Guhal. It’s the name of the city I grew up in, a place carved into a valley of knife-edged mountains and constant cold winds. Its main export is luxury clothing, the kind nobles in distant lands fight to purchase. The wealth comes from the rare mountain goats called Giha, creatures with silver coats that shimmer in the sun like frost. They cling to the steepest cliffs, and their wool produces cashmere and shahtoosh of unmatched quality. Because of that, killing a Giha is outlawed. The nobles don’t just fine offenders, they execute anyone who does, whether by accident or intent. They call the goats “the heartbeat of Guhal” but really, they’re the heart of the nobles’ coffers.

  Those nobles built their district in the center of the city, a circular fortress of marble and stained glass, surrounded by a private garden walled off from the rest of us. In that garden grow the flowers and beetles that make their secret dyes: the deep crimson used only by royalty, the royal purple too costly for common wear, and the ocean-blue pigment that glows under lantern light. The tailors of Guhal depend on these dyes, and the nobles drip them out in small, expensive increments. My family has been among those tailors for generations. We were known for speed, precision, and an instinctive understanding of cloth.

  That all changed the day I was born.

  I was twice the size of a normal baby. My birth was so violent it took my mother’s life. She named me Bormack with her last breath, a combination of her name, Borel, and my father’s name, Mackie. Afterward, my father added the “sch,” claiming it mimicked the strange rasping sound I made constantly as an infant. Growing up, I learned why. My lungs, muscles, and bones developed stronger and thicker than other children. By age seven I could lift a fully grown Giha onto a shearing rack. By age ten I could shave a goat in seconds and finish tailoring a garment in minutes. The elders said I was born with the gifts of three men. But those gifts felt like shackles when applied to tailoring. The work bored me. I felt trapped, wasted.

  Eventually, I drifted toward the only clan in Guhal, the Hemlock, named after its founder, Hemlock Ledger. The Hemlock clan pretended to be a lifeline for tailors, offering loans when harvests failed, when orders dried up, when nobles suddenly raised dye prices. But behind the generosity was a different machine. When tailors couldn’t repay, the Hemlock men took their clothing, their tools, or their daughters. They resold the garments using noble connections, profiting off every failure. Some tailors were forced into temporary slavery—weeks, months, sometimes years—working under watch until their “debt” was paid.

  I joined them because the money was good, and because my strength made me valuable. My father despised it. He said I was spitting on my mother’s legacy. He demanded I quit again and again, but I ignored him. I told myself the coins I earned were helping our family. I told myself I had no other options. Really, I was just too proud to go back to tailoring.

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  One day my father marched straight into the Hemlock estate. I didn’t know about it until it was too late. He stood before Hemlock Ledger himself and announced that I would no longer work for them. Hemlock didn’t argue. He didn’t threaten. He simply drew his blade and decapitated my father where he stood.

  When I heard the news, something broke in me.

  I was already the clan’s number two by then, feared by every thug and collector under Hemlock’s command.

  Grief can turn strength reckless. I rampaged through the estate like a beast, smashing pillars, throwing men through walls. It took hundreds of them, armed with chains, hooks, and spears, to drag me down once my stamina finally failed. When the dust settled, only Hemlock and his Number Four and Number Five were left alive. Hemlock stood over me, gloating, and told me he would kill my brothers and sisters next.

  Then Toda appeared.

  I still remember the sound, a dull thud, a blur of movement, then bodies collapsing. Toda carved through the remaining Hemlock members with terrifying force. It was the first time I saw a transcended. At the time, I thought he was a warrior of justice—a savior. In truth, he was simply purging clans that threatened his territory. But intentions didn’t matter to me then. He recognized my strength, picked me up from the pool of blood, and brought me to a hospital. He paid for my recovery. He gave my family a home in Ebon. He offered me purpose.

  I accepted, and Toda taught me Reinforced Fist. I took to it immediately, mastering the technique so thoroughly that eventually I could reinforce my entire body. After that, I sought out a wrestling instructor, and once I learned to combine strength, technique, and reinforcement, I became practically unbeatable. Toda changed everything for me. Guhal thrived after Hemlock fell. My siblings grew up safely. And I became someone other than a criminal brute.

  When Toda died, something hollowed out inside me. I hid my rage, but Tektite, his successor, wasn’t the same. Still, he carried Toda’s authority, and I had to protect him.

  During our journey to grand Sasebella, he died right in front of me. I could have done something. I could have saved him. Instead, I ran.

  After that, everything collapsed. Guhal was absorbed by Sun. Ebon was conquered by a Major Clan. Toda was gone. Tektite was gone. And whatever strength I once had felt meaningless.

  And now this man—the one who killed Toda—is sitting in my home, offering me something impossible.

  Vellin drank a sip of his tea, "You're different from most transcended. You're the same type as Caleb. I know you want revenge."

  He dares come into my house after all that? With these two strangers I’ve never seen before lurking behind him?

  I moved my fist.

  He shook his finger, "No, no, no. Listen to reason. Your cowardice killed Tektite, but you can make up for that. Leo will take over the world at this rate. With you on our side, with what you can do, we can stop that. At the end of the day, I was just the arrow in the bow. Leo ordered me. Sun ended Obsidian. Sun ended your savior."

  He placed the tea on the coffee table, offering his hand, "So, take my hand."

  I can’t do it alone. His confidence is terrifying, cold, absolute, but he isn’t lying. He truly wants to kill Leo. He wants to destroy Sun. And whether I like it or not... I won’t get another opportunity like this.

  I held his hand tightly, "I'm doing this for him. Not for you."