Tunde was already running the moment Harumi touched on whatever it was that linked him to sainthood, his heart hammering in his chest, Zhu close behind him. No words were needed between them; the urgency was understood, as natural as breathing.

  As they reached the exit of the valley, where Highlord realm guards stood watching the battles from a floating construct, their gazes snapped sharply toward the newcomers, tension crackling in the air.

  “Get me Elder Shen, now. It’s important,” Tunde commanded, his voice low but thrumming with an authority that had the guards straightening instinctively.

  His eyes glowed faintly, the weight of his words shimmering in the Ethra-laden air.

  One of the guards scrambled to comply, activating a communication construct that hummed to life. A heartbeat later, Shen’s face appeared in the projection, wild-eyed and grim, as if he were fighting to stay in control.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Shen growled, his voice edged like a blade barely held in check.

  Of course. Tunde understood. He knew exactly what was happening—or rather, what could happen. The pieces clicked together with brutal clarity. Shen had known the risk when he pushed Harumi toward the song of blades, knew the peril that lay beneath, yet he’d done it anyway.

  Tunde remembered that from the vision the Soul Saint had shown him. So why, in all the heavens, would Shen have risked it at all?

  “I know how to help,” Tunde said, his voice steady and sure, slicing through the chaos like a blade.

  Shen paused, breath catching, recognition flickering in his eyes.

  “Of course,” Shen murmured after a moment, the realization settling in.

  He remembered who Tunde had walked with, the figure that had changed everything.

  Then the air shifted, as if reality itself had bent under a weight too great to hold. A crack appeared in the air beside Tunde, fracturing like glass, radiating a pulse of raw Ethra and authority so potent the Highlord guards recoiled in shock. The rift widened, revealing a swirling abyss within, shimmering with the unmistakable resonance of a true saint.

  “The power of a true saint,” Zhu breathed, part awe, part dread.

  Tunde didn’t hesitate. He stepped through the crack without a second thought, trusting in the master’s ability—and his own determination—to save Harumi. What lay beyond was a stark, almost bland white room, hovering high above the grand valley.

  The floor gleamed like polished bone, and the air was thick with pressure, the kind that crushed lesser men. In the center of the chamber, Harumi knelt, his fight over and his legs folded, sweat soaking his skin, shivering violently as if caught between worlds.

  Zhu materialized at his side, quiet and watchful, while Tunde’s gaze swept across the chamber’s other occupants. Shen sat behind Harumi, one palm pressed to the young man’s back, visibly straining as raw Ethra surged around him like a storm barely held at bay. His face was set in grim concentration, veins bulging at his temples, teeth clenched in a silent snarl.

  A woman stood nearby, tall and regal, the spitting image of Varis in her sharp features and cold bearing. Her gaze was like a blade itself, folded arms belying the storm of concern that simmered beneath. Mei, Varis’s mother.

  The weight of her presence settled on Tunde like a stone slab. Her eyes flicked to him briefly, and he found himself praying she wouldn’t do it again. A single glance from her felt like staring into an abyss of pure ruthless power.

  Rhaelar stood nearby, working furiously, pulling vial after vial of shimmering elixirs from her void ring, barely sparing him a glance. She was a blur of motion, her focus absolute.

  And then there was the last figure—the one whose very presence pressed down on Tunde’s chest like a mountain. A man with the same stark black and white hair as the Talahan clan, though streaked with far more white than black, wearing the unmistakable robes of the Heralds. A saint. His aura was suffocating, a tidal wave of authority that made Tunde feel like an ant beneath the gaze of the cosmos. For a fleeting moment, he wondered how Liu’s rebellion could ever hope to stand against a clan with this much power at their disposal.

  But he forced his attention back to Harumi, whose body trembled, green lines of power webbing across his skin, pulsing like they might tear him apart at any moment. His eyes darted, unfocused, lips trembling, sweat pouring down his face in rivers.

  Tunde hadn’t imagined this would be Harumi’s fate. Yet he’d spent long enough in this brutal world of cultivation to know that one’s path could be snuffed out in an instant. But he wasn’t about to let that happen—not here, not today.

  He reached into his void ring and retrieved a scroll, his fingers brushing across the aged parchment with a strange sense of gratitude. The Soul Saint had left this for him, along with a fortune in resources—most of which Tunde had already burned through. The writings were dense, filled with esoteric knowledge he barely understood.

  Yet one line had stayed with him: A strong soul is the foundation upon which the power of saints must stand. It spoke of touching on a “greater form of authority,” a phrase that sent a chill down his spine. What greater authority could there be than this crushing power he already felt?

  But while the others in the room stared down an imminent catastrophe, Tunde saw an opportunity. His soul, tempered by his unique bloodline, was as strong as a master’s. If anyone could intervene here, it was him.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly,” Shen ground out, Ethra flaring from his body in waves, cocooning Harumi in a desperate attempt to stabilize him.

  Tunde nodded, voice steady, calm as still water.

  “I’ll need to take over.”

  Shen’s eyes snapped to him, a storm of emotion swirling within—suspicion, desperation, and something like faint, grudging hope. Zhu tensed, ready to intervene if needed, but one glance from Tunde stilled him.

  This was enemy territory, yes, but the battlefield wasn’t always defined by blades. Sometimes, it was trust—and risk.

  Tunde settled in front of Harumi, his breath even, his focus absolute. Harumi’s eyes flickered toward him, wild and panicked, flickering like a trapped animal’s.

  “I need you to trust me,” Tunde murmured, his voice low but carrying an unshakable conviction that cut through the room like a blade.

  Harumi’s gaze sharpened, pupils dilating, and Tunde felt the weight of a lifetime’s worth of pain and fear behind those eyes. But then—the barest nod, a whisper of trust in a world that offered so little.

  Tunde reached out, gripping Harumi’s shoulders, and locked eyes with Shen. The master’s face twisted, reluctant, but something in Tunde’s gaze—steady, unflinching, true—must have convinced him. Shen’s hand trembled, then withdrew.

  In that instant, Tunde triggered his innate bloodline ability, throwing open the gates of his soul. A flood surged from Harumi’s body—raw, untamed, blistering power that struck Tunde like a hurricane. His mind screamed in protest, his body shuddered, but he held on, teeth clenched, heart steady.

  He sank deep into his soul space, and there it was—the storm. The surge of green power he had let in gathered like a wrathful hurricane above him, swirling with a force that threatened to tear everything apart. It howled across the infinite skies of his soul, an unrelenting tempest crackling with raw Ethra and authority.

  The wolf was nowhere to be found this time—no guide, no companion—only the obsidian-black stone gate and his core, the very essence of his concept, spinning with his aspects in their endless, deliberate dance.

  The gate hummed—a low, resonant vibration that shook the very ground of his soul space. Tunde felt a fierce grin pull at his lips. Yes. This was what he had hoped for. The storm might rage above, but this was his soul space. His domain. And no matter how wild or chaotic the tempest seemed, it was still subject to his law—whatever that might truly be.

  With a forceful tug of his will, he commanded the storm. The clouds twisted under his gaze, unwilling but unable to resist. He shoved them, raw and screaming, toward the stone gate. The gate flared, glowing a fierce, fiery violet, radiating a hunger that seemed unending, a devouring force that swallowed the storm as it descended in fury. The vortex above funneled into the gate, and though more of the power of sainthood flooded his body, Tunde held firm.

  Even as the gate consumed the storm’s power, Tunde set up checks. Filters of his will, siphoning the raw chaos into something refined. He could see it happening—some of the storm’s energy, transformed, being distilled into pure essence flame. The burning sun above his soul space pulsed brighter, stronger, healthier. It was as if his entire being was being fed, becoming more than it had been.

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  Authority seeped into his core, weaving into the very fabric of his soul. The change was visible—his soul space expanding before his eyes. Mountains of dark violet stone erupted from nothingness, stretching into the infinite horizon. The shallow water that had once been beneath his feet gave way, lush green grass springing up, vibrant and alive. His domain was evolving, growing stronger, becoming a world.

  But there was no time to marvel at the transformation. The storm was still a threat. Harumi was still dying. Tunde exhaled sharply, willing a door to appear—a gleaming arch of violet stone, pulsing with his authority. He didn’t know if this would work. He was guessing, moving on instinct and desperation. For a heartbeat, he wished Liu was here—his mind for planning, his sharp, strategic brilliance. But there was no time, and no help coming.

  He could be destroying both their souls right now. A single misstep, and he could shatter them both. But as he glanced at the raw, burgeoning power around him, at the awe-inspiring transformation of his soul space, he felt a flicker of confidence. No. He wasn’t wrong. He could do this.

  He opened the door.

  At once, he was ripped into a vortex—a screaming maelstrom of green lightning and shredding winds. It swallowed him whole, spinning him through a storm so vast and endless that he felt like a speck of dust. The nakedness of his soul hit him like a hammer blow, leaving him raw, exposed, prone. He wasn’t in his own space anymore.

  He was in Harumi’s.

  And it was a nightmare.

  Harumi’s soul floated at the heart of the storm, suspended in the eye like a fragile ember. It trembled, a flickering flame barely holding on. He was clutching onto something, a shape in the storm, holding it tight even as it tore pieces of him away.

  It was a female figure, radiant and terrible, a being of pure green energy, shimmering with raw authority. She wrapped around Harumi like a vice, holding him fast even as he disintegrated.

  “Harumi!” Tunde shouted, the sound swallowed by the shrieking winds.

  The storm tore at him like blades, flaying his soul, but he let it carry him, allowed it to hurl him across the infinite skies of Harumi’s fractured soul space. It was a place born of desperation and transformation—born of sainthood.

  Tunde clenched his jaw, holding onto sanity, his last thread of strength. The figure—the woman—was the source of the raw authority, the weight of sainthood itself. As he drew closer, he felt the winds begin to siphon through him, flowing into his own soul space, feeding the ever-hungry gate.

  He reached Harumi—grabbed his soul, shook him—and Harumi’s head jerked up, eyes wide, tears streaming. His voice cracked with disbelief:

  “Tunde?”

  “Let go!” Tunde roared over the storm.

  Harumi looked dazed, lost in the eye of the storm. Tunde slapped him—hard. The blow sent a shockwave through the soul space, and Harumi recoiled, gasping, clutching at his face as though it burned.

  Tunde winced. That had to have hurt everywhere—every part of Harumi’s being.

  But it worked. Harumi focused, awareness returning, realization dawning behind tear-soaked eyes.

  “I just got her back,” Harumi whispered, voice breaking, staring at the figure.

  Tunde blinked. He had no idea what Harumi meant—and, frankly, he didn’t care. Time was running out. The gate in his own soul space was still devouring the storm, but his limits were close. He could feel it in the marrow of his soul, a shuddering warning—his foundations fraying.

  He wasn’t sure what would happen when the gate reached its limit, but he was damn sure it wouldn’t be good.

  “You’ll die!” Tunde snarled, shaking Harumi again, raw frustration cutting through his fear.

  “Everything you’ve worked for will be gone! I’m going to die too, trying to help you! Let go!”

  Harumi hesitated, tears still streaming.

  Tunde cursed under his breath, then turned his gaze on the figure, staring into its fathomless, endless eyes. It wasn’t human, it wasn’t real, but there was something in it, some flicker of understanding.

  He doubted it would work, but he had to try.

  “Please,” he begged, voice ragged and hoarse.

  “Make him understand.”

  The figure tilted its head, considering him with a gaze that felt like an eternity compressed into a single instant. Then it turned back to Harumi, who stared at it like a child lost in the dark.

  “No,” Harumi whispered, shaking his head, eyes wide, pleading.

  The figure smiled softly, almost sadly, and raised a single finger. It tapped Harumi’s forehead, and for a heartbeat, everything stopped. The storm, the winds, the tearing power—all of it paused.

  “Run, then fly, little bird,” it said.

  Tunde’s breath caught, a chill racing down his spine.

  What the hell did that mean?

  Then the figure exploded.

  The shockwave shattered the storm, fracturing the soul space around them. Tunde was thrown backward, spinning violently, but he felt the pull, his own soul space calling him home. He slammed back into it, landing on the lush green grass with a grunt, his entire being aching and raw, a deep, soul-deep exhaustion weighing him down.

  For a long moment, he lay there, barely able to breathe. His spirit hurt, ragged, and worn.

  But then—

  The ache vanished.

  He cracked one eye open, shielding himself from the blazing violet sun that illuminated the skies above.

  His soul felt…whole.

  And he was alive.

  Somehow, against all odds, he was alive.

  Like a dam bursting in his mind, Tunde sat up in the blink of an eye, breath ragged as a fresh wave of raw power surged down from above, crashing into him like a tidal wave. This wasn’t the energy he had called upon, though—this came from a different source. One that hated him.

  “Not again…” he groaned under his breath, already weary. He crossed his legs instinctively, centering himself.

  Heaven’s Crucible.

  It loomed overhead, a grinding, relentless pressure, trying to descend. To test him. To break him.

  But this time, Tunde was ready. He felt its wrath, like the heavens’ fist trying to crush him for daring to interfere, but he held it back. With sheer will, he pushed it away, his very soul rejecting its presence. Not yet. Not here, not like this, not while surrounded by enemies. His breath hissed between his teeth as he opened his eyes—slow, controlled, grounded.

  The sight that greeted him staggered him.

  A smile spread across his face, a slow, dangerous grin as he turned his gaze to the black stone gate. It gleamed now, polished to a high sheen under the golden violet rays of the sun, its surface smooth and unmarred. Even the golden chains that bound it shimmered, their luster amplified by the light, as though transformed.

  Tunde nodded to himself, satisfaction blooming in his chest. His gamble had paid off.

  He considered, for a brief, flickering moment, what could have happened if it had all gone wrong. If the strain had been too much, if his soul had shattered like glass. A dark shiver ran through him at the thought. But he shook his head, dismissing it. No use dwelling on what could have been—there were other matters at hand.

  Then it hit him.

  His eyes widened as he felt it: the sheer, immense power flooding back into his body. The rush of energy was so intense it almost stole his breath. His soul, his very being, was stronger. So much stronger.

  He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to breathe steadily. The room around him was silent. Utterly, impossibly silent.

  Tunde feigned disorientation, letting his gaze drift as if to regain his bearings, though every sense burned with heightened awareness. His eyes finally locked onto Harumi, who sat nearby, his body stabilized, his presence transformed.

  There was an unmistakable aura around him now—authority. The remnants of Heaven’s Crucible still lingered faintly in the air, a testament to the power Harumi had just absorbed.

  Harumi had advanced. He was now a Master. The residual fragments of his brief brush with sainthood had pushed him over the threshold.

  But Harumi looked frail, his face pale, his aura thin—there was no mistaking the toll this had taken on him. His soul had been strained to the limit.

  Tunde’s gaze shifted and froze.

  Shen stood beside him, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Then, slowly, Shen bowed—a full, waist-deep bow that sent a shockwave through the room.

  Gasps rippled through the space like cracks in ice. The silence deepened, impossibly, as if even the air had been stunned into stillness.

  “What did you do?” a voice finally asked—the man with the Talahan look but the robes of a Herald.

  Before Tunde could speak, Shen straightened and answered for him, voice calm and measured.

  “Something an old friend of mine once taught him. Isn’t that right, Tunde?”

  Tunde nodded, swallowing hard, his throat dry.

  “I… I had to try,” he said, voice low, steady but tight with exhaustion.

  He was acutely aware of Zhu’s presence at his side, the Ethralite’s gaze sharp and unblinking, as if weighing him like a puzzle that refused to fit. Across the room, Mei and Rhaelar watched in silence, their expressions masked but their eyes piercing.

  Mei spoke first, her tone cold, yet with a faint undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

  “You risked your life for someone you barely knew. Why?”

  Tunde paused, carefully choosing his words.

  “I… simply helped a friend,” he said, bowing slightly, letting his body tilt as if on the edge of collapse.

  “You need to rest,” Shen interjected, his voice carrying authority.

  “Your turn in the tournament is coming soon, and I fear we have placed a heavy burden on you.”

  He reached into his void ring, retrieving a small, ornate box and placing it gently in Tunde’s palm.

  Tunde’s breath caught, eyes widening slightly as he caught the subtle look Shen gave him when he felt the power humming from within the box—a silent message passed in the flicker of a gaze.

  “Within it is a Grade 6 healing elixir and pill. It should ease your pain,” Shen said aloud, his tone calm, formal, almost dismissive.

  Tunde nodded slowly, forcing a respectful bow.

  “I thank the honored master,” he murmured, his voice low, his mind racing.

  Shen nodded once, snapped his fingers—and the space beside Tunde ripped open, a shimmering tear in reality itself. Without hesitation, Shen and Zhu stepped through, leaving behind a room thick with tension and appearing right within the waiting room.

  Tunde waited until the crack sealed shut, then lifted one finger to his lips in a silent gesture, locking eyes with Zhu.

  Only when the space was fully sealed did he release a faint pulse of aura, throwing up a shield of perception around them.

  Zhu’s gaze sharpened.

  “What in the heavens did you do up there?” he asked, voice low and intense.

  Tunde could see the disbelief in Zhu’s eyes, the way he kept looking at him, as though trying to reconcile the man before him with the impossible changes he could feel.

  Tunde exhaled slowly, a tired smile tugging at his lips.

  “I… took advantage of an opportunity I couldn’t believe. I saved Harumi.” He let the words hang for a beat, then added quietly, almost as an afterthought, “Now the saint owes me.”

  Zhu let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

  “Bold… but risky.”

  Tunde’s eyes flicked toward him, a flash of sharp humor in his tired gaze.

  “Is anything worthwhile in this world not risky?” he asked, his voice wry as he opened the small box.

  Light—pure, golden, and blinding—flooded the room as the box’s contents were revealed. Tunde’s breath caught, his eyes widening as the sheer potency of the energy inside hit him like a wave.

  Even Zhu froze, his breath hissing softly, the two of them locked in stunned silence for a long moment.

  Finally, Tunde snapped the box shut, the click sharp in the quiet.

  “That wasn’t a pill,” Zhu said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

  “No,” Tunde replied, his voice soft, almost reverent. His gaze lingered on the closed box in his hands, heart pounding.

  “No, it wasn’t.”