“That was a stupid thing to do,” Ujin said with a frown, his blue eyes locked onto Zehra’s. The heir to the Acacia clan stood silently, arms folded, her anger barely contained as she stood beside her guardian, Akero. Akero, now an early Highlord after a recent advancement, had been her protector since she was young. Even he had a frown etched on his face.

  “I did it because I thought it would have little to no consequence,” she said softly, her gaze straying to a figure in the distance. Their eyes met, and Ujin could see the rage and uncertainty in hers—a rare sight. Zehra was anything but uncertain; such feelings had been bred out of her by her family and the patriarch. But the rumors had reached Ujin's ears—rumors of a disciple who had stolen her resources and bested her in the rift. Not in combat, of course, for Zehra had been a peak adept then, a future sword prodigy. No disciple would dare challenge her directly.

  Ujin had investigated the matter from the moment Akero had come tumbling out of the nexus key rift, rolling on the ground with a raging Zehra, shock on his face. Then came the invasion of Jade Peak by the Revenant Cult and the destruction of one of Clan Acacia’s most hated rivals. It was a bittersweet realization for the clan, knowing no disciple could have survived the invasion. And yet, here he was, a peak lord. If the heavens had a sense of humor, this was them pulling their legs.

  “If I’ve learned anything in my years of existence,” Ujin began, “it’s that cultivators rarely make enemies for life.”

  Zehra whirled around, her eyes wide. “Listen,” Akero said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, biting her lip. “He disgraced me,” she hissed softly.

  “Listen,” Akero repeated, his voice steady.

  Ujin sighed. “I don’t know how, but that man you’re looking at has climbed to the peak of lord realm. Do I believe you’re better than him at sword techniques? Yes. But at analyzing and understanding an opponent’s techniques? No.”

  Zehra froze, and Akero frowned. “You really think he could best her in a battle?” Akero asked.

  Ujin blinked. “He’s going blow for blow with me, albeit shrouded at peak lord. Plus, he heals like a Highlord,” Ujin pointed out.

  “How do you—” Akero began, only to pause as realization dawned on him. “Ujin, did you—?”

  “What matters,” Ujin interjected, cutting Akero off, much to Zehra’s confusion, “is that this cultivator is surrounded by a lot of oddly coincidental situations. It would be unwise to challenge him right now.”

  “A disciple somehow survives Jade Peak, joins a new sect sanctioned by the imperial clan, and has that much refined training?” Ujin counted out. “You think the Talahan clan has a hand in it?” Zehra asked softly.

  Ujin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But I wouldn’t deem it necessary to test it.”

  Akero sighed. “This will cause her to lose face, not just to him, but to this Black Rock Sect he represents.”

  Ujin glanced at Tunde’s form in the distance, their eyes meeting. “Does he look like someone who cares about that?” he asked softly. Zehra and Akero glanced at the dark-skinned cultivator standing next to a woman with a guarded posture.

  “To be honest? No. And that’s what puzzles me,” Zehra replied.

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

  Tunde felt the wind tugging at his robes, arms folded behind him but ready, his eyes scanning the assembled cultivators as the rift behind him glowed softly. Sera kept one hand on her blade, prepared for the worst. “This must be awkward for you,” she said, her tone wary.

  Tunde offered a soft smile, his gaze fixed on Ujin and Zehra with her lord protector by her side. “It was a possibility,” he replied. “I just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, or that Ujin would connect the dots.” He was, after all, an oddity among the pale and cream-skinned cultivators of this continent; there were few from Crystalreach in these parts.

  “Still, what do you think will happen?” Sera asked.

  “What always happens,” Tunde replied. “They’ll attempt to intimidate or subvert my will, and I’ll somehow escape their clutches, all the richer for it.” Ifa chuckled in his mind.

  “Truly, the heavens aren’t fair,” the sentience said. “To think you would not only surpass her advancement stage but also emerge superior in most ways.”

  Tunde concealed a small smile. “You sound pleased.”

  “That’s because I am. It’s not every day I get to flaunt the superiority of our bloodline,” Ifa said, laughing. Sera gave Tunde an odd look.

  “You’re too calm for someone in enemy territory,” she observed.

  “What would you do in my position?” Tunde asked.

  “Carve my way through them until I escape,” she replied simply.

  Tunde shook his head, Ifa laughing again in his mind. “Then let’s thank the heavens it’s not you,” he said, standing straighter as a stiff-looking Zehra began to walk toward him.

  The assembled cultivators wore simple brown robes, except for those in white robes with short staffs, who watched her every move carefully. Tunde idly wondered what that was about. As Zehra approached, he bowed at the waist, his tone calm and assured. “I greet the lady of Clan Acacia.”

  Zehra’s cold smile was as sharp as a blade, her voice resonating in his mind, catching him off guard. “You are not Tunde Darkfist,” she began, her words laced with hidden intent. “You are a simple cultivator from a faraway sect, here to observe and learn from the clan.”

  “Ethereal Whisper,” Ifa noted, genuinely surprised.

  “It is nice to meet you, Cultivator Ushan of the Ushan Clan,” Zehra said aloud, her lips having moved only now. Tunde hid his confusion, bowing once more. “I greet the lady,” he repeated, at a loss for words as she turned away, her voice echoing in his mind once more: “You owe me.”

  Tunde kept his expression neutral as she returned to the company of her guardian Highlord and Ujin, both staring daggers at him.

  “Ushan?” Sera asked, puzzled.

  “Apparently, that’s my new name,” Tunde said softly, his mind racing through the implications.

  ***************************

  The assembled cultivators, ten in total, gathered at the front of the rift. Tunde and Sera stood off to the side, observing quietly as Ujin and Akero, the two Highlords in charge of the rift run, conversed in low tones. The rift pulsed once with power, its glow intensifying as if preparing to unleash something formidable. Ujin turned to the group.

  “This is a peak Tier 4 rift,” Ujin began, his tone serious. “Stick together and prepare yourselves. We have no idea what we may face within. And remember, the Ark system the hegemons bestowed upon us has been recalled, returned to those of machine and flesh.”

  Tunde frowned, his mind racing. When had that happened? Was it before or after the fall of Jade Peak? Had the risk of unorthodox or banned cults gaining access to the Ark system been so great that the hegemons felt compelled to retract it? He found it odd that the memory of his first meeting with Ifa was almost clear, yet now, the Ark system seemed distant, almost irrelevant. It was useless to him now, though he understood its value, especially for those still in the lower stages of advancement.

  His attention snapped back to the rift as the Highlords, with Zehra between them, began to step through. The rift rippled as they entered. Noticing the other cultivators preparing their Ethra crystals, Tunde quickly opened his void ring, handing a few crystals to Sera while keeping one for himself. He had nearly forgotten how corrosive rift Ethra could be to unprepared cultivators, especially someone like Sera.

  “This is your first rift, right?” he asked, noticing her anxious nod. “Don’t cultivate the Ethra inside. Draw from the crystals in your hand. Rift Ethra taints your body and core.”

  Ifa snorted within his mind. "Must be sad for them," Ifa remarked with a hint of sarcasm. Tunde hid a smile. It was indeed a shame that he couldn’t advance, despite the opportunity a peak Tier 4 rift presented. The last time he had entered one, he had barely escaped with his life. Now, he returned with the confidence and strength to face whatever rift guardian awaited them. The feeling of superiority was undeniable, and he relished it as he and Sera stepped through the rift.

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  Immediately, something felt wrong. As they moved through the twisting pathway, Tunde tightened his grip on Sera, the space around them flashing and warping before forcefully spitting them out into a choking, bitter atmosphere. Tunde inhaled sharply, only to cough violently as the air seared his lungs.

  “Void realm, now!” Ifa shouted urgently in his mind. Tunde complied, activating his void realm, and the suffocating air around them eased. His eyes watered as he sat up, pulling Sera with him. She shuddered, struggling to catch her breath as she looked around with wide eyes.

  “What is this place?” Sera asked, her voice shaky. Tunde stood, unsure of how to answer as he activated his Ethra Sight.

  “Smoke and ash,” he murmured, scanning the area. He couldn’t sense the Ethra of any of the other ten who had entered with them. “And we’re alone,” he added softly, drawing his naginata from his void ring.

  The thick smoke that surrounded them seemed impenetrable beyond the sphere of his void realm. Tunde strained his eyes, trying to make sense of the shapes he could barely discern. They looked like buildings, but the darkness made it hard to tell. Sera moved to his side; her weapon drawn as well. Together, they began to navigate the terrain carefully, the void realm still active as they moved through the eerie, desolate field covered in dry, black grass.

  “Even the rift Ethra has been poisoned,” Ifa said darkly, his tone filled with concern. Tunde nodded, his grip tightening on his weapon. His Ethra Sight picked up something in the distance—a black, glowing crystal pulsing ominously, seemingly the source of the smoke and ash. Cautiously, he crept closer, raising his naginata and bringing the blade down on the crystal, splitting it in two.

  A keen cry echoed through the air as the smoke and ash around them dissipated, revealing a landscape littered with bodies. Tunde felt a presence notice him in that brief moment, just as the dissipating smoke flowed into the skeletal remains on the ground. The skeletal bodies began to stir, purple glowing eyes flickering to life as they rose, weapons in hand, charged with the same black and purple Ethra.

  Could this be some realm connected to the Revenant Cult? Tunde wondered, a cold dread settling over him as he prepared for the inevitable battle.

  The creatures moved with the speed of Lord Realm cultivators, tearing across the landscape with a maddening fervor. Tunde met their charge head-on, his naginata cutting through the first creature, splitting it in two. Ethra coated his weapon as he wove between the attackers, carving through their brittle yet resilient bones. Skulls shattered, ribs crumbled, and Tunde projected void spears into their ranks, the attacks exploding amidst the creatures, scattering them.

  Beside him, Sera fought with relentless ferocity. Her blade, its serrated edges gleaming, cut through the skeletal forms with ruthless precision. However, as a blood and flesh cultivator, she was at a disadvantage—there was no blood to siphon from these foes. Still, it didn’t slow her down. She broke through the ranks, only to rejoin Tunde, their backs pressed together as they faced the relentless onslaught.

  “They aren’t dying,” Tunde hissed, his eyes narrowing as he watched the broken forms reassemble, held together by the same sticky black and purple Ethra. Beside him, Sera began coughing, her breaths ragged.

  Tunde lobbed void orbs at the creatures with alarming speed, but as dizziness began to set in, Ifa's voice echoed in his mind, filled with growing concern. “It wasn’t ash, it was poison,” Ifa warned. Tunde’s eyes widened in realization as he saw black veins beginning to surface beneath Sera’s skin.

  Without hesitation, Tunde pulled out healing pills from his void ring, feeding them to Sera and biting down on some himself. The menacing creatures drew closer, their movements unrelenting. “Use aura alone,” Ifa advised urgently. Tunde quickly shifted, flooding his body with aura, feeling the poison filter into his blood. His core ‘devoured’ it, purifying the toxin into Ethra, a process he knew was the only thing keeping him alive.

  Any cultivator below the Lord Realm would be dead the instant they stepped foot in this poisoned environment. Even at his level, Sera was barely staying conscious, her blade still gripped firmly in her hand. Tunde expanded his void realm, watching as the creatures stepped into it and lost some of the miasmic aura that protected them.

  He broke them a second time, this time watching as they stayed down, the bones crumbling to ash and filtering away. Putting away his weapon, Tunde surged forward, his body fully enveloped in aura. He dove into their ranks, dodging blades, cudgels, and even hammers, with Ethra Sight guiding his every move with precision. He was a force of pure cosmic wrath, his projection techniques shattering the creatures as Joran’s Wrath broke their numbers.

  When the battle finally ended, Tunde stood amidst the remnants, breathing heavily as he swallowed another pill, feeling it purify his blood and allowing his core and heart to do the rest. He hastily returned to Sera, finding her breathing steadily but deathly pale, the black veins stark against her skin.

  “We need to get you out of this rift,” Tunde said, his voice laced with concern. But Sera gripped his arm tightly.

  “N-no,” she wheezed, her voice strained. Tunde frowned. “The poison is killing you,” he insisted, more forcefully this time.

  “No, w-will cu-cultivate, go,” she replied, each word taking immense effort.

  Tunde could see the determination burning in her eyes. She had always wanted to stand beside him, to be his equal, without fully realizing the odds were skewed against her. He blinked as the realization hit him—indeed, they were. With his divine bloodline, relic, and Ifa’s guidance, he was blessed in ways few others were. How many of the cultivators who had entered the rift were still alive? Perhaps Zehra and the two Highlords, but who else?

  Most of all, he could see the shame in Sera’s eyes. The realization that once again, Tunde might leave her behind to continue on without her weighed heavily on her. It was almost reminiscent of Miria. He cast the thought from his mind; now was not the time for distractions. It was time for battle. He tried to speak again, but Sera folded her legs beneath her, glaring at him with a deadly look that dared him to contradict her before shutting her eyes and sinking into deep meditation.

  Opening his void space, Tunde called forth the Ethralite creature, which hesitantly poked its head out. Gently, Tunde lifted it out, speaking softly. “I’m not sure you can understand me,” he began, “but please, protect her in whatever way you can.” He tried his best to project feelings of protection and care to the creature. It glanced at Sera before skittering off his hand, now large enough to walk on two of its limbs. It made its way to Sera, wrapping itself around her neck.

  If she felt its presence, she gave no indication, her breathing steady as she remained deep in meditation. Tunde got to his feet, nodding at the creature before laying some Ethra crystals at Sera’s feet. He turned his attention back to the landscape, noticing the same smoke and poison Ethra swirling in the distance—another crystal, no doubt. The first one was still there as well.

  “Take some. They might be useful later on,” Ifa advised. Tunde nodded, storing some of the remaining crystals in his void ring before setting off into the poisonous landscape once more.

  *************************

  Following the trail of smoke and poison as Tunde destroyed crystal after crystal on the seemingly never-ending landscape, he fought the denizens of the rift. These lifeless, brittle husks raised to life time and again, dry and fragile, crumbling beneath his aura-infused strikes. The repetition of their attacks grew monotonous, his naginata cleaving through them effortlessly.

  “Do you recognize them?” Tunde asked Ifa, his voice steady despite the carnage around him. “Perhaps from some realm?”

  Ifa’s response was thoughtful, almost reluctant. “I cannot reveal just what sort of realms are out there yet, but I do not recognize any prominent one with a malevolent essence like this—not even the revenants,” Tunde said nothing, merely nodding as he pressed on.

  “Sera was simply too weak,” Ifa continued, “or rather, her blood and flesh cultivation too inexperienced to survive the miasma of poison and shadow in this realm. When she advances, she should be able to purify her blood, or perhaps enlightenment will grant her the strength she needs.”

  “And me?” Tunde asked, his eyes scanning the desolate landscape. “What will my core do to the residue of the poison?”

  “Nothing is wasted in the void,” Ifa answered cryptically. “All becomes the void of the cosmos.”

  Tunde fell silent, contemplating the meaning behind Ifa’s words as he reached the edge of what appeared to be a building. Its walls were blackened and sooty, as if scorched by an intense fire, and there was a distinct absence of the smoke and poison Ethra that filled the air elsewhere. Wary, Tunde approached the broken gates, noting the half-destroyed upper part of the structure, leaving only the husk of a building.

  “Buildings in rifts?” Tunde mused aloud.

  “I told you,” Ifa replied, “some of the denizens of these realms were caught halfway through, unable to return to their realms and barred from Adamath. These rifts are mere pieces of the void and their realms left for them to survive in. These poor souls must have sought to create a home for themselves here, to wait out the restriction, hoping it would open again one day.”

  “Then what happened to them?” Tunde asked, his voice echoing softly through the empty, burnt-out halls as he ventured deeper into the building.

  “A thousand years and more is a long time, long enough to drive even the strongest creature to madness,” Ifa replied thoughtfully.

  Tunde’s footsteps led him to what had once been a garden, now overgrown with twisted, blackened plants. In the center, a giant, hunched figure in armor sat motionless, no doubt long dead. As Tunde moved closer, he realized it was merely a husk of armor, nothing more—except for the black crystal lodged within its chest. The crystal pulsed ominously, sending tendrils of black and purple miasma through the joints of the armor.

  His naginata was in his hand before he realized it, the blade glowing with a dark grey aura as he aimed it at the crystal with raw force. But just as he was about to strike, a gauntlet-covered arm of the creature shot out, gripping his weapon in place.

  A hoarse voice, ancient and weary, chuckled from beneath the helmet, purple orbs glowing where eyes should have been. “Soooo looong,” it rasped, “ages and ages, time after time… yet I wait.”

  Tunde wrestled his weapon free, stepping back to put distance between them. The creature didn’t move to follow, merely watched him with a kind of resigned amusement.

  “Welcome, cultivator,” it said, its voice tinged with a bitterness born of centuries of isolation. “Have you come to relieve me of my existence?”

  Tunde didn’t respond, his focus on the crystal still pulsing within the armor. He lit his naginata alight with aura, prepared to end whatever miserable existence remained in the figure before him. But the creature only laughed, its voice echoing in the empty garden.

  With a flick of its wrist, it summoned a naginata larger than Tunde’s, its blade shimmering with an ominous, black light. A ring, black as the void, adorned one of its fingers, radiating a malevolent energy.

  “Prove yourself!” it roared, charging at Tunde with a speed that belied its size.