By morning, the Raven Sector buzzed with rumors. The duel from days before had grown in scope, twisted by tongues and fear. Some said Jareth had executed Varyn with a single move. Others claimed his soul flared so violently the arena cracked beneath him.
All of them were wrong.
He had let Varyn live.
Let him crawl back to the Solari with his pride broken and his bones worse.
Because fear spreads faster when it limps.
But Jareth knew fear alone wouldn't hold Raven Sector. Not now. Not with what Zara had revealed.
The attempted political takeover wasn't just ambitious. It was a full-scale betrayal, backed by the second most dangerous woman in the Black family.
Aunt Mireya didn't act unless she was certain.
Which meant she had more pieces moving than he could see.
---
Jareth stood before the sealed chamber beneath the estate. Few were allowed entry. Fewer returned the same.
The black-stone door opened with a low hiss. Energy poured out like mist. Cold. Dense. Laced with spirits long forgotten.
He stepped in.
Dim torchlight danced over ancient walls. Carvings of former heirs and warriors filled the chamber. Some depicted victories. Others, executions.
At the center sat a circular altar.
His father's blade rested upon it.
Jareth approached. His footsteps echoed once, then vanished into the silence.
He had only seen this blade once before.
At the funeral.
His fingers hovered above it. The steel pulsed with dormant energy. Not soulforce. Something deeper. Something primal. Older than cultivation itself.
He gripped the hilt.
It burned through his palm.
Visions erupted behind his eyes. War. Betrayal. His father falling in battle not with a roar, but a whisper. A whisper that had echoed into the present.
Jareth gasped and dropped the blade.
Blood spilled from his palm.
He clutched his head, swaying, heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. His mind felt split. One half grounded in the chamber. The other pulled elsewhere.
To a higher plane.
To a realm.
---
He woke moments later, panting. The blade was still there, still humming softly like it had recognized him and tested him.
Or warned him.
And yet, something had changed.
A single pulse of spiritual force surged within him. Not large. Not loud. But different.
He had advanced.
Stage Two of the Soul Realm.
His spirit core had crystallized further. His perception expanded again. He could now sense the emotions of those nearby. Not thoughts. But intent.
He wrapped his hand and turned.
He had to move quickly.
If Oren was preparing to present the forged document, Jareth would need to act before the family council convened.
But violence wouldn't be enough.
He needed proof.
He needed witnesses.
And he needed chaos.
---
Later that evening, Zara met him at a concealed junction near the estate's western wall.
"You look like you lost a fight with a god," she said, eyeing the dried blood around his hand.
"I won. Barely. What did you find?"
She handed him a small crystal shard.
"Encrypted log fragment from Oren's steward. Shows correspondence with Mireya's agents and timestamps of the forgery process."
Jareth activated the shard. Holographic letters scrolled in midair.
"This will work."
"Barely," Zara said. "It's still circumstantial."
"Then we make it matter."
He turned.
"We leak it."
Zara raised an eyebrow. "To who?"
"To everyone."
---
By midnight, coded messages bounced across private networks, whispers flared across taverns, brothels, and fighter dens.
Black Sector was awake.
And it was angry.
Some dismissed it as propaganda. Others called it the beginning of a civil split.
But all eyes turned toward Ember Point.
Where Oren was heading.
---
The next morning, Jareth arrived at the central teleportation node under official orders. On paper, he was assigned to Ember Point to oversee border development negotiations.
In reality, he was walking into a nest of jackals.
Two guards escorted him to the platform. He didn't resist. Let them believe he was blind to the plot. Let them think the trap had sprung.
He needed to be in the heart of their scheme.
Because only fire could cleanse this rot.
---
Ember Point was smoke and industry. A fortress city seated at the edge of Solari territory. Once a trading post, now a military hub. Red banners flew above black stone towers. The air smelled of metal and ash.
Oren greeted him at the platform, face calm.
"Welcome, cousin."
Jareth stepped down.
"No security escort?"
Oren laughed. "You're among family."
Jareth didn't answer.
They walked together through the city streets, surrounded by surveillance drones and cloaked guards pretending not to watch.
"I heard you brought a blade," Oren said after a while.
Jareth smiled faintly. "Heard you brought a fake."
Oren paused in his steps.
Just for a second.
It was enough.
"You've been listening to ghosts," Oren said.
"And you've been talking to them."
They kept walking.
But now the silence was heavier.
---
At the Ember Council Hall, Jareth stepped into a wide chamber filled with sector delegates and two Black family adjudicators. The walls bore the sigils of each ruling domain. Overhead, light filtered through stained crystal.
Oren stepped forward to address them.
But Jareth cut him off.
"Before we begin," Jareth said, voice calm, "I would like to present evidence of internal betrayal regarding this mission's authorization."
Murmurs erupted.
One of the adjudicators raised a hand. "Proceed."
Jareth tapped his bracelet. The encrypted logs appeared midair.
Oren stepped back, face twisted.
"This is fabricated."
Jareth turned.
"Then explain why the steward mentioned a meeting that never occurred. Explain the signature on the original document that doesn't match my genetic imprint."
Gasps followed. The second adjudicator leaned forward.
"And if this is true?"
"Then not only is this meeting illegal, but Oren Black has committed high treason."
Oren lunged.
Jareth moved first.
---
His foot slid back. He drew power from the air. Essence poured into his limbs. He sidestepped the first strike and slammed his elbow into Oren's ribs.
Oren grunted and retaliated with a spinning heel.
Jareth ducked. Drove his palm upward into Oren's jaw. Bones cracked.
Oren stumbled back, face bleeding, then screamed as dark energy coiled around him.
Stage Three. Peak of the Soul Realm.
Jareth's body tensed.
Then he stepped forward, unleashing a storm of blows.
Left fist to ribs. Right hook to jaw. Knee into thigh. Elbow to neck.
Oren parried one. Dodged another. Slid under a third and unleashed a wave of soulforce in a wide arc.
Jareth raised his palm and met it head-on.
The shockwave blew out the side windows. Delegates ducked.
Then silence.
Jareth stood tall.
Oren was on one knee.
Blood dripping from his mouth.
Jareth raised a fist.
But didn't strike.
"I want the council to see this. See him fall. Not from my blade. But from the truth."
The adjudicators nodded.
"Oren Black," one said. "You are hereby stripped of sector rights and placed under investigation. You will return to Raven Sector under guard."
Oren's face broke.
It was over.
And everyone saw it.
---
Later that night, Jareth stood on the rooftop of his Ember Point quarters. The city burned red beneath the twin moons. Zara joined him quietly.
"You didn't kill him," she said.
"No," he answered. "Killing him would have made him a martyr."
She nodded. "And now?"
Jareth looked east, toward the border of the Solari continent.
"Now, we clean house."