En Route
Aeros melted into a recliner that felt more cloud than chair while the voidcraft whispered through the dark. The hull pulsed with a steady glow—array-lines breathing in and out. He didn't know the ship's grade; he just knew it traveled like silk. Across from him, Serus sat cross-legged, eyes closed, still as a mountain.
"So… are we five minutes away or five weeks?" Aeros asked. "Void makes time feel fake."
"Closer than it feels, farther than you want," Serus said, not opening his eyes.
"That's comforting."
"One of my many skills." He cracked an eye. "Mission."
Aeros straightened. "Eternal Spirit World. Mid-tier plane, dense spiritual energy, more sect politics than sense. Beast Reign is our contact—hosting my trial."
"And the event attached to that trial?"
"The Eternal Nectar competition." A corner of Aeros' mouth ticked up. "One drop forms every seventy years from a Sacred Blossom under Thunder Bark Forest. It's a condensed breakthrough in a bottle. The major sects can't keep it for themselves, so they run a contest."
"Stage one?"
"Micro Colosseum. Five elemental zones—Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Void. Teams grab banners, dodge hazards, and outthink people who pretend they never cheat."
"Cover?"
"Noble junior from an outer world. No Stormhaven name, no horns, no history. Just… irritating competence."
Serus finally smiled. "Perfect. If they pry, you're a sponsor-tier talent invited by a friend of the sect. Pride fed, secrets unfed."
They sat with the hum for a while. Aeros matched his breath to it and quietly cycled his Qi—calm, even, clean.
"How many entrants?" he asked.
"On paper? Hundreds of thousands. The Colosseum filters most. It'll still feel crowded."
"I can handle crowds. The Void zone worries me."
"Then take the easy advice." Serus laced his fingers. "Don't fight the Void. Read it. Empty places tell the loudest truths."
"Sounds like something Grandfather would embroider on a robe."
"Don't tempt me."
Silence settled. Stars slid by like slow lanterns. Aeros ran the zones in his head, setting anchors: Fire—heat drain and mean terrain; Water—moods and currents; Earth—weight and tunnels; Wind—directionless cuts; Void—suppression and tricks of absence.
"Beast Reign?" he asked.
"Competent elders. Proud juniors. A beast hall that trains companions instead of collecting them like jewelry," Serus said. "They respect straight talk and obvious results. Offer both."
"And if someone nudges my background?"
"Smile. Shrug. Ask about their library's cataloging system. Ends most conversations."
"You're evil."
"Efficient."
The voidcraft shivered—a full-body thrum. Serus looked past Aeros' shoulder. "There."
A blue-silver veil filled the viewport—frost painted across space.
"That it?" Aeros leaned forward. "Eternal Spirit World?"
"Its skin. Keeps out the weak; annoys everyone else." Serus stood. "Brace."
He flicked his palm. The veil parted. Pressure folded in from every direction—dense, alive. Aeros' breath hitched, then settled as his Solar rhythm found the local sun.
"Feels… thick," he said. "Not bad. Just thick."
"You'll sync by tomorrow," Serus said. "Different density. Good training."
Below, the world opened: black-green forests ribbed with stone, rivers like wire, a terraced city stepping toward the horizon. Spires caught the light and threw it back without apology.
"That's Thunder Bark," Serus said. "Beast Reign's seat. They're expecting us."
"Expecting 'us' or expecting trouble?"
"Same thing to most sects."
They touched down outside the west gate. The street paused to stare—then pretended it hadn't. Slate-robed greeters waited with a neat, unreadable man at their center.
"Elder Serus." He bowed. "Liang Fen, Beast Reign. Welcome."
Serus nodded. "Grateful. My nephew, Aeros."
Liang's gaze went over Aeros once—posture, breath, hands—thorough, not rude. "Orientation at sunset. First whistle in three days. Quarters are ready." A beat. "We prefer quiet arrivals."
Serus looked innocent. Liang did not look convinced.
They passed under a stone arch carved with beasts mid-roar. Resin, smoke, and spiced broth scented the air. Stalls clattered; hawkers chanted herbs and talismans; a child sprinted by trailing fireworks from a paper bird. Aeros' attention snagged on a rack of shimmering phials.
"Eyes forward," Serus said without looking. "Shop after you live."
"Harsh," Aeros muttered—and faced front.
The main hall quieted as they entered. An elderly woman with silver hair in a precise knot set down a brush and looked up. Calm moved through the room like tide.
"Elder Serus," she said. "I am Elder Yin. Thunder Bark is at your service."
"Your reputation shortened our trip," Serus replied. "Thank you for hosting."
Her attention slid to Aeros—exact, not unkind. "And this is the youth?"
"Aeros," he said with a bow. "Grateful for the hospitality."
Plain travel robes; horns hidden. Even so, height, balance, and the quiet steadiness of his breath drew eyes. Almond-brown skin caught the hall's light; curly white hair shadowed ember-dark eyes.
"Confidence helps," Elder Yin said, "as long as it doesn't rent the whole house. The Colosseum tests the part of you that thinks studying is optional."
"Noted," Aeros said. "I prefer passing to repeating."
A faint hmph from the side. A sharp-jawed youth with an eagle stitched at his sleeve—polished, used to winning.
"Elder Liang, our guests will be competing?" he asked.
"Kian," Liang said mildly, "yes."
Kian's gaze slid to Aeros. "From a higher realm, then. Expectations will be… healthy."
"Expectations are free," Aeros said. "Results cost."
Kian's mouth tipped—not quite a smile. Elder Yin's glance sent murmurs to ground.
Liang led them through a courtyard to a guest pavilion: simple, clean, clearly not the worst Beast Reign had. "Rest. Briefing at sunset." At the threshold, to Aeros: "Three days isn't long. Use each one."
"I will."
________________
Morning in Beast Reign belonged to iron and pine. Aeros owned the practice square at first light, working forms until breath, body, and radiance stopped arguing. Serus watched from the shade, then crossed the stones to nudge a foot an inch, a shoulder a hair.
"Win exchanges you don't need to take," Serus said.
"Save good hits for later," Aeros translated.
"Exactly."
At dusk, Elder Yin's field briefing was clipped and clear—rules, zones, banners, time cap, "temporary alliances legal, permanent stupidity not," accidents reviewed. Nerves moved through the crowd like wind over grass. Assignments at first light. Then: "Sleep, or pretend to."
Aeros didn't sleep. He set himself in the guest yard, spine straight, hands loose, and built the ladder into Solar Radiance the slow, correct way.
He started with Three-Pulse Breath—inhale (gather), hold (settle), exhale (weave). On every third cycle he tightened his lower abdomen and loosened his diaphragm two finger-widths lower than was comfortable. That dragged the intake down into the dantian rather than the chest.
Next came Meridian Tuning. He brushed attention across twelve primaries and eight strange channels like plucking strings—checking for grit, heat, or drag. Lunar residue from his last realm clung faintly at the joints, cool and stubborn. He didn't burn it away; he braided it. Lunar silence under Solar heat made a stronger cord.
He built a Solar Lattice in the dantian—three rings crossing: morning line (thin, quick), noon line (heavy, bright), dusk line (elastic, forgiving). When the rings touched, they hummed. He timed that hum to the local sun.
"Count?" Serus asked from the shadows.
"Nine-nine-nine," Aeros murmured. Nine cycles per ring, three sets. "Anchor on the tenth."
"Good. Don't anchor on emotion. Anchor on rhythm."
He waited. Breath, hum, pulse. When the lattice held steady through a full minute without wobble, he pressed two fingertips to the navel and drew a Sun-Thread up the Ren channel to the crown, down the Du channel to the sacrum, then back to the dantian—one loop, then three, then nine. Heat rose in a clean line—not burning, not forced—like stepping into noon shade after a long morning.
The change didn't explode. It aligned.
A low click—felt more than heard—went through him as meridians widened a fraction and smoothed like river stones. The Solar lattice drank from the sky the way lungs drink air. His skin lit from beneath—first a blush, then a steady, soft radiance. The world sharpened by a notch: rags of heat off roof tiles, the resin scent in distant beams, Serus' pulse calm and slow at the edge of the yard.
Aeros opened his eyes. His pupils carried a thin, gold ring that hadn't been there before.
Serus didn't clap. He stepped in and tapped Aeros' forearm, chest, hip—checking pressure and give. "Stability?"
"Mid-tier, clean," Aeros said. "No shakes. Noon line's loud, dusk line's patient."
"Peak at noon?"
"I can, but I'd rather not rely on it."
"Good." Serus leaned back. "Side effects?"
"Hearing's touchier. Heat feels like texture now." Aeros flexed his fingers. "And my stride wants to lengthen."
"Let it—just make sure your mind keeps up with your legs." He squinted at the yard's shade. "Also: you'll feel cocky in direct sun. Recognize it. Don't marry it."
Aeros smirked. "You make arrogance sound like a weather report."
"It is," Serus said. "Carry an umbrella."
They ran a short stress-test. Serus waved two fingers; a pebble popped into the air. "Breathe on three."
"One… two…"
Aeros exhaled. A needle-thin filament of heat winked the pebble into powder without smoke.
Serus grunted, pleased despite himself. "Good. Again, but slower. Never show full speed first."
They worked until the Solar hum in Aeros' core felt like a metronome he could set and forget. Only then did Serus let him sit.
"Eat," he said. "Sleep a quarter hour. The world loves testing you right after you decide you're safe."
"Yes, sir."
Squad Nine
Dawn came quick: rations, straps, checks. The posting boards clacked until names settled like tiles. Squad Nine—Aeros; Lenia Xuan (Moonveil); Korra Fen (Crimson Petal); Toba Reign (Beast Reign); Zhen (origin unknown).
They met in a stone-doored chamber: round table etched with the Colosseum's five zones, torches guttering, chalk and ash in the air.
No one spoke.
Lenia broke the stalemate—tall, centered, moonsteel staff slung easy across her back. "You're the late addition."
"Looks like it," Aeros said.
Korra leaned on the wall, flipping a dagger over her knuckles. "Don't care where you're from. Don't drag us."
Toba set his guandao down with a quiet thunk. A tiny fox-eared beast blinked from his cloak, then vanished again. "Huo scouts. He stays small unless things go very right or very wrong."
Zhen, the youngest, hugged a bundle of talismans organized by color. "I— have cooling wards, burst shields, and silencing slips. The silencing ones are single-use."
Lenia's gaze stayed on Aeros. "Roles need trust. Trust needs proof."
"Fair." Aeros tapped the engraved map. "We spawn in one zone and need three unique banners. We don't chase every fight. We pick lanes and hit soft spots." He pointed. "Fire loves to bait. Water lies. Earth hides. Wind cuts what you don't protect. Void… eats mistakes."
Korra's mouth twitched. "You've rehearsed that."
"Out loud. Twice."
Lenia nodded once despite herself. "Signals?"
Toba grinned. "We shout?"
"Let's not," Lenia said dryly. "Use hands. One finger—stop. Two—shift left. Three—right. Palm down—low profile. Palm up—burst. Fist—anchor. If we're split, rally to the last high ground we touched."
Zhen lifted a talisman. "Cooling wards only if we're cooking. Burst shields for surprise hits. I can lay a ward-net over a banner if we need to stall."
Korra glanced at Aeros. "And you?"
"I do mid-range control and openings," he said. "If I say 'blind,' close your eyes. If I say 'break,' don't be brave."
Lenia eyed him. "What realm are you, exactly?"
"Solar Radiance," he said simply. "Just stabilized."
Korra's brows climbed. Toba let out a low whistle. Zhen blinked hard, then quickly looked at his talismans like they were suddenly less shiny.
Lenia didn't flinch. She just tightened the strap on her staff. "Fine. You shine; I shape. Don't fry the team."
"Deal."
They ran routes, contingencies, and two quiet arguments that ended in compromise. It wasn't friendship. It was a start.
Gates Open
The staging plaza throbbed with nerves. Elder Yin lifted her staff; lines of light raced across stone and rose into a turning pattern.
"Squads," she called. "On marks."
Aeros found Lenia, Korra, Toba, Zhen. No one said much.
"Three banners," Lenia murmured. "Don't chase noise."
"Copy," Korra said, rolling her shoulders.
"I've got wards," Zhen added, barely audible.
"I've got point," Toba said. Huo's ears peeked from his cloak and vanished again.
Aeros met each gaze and nodded once. "We move together. We come back together."
The array flared. The world tilted.
Heat hit like a kiln's breath. They arrived on a ridge of black rock, vents pulsing orange in the distance, air wavering over slow rivers of lava. The sun here was a white coin; Aeros felt its rhythm lock into his lattice with a satisfying click.
"Fire zone," Toba said, already picking a path. "Eats Qi if you let it."
"Short bursts," Lenia warned. "Zhen, save cooling seals for life or limbs."
Korra spun a blade and grinned. "Banners don't walk."
"First test," Aeros said. He picked up a fist-sized stone, held it over a vent until it glowed dull red, then let Solar Radiance pool in his palm—not a blast, a breath. Heat drew off the rock into his hand and bled into the ground like fog.
Zhen blinked. "You just… drank it."
"Redirected it," Aeros said. "I can keep a pocket of air tame for a bit if we need to cross a hot patch, but I won't babysit. Don't get cocky."
Lenia's eyes narrowed, approving despite herself. "Good trick. Don't waste it."
They moved off the ridge in a low line. Toba tested stones before each step. Lenia's staff traced a crescent in the air, feeling for ambush. Zhen placed a fingertip-sized cooling sigil on Korra's right bracer—barely there, just enough to stop metal from biting skin. Korra's blades flicked lazy arcs that weren't lazy at all.
Aeros kept the radiance banked to a whisper and listened to the sun. The zone breathed hot and slow. Somewhere ahead, something hissed like sand on iron.
"Left," he said softly.
Toba shifted without question. The ground where they'd been standing slumped inward—nothing dramatic, just a patient mouth closing. Lenia didn't look back. "Good read."
"Thanks," Aeros said. "Let's keep it boring."
"Boring wins," Lenia said.
They slipped between vents and black ribs of stone, the five of them moving like they'd practiced for years instead of an hour. Behind them, Thunder Bark shrank to a rumor. Ahead, the first banner—and whatever was guarding it—waited in the heat.