The Mourning Mountains rose like broken teeth against the pewter sky, their peaks lost in perpetual mist that writhed with unnatural patterns. Kael adjusted his pack, the weight of the fragment within his robes a constant reminder of power barely contained. The air here tasted of iron and old grief, thick enough to coat the tongue with each breath.
Tao stumbled beside him, his face pale with more than just the mountain cold. "Senior Brother," he whispered, voice nearly lost to the howling wind, "the stories say the tomb only appears when—"
"Stories." Kael's voice cut through the boy's words like a blade through silk. "Tell me what your grandmother said about the guardians."
The path ahead split into three narrow trails, each guarded by a weathered statue. The figures had once been warriors, their armor carved with meticulous detail, but centuries of mountain storms had worn their faces into grotesque masks. Only their hollow eyes remained sharp, boring into any who dared approach.
Tao's breath misted as he spoke. "She called them the Emperor's Eternal Guard. Said they demanded a toll from those who would disturb his rest."
Kael stepped forward, studying the center statue. Its stone sword pointed toward a seemingly solid wall of rock, but the Spire fragment in his robes hummed with recognition. The runes carved into the statue's base were familiar—his own work, from another lifetime.
Without hesitation, he drew his knife and opened his palm. Blood, dark and steaming in the cold air, dripped onto the weathered stone. The mountain trembled, and the statue's head tilted with the grinding of ancient mechanisms. The wall behind it split, revealing a passage that exhaled the scent of decay and forgotten incense.
"How did you know?" Tao's voice cracked with something between awe and terror.
"All guardians hunger," Kael replied, wiping the blade clean. "The wise learn what feeds them."
The passage descended into the mountain's heart, its walls lined with murals depicting the rise and fall of the Weeping Emperor's dynasty. Kael traced his fingers along the carved figures as they walked—warriors kneeling before a throne, cities burning beneath a weeping sky, and finally, a single figure entombed in glory and sorrow.
The script was archaic, but its meaning burned clear in Kael's mind: The Emperor's curse is not death—it is the weight of eternity.
They emerged into a vast chamber, its domed ceiling lost in shadow. At its center stood a sarcophagus of black stone, its surface crawling with Spire runes that pulsed with sickly light. The air here was so thick with accumulated grief that breathing became an effort of will.
Tao fell to his knees, retching. "I can't... something's wrong..."
Kael felt it too—a crushing weight of sorrow that threatened to drive him to madness. The Weeping Emperor's final curse, designed to break the minds of those who would disturb his rest. But Kael had felt worse. The void's hunger, the Spire's collapse, Hesper's betrayal—all of it had carved him hollow, leaving little room for additional pain.
Shadows began to coalesce around the sarcophagus, taking the forms of spectral warriors. Their hollow eyes fixed on the intruders, and a voice echoed in the chamber, speaking in the tongue of the dead: "Only the heir may claim the Emperor's sorrow."
Kael approached the sarcophagus with measured steps. The runes along its edge were indeed his handiwork—a lock he had forged centuries ago, in a time when he had still believed in permanence. He pressed his bloodied palm against the stone, and the runes flared to life, recognizing their creator.
The spectral warriors wavered, their forms flickering like candle flames in a draft. The sarcophagus lid began to slide open with the grinding of stone against stone, revealing the fragment within—a shard of crystallized light that hummed with familiar power.
Tao struggled to his feet, his eyes wide with disbelief. "They... they know you."
The curse struck as Kael's fingers closed around the fragment. A wave of despair crashed over him, threatening to drown his consciousness in the accumulated grief of an empire. He saw the Emperor's final moments—betrayed by his most trusted advisor, watching his dynasty crumble, choosing eternal torment over the release of death.
For a heartbeat, Kael felt the weight of those centuries pressing down on him. Then the sigil on his forehead blazed with pain, and the familiar agony snapped him back to the present. Pain was an anchor, and Kael had learned to use his chains.
He seized the second fragment.
The two shards resonated in his grip, their combined power sending waves of golden-black energy through the chamber. The spectral warriors shrieked and dissolved, their forms unable to withstand the conflicting forces of creation and destruction.
The tomb began to collapse.
Stone fell like rain as the mountain's rage shook the chamber. Kael grabbed Tao by the collar and ran, half-dragging the boy toward the passage. Behind them, the sarcophagus cracked in half, spilling centuries of accumulated sorrow into the dying air.
They burst onto the mountainside as the entrance collapsed, sealing the tomb forever. Tao lay gasping on the rocky ground, his eyes unfocused, while Kael stood at the cliff's edge and watched the avalanche swallow the path they had taken.
"You knew," Tao whispered, his voice hoarse. "You knew that would happen."
Kael tucked the fragments into his robes, feeling their power pulse against his ribs like a second heartbeat. "The tomb was never meant to be opened twice."
The truth was simpler: the fragments were pieces of himself, scattered across this world when the Spire fell. Each one he reclaimed brought him closer to what he had once been—and what he might become again.
They descended in silence, the weight of the Emperor's curse lingering like a bitter aftertaste. Halfway down the mountain, Kael spotted movement in the valley below—a group of riders in crimson robes, their movements too purposeful to be coincidence.
"Crimson Lotus Sect," he murmured, recognizing the colors. Feng had mentioned their interest in Spire artifacts. It seemed they had grown tired of asking questions.
Tao followed his gaze and paled. "What do we do?"
Kael considered their options. The riders held the low ground, but they also blocked the most direct route back to the Azure Sky Sect. He could try to circle around them, but that would add days to their journey—and Feng was not known for his patience.
"We go through them," he decided.
The ambush came at the narrow pass where the mountain path bottlenecked between two sheer cliffs. The Crimson Lotus disciples had chosen their position well, leaving no room for retreat or maneuver. Their leader, a sharp-faced woman with silver threads in her black hair, stepped forward with the confidence of someone accustomed to getting her way.
"I am Elder Lian of the Crimson Lotus Sect," she announced, her voice carrying the authority of absolute power. "You will surrender the artifacts you carry, and we will allow you to leave with your lives."
Kael stepped forward, his hands empty but his expression unreadable. "I carry nothing but the tools of my trade."
Lian's eyes narrowed. "Do not test me, boy. We know what lies buried in these mountains. We know what you have taken."
"Then you know the price of claiming it," Kael replied.
The first disciple to move was also the first to die. Kael's hand snapped out, seizing the man's throat and crushing his windpipe before he could complete his sword draw. The fragment in his robes pulsed, and a thread of causality snapped taut—the second disciple's blade shattered in his grip, sending razor-sharp metal into his own eyes.
Lian's face went white. "Impossible. You're just an outer disciple..."
"I am what this world made me," Kael said, and let the fragments' power flow through him like cold fire.
The battle was brief and brutal. Three more disciples fell before Lian managed to retreat, her surviving followers carrying their wounded as they fled down the mountain. But not before she had seen enough—the pale gray eyes that held depths of knowledge no young disciple should possess, the casual way he wielded power that should have been beyond his reach.
Tao sat on a boulder, staring at the bodies scattered around the pass. "Senior Brother... what are you?"
Kael knelt beside one of the fallen disciples, searching his robes for anything useful. "Someone who understands the cost of survival."
He found what he was looking for—a communication jade, still warm with recent use. The Crimson Lotus Sect would know about the fragments now, would spread word of the mysterious disciple who had killed their people. That was unfortunate, but not unexpected. Power always drew attention, and attention brought conflict.
The jade crumbled to powder in his grip, its message undelivered.
They reached the Azure Sky Sect as the evening bells began to chime. Kael walked through the gates with the same unhurried pace he had maintained since leaving the mountain, his expression giving no hint of the power he now carried. The disciples they passed offered respectful nods, seeing only what they expected to see—a fellow outer disciple returning from a routine mission.
If only they knew, Kael thought, what walked among them.
Elder Feng was waiting in his pavilion, the first fragment displayed on his desk like a trophy. His eyes gleamed with avarice as Kael entered, but there was something else there too—suspicion, sharp as a blade.
"You took longer than expected," Feng observed, his tone deceptively mild.
"The mountain was reluctant to give up its secrets," Kael replied, producing the second fragment. It caught the lamplight and threw it back in shards of gold and shadow.
Feng's breath caught. "Two fragments... I had hoped, but I hardly dared believe..." He reached for the shard with trembling fingers, then stopped himself. "Place it with the other."
Kael set the fragment beside its twin, and the room filled with harmonious humming as the two pieces recognized each other. The runes along their surfaces began to glow more brightly, and Feng's face was transformed by the light into something rapturous and terrible.
"Six more," the elder whispered. "Six more, and the Spire's power will be mine."
"And my freedom?" Kael asked.
Feng's smile was sharp as winter. "When the last fragment is claimed, I will consider your service complete." He gestured, and the sigil on Kael's forehead flared with fresh pain. "Until then, you remain bound to my will."
Kael nodded, showing no reaction to the agony coursing through his skull. "The next fragment. Where is it?"
"Patience," Feng chided. "First, tell me about the Crimson Lotus disciples. My sources say they were found dead in the mountain pass."
Of course he knew. Feng's network of spies stretched far beyond the sect's walls. "They tried to take what wasn't theirs," Kael said simply.
"And you killed them all?"
"Not all. Their leader escaped."
Feng's expression darkened. "Lian. She will report this to her elders. They will want answers."
"Then perhaps you should have better answers ready," Kael suggested. "Or better security."
The elder's eyes narrowed at the implied criticism, but he said nothing. Instead, he reached into his desk and withdrew a scroll sealed with black wax. "The Sunken Palace of Mir. Three days' ride to the east. The fragment there is said to be the largest of the scattered pieces."
Kael accepted the scroll, noting the elaborate protections woven into the wax seal. "The guardians?"
"Worse than spirits. The palace was swallowed by a pocket of the void during the Convergence. What remains is... unstable." Feng leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Take additional disciples with you. This task will require more than stealth and luck."
"I choose my own companions."
"Of course. But choose wisely. The void consumes the unprepared."
Kael bowed and turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Elder Feng. The Crimson Lotus Sect will not be the only ones to take interest in our activities. Word spreads quickly among those who trade in power."
"Let them come," Feng replied, his voice hard with confidence. "The Azure Sky Sect has weathered worse storms."
Kael said nothing, but his smile was sharp as broken glass. Feng's arrogance would be his downfall—but not yet. Not until Kael had claimed what he needed from the elder's collection.
He made his way back to the disciples' quarters, his mind already turning to the challenges ahead. The Sunken Palace of Mir would be dangerous in ways that simple guardians and curses were not. The void did not kill—it unmade, erasing existence itself from the fabric of reality.
But Kael had faced the void before, in the Spire's final moments. He had survived its hunger once.
He would do so again.
Tao was waiting in their shared quarters, his face pale but determined. "Senior Brother, I heard about the next mission. The Sunken Palace..."
"You're staying here," Kael said, settling onto his cot.
"But I can help—"
"You can serve me better alive than dead." Kael's tone brooked no argument. "The void is not like the mountain spirits. It does not distinguish between the brave and the foolish."
Tao's shoulders sagged, but he nodded. "Then who will you take?"
Kael considered the question. He would need disciples who were skilled enough to be useful but expendable enough that their loss would not inconvenience him. The inner disciples would have the necessary cultivation, but they would also ask questions and expect explanations.
"I'll find who I need," he said finally.
As Tao settled into his blankets, Kael stared out the window at the distant mountains. Somewhere in those peaks, Lian was reporting to her elders about the mysterious disciple who wielded power beyond his station. Soon, the Crimson Lotus Sect would send more than scouts.
That was acceptable. Kael had never expected his return to power to go unnoticed. Conflict was inevitable—the question was how to turn it to his advantage.
The fragments in his robes pulsed with warmth, two pieces of a larger puzzle that would reshape this world when completed. Elder Feng saw them as sources of power to be harvested. The Crimson Lotus Sect saw them as threats to be eliminated.
Kael saw them as keys to a door that should never have been closed.
The sigil on his forehead throbbed, a reminder of the chains that bound him. But chains, like curses, were made to be broken. And Kael had always been good at breaking things.
He closed his eyes and began to plan.