The winding chambers of Falcon Arts Sword School grew darker, older, as Jacob and David followed their master through the heart of the mountain. Their steps echoed down stone-carved tunnels laced with ancient runes, dormant yet pulsing faintly with old energy. Torches lit themselves as they passed, flames bending slightly toward the Grandmaster as if recognizing him.
Grandmaster Yen stopped before a heavy door carved with the Imperial sigil—one older than the Empire's current banner. He turned to face them, his eyes sharper than the steel blades on their backs.
> "You seek truth," he said quietly. "Then carry its burden."
With a motion of his hand, the door groaned open. Inside was not treasure nor weapons, but a chamber of records—stone shelves, glass scrolls, ancient star maps, and faded tapestries showing battles the world had forgotten.
He stepped into the middle of the room and began.
> "You were both born in an age of silence, when the Empire no longer speaks of cultivation or spirit arts. But it was not always so."
> "There was once a booming era, a time when sects, academies, and wandering cultivators walked the lands freely. Techniques flourished. Spirits roamed among mortals. Magic sang through every valley."
He gestured to a hanging tapestry: A world bathed in light and flame, cities floating in the sky, swords as long as mountains clashing above oceans.
> "But amid that golden era… arose a shadow. Cults bloomed like weeds. Forbidden arts. Possessions. Blood rituals. Entire provinces were lost to madness."
> "And what did the Empire do?" His voice turned bitter. "They watched. For despite all their wealth and command—they could not cultivate. Not truly. The bloodlines of many imperial houses lacked the affinity. They grew afraid. Power was slipping from the throne into the hands of sect leaders, rogue sages, cult lords."
Jacob and David exchanged a glance, breath held.
> "There was war," Yen said. "The Silent War, they now call it. But it was not silent. It was fire and bone. The world bled. Entire continents shattered."
He pointed at another mural—the Falcon Sect, cloaked warriors beside an older Imperial Order, fighting against monstrous shapes with too many eyes, or priests with tongues of shadow.
> "We were the Empire's blade. We were never under their thumb, but we were loyal. So they allowed us to remain—untouched, unknown."
> "We trained their assassins, their spies, their secret elite guard. The finest of them came here."
He looked between Jacob and David.
> "Like you two."
They were silent. Neither needed to ask why they were separated as boys. The answer lay heavy in the Grandmaster's next words:
> "The two wings of the falcon were never to meet… unless called together by fate. Only when the Empire—or the world—faces its darkest hour."
> "And now?" Jacob asked.
> "Now," Yen said, his voice turning grave, "the shadows return. The cults never truly died. They whispered from the alleys, from merchant guilds, from under masks of piety and profit. They've burrowed deep, infected the soil, and soon… they will rise again."
He placed his hands behind his back.
> "You two have already seen it. You reshaped the South. You unearthed their remnants. You forced the world to remember justice again."
> "That's why I half expected you would be here tonight. Something deep in your bones still remembers this place. As it remembers you."
---
The chamber fell into reverent silence.
Jacob clenched a fist. "So what do we do now?"
The Grandmaster turned to the scrolls.
> "Now… we prepare. The world may have outlawed cultivation, but it will need it again. And the falcon will fly—with both wings."