The Asura in White

The moment the door to the cellar closed, sealing him in darkness, the ghost of Kaelen raged. The name Caspian was a lit match thrown on dry tinder. A wave of furious, phantom adrenaline surged through Lin Xuan's borrowed veins, so potent it made his vision swim with red. He saw flashes of banners bearing the Caspian serpent sigil, of soldiers in silver armor, of a sneering nobleman's face he now knew intimately. An overwhelming urge, hot and primal, pushed him to march back out into the night and throw his frail body at the might of a Great House in a blaze of futile glory.

Lin Xuan gripped the stone wall, his knuckles turning white as he weathered the internal storm. He did not fight the rage; that would only give it strength. Instead, his mind became a place of absolute zero. He dissected the emotion, observing it with the detached curiosity of a scholar examining a volatile chemical. He traced its origin to the memory of Elara's fall, labeled its components grief, betrayal, powerlessness and systematically quarantined them, walling them off behind barriers of pure, cold logic. The red tide receded, leaving him breathing heavily in the silence. The ghost was not just a memory; it was a potent, unpredictable poison in his soul.

Once his mind was clear, the true work began. He sat in the darkness and sifted through Kaelen's memories once more, but this time, he sought only data. House Caspian. Their convoys were legendary for their security. He pulled up tactical layouts, guard formations, patrol schedules. He recalled conversations Kaelen had overheard about the magical wards they placed on their transports wards designed to detect brute force and hostile intent. An attack was impossible. Therefore, he would not attack. He would create an accident.

For three days, he prepared. By day, he was a ghost in the Ash Quarter, a withered old man no one noticed. He shuffled near the city's Northern Gate, watching the Caspian guards. He noted their arrogance, the slight laxity in their posture at the end of a shift change, and the one section of road on the final approach a sharp turn shadowed by a derelict watchtower that was a natural blind spot.

By night, he was in his cellar, practicing. He held a piece of scrap metal and channeled his single, precious thread of Starfire. He didn't practice destruction; he practiced precision. He focused his will until the silver light at his fingertip was as fine as a surgeon's needle. He aimed not at the metal itself, but at a single rivet holding it together. The rivet dissolved into dust without scorching the metal around it. It was an act of supreme control, and it was the key to his entire plan.

On the third night, a cold wind blew through the city. The Caspian convoy arrived like a slow-moving fortress. The lead-lined transport carriage, large as a house, rumbled on reinforced wheels, flanked by two dozen guards whose Starfire signatures burned like cold flames in the night. They were all well beyond his ability to fight.

Lin Xuan waited in the shadows of the derelict watchtower. As the convoy entered the sharp turn, he acted. He sent a sliver of his power not at the guards, but at a loose support beam in the tower above. The beam disintegrated, and with a great groan, a cascade of stone and timber crashed down onto the street fifty yards behind the convoy.

It was a perfect diversion. Cries of alarm went up as half the guards turned, their first thought being of an ambush from the rear. In those crucial seconds of confusion, Lin Xuan slipped from the shadows. He ignored the carriage's glowing ward-lines and complex locks. His focus was on the massive axle of the rear wheel. He extended a finger, and the tiny, silver star pulsed at its tip. He touched the axle not with force, but with the silent precision of a key turning in a lock.

A single, critical linchpin deep within the axle assembly was unmade.

He was gone before the effect took hold. As the guards at the rear declared the collapse a random accident, the carriage gave a horrid, grinding screech. The massive wheel wobbled violently and broke free, sending the entire transport lurching to a halt. Chaos erupted. Guards shouted, officers cursed, and everyone focused on the baffling, impossible mechanical failure.

In the midst of the turmoil, a frail old man, seemingly startled by the commotion, shuffled past the broken carriage. The jolt had knocked the cargo door slightly ajar. Unseen by the frantic guards, a pale hand slipped inside and retrieved a single, crystalline stone, no larger than his fist, that pulsed with a gentle, inner light.

He melted back into the alleys of the Ash Quarter, leaving behind a baffled and furious Caspian security detail.

Back in the cellar, he held his prize. The Starlight Jade was cool to the touch, and the pure, immense energy within it sang to his senses. It was the catalyst he needed, the key to his recovery.

As he held it, a new memory from Kaelen surfaced, quiet and clear. It was not of anger, but of a peaceful night in a study. He saw Elara, her brow furrowed in concentration, holding a similar piece of jade. Her voice echoed in his mind, filled with a scholarly wonder.

"It's beautiful, Kaelen," she had said, her eyes alight. "It sings the song of the stars. But it's a sad song. This Jade wasn't born of this world... It's a remnant. A tear from a dying god."

Lin Xuan stared at the stone in his hand. It was not just fuel. It was a clue. A piece of a puzzle far grander and more ancient than Kaelen's betrayal. A puzzle that might just lead to the answers he was looking for.