Hao's first punch descended like the weight of the heavens themselves—crashing into Tunde’s open palm with a thunderous boom that kicked up a shockwave of dust and rippled through his body like a tolling bell. Even as he deflected the strike with a twist of his wrist, the force echoed in his bones, resonating with the sheer rawness of Hao’s aura.

  Tunde narrowed his eyes.

  He could feel it, the null affinity, an emptiness woven into Hao’s strikes, crude but potent. There was also the faint flicker of infant authority behind them, still in its early stages but present nonetheless. For all his brutish approach, Hao wasn’t weak.

  But he was predictable.

  They traded blows in rapid succession—well, rapid for Hao. Each strike was calculated, and Tunde allowed it. His Ethra sight broke down every movement, dissecting Hao’s form and patterns with ease. If he wished, he could have devoured the null aura fueling the attacks, dismantling Hao’s advantage in seconds.

  But he held back.

  Tunde wanted to see what the Veilwardens were capable of. All of them.

  His body, forged in the crucible of heaven’s judgment, moved with a grace Hao could barely follow. Though both stood as Masters, it felt—at least to Tunde—as though he were humoring a Highlord. He leaned into the dance of combat, letting his steps form feints and traps, drawing Hao into the illusion of dominance.

  He suppressed his boundless Asura style, wielding only defensive forms, each block and parry executed with the precision of a sculptor at work. When Hao summoned aura swords, letting them hang above in glowing arcs of condensed will and flickering authority, Tunde’s expression didn’t shift.

  The blades shot toward him.

  He flowed through them like wind through reeds, bending and swaying, letting some pass close enough to brush his robe and nick his flesh—but only barely. Each movement was part of the fa?ade.

  Then he struck.

  Not with killing intent, but with decision. The rhythm of the battle shifted in an instant. Hao didn’t notice the change—he was too busy reacting, thinking himself in control—until Tunde’s aura surged ever so slightly. The ground trembled beneath their feet, still holding despite the shockwaves rippling across its reinforced formation.

  Tunde grew bored.

  He gathered the essence of Joran’s Wrath, focusing it into a thin point of destruction, aimed cleanly at Hao’s shoulder. Not to kill—just enough to shatter bones, a reminder of the gap between them.

  And then—

  “Enough.”

  The voice crashed over them like a divine edict. One word—calm, female, and absolute—froze the world.

  Tunde’s body stiffened as a heavy pressure clamped down on him, the authority behind the command raw and oppressive. For a moment, it tried to cage him—then his will surged in defiance. He did not resist. He devoured the pressure, consuming it like flame through dry leaves, freeing himself with effort before turning his gaze upward.

  There, on the wide balcony overlooking the arena, the woman sat—an elder draped in flowing black and grey robes, her presence a vast ocean cloaked in calm. Beside her stood Vayne, silent and watching.

  Tunde bowed low.

  “You may approach the Lady,” Vayne called out, his voice like a bell in the crisp morning air.

  Tunde bowed once more to the balcony before glancing at Hao, who still stood frozen, his shoulder inches away from ruin. Tunde offered him a respectful nod as Hao stepped back, expression unreadable, and flew upward toward the terrace.

  Tunde followed, ascending with calm dignity until he stood before the woman. A table of lacquered wood rested beside her, a scroll unfurled across its surface and a delicate cup of tea in her hand. Vayne remained motionless at her side, face as unreadable as stone.

  Tunde bowed again, deeper this time. “This one greets the elder.”

  She looked at him with cold, grey eyes, eyes that saw far more than most. Her robes were simple, but power clung to her like a mantle of invisible fire.

  “You’re a Master now,” she said without preamble.

  Her voice held the softness of age, but beneath it ran iron.

  “There are fewer than fifty cultivators across the empire who’ve climbed to such heights. You need not bow again.”

  “One must always show respect to those who came before—and who have walked farther,” Tunde replied smoothly.

  That earned him a faint smile.

  “It’s alright, Vayne,” she said, not taking her eyes off Tunde. “You may go.”

  Vayne bowed deeply and vanished in a single, fluid step. Tunde’s eyes widened slightly.

  Void step. No ripple of aura. No trace left behind.

  She noticed his surprise but said nothing, gesturing for him to sit on the chair opposite her.

  “Understanding one’s path,” she began, “is the threshold to glimpsing the mysteries of the world. Something you should know by now.”

  Tunde nodded wordlessly and took his seat.

  “When I was first told of a young cultivator not native to these lands, standing against the rot festering in the Ashen Flame Sect’s domain, I was intrigued.”

  Her voice was calm but curious. Almost amused.

  “That curiosity deepened when I learned how you survived Jade Peak. Then the Wastes. Then the Ashen Flame. Each time, in circumstances that would’ve meant death not once—but twice over.”

  She paused, sipping her tea.

  “And now, here you are. Alive. Whole. With your name whispered through every corridor of power.”

  “I only did what I had to do to survive,” Tunde replied, tone humble, eyes steady.

  She smiled politely. “Of course. Survival.”

  Then her eyes narrowed slightly. “And along the way, you somehow found yourself on the wrong side of the very clan that rules this empire.”

  Tunde froze.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

  She knew.

  “The Heralds view you with suspicion,” she continued, voice casual.

  “The Technocrats mostly ignore you, though there's a certain rumor about you killing one of their Masters as a mere Lord. A feat… that strains credibility.”

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  Boyle.

  She continued, ticking off each item with a calm detachment.

  “You're the last remnant of the Seekers, the Mistwalkers have supposedly placed a bounty on your head, although who would be stupid enough to come collect that within the capital beats me. You’ve killed the student of an Envoy’s master. You've drawn blood from the Keepers too. You’ve stacked enemies like trophies behind you.”

  Tunde said nothing, his mind quiet.

  She raised a hand as though to dismiss his fears.

  “Relax. Nothing will happen to you while you remain under our protection. The Clan Head, oddly enough, finds you amusing… for now. That amuses me, too.”

  Tunde exhaled slowly and gave a cautious nod. “The elder’s benevolence is deeply appreciated.”

  She laughed gently, setting her teacup down. “Please. Call me Suyan.”

  Her grey eyes glinted with something sharp. Not kindness, but interest.

  And that was far more dangerous.

  Still, it was something he could work with.

  Tunde leaned into it, the tension slipping from his shoulders just enough to show willingness.

  “You came here for something,” Suyan said matter of factly, setting her teacup down with a quiet clink. “Most likely a favor.”

  He hesitated for only a moment, then nodded.

  “I thought as much,” she said with a dry chuckle, her grey eyes never leaving his face.

  “No one comes to the Shadowkeep out of idle curiosity. Certainly not if they value their lives. The wardens are not the sort one seeks attention from.”

  Her smile held thorns.

  “Well, out with it,” she prompted, tone light but commanding.

  “If the elder permits… I wish to know the location of the Phantoms.”

  At that, Suyan paused mid-sip, the porcelain cup poised just at her lips. A beat passed in silence. She sipped, slowly, then set the cup down again with deliberate care.

  “Does this concern the student of the Shadow Saint?” she asked quietly. “The girl who resembles you?”

  Tunde’s throat tightened, and he gave a stiff nod.

  Suyan sighed, the sound weary but not without a thread of empathy.

  “I have half a mind to deny your request right here.”

  Tunde said nothing. He wouldn’t beg, but he also wouldn’t retreat.

  “There is no love lost between my wardens and the dogs of Shi Lian,” she said coldly.

  “And to be frank with you, the daughter of the First Blade has turned your little friend into a hollow puppet of death. She is no longer the girl you remember, nor one you should wish to meet again.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me,” Tunde replied, voice tight. “But I have to see it for myself.”

  Suyan studied him for a long moment.

  “Do you know why people call us, my wardens and I—nulls?” she asked.

  He shook his head, tentative.

  “Most would say it’s because we were rejected by the world,” she said, eyes distant now.

  “By Adamath itself. That we must have committed some sin too great for the heavens to bear—that the Hegemons cursed us.”

  She gave a small, bitter laugh.

  “But we remember where we come from. And we do not curse the heavens or the world. We clawed forward with what we had, aura alone, and we endured. That endurance made us strong.”

  Tunde tilted his head slightly.

  “Then why didn’t you participate in the tournament? With Hao’s strength, he could’ve made it through the opening rounds, maybe even the duel stages.”

  Suyan’s expression turned wry.

  “Because we have no need for their prizes,” she said. “As venomous as you’ll soon discover them to be.”

  She shook her head slightly, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve before continuing.

  “We serve the Talahan Clan because of an ancient oath—etched in blood, bound by spirit. But the Phantoms… they serve for what they gain.”

  “And that is?”

  “Power. The kind that lets them take the face, the life, the very existence of another. The Phantoms will go to lengths no sane mind should even imagine, if it means acquiring more power.”

  Tunde’s mind flashed to Miria, to the lost art of the Shadai Clan. The Phantoms had taken her for a reason.

  Of course.

  Suyan watched him carefully, nodding as understanding dawned in his expression.

  “Good. You may be strong, but you are no match for the Shadow Saint. Or the Phantom Elders. Heavens forbid, should you encounter Shi Lian himself—”

  “I’ve been told that since I was a mere Lord realm cultivator,” Tunde cut in, jaw clenched.

  “When will it ever be enough?”

  “When you alone can stand against the full might of the Phantoms,” Suyan said without hesitation. “Because that’s the only way you’re leaving their domain alive.”

  His fists clenched unconsciously.

  She watched, unblinking.

  “You are angry. I cannot tell you whether it is right or not. I can only tell you this—face your battles one at a time.”

  Tunde inclined his head in acknowledgment, forcing himself to breathe evenly. He rose to his feet.

  Suyan regarded him for a moment—then, with a flick of her wrist, tossed him the scroll she had been holding. He caught it in one hand, confused. As he unfurled it, his eyes widened.

  It was a map.

  But not of a city above ground. No, etched in fine ink and old blood was a labyrinthine sprawl of caverns and structures: an underground city where the Phantoms ruled.

  “If you still insist on chasing this madness,” she said quietly, “then may the heavens be with you.”

  Tunde looked up.

  “Or perhaps all this will be for nothing,” she added. “And the Clan decides you’ve become more liability than curiosity, and orders your execution.”

  Her aura surged without warning.

  It struck him like a hammer of divine force, pinning him to his knees. His breath caught in his throat. Every thread of authority he possessed screamed in protest.

  He cycled his Ethra, forcing it through the pressure, his soul flaring with resistance. Inch by inch, he rose back to his feet, sweat trailing down his temple, body trembling but upright.

  Suyan nodded slightly.

  “That was but a taste of my strength,” she said.

  “Shi Lian stands at the very peak of the Paragon Realm. I have only just stepped into it. Think well before you do anything… foolish.”

  She turned her gaze away, signalling the end of their conversation.

  Tunde gave a deep bow, burned the image of the map into his mind—and then vanished in a single void step, disappearing from the domain of the Wardens.

  ********

  “Well?” a voice asked behind Suyan.

  She exhaled softly, setting her teacup down with deliberate care before stepping out of the building’s shadow and into the dying light of day. The sun bled across the horizon in soft crimson, casting elongated shadows across the stone courtyard.

  “He’s strong,” Suyan said at last, her gaze lingering on the spot where Tunde had stood only moments ago.

  Behind her, Mei Talahan sat gracefully in the very seat Tunde had occupied, hands folded across her lap, her expression unreadable.

  “A bit impulsive,” Mei commented, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  Suyan tilted her head.

  “You see that. I see a man who’s managed to survive what should’ve killed him, again and again. A bit too many times, don’t you think?”

  Mei arched a brow. “You don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Precisely,” Suyan replied with a thin smile.

  “Shen seems to have taken a liking to him,” Mei remarked, a faint frown tugging at the corners of her lips.

  “He did save his sister’s child,” Suyan said. “By now, I suspect even the Matriarch of the Zao Clan feels indebted to him. That’s no small thing.”

  “Allies and enemies in equal measure,” Mei murmured, the weight of those words hanging heavy in the air.

  Suyan reclined in her chair, fingers lacing together in thought. The light from the setting sun traced soft gold along the silver in her hair.

  “Well?” she asked, her tone casual, but her gaze sharp.

  “It is as you predicted,” Mei said, her voice quieter now.

  Suyan allowed a satisfied smile to bloom across her lips, subtle but unmistakable.

  “And when will it begin?” she asked.

  Mei leaned forward slightly, her expression hardening.

  “Two days hence. But I need to know that we have your—”

  Suyan raised a hand gently, silencing her.

  “As I said before… I don’t want to know until it’s broken,” she said firmly.

  Mei inclined her head in acknowledgment, though her brows remained furrowed with concern.

  “That old bastard will come after you,” Mei warned. “You know that, right?”

  Suyan let out a low, amused snort.

  “Please. Let that poisonous excuse for a being try. I’ll welcome it. It’s been far too long since I’ve stretched these old bones.”

  The glint in her eye made it clear she wasn’t joking.

  Mei turned her gaze away, then raised one hand in a graceful motion. From the swirling mists of her void ring, an ornately designed box appeared, lacquered in deep black and trimmed in ancient gold. The air around it pulsed faintly, as if the object itself were breathing.

  “As per our agreement,” Mei said softly.

  Suyan’s eyes lingered on the box for a heartbeat too long—something like longing glimmering in her expression before she blinked it away. With a whisper of aura, she vanished the box into her own void ring without a word.

  “Then we are truly at an agreement,” she said evenly.

  Silence settled between them—not cold or strained, but old and familiar, like companions who no longer needed to fill space with words.

  After a long pause, Mei spoke again.

  “Did you envision it turning out this way?”

  Suyan gave a quiet laugh, low and knowing.

  “The Convergence comes to shake the heavens, you know that. Always has, always will.”

  “And one little child is proving to be the final stone to tilt everything,” Mei said, a touch of awe and apprehension in her voice.

  “The heavens move strangely, Mei. Just as they always have.” Suyan’s tone held reverence—and warning.

  “He’s gotten to Rhaelar,” Mei said suddenly, her voice tinged with sorrow.

  Suyan stilled. Her entire body froze as though the words themselves had turned her to stone.

  “You are sure?” she asked, the edge in her voice sharper than before.

  Mei hesitated. “It appears that way. But I know my daughter.”

  Suyan shook her head slowly, her expression grim. “Power… it changes people. Sometimes too quickly. Sometimes without mercy.”

  Mei said nothing, her silence speaking louder than words.

  “Then we continue as before,” Mei said at last, rising to her feet with practiced grace.

  “Of course,” Suyan replied, calm once more.

  And then Mei vanished in a flicker of light, leaving the warden alone beneath the fading sun.