Word of Zac's "illness" spread quickly through the tribe.
Within a day, everyone knew the boy who'd worked beside the refiners had fallen to the same fate as the others.
When Ren Flintclaw heard, he smiled.
The young master was in high spirits that morning, his cultivation nearing another threshold. But the news gave him an idea—a perfect chance to impress Lyra Terran and remove a lingering nuisance in one stroke.
By late afternoon, Lyra was washing clothes beside the hut when a shadow fell across her.
She turned—and froze.
Ren Flintclaw stood there, dressed in dark silver robes, his expression the picture of false concern. Behind him trailed Garrin, smirking faintly.
"Young Master Ren!" she blurted, bowing instinctively. "To what do we owe—"
Ren waved her words away gently. "No need for formality, Miss Lyra. I heard your brother is unwell. The fever, yes?"
Lyra's hands clenched around the wet cloth. "Yes… he's resting inside. The Patriarch's pills haven't helped."
Ren sighed, a look of pity painted perfectly across his face. "The Patriarch's pills are… crude. Effective for commoners, perhaps, but your brother's condition sounds more serious."
He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small black vial. Inside lay a single pearl-white pill that shimmered faintly under the light.
"This," he said, holding it up, "is an Ironfang Restoration Pill. Personally refined by a Dominion apothecary. It can cleanse poisons, purge sickness, and restore vitality. Few in this region have even seen one."
Lyra's eyes widened. "That's—"
"A gift," Ren interrupted smoothly. "For you. For him."
He smiled, the corners of his eyes softening. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to your family."
He stepped past her and entered the hut. Zac lay on the bed, eyes half-lidded, skin pale as chalk.
The perfect picture of a dying boy.
Ren crouched beside him, voice honey-smooth. "Zac Terran… you've been through much. Take this pill. It will cure you."
Zac blinked weakly, his breathing shallow. "Young Master… thank you…"
He took the pill in trembling fingers, popped it into his mouth—then swallowed hard.
Ren smiled, satisfied. "Good. Rest. You'll feel relief soon."
He turned to Lyra, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You've done well caring for him. If you ever need anything… come to me."
Her jaw tightened. "Thank you, Young Master."
Ren chuckled softly, turned, and left. Garrin followed, snickering.
Once the two disappeared beyond the path, Zac sat up immediately.
He spat the pill into his hand.
It gleamed faintly in his palm, emitting a sweet, metallic scent. Even without tasting it, the Yellow Amethyst in his chest pulsed with warning.
A chill spread through his veins, urging him to throw it away.
"Poison," Zac muttered, narrowing his eyes. "He really won't stop, will he?"
He crushed the pill underfoot. The crushed fragments hissed as they touched the ground, releasing a faint wisp of black smoke.
Lyra entered, startled. "Zac—you're awake?"
He smiled weakly. "Barely. I spat it out. Don't worry."
Her face drained of color. "That was from Ren!"
"I know." He touched her shoulder gently. "Which is exactly why I didn't swallow it."
For a long moment, they sat in silence. Then Lyra exhaled shakily. "You… you're all I have left. Don't scare me like that again."
"I won't," Zac said softly. "Not until I've given you the life you deserve."
By the next dawn, he was gone again—back to the mountains.
He could feel it in his veins, the energy swelling, pressing for release. He was close—so close—to something new.
He found an isolated ridge, where the wind roared against the cliffs and the morning mist shimmered like glass.
There, he began the Stone Serpent Flow.
Each motion drew in energy from the world around him.
Each strike shook the air, causing faint ripples that danced across the stone.
As he moved, he could feel his veins singing—three bright lines of gold running up his arms, pulsing with rhythm.
Then… a fourth pulse joined them.
It began as a spark in his chest, then spread outward in slow waves.
The world seemed to breathe with him.
He could hear it—no, feel it.
The pulse of fire deep underground.
The whisper of the wind coiling through the trees.
The calm, patient heartbeat of the stone beneath his feet.
They weren't just surroundings anymore—they were alive.
And he was part of them.
The air thickened. Light gathered around him in faint ribbons, streaming into his veins.
BOOM!
A shockwave burst from his body. Dust and pebbles lifted from the ground and hovered before scattering.
Zac's eyes snapped open, glowing faint gold.
He could see the four veins in his arms now—burning bright and clear, each one pulsing with living essence.
This was the Fourth Vein of Awakening — Convergence.
At this level, a cultivator's essence and will merged completely.
Energy no longer just flowed through the body—it obeyed.
Every motion, every thought could bend the world's essence, drawing on the natural breath of the elements themselves.
Fire would flare brighter near them.
Wind would shift to follow their strikes.
Stone would tremble under their feet.
To reach this realm, one had to harmonize with the elements—to listen to the world and echo its rhythm.
Few warriors of the frontier tribes ever achieved it.
But Zac had done it in mere weeks.
He stood still, feeling the mountain's slow, ancient pulse thrum through his soles.
"So this is Convergence…" he whispered.
The energy within him no longer felt foreign or wild—it was calm, gentle, endless.
He smiled faintly. "Now… I'm ready for what's coming."