Tunde materialized within the waiting chambers alongside the rest of Team Talahan, the light of the formation fading behind them. A collective exhale passed through the group as tension bled from their limbs. Their breaths came ragged, excitement still lingering in their systems.

  Several of them turned at once, eyes locking on Zhu. The Ethralite stood with arms crossed, wearing an expression of smug triumph. Tunde strode toward him without hesitation and wrapped him in a firm hug.

  “Thank you, brother,” he said, voice thick with gratitude.

  “Oh, come on,” Jing protested, rolling her eyes.

  “Not even you could’ve predicted he’d go for the pearl. Or whatever soul technique he used to steal it.”

  Harumi nodded beside her, arms folded.

  “What was that, anyway?” the Zao clan member asked, genuine curiosity coloring his tone.

  “An innate ability,” Zhu replied coolly.

  “One that turned out to be rather convenient.”

  “A pity I couldn’t finish my duel with the Asura,” Sera muttered, lowering herself onto one of the soft chairs scattered about the chamber.

  “I was enjoying it.”

  Tunde, still standing, turned toward the walls of the chamber. His Ethra sight flared to life, golden lines dancing across his irises. He gazed past the obfuscation arrays and dampening scripts etched into the very stone—barriers designed to keep the waiting teams isolated from one another. Through the layered protections, he felt it: the presence of a master, stepping into the chamber like a mirage made real.

  “Congratulations on completing the second round,” came Varis’s voice.

  His form coalesced at the edge of the room, hands folded behind his back.

  In unison, the team dropped to one knee and bowed at the waist. Their voices rang out together.

  “We greet the honored master.”

  Varis inclined his head, a trace of satisfaction in his expression.

  “The clan came first this time,” he said, tone almost amused.

  “Much to the displeasure of the other participating factions.”

  Tunde raised his head, his gaze steady.

  “We didn’t cheat,” he said, a hint of reproach lacing his words.

  Varis offered a calm nod and moved to sit, the seat conjured beneath him. At the same moment, Rhaelar appeared, her presence announced by the shattering of the formation that had transported her. She appeared as effortlessly as a breath, an apple blooming into her hand in the same heartbeat.

  She took a bite—crimson juice trailing along her fingers—and the room filled with the rich scent of blood and life essence.

  “They know,” she said smoothly, her voice lilting.

  “But it doesn’t matter.”

  She tossed her braid over one shoulder and continued. “The orthodox factions are fuming about the Mistwalkers’ removal. They claim, despite the fact that they struck first, that leniency should be shown—for the sake of balance in the later stages.”

  Varis chuckled.

  “Meanwhile, the unorthodox factions hate your guts. You stood toe to toe with Shui, fought her to a standstill… and then broke the Death Saint’s student like a twig.”

  He leaned forward, his smile widening.

  “And let’s not forget—Team Talahan is now in possession of the Origin Pearl. A priceless treasure for any body-tempering cultivator.”

  “Me,” Tunde said, lifting a hand.

  “I was the one who caused it.”

  Both masters nodded.

  “I hate to admit it,” Rhaelar said with a reluctant sigh, “but yes. You were the deciding factor in both major engagements.”

  Tunde noticed Jing shifting uncomfortably beside him. The tension in the room flickered just as a booming voice echoed into the chamber.

  “Harumi!”

  The Zao siblings groaned in unison.

  The saint known as Shen, Rhaelar’s and Varis’s father, materialized into the space like a storm with nowhere to go. He beamed at the Zao cultivator.

  “Beautiful performance out there!” he bellowed.

  “Your duel with the heir of the Twin Saber Sect was incredible!”

  He reached out and ruffled his hair. Harumi looked utterly mortified, though clearly too respectful—or terrified—to stop him.

  “Father, please,” Varis muttered, rubbing his temple.

  Shen looked between his children, wounded.

  “These children fought with their lives and reputations on the line!” he declared proudly, arms spread wide.

  Rhaelar sighed and massaged her forehead.

  “Father.” Varis’s voice was firmer this time.

  Shen ignored him.

  “They almost died for a silly pearl! By the way—who took the pearl?” He turned to Zhu, who hesitantly raised his hand.

  “Good!” Shen clapped his hands together.

  “I’ll buy it from you. A million lumens.”

  Zhu’s eyes widened.

  “Father!” Rhaelar groaned.

  “Alright, alright—two million lumens and a soulbound weapon,” Shen amended, undeterred.

  “That’s respect money right there.”

  “I’m not sure I—”

  “I’ll throw in my daughter,” Shen said suddenly.

  “Bit rough around the edges. Can’t cook. Honestly, not sure you’d want her near a kitchen—”

  “I’m telling mother,” Varis cut in flatly.

  Shen froze mid-sentence. He turned slowly to his son, narrowing his eyes.

  “I knew I should have strangled you when you were a baby, you little—”

  “I think you’re getting off point, husband dearest,” came a serene voice.

  Tunde stiffened. The temperature in the room shifted subtly.

  Mei Talahan, Master of the Talahan Clan, had arrived.

  She walked into the chamber like she owned not just the space, but the world. Her gaze flicked between them before she gently patted her husband’s shoulder, calming him with a single touch.

  “Varis, your father didn’t mean that,” she added with a warm smile that somehow still managed to be dangerous.

  So many powers of the Talahan Clan gathered in one place—and these weren’t even the strongest. The realization settled over Tunde like a weighted cloak. It spoke of the clan’s depth, and it stirred something inside him. His gaze drifted to Zhu and Sera.

  They were his closest friends now, after Elyria—and the still-missing Miria.

  He clenched his fists.

  “What my husband is trying to say,” Mei continued smoothly, “is that the pearl you secured—the Origin Pearl—is among the rarest of resources found on Adamath. It does not exist in Bloodfire. It’s a relic. A status symbol among the Keepers.”

  Tunde bowed low.

  “Pardon me, Honored Master. Are you saying the Keepers gave the pearl out for the competition?”

  Mei nodded.

  “Precisely. The Keepers of Astradriel are vain cultivators. Their soul techniques are unparalleled, which makes them terrifying opponents if you lack sufficient defenses. They only brought the pearl out to show off—to prove their superiority when their ‘chosen’ reclaimed it.”

  “But then you intervened,” Shen cut in, voice filled with mirth.

  “Destabilized the whole thing. Now they’re out for blood.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Zhu raised his chin.

  “It’s not our fault they were arrogant. We won it fair and square.”

  “Of course you did,” Mei said, her tone softening.

  “My strong, true beast. Zhu, was it?” She smiled at the Ethralite, who all but glowed under her praise.

  Tunde wondered if he looked like that in front of the masters.

  “Regardless,” Mei said, straightening, “you’ve drawn attention. The third round will be... problematic. Most factions will come for you. I’d advise you begin forming your own alliances now.”

  She paused.

  “That said—the pearl. What do you say to a deal? My daughter, ten million lumens, and a Skyvessel of your choice from our stores?”

  Rhaelar’s aura exploded in protest. The walls shivered.

  *************************

  The rewards for the second round came in twofold, and both were nothing short of extraordinary. The first was an elixir known as the Ancient Wood Breath—each vial a near-priceless treasure extracted from the sacred sap of an ancient tree rooted deep within the mystical forests of the Silvershade continent.

  Revered across the realms, the elixir was famed for its profound effects on the soul. When infused into a soul-nourishing bath, it would seep through the skin and into the spirit, reinforcing the foundation of one’s soul and nudging even seasoned cultivators further along the path toward the peak of the revered Highlord realm.

  For most, the effects would have taken weeks—months, even years—to fully manifest. But for Tunde, whose soul was already tempered by experience and hardened through trial, the reaction was near-instantaneous.

  The moment the elixir entered his system, he felt his soul push forcefully toward the peak of the Highlord realm, resonating with the power hidden in the ancient brew. Driven by caution—and no small measure of paranoia—Tunde had used the elixir immediately upon receiving it, choosing to absorb its power while still within the protective bounds of the Grand Valley.

  The second reward was the Blood Earth Pill, a dense crimson pellet known for its rare and violent refinement process. Sourced from the blood-soaked soil of battle-worn earth, the pill was a marvel of alchemy, meant to strengthen the physical vessel.

  It mimicked a miniature body tempering ritual, shaking the body from within and rebuilding it stronger. Tunde consumed it without hesitation, retreating to a deep meditative state as he drew every particle of its essence into his being. He wasn’t about to let even a speck of such a resource go to waste.

  His core now pulsed like a raging star—furious and bright, burning with an intensity that far surpassed the typical limits of his stage. The fire that had always been a part of him, that elemental essence flame dormant except during battle, had also awakened. It roared now with newfound vigor, growing fiercer and more refined with each beat of his heart. Yet despite all that power, Tunde knew his journey was far from over.

  Sitting cross-legged in his chambers, surrounded by stillness and the steady hum of protective formations, he returned inward—descending into the quiet depths of his soul. There, in the formless plane within him, he came face-to-face once more with it—the void wolf.

  It lay sleeping, as always, nestled in the shadows of his inner world. One of its glowing eyes cracked open lazily, taking in his presence with regal disinterest before closing again. The beast was a manifestation of his very soul—his ego, will, and existence personified. And yet, Tunde found its aloofness… oddly reassuring.

  This place, this sanctum within his soul, brought him a sense of clarity and peace that the waking world never could. Here, in the presence of the void, he could touch upon truths buried deep in the fabric of reality. The concept of the void called to him like a silent whisper—vast, unknowable, and endless. It wrapped around him in an embrace colder than death, yet not unwelcome.

  The void was one of the Cosmic Paths—its destructive aspect. Where others might have pursued its other, more serene paths, Tunde had chosen to walk the edge of nothingness. He meditated on its essence: the yawning chasm that drew all things inward, the stillness between stars, the silence after the end. It was not simply cold—it was cold, not in sensation but in truth. His veins filled with its chill, his breath fogging in the still air of his chamber as he exhaled frost.

  And then something shifted.

  Something answered.

  Within the depths of his spirit, his understanding of the void deepened. The concept unfolded further, revealing an extension—a realm within a realm. Ice. Frost. Absolute stillness. The realization hit him like a lightning strike. The void wasn’t just empty—it was frozen, a dominion where even time seemed hesitant to tread. The cold wasn’t simply metaphorical; it was elemental.

  His body began to levitate, suspended between the soul realm and the physical world. The void wolf stirred fully for the first time, rising from its slumber with lazy grace before reaching out a massive claw. It tapped his forehead with deliberate precision.

  Tunde gasped as the impact rippled through him.

  It felt like his soul had been plunged into a glacier—a deep, ancient cold that froze thought and stripped away warmth. His consciousness splintered and reformed, watching as a crystalline sphere of ice materialized before him. The orb glowed with an eerie luminescence, then pulsed forward, sinking directly into his core.

  With a jolt, he snapped back into reality.

  Sweat poured down his body, the remnants of spiritual frost steaming off his skin. In his open palm, a chunk of pure ice had manifested—silent, weightless, and impossibly cold. He stared at it for a long moment before it shattered into a fine mist, vanishing like a dream.

  But the aspect remained. Anchored. Real.

  Tunde had touched something deeper than power. He had taken his first true step into his understanding of the boundless cold of the void—and now, it was a part of his concept.

  *********

  From that point, it was a blur of motion as Tunde rushed toward Ifa’s abode, the place where Zhu now resided as well. He flew through the sky with practiced ease, his aura control over flight no longer requiring thought or conscious effort.

  It was as natural to him now as walking. The wind rippled past, brushing against his robes as he descended swiftly, slipping past the aura of the master that pulsed gently around the perimeter of the house like a protective formation. It parted for him with a shimmer.

  The moment he felt the familiar presence within, his rod materialized in his grip, transforming mid-air into the form of a sleek, black naginata. In a blink, he used Void Step, closing the distance between the threshold and the front of the building in a flicker of silence. The door slid open, revealing three figures seated within, calm and composed, each of them turning to meet his sudden entrance.

  "That's an odd way of coming into someone’s home," Liu of the Arcanists commented dryly, seated with a serene smile beneath his ever-present blindfold.

  "What are you doing here?" Tunde asked, voice low, tense—his grip on the naginata still tight.

  "At peace, Tunde," Ifa said in that calm, weighty tone of his, while Zhu remained utterly unbothered, stuffing bun after bun into his mouth with an almost exaggerated delight, groaning loudly as he savored the taste.

  "Having tea with the honored master," Liu replied, lifting his cup with a faint nod.

  "Congratulations on your victory, by the way."

  "You absolutely need to taste these buns!" Zhu added mid-chew, eyes wide with wonder.

  "You do me great honor," Liu said with a respectful bow to the Ethralite, who returned the gesture with a mouth full of food.

  Tunde stood there, still as a statue, taking in the odd scene with suspicion, unsure of what he was walking into.

  "Come, sit," Ifa said gently.

  "We have much to discuss."

  Tunde relented, stepping forward, though his eyes never left Liu.

  "How did you know of this place?" he asked as he sat.

  "All in good time," Ifa answered, brushing the question aside with frustrating ease.

  Tunde studied him, his expression shifting.

  "Are you well? You look... tired."

  Ifa’s face was composed, but there was a strain there—not of illness, but something deeper. A burden.

  "I'm fine. Likely just the tension of the banquet catching up with me," he said.

  Tunde nodded slowly, but he didn’t believe him.

  "It seems you've made a friend of an Arcanist," Ifa said, changing the subject.

  "I apologize," Tunde began, turning to Liu, "I haven’t had the chance to inform you yet. But it was simply a deal—one I have not broken."

  "And neither have I accused you of anything, Tunde," Liu said, smiling still.

  "This is merely fate at work."

  "Oh? In what way?" Tunde asked, his tone guarded.

  "It seems your friend here has fallen out of favor with his own people," Ifa said.

  "They want something he possesses—and he has no intention of giving it to them."

  "And how does that concern us?" Tunde’s voice sharpened.

  "Remember what we spoke about?" Liu interjected.

  "About protecting me from those seeking to harm me? Well, it's them."

  "And I also remember warning you that this should never bring harm to my family or friends—something I’m beginning to worry about now," Tunde snapped back.

  "Is he always like this?" Liu asked, tilting his head toward Ifa.

  The old master only gave a faint smile in reply, but Tunde’s glare was thunderous.

  Zhu chose that moment to shove a bun into Tunde’s mouth.

  "Eat," the Ethralite said simply, already turning back toward a large roasted bird laid before him with reverent anticipation.

  "It concerns us in ways you do not yet understand," Ifa said, his voice quiet but unyielding.

  "It concerns the world itself—our roles, and the madness the highest powers are preparing to unleash."

  Tunde stilled.

  "...The Hegemons?" he asked, his voice low with disbelief.

  Liu snorted.

  "Let’s make something clear—no Hegemon has walked the face of Adamath since your people sealed the paths and closed the other realms."

  Alarm bloomed in Tunde’s eyes. The casual way Liu spoke of such deeply hidden truths sent a ripple of unease through his spirit.

  "What he means," Ifa said, picking up the thread, "is that Adamath cannot withstand the presence of Hegemons. The true manifestations of profound laws would shatter this world like an egg. It simply wasn’t built to contain them anymore."

  Tunde rubbed his forehead, a deep frown settling on his face.

  "You’re giving me a headache here..."

  "Think of Adamath like a solid iron sphere," Zhu said suddenly, drawing their attention.

  "Before... whatever happened, it was strong enough to hold Hegemons. But now? It’s more like a thin eggshell. Barely strong enough to hold the regents—and riddled with cracks from the taint of foreign powers."

  "You mean humanity," Liu said.

  Zhu nodded.

  "To bring Hegemons back now would require... sacrifice. Massive sacrifice."

  "Deaths?" Tunde asked.

  "In the trillions," Ifa answered gravely.

  "Without a Seeker to safely undo the seals, the world itself would need to fuel their arrival—and that would only be possible through unimaginable loss of life."

  "And the patriarch of the Talahan clan?" Tunde asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  "He’s promised the regents of both the orthodox and unorthodox sects the power to ascend to Hegemony," Ifa said.

  "What he gains in return... remains to be seen."

  "Whatever it is," Liu added, "we must stop him, or the consequences will be catastrophic."

  Tunde let out a strained laugh, overwhelmed. He raised his palm, and black ice coalesced instantly—raw, crackling with void Ethra. Ifa inhaled sharply at the sight.

  "I thought my day couldn’t get any stranger," Tunde muttered.

  "And now I’m hearing about regents, Hegemons, and apocalyptic death tolls..."

  Ifa reached out, brushing the edge of the black ice, then drew his hand back slowly.

  "The aspect of Ice... an affinity rooted in the Void. Congratulations. Enlightenment comes swiftly to you."

  "As expected of the Wastelander," Liu added.

  Tunde’s head snapped toward him.

  "You don’t call me that. Ever."

  The smile vanished from Liu’s face. He bowed his head solemnly.

  "I understand. I apologize if I have offended you."

  Tunde gave a brief nod, his expression still tense.

  "What hope do we have?" he asked, quieter now.

  "What can a handful of Highlords and a single Master do against the pinnacles of cultivation on this world?"

  "You let us worry about that," Ifa replied.

  "You, on the other hand, have taken a step further on your path. I was against revealing this to you at first, but I now believe it’s time you were brought fully into the fold—as the head of the Seekers."

  Tunde’s eyes widened.

  "Head?"

  "Yes. I am a relic of the past. You represent our future. Cult leader of the Seekers... Tunde."

  "Told you you’d need that bun," Zhu said casually, patting his belly.

  Tunde dropped his head into his hands, breathing deeply, grounding himself in the chaos.

  "...What now?" he asked.

  "Now, I tell you something else you may not like," Ifa said, tone suddenly soft.

  Tunde’s head shot up.

  "What?"

  "Better it came from me than Liu," Ifa added.

  The Arcanist stayed silent, offering only a slight nod.

  "He was being hunted by the Phantoms," Ifa began, "on the direct orders of the Arcanists and the imperial clan themselves."

  Tunde’s heart skipped.

  "And the one leading them... was a Wraith."

  "A Wraith? What’s that?" Tunde asked, breath tight.

  "A manifestation of death and shadows," Liu began.

  "The very concept of the Phantoms given form—mindless, perfect killers. Cultivators of stealth, skill, and silence th—"

  "Liu," Ifa cut in sharply, "do you value your life?"

  The blindfolded man closed his mouth and gestured for Ifa to continue.

  "Tell me what?" Tunde asked, though deep down, he already feared he knew.

  "The Wraith... was a Phantom," Ifa said. "It was Miria. And she is no longer the woman you once knew."