The inn at Lorian Vale was a modest structure, nestled between towering stone buildings and half-withered trees that bore the weight of too many forgotten seasons. Its worn wooden sign, swaying gently in the evening breeze, read The Moonshade Rest. Inside, the warmth of the hearth clashed with the chill of dusk. Kael sat near the fire, eyes half-closed, listening not to the crackle of flame, but to the conversations floating around him like drifting ash.
For once, he wasn't training or bracing for survival. He was simply still.
Opposite him sat Arien, arms crossed, brow furrowed as he scanned the room with quiet suspicion. The events of the Lower Sky Tournament lingered fresh in both their minds, especially the unexpected attention Kael had drawn. It was a kind of attention they both knew could be dangerous.
"You've drawn blood without lifting a blade," Arien finally said, his voice low. "That trick with the elemental weave… That wasn't a beginner's technique. It wasn't even intermediate."
Kael didn't answer immediately. He poked at the logs in the hearth, watching sparks leap and vanish. "It wasn't a trick. I just did what felt… natural."
Arien huffed. "Natural, he says. You bent four elemental streams without a formal lineage. If you were in any sect worth its salt, they'd chain you down for study—or slaughter you just to keep the method secret."
Kael turned toward him. "Then it's a good thing I'm not in a sect."
At that, a quiet laugh came from behind them. Sera Veylan stood leaning against the inn's stone archway, her long hair tied back in a loose knot, red cloak half-draped over one shoulder. Her tone carried both mirth and something sharper.
"No sect yet, at least."
Kael straightened slightly. He hadn't seen her since the end of the match. "And what does the Veylan House want with me now?"
Sera stepped forward, pulling up a chair. "Not the Veylan House. Me. I want to talk. That… performance you gave didn't just earn you curious eyes—it stirred the old ones from their sleep."
Kael frowned. "Old ones?"
Arien answered before she could. "The Writed Orders. High Sects. The clans that built this realm's foundation. They monitor tournaments like these to recruit disciples or eliminate threats."
Sera nodded. "They'll come with questions, Kael. But before they do, you should understand what you're stepping into."
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a thin scroll. When she unrolled it on the table, it revealed a carefully inked map—worn at the edges, but rich in detail. Kael leaned closer.
"This," she said, pointing to the central continent, "is the Heartland. At its center is the Dominion Spire, where the Writed Orders convene. Surrounding it are the Four Realms: Emberhold to the south, home to fire-aligned clans and forge sects; Sylphaen Reach to the east, land of wind and water cultivators; Hollowcrest to the north, shrouded in darkness and death qi; and Verdant Echo to the west, governed by earth and life affinity."
Kael's eyes trailed over the markings. "And we are…?"
"Here." She tapped a dot nestled near the edge of Emberhold's northern border. "Lorian Vale. It's a fringe town, but it sits on a major trade and sect migration route. That's why the Lower Sky Tournament is hosted here."
"And the major sects?" Kael asked.
Sera folded the map slightly and gestured again. "There are twelve High Orders recognized by the Dominion, but only six still hold true influence. The rest… lost to time or war."
Arien added, "Don't forget the Clans. The Wyrdclaw, Umbral Fang, and Hollowshade Clans rule the North, while the Veylan, Stormshroud, and Brightflame hold the South."
Sera shot him a look. "And the rest?"
"Renegade sects. Wandering orders. Cults." Arien looked at Kael. "Most of them want nothing to do with the Dominion. Some are dangerous. Others are just… forgotten."
Kael stared into the fire again. The scope of it all was dizzying. He had been a nameless child in a dying village. Now, he was brushing against powers that had stood for centuries. His silence must have stretched too long, because Sera leaned closer, her voice softer.
"You have something different, Kael. You're not bound by the old systems. That makes you dangerous. But it also makes you valuable."
"To whom?" Kael asked, narrowing his eyes.
Sera didn't flinch. "To those who want to reshape the way cultivation works. To those tired of the Dominion's chains. Maybe… even to yourself."
Kael met her gaze, searching for deception. But Sera Veylan, daughter of a powerful clan, didn't speak like someone lying. She spoke like someone who had seen the machinery of the world—and wanted it broken.
Just then, a low bell rang outside the inn—three tones, steady and cold.
Arien's hand shot to the hilt of his blade. Sera's expression hardened.
"That's not a good sound," she muttered. "Stay close."
Kael rose to his feet. "Who is it?"
"A caravan from Hollowcrest just arrived. No one travels from the north without reason. Not unless they're hunting something… or someone."
Kael's mind drifted to the Elemental Forge. To the strange glyphs that had burned themselves into his soul during the final trial. He hadn't told anyone—not even Arien—that something had awakened within him.
"I'm not what they think I am," he said aloud.
Sera paused at the door, glancing back. "Not yet. But you might become more than any of us imagined."
As they stepped into the chilled night, the wind whispered through the Moonshade trees, and Kael felt the quiet pulse of something ancient moving through the realm.