Shining Shadow

Weeks had passed in Forgehold, each one a rhythm of blades, books, and barstools. The Ironfang Tavern had become my forge, tempering me in its noise and shadows. Mornings, I'd slip into the courtyard, my dual daggers—Magnetism-infused and Icethorn—flashing through the air. I'd studied Storm Technique: Advanced Forms until the pages frayed, mastering Shadowstep and Whirlwind Strike. My agility boots, dyed black to match my new alias, hummed as I danced around Varkoth's shadow clones, his Middle Master Darkness Qi pressing me to move faster. "Keep up, Father!" he'd hiss from the beast ring, his voice a whip. N'Nazmuz's curse still clung to me—30 kilograms of phantom weight dragging at my bones—but my enhanced strength turned every slash into a tempest. The dawn's Aurorium glow caught my blades, and I knew it: I was sharper now than I'd ever been in Tradewind.

Days were for the Forgehold Library, its Starforged spires hiding tomes I couldn't fully read but devoured anyway. My alchemy had grown, too. Basics of Alchemy was my guide, and in my cramped tavern room, I'd grind Bloodthorn roots and Crystal Dust into Uncommon-grade potions—stamina salves and minor strength brews. I kept them hidden in my spatial ring, next to my journal, its High Elven script filling with tavern whispers: a noble's scandal, a dungeon under the Starveil Citadel, rumors of a Voidfrost Wyrm. My scavenging greed twitched, but I stayed cautious. Third Prince Horan's hunters had quieted, their pursuit of the "Qi-Less Demon" fading to a ghost story. Wanted posters for a "blue-braided prankster elf" still hung in alleys—100 Level 5 Spirit Stones for my head, alive—but my gray-dyed hair and plain cloak kept me invisible. Zeno, half-elf from Solaria, was all they'd see.

When I could, I'd escape to Yellowoak Forest, just beyond Forgehold's gates. The golden leaves rustled as I let Varkoth, Stinky, and Bertil out of the beast ring. Varkoth's five-meter coils slithered through the brush, his Darkness Qi shimmering as he hunted Glowmice, their squeaks cut short by his jaws. Stinky, my Peak Knight Earth beetle, churned the soil, his Geodrite-shiny carapace glinting as he burrowed with glee. Bertil, my Middle Novice Crystal Silver Queen Mantis, darted between trees, her crystalline blades slicing branches with a chime. I'd toss them special grains and smoked Gromble meat, their grunts and clicks a comfort. "You're getting lazy, Father," Varkoth teased, his eyes glinting. I smirked, flipping him a chunk of meat. "Keep it up, snake, and you're a rug." Stinky chittered, and Bertil's mandibles clicked—laughter, I'd swear. I trained them there: Varkoth with Dread Glare, Stinky with burrowing charges, Bertila with crystal strikes. Yellowoak was my refuge, free from Forgehold's clamor and Horan's reach.

That routine held until a stormy night at the Ironfang Tavern. The air reeked of Firebloom ale, Fire and Sky auras clashing in the din. I was wiping a table, dodging a drunken Earth cultivator's paw, when Brakus loomed up, his scarred face tight. "Zeno," he growled, nodding toward the mezzanine. I followed, the curse making each stair groan, and we settled at his table, the barmaid clearing it fast. The noise below dulled as Brakus leaned in, his Peak Great Lord aura—heavy, even to my qi-blind senses—thickening the air. "Word from a contact in the Forgesmith District. Ruins, up on the cliffs above Zortag. They flicker in and out, pulsing with Star Qi. Could be your First Altars."

My pulse jumped, the split-leaf amulet in my spatial ring weighing more than it should. Milli's words from Tradewind rang—cursed ruins, High Elf secrets, the First Altars linked to my blood. "Zortag?" I said, sipping ale to steady myself. "The prison city?"

Brakus nodded, scar twitching. "Neutral city-state, locked tighter than a Cryonsteel vault. Thirty kilometers wide, walls fifty meters high, wrapped in Celestial-grade formations. Holds Aeneria's worst—cultivators too nasty for kingdoms to cage. No one gets in or out without a Writ of Passage or a damn good excuse." He slid his tankard over, eyes narrowing. "Those ruins might be your key, but Zortag's a grinder. You sure?"

I grinned, my scavenging greed flaring. "Dead sure. Tell me everything."

He leaned back, voice dropping. "Zortag's ruled by the Wardens—Dimension Lord cultivators, Darkness, Star, Sky, and Nature. Neutral, but ruthless. The city's split into districts: prisoners, civilians, military, mines and forges, an agricultural ring along the walls from one mountain edge to the other, and the central district—arena, taverns, markets, shops. Rules there are iron: no fights, no theft, no kills. The path to the mountain peak, where the ruins pop up, starts in the mining district. Problem is, the mountain shifts—Star Qi twists it. No one pins the ruins' spot, and they're guarded by some barrier. Cross it, and you don't come back."

My journal begged for ink, my mind racing. "How do I get in?"

Brakus snorted, draining his ale. "Entry's the easy part. I'll get you a merchant's pass through my contacts—pose you as a trader with Geodrite ore for the mining district. Getting out's the bitch, especially if you mess with those ruins. You'll need to blend—maybe a miner, maybe a smuggler. I've got a guy in the central district, Grym, tavern owner. He'll bunk you, but you'll owe him—and me."

I nodded, greed sparking. "And the ruins? How do I track them if the mountain's alive?"

His eyes darkened. "That's the rub. The mountain's got a pulse, or so they say—Star Qi warps it. You'll need a guide who knows the mining tunnels, someone who's clocked the shifts. Erynn, a Magnetism rogue I've mentioned, maps them for the syndicate. She's 50 Level 5 Spirit Stones, but she's your shot."

I winced—600 Level 5s left—but nodded. "Pricey, but doable. The barrier?"

Brakus shrugged. "No idea. High Elf, maybe older. You'll improvise—your amulet might crack it, might not. But don't rush. N'Nazmuz is hitting Forgehold in a week. He's answered my note, says he'll meet you. He's curious about your curse—says it's waking up. Might know something about those ruins or your blood. Stay till he shows."

My breath hitched. N'Nazmuz—the shaman who'd cursed me, third leg of Goran and Brakus's Destroyers. The key to my qi-blindness, maybe my roots. "Here? In a week?"

Brakus smirked. "Yeah, that cryptic bastard's hooked. Don't expect a straight word, but he's your best lead."

I leaned in, mind buzzing. "Fine. I wait for N'Nazmuz, then Zortag. Let's plan the infiltration."

He clapped my shoulder, nearly knocking me over. "That's it, kid. Here's the move." We hunched over the table, his voice a rumble. He'd snag a merchant's pass via Grym, setting me up as a Geodrite trader for the mining district. I'd slip into the tunnels with Erynn's map, aiming for the peak. Varkoth, Stinky, and Bertil would stay in the beast ring—Zortag's formations might sniff them out. I'd brew Razorvine antidotes and stamina potions for the climb, maybe a Star Qi talisman for the barrier. "Grym'll stash you in his tavern," Brakus said, "but you're on your own for the exit. Bribe a guard, tunnel out—your call."

I scribbled in my head, journal itching. "I'll sort it. Just get me in."

His grin bared teeth. "Oh, I will. But Zortag's a snake pit. One slip, and you're locked—or dead. Keep low, and save your blades for when it counts."

Next morning, I hit Yellowoak Forest, my beasts at my heels. Varkoth crushed a log with Shadow Bind, Stinky tunneled like a blade, and Bertil's crystal strikes sparked off rocks. I fed them, voice low. "Zortag's next, Varkoth. Tunnels and traps—ready?" He hissed, eyes sharp. "Bring it, Father. My shadows hunger." Stinky chittered, Bertil clicked—my crew was set.

Back at the tavern, I worked the bar, ears open. A Sky cultivator muttered about a smuggler's cache in Zortag's mining district, Magnetism wards guarding it. I pocketed three Level 2 Spirit Stones from a drunk, bumping my stash to 420. Days blurred—daggers keener, potions potent, journal thicker. N'Nazmuz's shadow grew, promising truth or treachery. Zortag's ruins sang to me, and I'd answer, curse be damned.