Tez’ Mu moved forward, selecting a sword from the rack. The Mu forges only crafted weapons for their own, each blade marked with a family sigil along the hilt. He hesitated before gripping one—Stormfang, a training blade with an edge honed sharp enough to slice through leather, but not steel. It was not his blade, but it would do.

He then faced Raq’ Mu, who was staring at him too seriously for his liking. His father’s sharp gaze scrutinized him the way a disgruntled blacksmith examined flawed steel. He knew he was being analyzed, his strengths and weaknesses being weighed. He did not bother doing the same. As far as he was concerned, Raq’ Mu did not have any weaknesses. And even if he did, he would not be able to exploit them.

“Shall we fight without battle auras first?” Raq’ Mu asked.

The ground cracked beneath his father’s first step, the force of his charge rattling through the air. Tez’ Mu had only a second to think—already?!—before steel clashed against steel. His arms shook from the impact as he barely managed to block the strike.

Raq’ Mu backed up a step, and then swung at him again, in a sweeping gesture towards his stomach. Tez’ Mu staggered back, dragging his sword against the ground, sparks flaring where metal scraped stone. He barely had time to recover before another blow came down, this time aimed for his shoulder.

Tez’ Mu ducked, parrying in desperation. The weight of his father’s strikes sent vibrations through his arms, his grip slipping for a fraction of a second.

“Now use your essence!” Raq’ Mu barked, his voice cutting through the relentless clang of their blades. He struck again, not relenting. “I will continue to fight without mine!”

But how in the world would he clear his mind, concentrate on the surroundings, and do all those other absurdly complex internal adjustments while fighting for his life?

A wild idea came into Tez’ Mu’s mind and he swung his sword in an arc to parry another blow, and then spun to dodge yet another.

Cultivation essence! Summon! Absorb! Hand! Sword! Channel!

He just yelled the commands in his mind, raw and direct, imagining the summon sigil with his subconscious. And, due to whatever miracle, it worked!

The essence rushed to him in a torrent, surging into his veins like molten fire. He forced it into his wrist, pushed it further, and then—

The steel glowed red, veins of heat pulsing along its length. Fire affinity. Of course.

Blast! Tez’ Mu launched at attack immediately, shooting out a wave of fire as he swung his blade in a semi-circle towards Raq’ Mu. Since Raq’ Mu wasn’t using his battle aura, he sidestepped, avoiding the blast that licked the stone floor with sizzling hunger.

He recovered immediately, countering with fast, calculated footwork and masterful swings that never wasted motion. Tez’ Mu managed to throw off Raq’ Mu’s attacks with the added power of the absorbed essence, and also side-stepped and thrust repeatedly. None of his attacks made an impact on Raq’ Mu, though, as his defensive skill was way above what Tez’ Mu could imagine.

Tez’ Mu pressed forward, sending wave after wave of fiery strikes, his body straining under the duel’s intensity. His muscles burned, breath came ragged, but he had the advantage now. Raq’ Mu, without his battle aura, had to dodge. And dodge he did, effortlessly, his blade a blur of silver light.

Sudden searing pain exploded in Tez’ Mu’s chest. His vision blurred, legs faltering beneath him as he fell to the ground, propping himself up with his sword. Raq’ Mu was mid-strike, his blade raised, but then he saw Tez’ Mu’s pale face.

He threw his sword into the air and Nightshaft rotated at a fast speed and then disappeared. Raq’ Mu fell to his knees beside his son and grabbed his shoulders.

“What’s happening?” His voice was rough with concern. “What is it?”

“It’s—it’s burning again,” Tez’ Mu’s voice was oddly slurred and he started to lose consciousness, “My—my oasis is—burning—”

And all went black.

He awoke to the musky scent of aloeswood and the distant murmur of passing servants. Above him, a wooden ceiling stretched, its smooth paneling varnished to a shade of warm cream. Gold-threaded curtains, yellow and deep blue, hung from the rafters, rippling gently in a breeze that carried the scent of dust tinged with the first whispers of rain.

Tez’ Mu blinked. He turned on his side and flinched. Raq’ Mu was seated on the bed, next to him, channeling blue tinged essence towards his oasis; but he was not touching him. The air between them vibrated faintly with the force of the healing energy. The throbbing ache in his chest had dulled, though an odd emptiness remained.

Raq’ Mu’s face, however, was pale.

Tez’ Mu pushed himself up. That was weird, he thought. A Martial Sage could go without food or rest for fifty days and remain unharmed. Why would his father look so drained? Cultivators didn’t get tired easily, much less the current strongest on the continent.

“How is it?” Raq’ Mu’s voice came out raspy. The blue light pouring out of his hand had stilled and his red aura momentarily flaring around him, making the room spike in temperature. “How are you feeling now?”

“I’m fine now,” Tez’ Mu replied, adjusting himself so he could sit against the carved wooden headboard—two wings spread in an intricate design behind him. “It’s not burning anymore,” he murmured.

Raq’ Mu nodded and shut his eyes recouping his energy in silence.

With nothing else to do, Tez’ Mu let his gaze wander. It was a strange feeling—being in this room. He had almost no memory of it, maybe faint recollections from childhood. All his interactions with his father ended in his study.

A long, arm-less couch stretched along one wall, like the one in Royan’s room and his own, apparently a standard feature in House Mu’s chambers. A massive wardrobe stood near the windows, next to a glass door bordered with polished wood, leading to a private balcony. The carved ship model, the Arkan had been moved from the storage for whatever reason and now sat atop a small desk in the room.

But what caught his attention was the portrait.

On the stretch of wall on the other side hung a ink painting of a young woman who could only be Essa-kest’ Mu. Young, barely out of her twenties, eyes sharp, lips curved into a reluctant smile.

Tez’ Mu had seen several portraits of his mother but his resemblance to her in this one struck him as odd. He always thought that he inherited Raq’ Mu’s looks but it now seemed he was wrong. Asides the red hair he had, Tez’ Mu was a younger, male reflection of Essa-kest’ Mu.

Below the portrait, on the floor, sat a ten-inch-high iron box, its surface etched with faint matrix engravings, locked away by a formation only an adept could decipher.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts.

“Enter,” Raq’ Mu said.

The door swung open, and in came Heng with a tray of food. His eyebrows went up at seeing Tez’ Mu on the bed, but he amended his expression quickly.

“Shall I fetch the young master’s portion, my lord?” He asked instead, bowing slightly after setting the tray down.

Raq’ Mu did not answer. Tez’ Mu hesitated before answering himself.

“Don’t worry. Have Sari send it to my room.” and he scrambled off the bed.

Heng bowed and departed. Tez’ Mu wanted to escape as well.

“Do—I have your leave, Father?”

Raq’ Mu sighed rubbing his forehead. He seemed to be thinking of something way serious than meals.

“I probed your oasis and I was not pleased with what I sensed.” He said in an even voice, “I don’t know what you’ve been doing to yourself before now but it’s not good.”

Tez’ Mu looked down, shifting on his feet. Royan’ Mu blamed the oasis repressor pills he’d been taking for the damage, but he knew it was that pill that still kept him alive. Raq’ Mu would not want to know this, though.

“I will find an expert healer; perhaps Royan’s master,” Raq’ Mu continued, “But there is no hope that it can or will be fully healed no matter what we try.”

Tez’ Mu nodded, saying nothing.

“The solution now,” Raq’ Mu said, rising to his feet, “is for you to acquire a contract creature.”

Tez’ Mu looked up in surprise. A contract creature? But that required stable cultivation energy—to subdue, tame, and make contracts with mystic creatures. Since he couldn’t control his own aura, how would he do that?

“I will find a mystic creature for you as well,” Raq’ Mu said, now at the table where the food tray was, “This would have been a good use for those wayward brothers of yours, since they roam the mainland,” he shrugged, “Never mind. You may go.”

Tez’ Mu bowed. “Thank you, Father.”

He didn’t know why he said it. He meant it as gratitude for being allowed to leave, but Raq’ Mu took it as appreciation for his involvement in resolving his bottleneck. His eyes crinkled at the edges.

“I have let you battle it alone for too long. Don’t worry about it anymore.”

Tez’ Mu blinked. Unsure of what else to say, he nodded and exited the room.

Walking along the corridor, he opened a door and entered the main hall. Golden sunlight streamed through the high archways, spilling across the floor in warm patches. Chan’ Mu sat on the dais, one leg slung over the other, her lance balanced lazily across her lap.

“Tez’?” She called out, her voice carrying a smug edge. “Where are you coming from?”

Knowing that Raq’ Mu was training him personally wouldn’t bode well with his little sister, Tez’ Mu’s instincts told him. He made a face, letting her assume what she would. Punishment, no doubt.

Chan’ Mu smirked. “Come here.”

Tez’ Mu frowned as he turned towards her. “Is a bolt loose in your head, Chan’? I’m your elder brother. You don’t order me around like a servant.”

Chan’ Mu sneered. “Alright, elder brother Tez’,” she rolled her eyes, “could you please pretty please come here to your darling little sister?”

Tez’ Mu ignored her and continued to walk towards the entrance.

“Are you really not going to answer? I’ve asked politely, too,” Chan’ Mu huffed, reverting to her original demeanor, as she hit the shaft of the lance on the floor, “Tez’!” she shouted.

“Chan’!” Raq’ Mu’s amplified voice boomed from his chambers.

Chan’ Mu shot up like a startled cat, wielding her lance. In a flash, a streak of flame hurtled toward Tez’ Mu. He dropped flat to the ground, the heat grazing over his back as it dissipated against the stone walls. Tez’ Mu barely had time to drop, feeling the heat lick over his back as it dissipated against the stone.

By the time he looked up, she was already stalking toward Raq’ Mu’s room. She threw him a glance just before disappearing inside, making a rude face and pointing two fingers at her eyes, then at him.

Tez’ Mu rolled his eyes. The Arkan would disappear today.

Outside, the sky had begun its transition from deep blue to soft gold, the sun peeking over the horizon. The estate grounds glowed in the morning light, long shadows stretching across the stone pathways. Tez’ Mu inhaled the crisp air, the coolness refreshing against his skin after the heat of Chan’s fire.

He made his way back to his quarters.

Stepping inside, the scent of fresh porridge and spiced tea—still warm—greeted him. Sari had placed a heat matrix over the dishes, a quiet consideration that Tez’ Mu had grown accustomed to. He didn’t need to be told to eat. He simply sat down and did, wiping the plates clean in minutes.

“So...” Sari murmured as he packed the plates, “what did my lord general teach you?”

Tez’ Mu said nothing.

Sari stilled, then bowed his head. “I overstepped my bounds. Please don’t be angry, young master.”

Tez’ Mu stood abruptly, walking past him to collapse onto his bed. He spread his arms, staring at the canopy above.

Sari spoke again. “So... Will you visit Joavir? Should I prepare your clothes?”

“It’s the House of Rion I visit, Sari, and not Joavir,” Tez’ Mu snapped.

Sari shrugged. “Will you go?”

“I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“Shall I fetch you some balm?” Sari asked quietly.

Tez’ Mu sneered. “No. I’m just tired.”

“I’ll leave you to rest, then.”

Sari gathered the tray and turned toward the door. Tez’ Mu didn’t watch him go, but he heard the hesitation in his movements—the brief pause before stepping out into the hallway.

Now alone with his thoughts, Tez’ Mu let out a slow breath. Would he regret this? One lesson with Raq’ Mu, and he was already pushing Sari away—the only person truly loyal to him. What if his father’s approval was fleeting? What if things went back to the way they were?

Who would stand by his side then?

His eyes drifted shut. Ten years ago, Sari had been just another face among the war prisoners Raq’ Mu brought home from his campaign in Huijan. A boy slightly older than him, thrown into an unfamiliar household, yet always smiling, as if this place had been his all along. Loyal. Unshakable. And then he had awakened his cultivation spirit, to the shock of the others. Servants weren’t meant to cultivate. Heng forbade it, the manor staff whispered of crushing his talent, and Sari had wilted with fear. Until Tez’ Mu, then seven years old, had laughed in the face of it all.

“Who would dare touch my servant without my permission?”

Sari had believed him. Trusted him. And now, Tez’ Mu thought, I’m pushing him away for a father who never even looked at me before.

Outside, Sari lingered with the tray in hand. He sighed, adjusting his grip before turning away. Tez’ Mu did not hear him go.