Tunde made his way to the engine room, where the Ethra furnace burned white hot, glowing intensely. Runes, as if carved into the metal, pulsed intermittently against the furnace’s body. Pipes stretched out from its core like tentacles, weaving through the engine room and snaking outward into the ship itself.

  The room's warmth was a welcome contrast to the frigid winds whipping across the Heartlands’ skies as they headed toward the central plains and, eventually, Talahar. Tunde spotted Ifa hunched over what looked like a hastily constructed workstation, scribbling notes on a parchment while frowning and drawing strange shapes.

  Ifa paused and glanced over his shoulder, smiling softly. "Finally gone through the gifts the saint left you?" he asked, turning back to his work. Tunde moved closer, curious. In Ifa’s hand was a quill that seemed to be made of Ethereon itself, glowing with the elder’s Ethra, which felt surprisingly similar to his own.

  "You use cosmic Ethra," Tunde whispered into the silence, watching the elder work, his face eerily familiar.

  "Cosmic for the power of reality, and earth to keep me grounded," Ifa replied casually as he carved a shape into a piece of metal. The metal rippled before shattering like glass. Tunde raised an eyebrow.

  "That was Ethereon," he pointed out.

  Ifa nodded with a sigh. "Tainted Ethereon. I believe our deceased captain was not only trading goods but also dealing in black-market items."

  He handed Tunde another piece of the metal. "This is tainted Ethereon, used by criminal groups for its ability to shatter."

  "It sounds foolish," Tunde remarked with a frown.

  "It does, doesn’t it?" Ifa chuckled. "Yet, it’s perfect for assassinations. Overload it with Ethra beyond its capacity, and it disintegrates into fine dust, leaving no trace."

  Ifa blew at the shattered metal on the table, watching it turn to sparkling dust. "In concentrated form, it can also be lethal. Any skilled glass or metal Ethra user could kill you from the inside out with this stuff. It’s still metal, after all," he added with another chuckle as Tunde’s expression darkened.

  "And what were you doing with it?" Tunde asked, his tone sharp.

  "Trying something no one’s ever done before," Ifa replied, turning back to the table. "Making tainted Ethereon durable."

  "Why would you want to do that?" Tunde asked, puzzled. Given its volatility and value in the hands of those who’d use it for evil, like the Brotherhood, wouldn’t it be better to hand it over to the authorities in Talahar?

  "Because, last time I saw tainted Ethereon, it was worth five thousand lumens per piece—and that was before the Talahan clan existed. If I can make it stable, we could be sitting on a fortune," Ifa explained. "Advancement isn’t cheap, and we’re not part of an influential faction, no matter what that medallion you carry suggests."

  "That explains why the captain was in such a hurry to reach the capital," Tunde said thoughtfully.

  Ifa nodded. "He likely had a buyer waiting in Talahar. We just need to find out who."

  "And how do we do that?" Tunde asked.

  "I’ll handle it," Ifa replied, as another piece of metal rippled without shattering. "Might as well stretch my legs a bit once we land."

  Tunde’s gaze drifted to the Ethra furnace. "What exactly did the saint do to the ship?" he asked, eyeing the pulsing inscriptions on the metal pipes.

  "A lot," Ifa said. "Increased furnace output, better durability, speed—it’s basically a ship that other factions would pay a fortune for."

  "Hence why you wanted us to keep it," Tunde murmured.

  "Ifa nodded. "That, and the load of tainted Ethereon aboard. The capital will be expensive, so we’d better secure all the lumens we can."

  "Speaking of wealth," Tunde said, producing one of the diamond Aurum cards. Ifa paused, impressed. "The saint?" he asked.

  Tunde nodded. Ifa took the card, running his Ethra through it before nodding. "Full too. You should be somewhat comfortable in the capital then."

  "Somewhat?" Tunde raised an eyebrow.

  "Depends on where you plan to stay in Talahar. Even a diamond card might not be enough," Ifa replied.

  Tunde smirked and produced the second card. "He was a saint, after all."

  Ifa froze, staring at the second card. "I don’t have to warn you about flaunting your wealth in the capital, do I?" he asked, frowning.

  Tunde nodded. "I know. We’ll keep up the fa?ade they expect—a backwater sect lucky enough to catch the attention of the Imperial Clan."

  "Good," Ifa said, satisfied. "Now, why did you come down here in the first place?" he asked, tossing aside the metal he’d been working on.

  Tunde hesitated before speaking. "I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior."

  Ifa grunted but said nothing, so Tunde continued. "The saint said some things... but you haven’t given me any reason to distrust you."

  "Yet," Tunde added silently.

  "You think I’d sacrifice you for revenge?" Ifa murmured. The metal in his hand emitted a sharp 'ping' as if struck by a bell, and Ifa smiled. "I wasn’t sure what you wanted," Tunde admitted.

  "What is it you think I want?" Ifa asked.

  Tunde licked his lips. "The downfall of the other cults. The resurrection of the Seekers. And the restoration of our home."

  Ifa sighed and set the pen down, fully turning to Tunde. His eyes were filled with grief and the weight of centuries.

  "When our home fell, there was nothing left for us. Our people scattered like ants, fleeing into unknown lands to escape the cults’ gaze," Ifa began, his voice sharp with old pain. "People don’t understand that cults are like natural disasters. And only a cult can bring down another, but the consequences are far-reaching."

  "Far-reaching?" Tunde asked.

  "Yes. Haven’t you wondered why the Heralds and Arcanists haven’t wiped each other out, despite their hatred?" Ifa asked.

  Tunde frowned, realizing he hadn’t considered it before.

  "It’s because each cult represents a fundamental aspect of existence—well, not reality, but our way of life," Ifa explained. "The Heralds embody the need for battle to cultivate. The Artificers, the twisted pursuit of creation. And we… we were the keepers of travel, able to create Nexus keys that made journeys between continents as easy as taking a sky vessel."

  Tunde’s eyes widened. "Why didn’t you tell me this before?"

  "What good would it have done?" Ifa snorted. "It’s an old tale from a bygone era. And besides, if I taught you how to create Nexus keys now, what would happen when you accidentally triggered one and revealed a power reserved only for masters?"

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "I can create Nexus keys?" Tunde asked, astonished.

  "Ifa nodded, a hint of pride in his tone. "You’re one of the last—if not the only—full-blooded descendant of Alana and Luwaye, the Progenitor Beast. Your blood is as pure as it gets. Few things are beyond your grasp if you gain the knowledge and put your mind to it."

  "But you’re afraid of our enemies finding out," Tunde whispered.

  Ifa nodded. "Just because I’m not actively searching for them doesn’t mean they aren’t doing the same. You think I want revenge? No, Tunde. I want you to reach your full potential and rebuild what we lost. Our people need a home again. As for those who led the battle against us? I have a feeling we won’t need to worry about them for long."

  "And why’s that?" Tunde asked.

  Ifa shrugged. "Just a guess. Nothing to bother your head with."

  "Whenever you say that, it means you know something you’re not telling me," Tunde replied.

  "I know a lot of things I can’t share yet, and yes, that’s one of them," Ifa said with a tight smile. "So no, I won’t waste your life on meaningless revenge. I want to bring down the cults, yes, but that’s my fight. You have yours."

  Tunde took a deep breath and nodded. "The saint was right, though. If I’m not careful, I could draw attention before I’m ready."

  "You haven’t gone astray so far," Tunde said.

  "Let’s hope it stays that way, starting with living within our means at the capital and finding a buyer for our unwanted merchandise," Ifa replied.

  "Oh, and the saint left me this," Tunde said, handing over the formation scroll.

  Ifa whistled in appreciation. "This is… impressive."

  "What is it?" Tunde asked, his hopes rising.

  "An Ethra gathering formation," Ifa replied, watching Tunde’s excitement deflate.

  "Oh," Tunde said, disappointed.

  "You don’t sound as enthusiastic as I expected," Ifa remarked dryly.

  "What use is an Ethra gathering formation to me?" Tunde asked. With his relic, he could absorb Ethra quickly, so the array seemed pointless.

  Ifa shook his head. "You’re more battle-focused than enlightened," he observed. "Formations like this aren’t for battle. They help cultivators focus on their Ethra affinities, gaining profound insights and enlightenment. I believe the saint made this specifically for his people before… well, before everything went wrong."

  Tunde’s eyes widened as Ifa continued. "A formation like this could sell for two to three million lumens, but it’s invaluable for your growth."

  "How do I use it?" Tunde asked.

  Before Ifa could answer, his head snapped toward the door. "We have an unwanted guest," he said, rising to his feet as Tunde instinctively drew his naginata, ready for whatever came next.

  *****************************************

  Tunde thundered up the steps, sending a pulse of his aura across the entire ship. Doors burst open as he sensed the Ethras of the crew swell in response. Once on deck, he saw a figure clad in a black robe, its fabric fluttering in the wind under the bright daylight. A hood obscured the figure’s face, shadow Ethra cloaking his features. Tunde’s Ethra sight pierced through it easily, revealing a pale, cold expression beneath.

  Daiki arrived first, staff in hand, ready to unleash a projection technique—until he suddenly halted, recognition dawning on his face. Sera appeared next, her blade drawn and blood Ethra swirling around her, the wooden floors of the ship crackling with ice as Zehra arrived, also recognizing the figure.

  Both Daiki and Zehra bowed at the waist. “We greet the emissary of the Whispering Phantom Sect,” they said, as Tunde’s eyes widened.

  Instinctively, he clenched his fists—something he was sure the still, silent emissary noticed—before he calmed himself. Ifa’s firm hand settled on his shoulder. Tunde glanced at him, seeing the elder smiling as he too bowed to the figure, despite Tunde knowing the emissary was of lower rank than Ifa. Yet the emissary carried the authority of the Talahan clan, signified by the medallion hanging over his chest.

  “Greetings,” the emissary said calmly. “I come in the name of the Talahan clan. My message is for Tunde Darkfist.”

  Tunde stepped forward, his mind racing. “I am he,” he replied quietly.

  The phantom’s attention locked fully onto him, and a wave of shadow Ethra enveloped the two of them, isolating them from the rest of the group. Within the phantom’s dominion, a blue hue glowed, casting an eerie light. The emissary stepped closer.

  “I bring a message from your benefactor,” he began. Tunde nodded, knowing Varis had been monitoring his movements.

  “He wishes to inform you that your recent actions have been impressive, as expected. However, he cares little for the companions you have gathered,” the phantom said, his tone carrying the usual cold indifference.

  Tunde smirked inwardly. Typical of Varis. It struck him that he now had two mentors—two masters guiding his path.

  “He also wants to remind you,” the phantom continued, “that the medallion in your possession will hinder you more than it helps if you make a habit of flashing it at minor inconveniences. Use it only in the direst circumstances.”

  “The master’s words have been heard,” Tunde responded.

  The phantom raised a finger. “He also requests that you complete one task for him.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a sealed scroll at Tunde, who caught it. The golden seal of the Talahan clan glimmered on the parchment.

  “Complete this task, and your time in the capital will be smooth and memorable,” the phantom said.

  “And if I don’t?” Tunde asked casually, though he had no real intention of defying Varis. Still, he found himself growing weary of the phantom’s snide, underhanded tone, especially given that the emissary was merely a lord like him. The fact that Ifa had bowed to him solely due to the medallion irked Tunde.

  The phantom’s voice turned deathly cold. “One does not reject the orders of the divine clan,” he said, as if daring Tunde to defy him.

  Tunde smiled but said nothing more. The phantom tore away the shadow veil that had given them privacy and turned to leave.

  “One more thing, Phantom,” Tunde called out. The assassin paused, stiffening as he no doubt sensed the shift in Tunde’s tone. The others, save for Sera, held their breath. Sera kept her gaze fixed on Tunde, seemingly waiting for his signal.

  “Your sect took someone close to me. Miria. How is she?” Tunde asked, his voice steady.

  The phantom tilted his head. “The affairs of our sect are not for the ears of simple cultivators,” he replied.

  Tunde took a deep breath before releasing his aura. The air around them thickened as Ethra drained from the atmosphere—and from the assassin himself. Zehra gasped in shock as the emissary’s eyes widened, struggling to free himself from Tunde’s dominion.

  “Apologies, but you don’t understand,” Tunde said, stepping leisurely toward the phantom. “She was taken from me, and I have the master’s word she would not be harmed. So I ask again—how is she?”

  The phantom gritted his teeth. “I have no knowledge of such a person.”

  Tunde, satisfied with the answer for now, released his dominion, the oppressive power of his concept vanishing. He bowed. “I thank the phantom. Please extend my gratitude to the master.”

  The phantom glared at him beneath the hood, his fury barely contained, but said nothing as he vanished into the wind.

  “Are you mad?” Zehra hissed, staring at Tunde as he calmly examined the scroll in his hand, saying nothing.

  “He did the right thing,” Ifa remarked, taking the scroll from Tunde’s hand. As he read, he continued, “The phantom was sizing him up. It’s no secret that an unknown cultivator has somehow been chosen as an acolyte of a member of the Imperial Clan. Word will spread, and the moment we set foot in Talahar, there’ll be wolves waiting.”

  “Still,” Daiki said, shaking his head, “the Whispering Phantom Sect’s roots run as deep as the Imperial Clan’s. There are rumors that their sect leader might be a paragon or regent, with close ties to the Talahan patriarch.”

  “Ties, maybe. Regent? I doubt it,” Ifa snorted, still reading the scroll.

  “What does the letter say?” Sera asked as she moved closer. “And why not a regent?” Daiki added, curiosity in his voice.

  Ifa tapped the scroll against his palm and smiled at Sera. “Because the peak of cultivation won’t allow two powerful beings beneath the heavens to coexist unless one steps aside or goes into seclusion.”

  Daiki frowned, and Zehra chimed in, “But the Heralds and the Imperial Clan both have regents.”

  Ifa chuckled, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Yes, but not without consequences. Such power requires careful balance.”

  Tunde remained silent, thoughtful, as Sera walked up to him. “What does Varis want this time?” she asked, concerned.

  “We are to report to the Ashen Flame Sect,” Ifa said cheerfully. “A branch sect of the Talahan Clan.”

  Sera and Zehra both looked surprised. “Apparently, their preparations for the Convergence have been disrupted by some sort of creatures, though the letter doesn’t specify what kind. The master has offered our services to the branch head,” Ifa explained with a grin.

  “Our services? I didn’t know we were mercenaries,” Sera said, frowning. Daiki sighed, looking genuinely frustrated.

  “I see it as an opportunity,” Ifa said, tossing the scroll to Sera. She skimmed through it, though Tunde knew her interests rarely extended beyond hidden arts and techniques.

  “So, not only do we have to deal with whatever’s happening in the sect, but we also have to worry about the phantoms holding a grudge against Tunde? Fantastic,” Zehra huffed, stomping back to her quarters.

  Tunde turned to Ifa, who was still smiling. “What could this really be about?” he asked.

  “Who knows?” Ifa replied with a shrug. “But I see it as your first real look into the workings of the Imperial Clan. The Ashen Flame Sect sounds familiar, though I can’t quite place it.”

  “Familiar? Were they around back when the Seekers existed?” Tunde asked, confused.

  “Oh no,” Ifa chuckled. “It’s just something I must have come across while I was stuck in the Fang.”

  “Either way, this should be… interesting,” Ifa said with a grin.

  Tunde sighed as Sera handed the scroll back to him. “As long as we don’t face any spirits, I’m perfectly fine,” she grumbled, Ifa laughing in response.

  Tunde frowned, noticing something strange about the scroll. The ink began to grow hazy as new writing appeared, erasing the previous message. Ifa and Sera noticed his expression and moved closer.

  “Is it supposed to do that?” Sera asked, her eyes widening.

  “Not that I know of,” Tunde replied, watching as blood-red script expanded, filling the scroll’s surface.

  “It’s aura writing,” Ifa remarked, “and it looks like our benefactor has another task for you.” He chuckled.