Auriel Thorne Bloodforge.

  Somewhere in the True Heavens — Beyond Mortal Reach, Beyond Mortal Time.

  A man, bowed with age, sat at a desk of crimson glass, its surface veined with gold like frozen lightning — ancient, beautiful, absurdly fragile for its power.

  If the Dars had seen him, they would have remembered their talk.

  That day.

  That agreement.

  The one Dar had — against all odds — kept.

  A polite knock echoed against the perfect silence.

  The old man sighed.

  Formality.

  Leftover habits from days when they were mortals — things that die hard.

  “Enter.”

  An attendant stepped in — robes flawless, posture immaculate, anxiety barely hidden.

  She bowed low.

  The old man’s gaze drifted to the jade slip in her hand.

  It pulsed faintly with the weight of fate — and irritation.

  He frowned.

  The attendant hesitated — then explained before he asked.

  “Great One... they believe her family has exhausted their karma. It is only right, they say, that she be born with none.”

  The old man closed his eyes.

  Fools.

  “They do not understand,” he muttered, “that her brother will not accept that. He will break the agreement.”

  His voice turned flat.

  “And then we will have to warn him again — more forcefully — or worse, act on the mortal plane directly…. they are in the barbarous lands too.”

  He shook his head, the weight of eternal paperwork already clawing at his ancient bones. “Do they not understand how hard that is? The paperwork would be unending. I, for one, am not doing it.”

  The attendant shifted nervously. “But Great One... should they not simply bow to the Heavens? It is the Heavens after all.”

  The old man laughed.

  A dry, exhausted sound — a god who had seen this too many times to count.

  Much to the attendant’s annoyance.

  “Child... every cultivator — well, most cultivators — on too many worlds think they defy the Heavens' will, or work around the system TO undermine us.”

  He gestured vaguely.

  “And what do we do? We move them to the next Heaven. Let those poor bastards deal with it.”

  He waved the jade slip like a man shaking rain from his sleeve.

  “You’re new. You’ll learn. The Heavens are not infallible — they are, after all, run by us. And we — by and large — were mortals once.”

  He sighed.

  “As for this—” he held up the jade again, eyeing it with all the enthusiasm of a tax collector faced with a war hero’s exemption — “If they want to go to war with that boy... they can do it without me.”

  He leaned back. Voice dry as dust.

  “I suspect he will ascend….perhaps more then once.” He took a pause. “Or worse.”

  A thin smile crossed his face.

  “He will become one we report to.”

  Once the EVA suit was built, it was stored in a room Jianrong had built.

  It resided beneath her home; there sat a stone desk where she wrote letters to her family and to Shen Vey, Elaren, and Sulara.

  Even Investigator Jang received letters from the siblings because to them, he was a good man, a good father, and a good role model.

  People like that were rare.

  One wall held many small statues, small figurines of people past.

  All the siblings would come from time to time to remember or share something.

  Amongst the statues reside two larger stone figures.

  A woman with eight arms, wielding both weapons and flowers.

  The other was a great fox that curled around her like the wind.

  As the day progressed, three different Spirit Senses watched her more closely than a banker watches coins being counted.

  When dusk came, the fires were stoked. Tea was made.

  It was the same atmosphere as waiting for the new year — but with a quiet, unspoken dread.

  Childbirth was dangerous.

  Always had been.

  For the mother and the child.

  When the sun set, Dar Luso donned the suit.

  Serel stayed with him.

  She checked his math — checked it twice.

  He had shown her everything, the same way he always did — like when they had once stood above the earth, looking down on a blue pearl of ocean and cloud.

  He didn’t need to go this far.

  But he would go higher than ever before.

  And it scared her.

  Because it mattered — to all four of them.

  Dar had told her in the blackness of space — in the silence between stars — that he had a bad premonition.

  It was either this...

  Or break their word.

  An hourglass counted the time since sunset.

  In front of him sat his secret weapon.

  A thirty-liter tank — a bladder of magical beast skin that could hold even at higher pressure— with a leather tube that locked into the suit at his back.

  This was meant to keep the air from expanding and dispersing to the altitude below where he planned to traverse, if needed.

  Dar compressed the air within — layer after layer — the tank groaning faintly as he forced the atmosphere tighter, denser, until the air fought like an animal against its cage.

  Then he began to steal its heat.

  Not by freezing it — but by stilling it.

  Slowing the movement of the molecules — stripping away their energy, their motion, their violence — until the hot, angry thing pressing at the walls became something else.

  The pressure began to drop — not because the tank leaked — but because the air was folding in on itself, condensing tighter and tighter.

  And then — impossibly — it began to collect.

  A deep blue liquid forming at the base of the tank.

  Liquid oxygen.

  A breath saved for when breathing would be impossible.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  The quietest miracle.

  Born of care.

  Born of survival.

  Born of their past.

  She was on the way.

  When Nadia’s cervix fully dilated, it was time.

  Two incense sticks had passed, and he could still make it high enough.

  Dusk was here.

  Night was coming.

  The sun was sinking.

  Every moment Dar delayed meant another degree lower was another 10 kilometers higher he'd need to go.

  The race was against geometry.

  No more waiting.

  No more theory.

  No more words.

  It was time to act.

  Jianrong stood before Dar Luso — calm, steady — checking the gear one last time with hands that had never failed in battle, or in the home.

  Then she drew her knife and placed it in the sheath she had made for the EVA, her hand guided his to it.

  No words passed between them — none were needed.

  If there was something more, something dangerous, she wanted him to have a weapon he could depend on.

  Finally, she handed him the helmet.

  Carved from Calamity bone — fitted with thin slits to see, egress holes to vent the precious air moving through the suit — not for glory.

  For survival, to keep the cold of the upper world from killing him before he finished what needed doing.

  Serel stood nearby — her hand wrapped around his, holding it as tightly as dignity and love allowed.

  Erin stood with her, supporting her, their presence like roots around the stone of his heart.

  Then it was time.

  Dar stepped onto the tank and straddled it — its sides fitted with steps built for this moment alone.

  A vessel of life.

  Shepard stepped forward and locked him into the frame — thick belts and woven spider silk straps anchoring him like a weapon to its scabbard.

  Valen and Jason joined them — lending their support to the launch.

  Then — with a deep breath — Dar’s air armor closed around him, sealing him for the first brutal seconds, with a thought it brightened until it was a shimmering gold,

  Two large wings of a crow extended and flexed, then pulled tight.

  Two red eyes like lazy flames looked around as its head swiveled, then gave a nod.

  Jianrong and Shepard stomped.

  The firelight seemed to slow as if caught in a wave of time, then the air rushed upward. Racing after Dar Luso, who raced into the night sky defiantly

  Ten heartbeats of weight like stone crushing down — and then he would be clear.

  He would be free.

  He would be at speed.

  He rose like no man.

  He rose like a god returning to heaven.

  Across the land — spies from every sect, from every faction — from those who had long coveted Ironwood’s strength — watched in stunned silence as a line of light tore upward through the clouds.

  No formation.

  No talisman.

  No artifact.

  Just a man.

  Rising.

  Dar had fear in him.

  He would never lie about that.

  But that fear drowned beneath a flood of duty.

  Urgency.

  Love.

  It would take half an incense stick to reach the height needed to see past the horizon.

  To reach the stratosphere.

  To brush the edge of the world.

  To stand where wind failed, and breath froze.

  To greet the Father, who warmed and fed the world. The being that fed them and allowed them to care for family with healing, to defend it with power.

  To stand beneath the watching sun — not for power — but to plead for a future for his sister.

  As the ground fell away, as clouds spun beneath his boots, Brother Dar smiled.

  A quiet grin beneath bone and leather.

  "Watch me, old man."

  "Watch me."

  The highest they had gone had nearly killed Solomon.

  Mountain heights. Cloud-breaker heights. Today, he was going beyond that.

  Today, he was going to touch the edge of Heaven.

  The Crow form expanded as he fell upward into a golden wedge.

  This Kunai was designed solely for speed; its wing rake was intense, and its intake design is focused on thrust.

  Air raced over the flying wing that accelerated hard enough for Dar to groan and the Qi skin of the craft to flare under the load of his ever-increasing weight.

  AFTERBURNER

  Time seemed to drag on, then he felt it.

  The resonance he needed in the intake.

  Qi poured from him even faster, moving through the EVA suit as if it did not exist.

  RAMJET

  A blue flame exploded downward along its length; four points of brightness told those who could see it that this was no ordinary flame.

  He had to build as much momentum as possible.

  The craft's golden color fell away as it turned clear, so Dar could see the Sun when he reached high enough.

  As he rose — stone giving way to cloud, cloud giving way to winds humans would never feel.

  He stopped cooling the air in his tank.

  He let it boil.

  The liquid oxygen stirred and shivered inside its vessel — blooming back into gas — fresh, rich air flowing in a slow, measured trickle into the suit with every bubble of pressure released.

  Inside the suit, thin strips of metal were affixed to the inner bone plating — crude in design.

  Perfect in purpose.

  Dar would be able to agitate them — small rotations — flexing against the material in steady cycles.

  Not fast.

  Not wasteful.

  Warmth.

  The heat would move through the bone — through layers of leather, wool, and divine silk weave — slowly pushing back the grip of deathly cold.

  Every step higher meant less warmth from the world below.

  So, they built warmth where none existed.

  The faster he ascended, the thinner the air became.

  Ever so slowly, the intake of the craft increased its width to capture more of what was dwindling.

  Air.

  Dar Luso could not tell where it was, but he felt an ancient weight.

  The sensation of something old watching — choosing — shaping fates beyond mortal hands.

  Dar Luso felt, in his bones, that the choices being made was harming his sister.

  Inside the suit, Dar burned Qi.

  His consciousness moved through his body—not scattered, but deliberate.

  Heating the metal strips embedded in bone and leather — forcing warmth outward.

  Moving air across his skin — creating a shell of insulation that was growing larger as the tank slowly released its precious payload.

  At twenty kilometers, thin air and falling pressure forced him to keep adjusting.

  Less compression. Less risk of overpressure.

  By thirty kilometers, he was heating both his body and the air.

  The air was so cold that it would chill and kill someone within several breaths.

  The metal would freeze now without constant attention.

  At the count of forty-eight, he caught the sun as it retreated.

  Its gentle rays washed over the crested horizon — soft as breath — caressing him in this frozen wasteland above the world.

  There was no sound here.

  No wind.

  No life.

  Just him.

  Just the waiting sky.

  The Kunai reformed into a great Crow, its wings catching the light with a faint golden glow as its Aura filled the construct and beckoned to be seen.

  Then it flared to life like a golden idol in the darkness.

  In the center of the bird, Dar raised his hands in supplication.

  Lowered his head.

  And prayed.

  Not loudly.

  Not with demands.

  But with the quiet reverence of a man asking nothing for himself.

  He reached outward — with his Spirit, with his heart — pleading.

  Pleading for aid.

  Pleading for protection — not for him — but for his sister.

  A daughter of the earth.

  A child of the sun.

  A sister to Ironwood.

  He asked that his mistakes not fall upon her shoulders.

  He asked that life grant her a fair chance.

  And last — with all the weight of a stone in his chest — he asked:

  If no aid would come — If even the Father above could do nothing — Then may they have the strength to right wrongs.

  To hold accountable those who would harm her directly or indirectly.

  Beings ancient and powerful who watched a mortal ascend where he should not be saw how a heartless star's light curved and caressed him.

  A presence that had long acknowledged this devout follower looked downward.

  There, he felt reverence for him; prayers aimed at him for the same child.

  Not a few but many.

  Amongst them, dozens of his lesser cousins lived safely as a family with these mortals.

  He even saw a fat one, resting near the mother giving birth, watching, fear for her in its eyes.

  Then he felt two presences he knew all too well.

  A troublemaker and her steady companion.

  A smile crossed the golden crow's features.

  He had no authority over Heaven, but he had authority over light.

  That he could give to this child.

  His prayer was done.

  His mission — half completed.

  With a thought — calm, measured — Dar Luso released the last of his stored air.

  The remaining liquid oxygen boiled out — venting into the near-vacuum — then gathered around him, shaped by will.

  Dar Luso closed his eyes as his Qi saturated the air.

  For a brief moment, his consciousness entered the Bloom of Returning.

  Matron Bright was there waiting.

  She told him what his heart already screamed: Heaven had acted. They had denied his sister her rightful fate.

  Shepard had entered moments before relaying the message.

  With a sharp breath, he returned to his body, the air beginning to disperse, pulled back tightly as he began to fall downward.

  With one thought — a straightforward gesture — he saluted the Heavens.

  Not with bowed head with reverence.

  But with a single finger raised skyward.

  The only message that mattered. “Fuck that, fuck you.'"

  Dar Luso laughed, his eyes tinged red with anger.

  He reformed the Kunai and began pulling all the Qi towards him as he aimed downward.

  Serel had taught him a lot, most of it about moving beyond his idea that scientific paradigms were the end-all, be-all.

  Because cultivation does not ask permission from stone, wind, or vacuum.

  It reshapes truth — where will is strong enough.

  Fire without air. Heat without fuel.

  Because this was where Heaven touched earth — and where those who climbed far enough could write their own laws.

  Laughing quietly, fierce, alive, he willed all the air into a singular point, the intake of the Kunai.

  Then, in his mind, he snapped his fingers.

  Flame erupted from the rear of the craft as he bypassed compression and demanded Qi burn.

  He needed to get home; he didn't have time for Heaven's arbitrary laws.

  The flame exploded into eight distinct points—each a howl of defiance—as pain lanced through Dar's body under the load.

  In his mind, he laughed—anger and pain inseparable now, both fuel for the fire.

  He moved faster than before, faster than fear, but unable to outrun his regret.

  Auriel was born with a face like her mother's; she would steal hearts.

  Her hair was like spun threads of honey gold.

  She had barely been born, blood still on her skin, when Shepard felt her.

  Jianrong was across from him, doing the same thing.

  They felt an emptiness in her—a void where karma should reside.

  A hollowness they had never known themselves, but one Dar had sensed something similar before in the village of exiles.

  Both realized her Karma was so minimal that it was as if she had none.

  A soul that had been reincarnated as their sibling was being punished, they assumed, because Dar Luso had once touched Karma…the realm Heaven held sovereignty over.

  The two siblings were filled with something akin to rage.

  They understood there was not one enemy, but a system of people who likely made this happen.

  Shepard closed his eyes, and his consciousness left his body for a moment; the next, he was keenly aware as his Core came to life.

  A beat later, Rong followed suit.

  In a room full of people, as Nadia saw her children holding their sister like a treasure, both shimmered, then exploded with golden coronas.

  Rong grinned at Shepard, who was always the voice of moderation and temperance.

  Shepard's eyes were bloodshot with tears running down his face as he felt around Auriel's soul until he found it.

  Found the place where Karma should anchor—the empty vessel Heaven had left bare.

  Then he began to pour his into her.

  Rong laughed as her own Karma, like a waterfall, joined his.

  "Come, come stop us," she growled, her amber eyes lighting up with hatred.

  In the depths of a massive tree that could hold planets like fruit, Ling Xian Lin, in her eight-armed form, curled around Rou Xinyi, who was watching their lover in both horror and amazement.

  Ling's mouth moved, but no words came.

  "They got that old Crow to grant his gift to her," Rou said in disbelief, then she bit her lip and squeezed Ling.

  "I haven't had this much fun in over a millennium." Rou breathed.

  Ling finally swallowed.

  "If she is like that with her sister, how will she be with our offspring?" she wondered, feeling a stirring desire to find out.

  Rou turned, their eyes met.

  A decision had been made.

  Time is not on their side to remain in this realm.