answer.

  Tunde blinked, glancing sideways at the elder.

  “You’ve seen this before?”

  “I waited,” Ifa said calmly. “Waited for you to show it to me of your own choice.”

  “Well, I got it,” Tunde said.

  “Along with… something else. Some kind of space—powerful, locked up inside me. It's been wrecking my spirit space ever since.”

  Silence descended as both Liu and Ifa stared at him strangely.

  “…What?” Tunde asked, feeling self-conscious under their stares.

  “When you say ‘your spirit’... what exactly do you mean?” Liu asked, his voice cautious, deliberate.

  Tunde cleared his throat.

  “Well, I have this kind of… place. Inside me. I can see my cores in it, and I sort of retreat there when I meditate. I don’t know how to explain it—it’s just there.”

  “A Soulspace,” Ifa breathed, awe overtaking him.

  Liu, too, was momentarily speechless.

  “What’s a Soulspace?” Sera asked, her confusion written plainly on her face.

  “It’s…” Ifa began, but struggled to find the words.

  “It’s a vast inner realm that forms within the soul of cultivators,” Liu picked up.

  “Only those at the Master realm or higher even begin to develop one. And even then, most don’t fully access it until they’ve become Paragons—or Regents. And even then, it’s rare.”

  “Wait—are you saying you don’t have one?” Tunde asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Tunde,” Ifa said quietly, “you’re not meant to have one yet.”

  Tunde could tell the elder was trying to process what he’d just learned. There was a rare expression on his face—an emotion Tunde had hardly ever seen in him.

  Hope.

  “In this soul space,” Liu asked, voice laced with fascination, “what else is there?”

  “There’s… something,” Tunde said, choosing his words carefully.

  “A manifestation of my aura, I guess. The wolf. It’s always been with me.”

  “And it’s alive?” Ifa asked, incredulous.

  “Well… should it be dead? Because honestly, it’s been looking a bit sickly lately. I’ve been starting to worry,” Tunde said with a half-hearted shrug.

  “Take me there,” Liu said abruptly, excitement flickering in his eyes.

  Tunde turned sharply to face him, suspicion rising.

  “Why would I do that?” he asked, his voice wary.

  Something in him recoiled at the idea. His soul—his spirit—was the last sanctuary he had. It was the one place he’d never been violated, never questioned. Why should he invite someone in? Especially someone he’d only just begun to trust?

  Liu’s expression shifted as understanding dawned. He bowed his head slightly, his eagerness tempered.

  “I see. Forgive me. That request was… too forward.”

  “I need to see it,” Ifa said, his voice quieter but steadier, drawing Tunde’s attention once more.

  “If it’s true that you have a Soulspace… then the advantages that gives you are nearly limitless.”

  There was a kind of reverence in his tone, like he was speaking of a prophecy long thought broken.

  “For too long,” Ifa began, “we have suffered under the wrath of the heavens for sins we did not commit. But this… this changes everything.”

  His eyes lit with a rare fire.

  “An Highlord with a soul space? It’s unheard of—even across all my years. It explains your unnatural resistance to soul-based techniques. You have the soul space—the early authority to nullify such attacks. And with our bloodline’s abilities…”

  His words hung in the air like thunderclouds about to break.

  “Alright, now I’m jealous,” Zhu said, folding his arms with a playful grin.

  “Speak for yourself,” Sera said bluntly.

  “How do I get one?”

  “Masters begin to form them,” Liu explained.

  “But the soul space doesn’t stabilize until Paragon—maybe early Regent tier. At best.”

  “Good,” Sera said without missing a beat.

  “Then I just need to keep advancing.”

  Liu turned back to Tunde, whose thoughts were spinning. Everything else he could deal with, but inviting someone into his soul space?

  Then again… Liu had sworn an oath of such magnitude that Tunde felt a pang of guilt for doubting him. Still, he hadn’t survived this long by trusting easily.

  “Just so you understand,” Liu added carefully, “we’d be powerless inside. We couldn’t bring our physical bodies—only our soul-forms. We’d be little more than energy, floating within your domain. Completely at your mercy.”

  “Oh,” Tunde said, the realization settling over him like a shroud.

  That… clarified a few things.

  “So… how do we do it?” he asked at last.

  “I can help project our consciousness into your soul space,” Liu explained, his voice calm and assured.

  “It’s just a matter of you allowing us entry. The space is yours, after all—your will governs it.”

  Tunde exhaled, long and slow. The weight of everything still sat on his shoulders, but he nodded.

  “Alright. The sooner we do this, the better.”

  Liu nodded in agreement and stepped forward, his expression sharpening with focus. He clapped his hands together once, the sound reverberating like a strike on a temple bell. His eyes lit up with a soft golden glow as arcane runes burst forth in the air around them—lines of elegant, ancient script weaving through the space like ethereal vines. Ifa moved closer, eyes narrowing as he examined the forming formation.

  “Remember,” Liu said, his tone growing serious.

  “This is your soul space. The moment we try to enter, if you hesitate too long, I’ll have no choice but to recall us. Prolonged disconnection from our bodies… it could damage our souls.”

  Tunde nodded again, steeling himself.

  Liu reached out and took hold of Ifa’s arm. The runes began to swirl, winding around both of them like silken cords of light, then branching out to wrap around Zhu and Sera. Tunde watched as a luminous formation array blossomed beneath their feet—a living diagram of layered sigils and flowing geometric lines, pulsing with power.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sinking inward, drawing himself into that strange inner plane—his soul space.

  The transition was seamless, like slipping into a familiar dream.

  He stood once again within the vast ethereal landscape. The space pulsed with a deep, steady resonance, the very air humming with a spiritual vibration that had become second nature to him. His eyes instinctively went to the wolf.

  It had moved closer to the enormous stone gate, its once-majestic form now gaunt, almost translucent. Tunde’s heart clenched, but he forced himself to breathe. They’re here to help. He had to let them in quickly.

  So he visualized a door—something simple. A plain wooden structure, unadorned, but deeply personal. He opened it within the confines of his mind's eye, and a moment later, four glowing orbs drifted through the threshold like fireflies. They expanded midair, taking human form as they stabilized.

  Zhu shuddered visibly. “That felt completely wrong.”

  “And like it lasted an eternity,” Sera muttered, brows furrowed in discomfort.

  “That’s what it’s like entering the soul domain of another cultivator,” Liu said, brushing off imaginary dust. “You lose the anchor of your own authority—it leaves you adrift, vulnerable.”

  Only Ifa remained composed, though his eyes were wide with awe, already fixated on something behind Tunde.

  “Your core…” Ifa whispered, as if speaking too loudly might disturb something sacred.

  Tunde felt a strange rush of pride. To impress Ifa was no small feat.

  “That explains it,” Sera said, eyes narrowing as she studied him.

  “The endless Ethra you seem to have. You have four cores!”

  Liu chuckled softly, already examining the phenomenon with a scholar’s curiosity.

  “Not quite four cores,” he corrected. “Look closely.”

  He pointed, fingers tracing through the ambient light.

  “As you climb in cultivation, your path begins to refine itself. You gain clarity. Deeper insight. We call those manifestations aspects—they form when you experience profound inspiration.”

  “Let me guess,” Zhu said dryly, “another thing Highlords shouldn’t have?”

  “Partially,” Liu said, his tone thoughtful.

  “At the peak of the Highlord realm, cultivators begin to glimpse such insights. But to have three fully formed aspects while still in the Highlord realm? That’s extraordinary. It shows a deep resonance with your concept.”

  He turned toward Tunde and bowed deeply at the waist.

  “Congratulations.”

  They were interrupted as Ifa suddenly dropped to his knees, hands trembling as he stared at the massive stone gate.

  “Ifa?” Tunde said, instantly by his side. The elder’s hands were shaking—his spiritual form quivering.

  “Alana…” Ifa whispered.

  His eyes were wet. Tears—even in a spiritual body. It was a sight Tunde never thought possible.

  “What?” Tunde asked, confused.

  Liu stepped closer to the gate, but the skeletal wolf raised its head and growled low and deep. Liu stopped short, laughing nervously and taking a cautious step back.

  “This is the space you took from the Keepers, right?” Liu asked, eyeing the gate with obvious apprehension.

  Tunde nodded.

  “Yeah. And every time I bring out the sphere, I feel immense pain in my spirit—like it’s trying to tear me apart.”

  Liu gave a low whistle.

  “Stupid Keepers… I doubt they realized what they just gave you.”

  There was something else in his voice now. Not just awe—jealousy.

  “I’m still lost,” Tunde admitted.

  “What is this thing?”

  Ifa bent low until his forehead touched the ground, his voice loud and reverent.

  “Long live the Walkers! Long live the line of the Seekers!” he shouted.

  Tunde blinked, utterly baffled.

  Liu bowed as well, this time toward the gate itself, a solemn expression on his face.

  “Congratulations, Tunde,” he said, lifting his eyes back to him.

  “You’re staring at an inheritance,” he said with gravity, “of a Regent.”