The front of the shack didn't open. It ceased to exist.

  Jian’s boot connected with the weathered driftwood, and the structure groaned as the front wall disintegrated into a cloud of splinters and ancient salty dust. He stepped into the wreckage, tattered cloak fluttering, eyes scanning the floorboards with feverish erratic intensity.

  Caelum, Lyzara, and the twins stepped in behind him, boots crunching on debris. Caelum let out a huff of smoke-tinged breath. "All this for a shack, Father? There isn't even a ghost left here. Just wood and rot."

  Lyzara tilted her head, hair whipped by a wind only she could feel. "No, Caelum. There is something... a resonance. Like the world is holding its breath right beneath our feet."

  The twins stood flickering like silver mist, gazes fixed on the floor, watching the dust avoid certain cracks.

  Jian didn't answer. He dropped to his knees, fingers digging into the gaps. He sniffed the floor like a bloodhound, head twitching in that strange rhythmic way. "It’s here," he muttered, voice a low vibrating hum. "Beneath the layer. Beneath the gag. He thought he could bury it under a poor fisherman script, but the nothingness never forgets."

  He didn't wait for a shovel. He drove his bare hands into the earth, dirt flying behind him in a frantic rhythmic blur. Within minutes, he hollowed out a hole revealing a heavy iron-bound chest.

  "Gold?" Caelum asked. "Treasures? Magic spells?"

  "Distractions," Jian rasped.

  He reached past the chest, digging deeper until his fingers brushed against a cold black point of metal. The tip of a spire, no larger than a dagger, drinking the light of the room.

  "The Old Man used the chest to divert the script," Jian said, voice smooth and terrifyingly sane. "He wanted the focus on the gold, on the hidden fortune arc. He harvested the essence of this spire a thousand times, stealing the purity of the ground to fuel his own games. But it’s here. Again. The void always returns to its anchors."

  Caelum looked at the spire, then back at Jian. "You’ve lived this lifetime before, haven't you? You know exactly where the strings are buried."

  Jian looked at his son, a faint twisted smile touching his lips. "Don't worry about the before, Caelum. This is the now. It’s the only now you’ll ever have. Now, come. Sit. Back-to-back around the spire. Press your spines against the cold."

  The children hesitated. The command was absolute, but the madness in Jian’s eyes was enough to make anyone pause. Finally, they obeyed, sitting in a tight circle, backs pressing against the black metal point.

  Jian stood over them, aura flaring for a brief second, shattering the remaining windows before he reined it in. "The Old Man taught me this once," Jian whispered. "Clear your mind. Allow your consciousness to float among your core. Feel the golden orb. Let your guard down. You are in a space where you can trust everyone."

  The twins followed the command instantly, mist-like natures allowing them to slide into the meditative state. Lyzara closed her eyes, breathing slowing as she sought the quiet center of her storm.

  But Caelum remained rigid. He looked at Jian with simmering resentment. "I’ve only been with you for a few days, Father. I feel the connection, yes. But thirty years is a long time for a ghost to be gone. Is a few days enough to override the silence? How can I trust you to lead me into my own soul when you’ve been a shadow for my entire life?"

  Jian went still. He looked down at his son, the Dragon-Yang hissing in the air between them. For a long painful minute, the only sound was the distant roar of the sea.

  "I haven't been who I could be to you, Caelum," Jian said, voice dropping to a low melodic rasp. "And I cannot make excuses. I have failed you. I have been a ghost in your story, and for that, I am the only fool in the play. I have made mistakes that would make the gods weep, but I hope... I hope I won't make more with you."

  Caelum stared at him, the fire in his eyes flickering. Slowly, he let out a long breath and leaned his weight back against the spire. "Alright," he whispered. "I’ll trust you. Lead me on this path."

  "Good," Jian said.

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  He could feel them now. Through the spire, their spirits were laid bare, Golden Cores pulsing with raw unrefined potential. Jian’s eyes glinted with dark predatory amusement. "Now," he said, voice taking on a clinical mocking tone. "This is where the Old Man would normally season his meal. He’d influence the exposed soul with a particular energy—a bit of beast, a bit of demon—and apply it just right so the flavor would be perfect when he consumed you just before the final transformation."

  The children stirred, hearts hammering against the spire, but Jian’s voice kept them pinned.

  "But the same thing can happen with the right fuel," Jian continued. He reached into his storage ring and pulled out a handful of massive high-grade spirit stones—worth billions of gold credits. He threw them onto the spire. They popped in an instant, energy sucked into the black metal with a sound like a thunderclap.

  "He’s using billions..." Lyzara gasped, consciousness reeling as the air became thick with pure unrefined Qi.

  "I am enticing out the heaven’s thread," Jian explained, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "This spire is an underworld pillar. It sucks your essence, but the heavenly connection is forced to reinforce your life spirit to compensate. It’s a tax on your existence, draining your overall destiny just to keep you in the script."

  Jian called out his Nothingness Sword. The blade didn't shine; it was a vertical slit of absolute dark.

  "All we have to do," Jian whispered, "is cut the line."

  He swung the sword. He didn't hit the children; he hit the space above their heads.

  No sound, but the backlash was instantaneous. The children’s bodies arched as if hit by lightning, mouths opening in a silent scream. Blood trickled from their lips—not from any physical wound, but from the violent metaphysical strain of having their destinies severed from the firmament.

  "Sleep," Jian commanded, hand moving in a circular motion, releasing a cloud of crushed medicinal herbs.

  The children slumped forward, plunging into a deep protected slumber. Jian knelt beside them, Edge Aura acting as a magnifying glass as he inspected their souls.

  Oh, Jian... look at what you’ve made. They’re no longer part of the great design. They’re... anomalies. Just like you.

  Jian didn't answer. He looked at the twins. Their Nascent Souls had awakened as twin iridescent orbs shimmering with a light that didn't belong to sun or moon. He looked at Lyzara. Her soul was the same iridescent glow, wrapped in the silhouette of a True Spirit Guardian Beast.

  Finally, he looked at Caelum. The boy had gone the other way. Instead of iridescent light, his soul awakened as a True Dragon, a creature of bone and fire pulsing with a drop of ancient primordial blood.

  Pure. Untainted. Finally outside the Old Man’s reach.

  Jian looked up at the ceiling, gaze piercing through the roof, through the clouds, toward the cold indifferent stars. "How could I trust what allowed you to exist?" he muttered to the silence.

  The sound of boots on gravel broke his reverie. Military officers burst into the shack, stopping dead at the sight of the demolished room and the unconscious heirs.

  "Lord Jian!" the lead officer gasped. "The destruction... the children! What has happened?"

  Jian stood up, rags fluttering, face a mask of exhausted indifference. "They need sleep. Their souls were heavy, and I have made them light. They are not to be disturbed for three days."

  The officers looked at the blood on the children’s faces, then at Jian’s hollow copper eyes. They didn't ask questions.

  "Yes, My Lord," the officer stammered. "We will... we will check with the Ladies. They are already establishing the command center in the upper districts."

  "I don't care," Jian said, walking past them. "Look after them. They are more important than your war."

  He walked through the silent ancient streets of Storm-Anchor. He found a large luxurious manor on the cliffside, kicked the door open, found a master bedroom draped in silk, and collapsed onto the bed.

  He slept for six hours before he was woken by a woman screaming.

  The homeowner stood in the doorway clutching a broom like a spear. "Intruder! Murderer! Get out of my house!"

  Jian sat up, hair tangled, eyes wide and bloodshot. He looked at the woman, the silk sheets, the window. The sun was setting over the Azure Bay.

  Beneath the salt, he caught another scent.

  A faint metallic tang. A resonance of ancient power hidden somewhere in the mountains to the north. A treasure that didn't belong to the Empire or the rebels.

  The hunger returned. The restlessness flared in his chest, making the Dragon Core hum.

  "I’m leaving," Jian said, standing up and walking past the terrified woman.

  "What? You just... you just slept in my bed and now you’re leaving?" she shrieked.

  Jian didn't answer. He was already down the stairs and out into the street. He walked toward the northern gate, pace steady and relentless. He passed an officer coordinating scouts.

  "Sir? Where are you going?" the guard asked.

  "Going to find some treasure," Jian rasped, not slowing down. "Be back in a few days. Tell the Queens to keep the soup warm."

  The guard watched him go, a vertical streak of shadow moving into the twilight. "Treasure? At a time like this?"

  But Jian was already gone, mind calculating the path to the next act, the next meal, and the next piece of the world he could steal back from the Old Man. The children would sleep, the army would march, but the Calamity was finally back on the hunt.