The sky above Lorian Vale had darkened into hues of purple and deep indigo, veiled beneath a silver-lit moon. Wisps of cloud moved slowly like cautious spirits, casting shifting shadows over the tiled rooftops and stone pathways below.
Kael stood atop the balcony of the small inn he and Arien had settled into since their arrival, his eyes gazing beyond the city's walls toward the distant mountains wrapped in night mist. A cool breeze danced through the air, carrying with it the scents of pine, soot, and a subtle trace of something else—burning incense. A signal.
"They're making their move," Kael said quietly.
Arien, who leaned against the wooden frame of the doorway behind her, narrowed her eyes. "The Veylan House?"
"No," Kael replied. "Them." He tossed a small jade token into Arien's hand—etched with a twisted insignia of a broken crescent: the mark of the Umbral Sigil.
Kael had expected surveillance the moment he agreed to join the upcoming tournament. What he hadn't expected was the subtle interference already threading its way into the outer districts. Merchants disappearing. Informants going silent. A shift in the rhythm of the city's underbelly.
"We need information," Kael muttered. "And fast."
"You have a plan," Arien stated flatly.
Kael nodded. "Two, in fact."
Later that night, Kael wandered alone into the Lantern Market—a maze of flickering stalls and whispered transactions, nestled in the southern quarter of the city. Lanterns swayed above, each flame dancing like a nervous heart.
He passed a masked herbalist's stall and tapped once on the wooden frame. A pause. Then a gloved hand slipped from the shadowed curtain and handed Kael a folded note—inked in haste.
"They know you're not from any recognized sect. Eyes on you from both below and above."
Kael smirked, then burned the paper instantly with a snap of azure flame from his fingertip.
He kept walking, already aware of the man trailing him two alleys back.
In the upper courtyard of the Veylan estate, Sera sat across from her elder brother, Rennic, a scroll unfolded between them.
"You're still watching him," Rennic said, sipping his tea.
"He's not what he seems," Sera replied. "He cultivates like no one I've seen. And the Forge of Ashveil accepted him."
"That trial kills most who attempt it."
"Exactly."
Sera leaned forward. "He'll either rise… or shake the Order itself."
Rennic's eyes gleamed with interest. "Then test him harder."
Kael slipped into a narrow alley between two butcher stalls. The footsteps behind him quickened. A man in plain robes lunged from the corner with a blade glinting in the moonlight—silent, precise.
But Kael was already in motion.
With a sidestep and twist of his wrist, he caught the attacker's arm and slammed him into the wall. His palm crackled with soulforce, pressing against the man's spine. The attacker convulsed, paralyzed.
Kael leaned in. "I don't like being followed."
"I was told to test your limits," the man rasped.
"By whom?"
No answer.
Kael withdrew a needle from his sleeve—thin and shimmering. "Let me guess. You thought I'd be soft."
The man's silence was answer enough.
Kael left him unconscious, tied beneath the butcher's storage rack, then vanished into the winding paths of Lorian Vale's shadows.
The next day, as Kael and Arien returned to the Outer Pavilion for registration into the cultivation tournament, murmurs followed their steps.
"That's him. The one with no sect."
"He survived Ashveil."
"And he refused Veylan House's offer."
At the courtyard gate, Kael paused as two unfamiliar cultivators blocked his path. They wore robes marked by the Twin Sky Enclave—a minor sect with big ambitions.
"You're not from around here," the taller one sneered. "This tournament is for the Orders of Sky. Rogue cultivators don't last long."
Kael's smile was cold. "Then you'll be my warm-up."
Before the man could react, Kael stepped forward and lightly tapped the ground with his foot. A small pulse of elemental force spread outward—disrupting the man's balance without even drawing his weapon.
The crowd gasped.
Arien crossed her arms with a smirk. "You provoked him. Don't complain about broken teeth later."
Kael sat beneath the Moonveil Temple ruins, fingers tracing ancient runes along the crumbled stones. His mind was racing.
"I need allies," he whispered to himself.
The tournament was just a doorway. Behind it, the Orders of Sky, the Umbral Sigil, the ancient inheritance clans—they all had secrets.
But Kael had something they didn't.
A path forged from ash and struggle.
And a mind that never stopped calculating.
"I'll let them believe I'm still the underdog," he muttered. "Just long enough."
From behind a pillar, a shadow stirred—someone listening.
Kael didn't look back. "Tell your master I'm ready."