The entire area had been cleared of debris and threat, the sky above swarming with immense Skyvessels, their hulls glinting under protective formation barriers.

  Layers upon layers of formation arrays rippled across the sky and ground, each one reinforcing the next in a web of defense.

  Tunde caught all this in passing—but his focus snapped forward the moment he saw them.

  Ifa and Sera.

  Both cultivators were alive.

  Worn, yes—tired beyond words—but breathing, standing. Relief punched through his chest as he stepped toward them.

  Ifa looked pale, a faint tremble in his limbs betraying some deeper cost. Sera, though upright, carried a stiffness that spoke of recent pain, likely still recovering from her brutal clash with Rhyn.

  Without a word, Tunde pulled them both into a tight hug, exhaling sharply as the fear in his chest unravelled.

  The moment barely lasted before more figures began to draw near—faces, movements, auras.

  Some were vaguely familiar, recognized through the impressions of their Ethra. Others, he knew by sight, their presence like a jolt to his senses.

  And a few struck him like lightning—particularly the towering, unmistakable revenant paragon standing atop a distant platform, watching them in silence.

  “Bahataba. You must be Tunde,” said a voice, weathered but commanding.

  An old man was approaching, his steps slow but deliberate.

  He wore a wide reed hat and stood beside Juga Acacia, his presence radiating the unmistakable pressure of a Saint.

  Tunde instinctively bowed, his body reacting before thought could intervene.

  The sheer density of power around the man was undeniable, something ancient and immovable, like stone shaped by centuries of wind.

  “I greet the elders,” Tunde said respectfully.

  Elyria stepped up beside him, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “So many cultivators…”

  She stared across the horizon. And truly, as far as the eye could see, banners flew high, hundreds, maybe thousands.

  Some Tunde didn’t recognize at all, others bore obscure sect symbols, and a few stirred memories from old stories or histories he’d once read.

  “Indeed,” the old man said, his eyes never leaving the vast army.

  “They’ve come from across Adamath. Months of quiet labor. Recruitment done in shadows. Nearly impossible. But good must prevail.”

  Tunde looked back at him, hope mingling with uncertainty.

  “Please… Daiki?”

  He couldn’t finish the thought. The fear lingered, sharp and cruel. If the darkness had taken his friend, what was left to return to?

  But the old man only smiled gently and turned toward Juga Acacia.

  The Saint gave a slow nod and raised a hand, pointing toward a cluster of cultivators in the distance.

  “You will find them there,” he said softly.

  Tunde followed the direction of his gesture and nodded in silent thanks. Before he could move, the old man turned again, this time, toward Elyria.

  “She has someone who would like to see her,” he said, eyes kind.

  Elyria blinked in confusion.

  “What?”

  From within the gathered crowd, a figure stepped forward.

  Tunde saw Elyria freeze.

  The resemblance was too strong, uncanny.

  The same sharp eyes, the same posture, only older. The woman moved with grace and strength, her Ethra unmistakably paragon-level.

  Her long grey hair was intricately woven, and a gleaming spear rested easily in her grip.

  “Miana?” Elyria’s voice cracked as she spoke the name.

  Her face registered shock, then disbelief. Then joy.

  Miana crossed the distance in a few strides and wrapped Elyria in a fierce embrace. No words were exchanged at first, just the crushing weight of reunion in silence.

  Tunde stood still, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  Before he could, Sera stepped up beside him and gently placed a hand on his arm. He turned, drawn by her touch.

  Ifa and Liu stood together a few paces away, both watching him with a quiet intensity.

  “Come,” Sera said.

  “We have much to talk about.”

  Tunde gave a small nod, words caught in his throat. He let them guide him forward, toward answers, and the next impossible decision waiting ahead.

  ***********

  The entire area felt like a city rising from ruin, makeshift buildings cobbled together with whatever materials were left, their silhouettes half-lost in the constant ashfall.

  The air was thick with silence and snow-like soot, the ground crunching beneath Tunde’s boots with each step.

  Around them, cultivators moved with quiet purpose, armed and alert, even here.

  Liu led the way, his posture rigid, shoulders tight with the weight of what he had to say.

  “We couldn’t just come out and accuse the factions outright,” Liu said, his voice hard-edged and grim.

  “The second I realized what was happening, I ran. Fled my people and made straight for the Luminous Sect—Temple of the True Light, atop Mount Ushido.”

  He paused as the group moved through a narrower path between shelters, the crackle of Ethra wards buzzing faintly in the background.

  “The Luminous Path has always been wary of the other factions,” Liu continued.

  “We never originated from Adamath, and neither did several others.”

  “We?” Sera asked, casting a glance at him.

  Zhu remained a silent sentinel at their side. The divine beast’s gaze moved ceaselessly, scanning rooftops, shadows, movements—even here, in arguably the safest place for miles.

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  Liu nodded at Sera’s question, not breaking stride.

  “The Arcanists. Us. Even some of the lesser sects. We weren’t born of Adamath. None of the human factions were. This plane, Adamath, is one of thousands. A lesser realm that was supposed to be a conduit to the greater ones.”

  He slowed as they reached the heart of the area, where lesser cultivators stood guard or tended to supplies and wounded, all gathered near a large open space where tents and temporary shrines had been built.

  “No one knows why we came here. Or if they do, they’ve kept it from me. As always, the Regents hoard knowledge like it’s sacred fire.” Liu’s tone soured, his bitterness plain.

  He turned to face them, stopping for a moment.

  “Adamath has a cultivation ceiling,” he said.

  “And that ceiling is Regency. The Regents were never meant to stay here. They were meant to ascend, to move beyond this world, to step into higher realms and leave Adamath behind.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “But Kaius Talahan... he’s trying to rewrite the very laws of existence. Anchor himself here. Bend the world to his will. And I hate to admit it—” Liu’s voice caught

  “—but my mother is helping him.”

  There was pain behind his eyes. Not just guilt, betrayal. A deep, ancestral wound.

  In the distance, one of the makeshift huts opened.

  Zehra stepped out, her eyes catching on their group. She froze mid-step. Behind her, Daiki emerged as well.

  Tunde didn’t hesitate.

  He vanished in a blink, reappearing in front of them and pulling Zehra into a tight hug before drawing Daiki in as well.

  He held them both close, the tension in his body finally breaking as relief flooded through him.

  “See, princess?” a deep voice called out, familiar and warm despite the grim surroundings.

  “Told you he wouldn’t take it to heart.”

  Tunde let go and turned, his face splitting into a smile.

  There they were, Ujin, Bajun, and Akero. All three standing together like nothing had changed, yet everything had.

  Behind them stood a fourth figure. He didn’t speak, didn’t smile. He simply watched. Still. Imposing. A quiet force.

  Tunde reached out and clasped hands with Ujin, the grip firm and full of unspoken understanding.

  Ujin grinned widely.

  “Took you long enough.”

  “It’s good to see you alive,” Tunde said as he approached, a genuine smile tugging at his face.

  Ujin grinned. “Please, not even the Regents could rob the world of my beauty,” the peak-realm master declared with theatrical flair.

  Bajun rolled his eyes.

  “Saints preserve us,” he muttered, also a master in his own right.

  Akero, ever the silent one, gave a nod—his cultivation also at the peak.

  They all seemed healthy, strong, whole.

  But Tunde’s attention was drawn to the imposing figure standing quietly behind them.

  He tried not to stare, but the presence was too commanding to ignore. Ujin noticed, chuckling.

  Zehra stepped forward.

  “Tunde, meet my father, Tian Acacia.”

  Tunde immediately bowed, but was stopped mid-motion as the man responded with a respectful bow of his own.

  “No, please,” Tian said. His voice carried quiet strength.

  “You saved my daughter. Then, somehow, he helped her ascend to the realm of Master. I owe you a debt, Tunde.”

  Tunde shook his head quickly.

  “I’m not even sure what I did. I only did what I could—for a friend.”

  Tian blinked.

  “Friend? I thought—” He stopped short as Zehra dragged him forcefully away, her face flushed.

  Ujin burst out laughing, Bajun and Akero not far behind.

  Still slightly confused, Tunde turned to Daiki, whose presence had changed.

  His aura was different now—radiant, balanced. He, too, had reached the realm of Master, though still early tier.

  Inside the makeshift hut they entered, spatial scripts flared softly, extending the interior well beyond its physical shell, an impossible feat under normal circumstances.

  They gathered, though one person was still missing. Tunde felt that absence like a dull blade against the edge of his awareness, but he shoved it aside for now.

  What followed was a flurry of updates. Stories. Confessions. Joy tangled with sorrow. Rage simmering under the surface of every word.

  “We barely made it out,” Zehra said, seated with her back straight, hands folded in her lap.

  “We had to deceive the phantoms tracking us, made it look like we were returning to Shimmersteel. Then we doubled back and met the rest at Moonshine City.” She shook her head.

  “Turns out this has all been more than a year in the making.”

  More than a year. It lined up with the beginning of his journey across the Bloodfire continent.

  “So I heard,” Tunde said, arms folded, his tone darkening.

  “When the Ark Pillars first appeared, my old teacher, Joran, warned me. He said they were bad news. Worse than bad. A poison.”

  “And now here we are,” Zehra murmured. “What did they even do?”

  “They devour,” Liu answered solemnly.

  “They drain life. Essence. Every person, every creature, every inch of land they cross. It all feeds the Regents, those same Regents who are now trying to break through to the realm of Hegemon.”

  He exhaled sharply.

  “And not just them,” Ifa added.

  “They’ve rallied parts of every major faction. Orthodox and unorthodox alike. Not all of them—but enough.”

  Tunde turned his gaze to the elder, who had been quiet so far, lost in thought. He tapped his chin with a single finger, considering.

  “And the rest of the world?” Tunde asked. “How are they faring?”

  A pause.

  He felt the hesitation in the room.

  “You can tell me,” Tunde said, sitting down slowly.

  A part of him didn’t want the answer. But he needed it.

  Zehra spoke.

  “We managed to get a warning to Black Rock early. Lady Ryka began preparations immediately. Right as ships from the Golden Pill Pavilion arrived with so many resources, it stunned even Ujin.”

  She looked at him, eyes searching.

  “How did you even do that?”

  Tunde exhaled, a sigh of relief escaping him like a pressure valve.

  He closed his eyes tightly.

  Maybe, just maybe, Ryka and the others had found a way to survive. Underground bunkers. Sealed wards. Whatever it took.

  Sera smirked faintly.

  “He leeched the Imperial Clan for everything they had.”

  Tunde nodded in silent agreement.

  Then the door opened, and every head in the room turned.

  A figure stood there. Someone Tunde hadn’t expected to see again.

  “Harumi?” he asked, blinking in surprise.

  The nephew of the Zao Saint stepped inside, his presence still hesitant despite the faint aura of mastery now radiating from him.

  Early-tier Master. A blade rested at his side, subtle but precise.

  “I came to say my thanks,” Harumi said, bowing slightly.

  His voice carried the weight of a man who had survived something too large to speak of casually.

  “How?” Sera asked gently, cautiously.

  “My uncle,” Harumi replied.

  “He smuggled me out of the capital just before it began. Put me on a ship headed for Moonshine. My grandmother was waiting.”

  “Grandmother?” Tunde echoed.

  Harumi nodded and gestured toward the door.

  “The clan head. The matriarch of the Zao.”

  Tunde followed him out.

  Outside, standing beneath the constant fall of ashen snow, was a woman dressed in layered robes of grey and green.

  Time had marked her features, but none of it dulled the majesty in her bearing. Her gaze was piercing, her presence heavy with power.

  She was flanked by two large men, both clearly Masters, watching the surroundings with quiet vigilance.

  Tunde felt it immediately. Her Ethra was dense, ancient, perfect.

  Paragon.

  She locked eyes with him the moment he stepped outside.

  She didn’t smile, but something in her gaze welcomed him nonetheless.

  “You must be Tunde of the Seekers,” she said.

  Her voice was soft, but carried like silk over steel.

  Tunde stepped forward and bowed deeply at the waist.

  “I greet the honoured Paragon,” he said, his voice steady and respectful.

  The old woman let out a gentle, amused chuckle.

  “A polite one. Good.”

  And for the first time in days, Tunde allowed himself a flicker of hope.

  With a Paragon on their side, the coming war no longer felt entirely unwinnable.

  “You need not bow before me,” the matriarch began, her tone firm but not unkind.

  “You have earned the loyalty of the Zao Clan twice over. From this day on, we will always call you friend.”

  Tunde looked up, caught off guard. Her words struck deeper than he expected, straight through the formality and into something that felt real.

  “You saved what was left of my daughter,” she continued.

  “Shen’s sister. Had Shen been here, he would be the one standing before you, saying these words in my place.”

  Her voice faltered slightly, the weight of memory creasing her brow.

  She reached into her robe and withdrew a medallion carved from deep green jade, etched with ancient Zao sigils that pulsed faintly with latent energy.

  “This represents the highest authority of the Zao Clan,” she said, holding it out.

  “Which is me. Present this to anyone on the Zao Islands, and they will obey, without hesitation, without question.”

  Tunde's eyes widened as he accepted it, almost reverently. The medallion felt heavier than it looked.

  “I… I don’t deserve this,” he said honestly.

  She gave a short laugh, her expression softening.

  “Says the one known as the Void Devourer.”

  The title made him shift slightly, but he said nothing as he tucked the medallion away.

  “I must be on my way,” she said, turning slightly as the snow gathered around the hem of her robe.

  “Preparations are nearly complete. And if it were up to me, none of you children would be anywhere near the battlefield.”

  She sighed, not with weakness but with resignation, a leader who had seen too much to still believe in clean endings.

  “But the world won’t allow that. So all I can do is hope you’ll look after each other.”

  Her gaze lingered on Tunde for a moment longer. He gave her a small but resolute nod, and it seemed to satisfy her.

  Without another word, the Paragon turned and disappeared into the ash-laden air, her two Master guards following silently behind.

  No fanfare. Just presence and then absence, like a whisper fading into snowfall.

  “You’re now one of the most important Masters in all of Adamath,” Ujin said, stepping up behind him, voice tinged with awe.

  Bajun nodded in agreement.

  “Few ever earn the respect of the Zao Clan. You're one of them now. Makes me jealous, honestly.”

  Tunde glanced down at the medallion in his hand, its weight now matched by the responsibility it implied.

  Before he could speak, a horn rang out, long, deep, and unignorable.

  The sound split the air, and every cultivator nearby stilled for a breath before looking skyward.

  “The call has been sounded,” Tian Acacia said solemnly, his expression darkening.

  “War beckons.”

  They turned their eyes toward the distant horizon, where lightning still flickered beyond the dark curtain of clouds, and where what they had run from, now called to them.