NERU

  The stone floor shuddered in uneven pulses. Each swing tore the lingering haze apart, the smoke unravelling into pale threads before knitting itself whole again.

  Neru took three steps back and relocated her shoulder. Elios’s harsh breathing had faded ever since he had traded his antidote to her, yet she knew the truth—his body, too, was standing at its very edge.

  The man in coarse cloth turned his head and spat out something dark on the floor. Maybe a tooth. Maybe some dried blood stuck for too long only found its way out now. With two fingers, he reached up and wrenched free the bolt Neru had just buried in his shoulder, snapping it loose as if plucking a thorn.

  “New toy of the sky sentries, is it not?” he said, glancing at the blood-smeared shaft. “How many blows had we exchanged before you finally revealed such a thing?”

  “Just something I picked up along the way,” Neru said flatly, wiping the blood beading at the corner of her forehead. “I meant to examine it later, but you simply never gave me the chance.”

  The man did not bristle. Instead, he laughed, low and rough.

  “Sly wretch,” he said. “Had your inner force been a shade thicker, it would’ve pierced my lung. Gods, I’m old already!”

  Old? She scolded in her mind. The little thing had almost killed me earlier this night.

  That said…

  Why did this attitude feel so familiar?

  She and Elios were fighting for their lives, and this man here was just enjoying it.

  And not for the lack of danger.

  Neru, without restriction on her breath, was straight up a martial machine. Elios also fought like an unleashed monster after he realized mercy was no longer an option. More than twice, they had driven him cornered and drawn his blood as they had just a moment ago. Yet each time, the man narrowly escaped defeat with a reckless move and punished them heavily for the miss.

  And he laughed about it.

  Being strong was one thing, but that antique battle manner did not fit someone who lived their life inside the Tower.

  It felt more like something her father would do.

  Something she would do. With the Frothena pride in her blood.

  Could it be—?

  A thought sparked, sharp and sudden. Then things started to make sense.

  “Hold!”

  Neru raised a hand. “The technique you used to break my friend’s blade—Was that by chance Black Coil from the Ome’ji clan?”

  The man sprang back; his voice grew uncertain. “Who are you? Frothena as well?”

  That told her enough.

  “I didn’t recognize it at first, because you performed it wrong,” she exhaled in relief, then continued. “No. Must’ve been many years since you left.”

  “Wrong?” He laughed. “You chose the wrong man to bluff, little girl. I invented the technique.”

  “I know, Shaman,” Neru spoke clearly in Frothena. “But there is someone else who has perfected it.”

  “Drarkhael vekhamael,” the man squinted his eyes, studying her anew. “I don’t believe your words.”

  A challenge.

  Then it must be answered.

  “Drarkhael aduviler. Let me show you,” she closed the distance and unleashed a barrage of attacks her father had drilled into her bones.

  The man deflected three strikes.

  Then, realizing something, his eyes lit up.

  “Oh?”

  In the same motion, he flung the staff aside. It hit the stone floor with a heavy thud and did not roll, did not bounce, as if the ground itself had claimed it.

  They came together wrist to wrist, forearms braced, each trying to lever the other’s elbow down. Neru stepped her left foot across at the perfect angle, cutting off his attempt to slip inside her guard.

  Hands and feet flowed in turn, advance and retreat measured and precise, the exchange unfolding like a brutal, disciplined dance. On the seventeenth step, the man leaned forwards a little too low—for only a split heartbeat—but it was enough.

  She dropped her guard entirely and went for a deep lunge, which, in a normal situation, would be suicidal. The man's elbow missed her temple and grazed her cheekbone instead. The pressure from the hit clawed at her scalp and blew her long dark hair tangled.

  Yet, she was the one who won the exchange.

  Neru stopped when her index finger was one inch away from his eye. She retracted her hand and said.

  “That, is how your Serpent Sequences should be performed. You would’ve overwhelmed me, had we fought normally. But your techniques show some minor flaws when you execute them in that specific order. And I was well-aware of that.”

  Neru released a long exhale, trying to ease the aches in her forearms and quench out her muscles. Even though she turned out victorious, the clash had been not meant for soft-hearted sparring.

  The man bowed his head, murmuring to himself as though weighing a truth long deferred.

  “So it is,” he whispered. “Indeed it is…”

  Then he snapped his head up, his gaze fixing on Neru with sudden, piercing clarity.

  “There is only one man in this world,” he said, each word laid bare, “who could— and would—do this for me.”

  The cloth mask slipped from his face. On his left cheek, a stylized snake tattoo emerged into view.

  She nodded slightly. “Father still mentions you sometimes.”

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  “Father?” He froze. “So you’re—”

  Neru bowed, arms crossed before her chest in the traditional salute.

  “Neru Aven. It’s an honour to greet you, Shaman.”

  There were not many Frothen ever sent to the Tower, and those who were had always been well known. Among them was a master from the Ome’ji clan—a respected shaman and a powerful warrior. The Tower assigned him as a healer simply for his deep knowledge of drugs. Even someone as infamous as Blackfeet was considered only the next generation after him.

  ‘King Cobra’ Rajido.

  An old friend of her father.

  Recognition dawned fully. The man stepped forward and seized her shoulders, joy breaking through his stern composure.

  “He’s well, then?” he asked quickly. “And look how big you’ve grown. Married yet? Why are you here?”

  Then the weight of the night seemed to catch up to him. His expression darkened, the same question returning, but the tone changed.

  “Why are you here?”

  Neru looked around.

  “We should talk somewhere else.”

  Rajido nodded his head and gestured for both of them to follow. He reached into his sleeve and handed them two strange sprigs of violet buds, instructing them to chew them into a pulp and hold them in their mouths.

  “That will suffice. Then you can breathe normally.”

  The confusion in Elios’s eyes was unmistakable, but he obeyed nonetheless.

  They spotted an empty room off the corridor, kicked the door in, and slipped inside. Only once all three were within, and the door was shut tight, did Neru finally let out a long breath.

  “This’s not something that can be explained in a few words. But in short, something is deeply wrong here. This matter has already caused upheaval in Frothen, which is why I came to uncover the truth.”

  Rajido stared at her, eyes widening.

  “You dared stir trouble in the Tower itself?” he said sharply. “Reckless! Even your father, in his youth, was never so audacious.”

  His words were stern, yet the note of concern beneath them was undeniable.

  Neru shook her head slightly.

  “A last resort. I meant to return home early. Never imagined the Tower itself was entangled in it.”

  Rajido asked after a beat.

  “How can I help you then?”

  No further questions.

  The bond between him and her father must’ve run deeper than she thought.

  And it gave Neru a pause.

  On one hand, she felt the desperate need for a powerful, reliable ally for the harsh, incoming tasks. On the other, she was troubled by the notion that her personal quest might drag this elder into peril not of his choosing.

  Very well.

  Neru lifted her gaze once more and spoke, her voice quiet but firm now.

  “Can you get us out of the inner Tower?”

  “Difficult.” The man frowned, weighing the thought. “Under an alert like this, even I am not permitted to move out.”

  “Then do you know any secret route around here, Shaman Rajido?”

  At the sound of the name, Elios finally spoke up, breaking his long silence.

  “Rajido? You are Prime Healer Rajido? The one who invented thirteen different ultimate antidotes? I never imagined you were also… also…”

  “Also what?” Neru frowned slightly. “You think we Frothen lack talents?”

  “I meant a warrior,” Elios corrected himself quickly. “His punches hurt.”

  Hmph. Good save.

  Then he wasted no time. “Listen. I think there’s a better way.”

  He turned to Rajido and elaborated.

  “There’s a recovery ward on Level Five, adjacent to the central ascension pillar,” he said. “At the very least, could you take us there? Pass us off as your patients.”

  Rajido glanced at him for a moment and answered.

  “That’s feasible. And you two are injured for real.”

  With time pressing in on them, the three settled on a plan swiftly. Rajido would lead and clear the way, and they would separate once they reached the central ascension pillar.

  They ran the length of the corridor with smoke still clinging thick to the air, stinging the eyes and drying the throat. Rajido glanced back more than once, suspicion sharpening his voice.

  “Just how much of my stock did you burn?”

  “Perhaps…” Neru muttered, shrinking into herself despite the pace, “…a few hundred catties?”

  The shaman choked. His cough tore from him so violently his hair seemed to bristle, as though struck by lightning.

  “Ten years of reserves,” he snapped. “Whose brilliant idea was that?”

  A faint thread of heat crept up Neru’s ears.

  “About that—”

  She wanted to say it had been an accident, but then a better notion flashed her mind. Lowering her voice further so Elios would not hear, she added,

  “—there’s also a shadowrook from your clan who has been helping me. We call him Blackfeet.”

  Technically, that wasn’t a lie.

  “A shadowrook? If you knew about him, he must’ve done his job poorly,” Rajido shook his head, then sneered. “‘Blackfeet’, huh? I will keep it in mind.”

  Neru took the green stone from her mouth, wiped it clean with a scrap of cloth, and held it out before him.

  “He gave me this,” she said. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Khaizi stone,” he answered with astonishment. “He must’ve loved you deeply. That thing is more valuable than even meteorite steel.”

  Love? Maybe, if love means pain.

  “How valuable, exactly?” Neru pressed.

  “A stone that big? No clue,” Rajido replied. “I’ve never possessed one. But to those who work daily with poisons, it is priceless.”

  “Then all the better.” Neru smiled and placed it in his keeping. “Consider it returned to you in Blackfeet’s name. A small apology for the fire.”

  If Blackfeet ever learned about this conversation, he would no doubt howl in anguish until the Tower shook.

  Rajido continued walking, casting sidelong glances at her. His brow knit, then slowly eased.

  “You’re a strange one,” he said at last. “Yet again, so was your father.”

  “I would not dare compare myself to him,” Neru said, her pace slowing. She turned to him, her tone earnest.

  “He misses you greatly. He cherishes the Serpent Sequences you showed him and practices them often. That’s why I know them so well.”

  The shaman, a man who had seemed as unshakable as an ancient tree, shed a single tear. It traced a quiet path along the tattoo at his cheek.

  Neru and Elios held their silence, unwilling to disturb the shaman’s moment of remembrance. Yet it was Rajido himself who broke it.

  “Neru,” he said quietly, “tell me this. If your father and I were to cross hands today, how many chances would you grant me?”

  She started, unsettled by the bluntness of it.

  “When two supreme masters contend, how could I presume to measure their odds?” she deflected.

  “Do not treat me as a child,” Rajido replied. “Answer me honestly.”

  Neru fell silent.

  Save perhaps for that guardian Seraph, setting any man beside her father seemed cruel. The comparison would be simply unjust.

  Seeing her hesitation, Rajido pressed on, though there was strain beneath his composure.

  “Then tell me this. Could I endure ten breaths?”

  Still, she could not speak. The stair-bridge seemed to grow longer with each passing moment. Their footsteps echoing in the corridor hit heavily in her ears.

  At last, the shaman spared her further burden. He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with years.

  “I see. So many years…” he said, “and the distance between us has only widened.”

  Neru gave a faint, forceful smile.

  “Why must you trouble yourself so? To weigh martial strength against him is hardly fair. You’re far above him when it comes to the healing art.”

  Rajido’s answering smile was thin.

  “We met through the fist. We forged brotherhood through the fist. Our names rose because of the martial path. If we do not speak of combat, what remains for men such as us to speak of?”

  Elios cast Neru a glance before leaning closer to Rajido, lowering his voice.

  “Who, in truth, is her father?”

  Rajido blinked in open astonishment.

  “Are you not a pair?” he asked. “And yet you do not even know your future father-in-law?”

  Elios frowned and gave a slow shake of his head.

  “She is already betrothed.”

  Sensing the air grow needlessly tangled, Neru cut in at once.

  “He is merely my associate,” she said firmly to them both. “This matter concerns Veyra as well. I require their assistance.”

  Then she turned her gaze upon Elios, a faint humour returning to her tone.

  “As for my father, no need for useless curiosity. If you dare set foot in Frothen, I shall let you meet him face to face.”