The border town of Ashfall slept like a wounded beast.
Its walls were cracked, its watchtowers half-manned, its streets dimly lit by spirit lamps that flickered more than they shone. Once, Ashfall had been a proud trade hub feeding the capital. Now it was a place where rumors settled—and never left.
Kael entered at dusk.
His robe was plain. His presence muted. Mental Disruption wrapped around him like a second skin, not hiding him outright, but making certainty slip away. Guards glanced at him, then looked past him, uneasy but unconcerned.
Good, he thought. I'm forgettable again.
He moved through the streets, listening.
"—another disappearance last night—"
"—they say the palace prisons are full—"
"—anyone who asks about the competition never comes back—"
Kael's steps slowed.
The Royal Invitational had not ended with his "execution." It had expanded.
Fear was the empire's new currency.
He stopped near a tea stall where an old man warmed his hands over a small flame. The vendor looked up, eyes cloudy but sharp.
"You're not from here," the old man said.
Kael didn't deny it.
"Neither are the ghosts," the man continued, voice low. "But they walk our streets all the same."
Kael placed a coin on the counter. "What ghosts?"
The old man hesitated, then leaned closer. "Men who vanish. Prison wagons that don't cast shadows. And soldiers who don't breathe when they sleep."
Kael's jaw tightened.
Otherworld influence is already public, he realized. They're not even hiding it anymore.
"Where do the wagons go?" Kael asked.
The old man glanced around, then tapped the counter twice.
"Down."
Ashfall's undercity was older than the empire itself.
Stone stairs spiraled deep beneath the streets, past abandoned shelters and sealed vaults, until the air grew cold and damp. Kael moved soundlessly, counting turns, memorizing paths.
Then he felt it.
A familiar pressure.
Threads.
Not Rion's—rougher, more industrial, woven into iron and rune alike.
Prison architecture, Kael thought. Designed to suppress will.
He slowed, extended his awareness, and let Mental Disruption brush the space ahead.
Pain echoed back.
Someone screamed—muted, distant, ongoing.
Kael's hands clenched.
Harvester stirred.
> Release me.
"Not yet," Kael whispered. "Too many variables."
He reached a viewing slit carved into black stone.
Beyond it lay a vast chamber.
Cages hung from the ceiling, suspended by chains inscribed with suppression arrays. Inside them were cultivators—some unconscious, some staring blankly, some muttering prayers to gods that would never answer.
And at the center of it all—
A platform.
A man knelt there, bound by glowing threads driven through his shoulders and spine.
Kael's breath caught.
"Rion…"
His teacher was thinner. Bloodied. But alive.
A group of black-robed officials circled him, overseen by a tall figure wearing an imperial sigil etched in void-metal.
"The thread master refuses to break," one official said.
The overseer's voice was calm. "Then increase pressure. His student escaped because of him. His will must be corrected."
Harvester's voice sharpened.
> Now.
Kael closed his eyes.
Calculated.
Five guards. Two overseers. One unknown artifact amplifying suppression. High casualty risk.
Acceptable.
He stepped out of concealment.
The first guard never saw him.
Mental Disruption slipped into the man's perception, turning certainty into doubt—Was there movement? No. Yes?—and in that moment of hesitation, Kael struck.
A clean blow. The guard fell.
The chamber erupted.
"INTRUDER!"
Kael moved like a shadow given purpose, dismantling formations before they could form. He didn't rush. Didn't waste motion.
Then—
Harvester manifested.
Darkness folded outward, coalescing into the avatar's form. The temperature dropped. Shadows deepened.
Cultivators screamed.
"What—what is that?!"
Harvester didn't answer.
It raised its hand.
Souls screamed.
Not torn free—not yet—but acknowledged. Bound. Marked.
The overseer staggered back, eyes wide. "Avatar-class manifestation?! Impossible—"
Harvester turned its gaze on him.
"Correction," it said calmly. "Unacceptable."
The overseer vanished.
Not exploded.
Not killed.
Simply… removed.
Kael reached Rion as the cages rattled violently.
"Master," Kael said softly, cutting the threads with precise disruption pulses.
Rion's eyes fluttered open.
"…Kael?" His voice was hoarse. "You shouldn't… be here…"
"I know," Kael replied. "That's why it worked."
The bindings shattered.
Alarms screamed throughout the undercity.
Kael lifted Rion onto his shoulder.
"We're leaving."
Harvester rejoined him, dissolving back into shadow.
High above, unseen—
Three Observers stood in alignment.
> Second violation logged.
Avatar intervention escalated.
Arbiter probability: rising.
Kael felt the pressure again.
He didn't look up.
He ran.