The scent of blood still clung to Jareth's skin long after the duel had ended. He hadn't bothered cleaning it off. Let them see it. Let the smell of his victory waft through the halls of the Black estate and settle into the bones of the cowards whispering behind closed doors.
He walked alone through the west wing corridors, the oldest part of the estate. Stone walls flickered under low lantern light. Echoes of his footsteps followed like ghosts.
But he wasn't alone for long.
"I thought you'd at least pretend to play nice," a smooth voice drifted from the shadows.
Jareth didn't turn. "And I thought you would've already picked a side, Zara."
Zara Black, his cousin, stepped into the light. Her obsidian-black robe hugged her form like a second skin, adorned with crimson thread shaped like curling flames. Her long braids were pulled behind her in a silver clasp. Eyes sharp. Smiling like she wasn't here to play.
"I've picked my side," she said. "I just haven't told anyone yet."
Jareth stopped. His fingers flexed unconsciously, power still pulsing beneath his skin from the advancement. The Soul Realm's first stage was raw, unstable. But every cell in his body had adjusted. Sharpened. His awareness reached deeper now. The walls whispered. The air shifted when someone lied.
He could feel the truth tremble beneath words.
"What do you want, Zara?"
She came closer. "There's talk you'll be sent to Ember Point."
He raised an eyebrow.
"That's Solari territory."
"And?"
"And if you go there, you'll be out of Raven Sector for at least three weeks. That's a long time to leave your position unwatched."
Jareth stared into her eyes.
She didn't blink.
"Who's making a move?" he asked.
Zara's smile vanished. "Oren. With backing from Aunt Mireya. And he's planning to present a trade proposal to the High Circle in your absence, he wants Raven Sector's seat reassigned."
Jareth turned fully to face her. The flame-lit corridor felt colder.
"He can't present anything without my signature."
"He forged it," she said bluntly.
Silence settled between them. It wasn't just a power grab, it was war. Oren had been waiting. And Jareth's advancement in the arena had likely accelerated their plans.
"How long do I have?" he asked.
Zara glanced toward the end of the hall. "Two days. The transport leaves tomorrow night. They'll expect you to leave quietly."
Jareth nodded.
"I'm not going."
Zara smirked. "Didn't think you would."
Then she vanished into the corridor like smoke, her footsteps fading into silence.
---
In the training courtyard that night, Jareth moved alone. The garden around him shimmered under the twin moons. Energy crackled beneath his skin, pressing against the edge of his control. His Soul Manifestation had shifted his perception. He could hear essence moving through the air. He could feel pressure from the stars above.
He adjusted his stance.
Right leg forward. Left fist high. Breath controlled.
Then he exploded forward.
A punch shattered through the reinforced wooden dummy, splinters scattering. He pivoted, palm strike into the ribs of another, spinning heel into its throat, then dropped low with a sweeping kick that split the base of the structure.
The air burned around his limbs. Not from speed but from pure force.
He stood still again.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Still relying on brute strength," a familiar voice said from the side.
Jareth turned his head.
Uncle Kael.
The man walked out from the shadows, coat fluttering behind him. His long silver dreadlocks swayed in the breeze. Kael had once ruled the Raven Sector. Before he stepped down. Before Jareth's father disappeared.
"You came to train me, or insult me?" Jareth asked.
Kael smirked. "I came to watch. But since you're struggling with balance..."
Jareth exhaled. "I'm not struggling."
"You're always struggling. That's the problem. You push too hard. You punch too much."
"Would you rather I smile while they stab me in the back?"
Kael's smile faded.
"No," he said quietly. "I'd rather you learned to use the blade they can't see."
Jareth stood still.
Then nodded.
"Fine. Teach me."
Kael cracked his neck. "Start by standing still. And don't move until I tell you."
Jareth narrowed his eyes. "What are you..."
Kael's fist was already in motion.
Jareth barely blocked it, and even then, his feet skidded back.
"Lesson one," Kael said, voice like stone. "When you think the fight's over, that's when it begins."
Then he vanished.
Jareth reacted purely on instinct, ducking under a punch, spinning around with a low kick, but Kael wasn't there. A flash of movement. A slap across the back of his neck.
"Too slow."
Another strike to his ribs. Another to his thigh.
Jareth grunted.
He couldn't track him. Not fully.
Kael was in the Spirit Realm, two whole realms above him.
But Jareth wasn't trying to win. He was watching.
He let the energy simmer, eyes narrowing, mapping Kael's footwork, the timing between movements. His mind sharpened. His spirit burned.
Then he moved.
Faster. Smarter. He anticipated the next strike, ducked under it, elbowed forward but it was a feint. Kael flipped over him, landing behind, sweeping his leg.
Jareth hit the ground, hard.
Kael stood over him.
"You improved."
Jareth spat blood. "You didn't hold back."
Kael offered a hand. "Neither will they."
Jareth took it and stood.
For the first time in days, he smiled.
---
Far across the city, in the top floors of an obsidian tower, Oren Black sat with Aunt Mireya. The chamber glowed with digital projections, plans for the Raven Sector, falsified reports, false signatures.
"It's ready," she said.
Oren leaned back. "He won't see it coming."
Mireya stirred her tea slowly. "That's what I said about his father."
Oren looked at her.
"You think he's like him?"
She didn't answer.
But her eyes said everything.
Jareth wasn't just like his father.
He might be worse.
And more dangerous