The Mystic Central Palace was a labyrinth of light and ceremony, all marble sheen and gold inlay—beautiful, but loud. Every candle flame burned with curated grace, every servant step in perfect rhythm with unseen chimes. And yet, as I moved, the world dulled around me.
My Dark Gear whispered into place, layer by layer. The uwagi shimmered like oil in moonlight, the chestplate flexed as if it drank shadow, and when I pulled on the gauntlets, the air itself began to hesitate. Aura cloaking engaged. Three seconds of full invisibility on demand—but the passive effect was subtler, more dangerous. The world simply forgot to look at me.
I moved.
Up one wall, feet barely brushing carved marble. The chandeliers swung beneath me, gold arms and glass teardrops trembling at my passing. Below, courtiers drifted between rooms, all laughter and politics, the soft drone of intrigue echoing through the corridor.
Felicity's voice stirred in my mind, equal parts curiosity and mischief. "So... this is how you plan to meet your bride? Creeping through the rafters like a midnight assassin?"
"Subtlety is an art form," I murmured under my breath, leaping silently from one archway to another. "Besides, you said I looked like an 'assassin at a wedding.' I'm just living up to expectations."
She gave a mental snort. "You're enjoying this. Admit it."
Maybe I was.
There was something familiar in the pulse of danger, the rhythm of the hunt. Even in this place of silk and etiquette, I needed motion, the whisper of risk. And as Herja's quarters approached—a grand arch of rosewood and jade sigils shimmering with protective wards—I felt that old heat rising.
Her aura was unmistakable even through the barrier. Subtractive qi, brilliant and fierce, burning like a star sealed behind glass. It brushed against my senses, aware, questioning.
Felicity's tone softened. "You know... she's going to find out about me eventually."
I landed soundlessly on a hanging beam, the world still half-invisible around me. "I know."
"And what do you think she'll do when she does?"
The question lingered as the wards pulsed faintly beneath me, responding to Herja's breath.
"I guess," I said, watching golden light play across the doorframe, "that depends on whether she sees me as her husband… or a momentary curiosity."
My knuckles were a breath away from the carved jade door when it slid open of its own accord. Herja Ichikawa stood there in the dim, lamplight pouring behind her like molten gold. Her sun-fire hair was bound in a loose braid now, her emerald eyes alive with something between amusement and intent. Before I could speak, she seized my wrist and pulled me inside.
The door sealed with a whisper.
She didn't let go. Her gaze ran over me—over the sleek folds of the Dark Gear, the faint spectral shimmer that rippled along the seams of the fabric, the quiet hum of suppressed aura. The silence between us vibrated with unspoken appraisal.
"You…" Herja began, her voice soft but laced with that imperious tone only royalty could carry, "...look entirely too good in shadow."
My lips tilted upward. "And you," I said, eyeing the edge of the brown traveler's cloak that hid something gleaming beneath, "look like you're about to commit treason in style."
She smirked and, with deliberate slowness, tugged the cloak's collar aside to reveal what lay beneath—a faint shimmer of armor, plates that refracted faint inner light like crystal rain. "Diamond Gear," she said lightly. "Father insisted on it. But I've no intention of parading through Mystic Central like a gemstone on display."
"I can't imagine anyone mistaking you for display material," I bent both fingers at her, as I put emphasis on the last two words.
Herja's eyes flicked up to mine—sharp, curious, and just a bit disarmed. "Careful, Ashriel. I might start to think you've already learned court etiquette."
"Only the parts that sound like trouble."
Herja stepped closer, studying the faint distortion around my shoulders where the cloaking aura still lingered. She lifted a finger and brushed it through the air, the shimmer bending under her touch. "Clever enchantment," she murmured. "But I felt you long before you reached the door."
"Figured you might," I said. "You nullify additive Qi, remember? That includes stealth fields that depend on attention."
"True." Herja tilted her head, eyes narrowing with playful mischief. "But I didn't need my Qi for that. I just...knew it was you."
For a moment, neither of us moved. The air was thick with the heady mix of tension and something dangerously like understanding.
Then she turned, cloak swirling. "We're leaving tonight," she said. "Before my mother's spies or my father's advisors realize I've made up my mind. Six months until the wedding—and I refuse to spend them in gilded captivity."
I blinked once, then smiled. "So… kidnapping it is. But where are we to go? Do you have any maps?"
Herja moved toward a lacquered table near the far wall, the soft rustle of her cloak brushing against marble. A single crystal orb sat in the center, glowing faintly with internal constellations. She released wisps of intent into the crystal orb, and it pulsed—projecting an immense, three-dimensional map of the known world between them. The air itself shimmered with light and motion: oceans rolled in silver mist, mountain ranges glowed with tiny spirit flares, and the thirty five great continents spun slowly in orbit around a central axis of pure light—the Pillar of Heaven.
I whistled low. "A royal holo map."
Herja smiled faintly. "This is a living archive—fed by the eyes of the Imperial Fleet and the diviners of the Cartographer Sect." she flicked her hand, and the sphere zoomed in, the map stabilized over the Mystic Central Continent, radiating golden light. Around it floated fifteen others, each wrapped in its own color-coded aura.
I crossed my arms, eyes scanning the projection."Beast Vein Continent. Forgotten Continent. Shrouded Mist Continent. Cloud Continent. The Bedrock Continent. The Tropical Flower Continent. The 10,000 Lakes Continent. The Eternal Quake Continent. The Thunderclap Continent. The Coalfire Waste Continent. The Azure ruins Continent. The Green Reed Continent. The Endless Dunes Continent.
There was also a series of smaller island chains that caught my attention, two of them in particular caught my attention; 'Island closest to heaven' the second 'Island closest to hell.'
I pointed toward the "island closest to hell" the—black and red energy swirling like a wound in the ocean. "That one looks inviting."
Herja's lips curved. "Only if your idea of inviting includes unstable ley lines and sea serpents the size of cities. The Abyssal Chain was once the spine of an ancient beast—its bones still leak chaos Qi. Even my father's explorers didn't return."
Herja's warning hung in the air, soft but heavy. The crimson and black swirl of the map pulsed faintly, like a wound that still breathed.
I leaned closer, tracing the flickering ley lines that webbed across the archipelago—fault lines of unstable Qi, some of them glowing so bright they nearly ruptured the projection. "Island closest to hell," I murmured. "I've heard sailors from the southern sea call it the Maw of Heaven's Shadow. Supposedly, it was the first place the divine flame ever fell when the world cooled."
Herja glanced at me sidelong. "A poetic way of saying 'death trap.'"
"Depends who you ask. To a cultivator, a death trap is just a training ground with better scenery."
Felicity hummed in my mind, a silken whisper edged with sarcasm. "Ah yes. I remember this part of the hero's journey: boy meets girl, girl suggests diplomacy, boy volunteers for scenic annihilation."
I ignored her.
The map zoomed closer under my hand—coastlines like hooked claws, a volcano at the center vomiting a perpetual spiral of red cloud. Around the caldera, I saw ancient formation rings flicker in faint response. "These aren't natural. Look at the pattern—see how the ley lines curve inward instead of out? That's not chaos energy—it's containment. Someone built this place to keep something in."
Herja frowned, her fingers weaving new commands into the orb. The image deepened, showing spectral runes buried beneath the ocean. "You're right. These are Old Heaven Seals." She met my eyes, her expression sharpening. "Ashriel, those haven't been used since before the fall of the First Age. If they're still active, it means whatever they bound is still alive."
"Then it's a good thing we're not bringing a picnic."
Herja's lips twitched despite herself. "You're serious about this?"
"Deadly." I let the word settle with quiet finality. "We're cultivators. If we're to be bound for six months, I'd rather spend it somewhere the world forgot to tame."
Herja's gaze softened, but her tone stayed sharp. "You're reckless, Ashriel. You wear danger like a second skin."
I smirked. "You noticed."
She sighed—half exasperation, half intrigue—and dismissed the map with a flick. The lights folded in on themselves until the orb went dim once more. "Very well. The Island Closest to Hell."
Felicity groaned mentally. "Fantastic. Maybe they'll have a gift shop."
Herja's eyes darted toward me, as if she'd caught a hint of something she couldn't name. "We'll need a vessel strong enough to survive the Rift currents. I can have my airship prepared in secret. My father's fleet will assume I'm performing a continental blessing ceremony."
"And when he realizes you're gone?"
She smiled with imperial grace—and a bit of mischief. "By then, we'll already be halfway to hell."
The words lingered like a promise and a challenge all at once.
I tilted my head toward the darkened balcony, where the storm-lanterns flickered across the city below. "Then let's make sure we don't keep hell waiting."