“Outsider? I am Linford blood, hardly an outsider!” Unmoved, the guard repeated, “Orders are orders! No exceptions!” Jared lifted a hand, gently but firmly stilling Luna before anger drowned reason. He faced the guard and let a single word fall, cold as winter steel. “Move…”
The unseen weight in that word crushed the guard’s courage; stumbled aside without thinking. Jared and Flaxseed strode through the gate as if it belonged to them. Luna hurried after, skirts snapping against marble.
Gleaming pavilions and painted corridors surrounded them, yet none paused to admire. A storm was gathering, and each of them felt the first electric sting.
Inside the grand hall, the Lord of Eastshire, Marcus Eastshire, sat enthroned, draped in brocade, jade coronet catching torchlight.
A flicker of displeasure crossed face when Luna entered with two strangers, but it vanished behind courtly calm. Marcus’s voice out through the hush. “Luna, why have you brought these outsiders before me?”
“My lord, you personally dispatched my father and countless cultivators of Eastshire to the Sixth Hall. Many never returned. Those who did came back empty-eyed, their minds shattered. Why? What is truly happening there?”
A muscle jumped in the lord’s jaw, yet his composure resettled like frost on stone.
“You dare interrogate me?” Marcus replied with a brittle laugh. “I send them so they may train under superior masters and bring honor to Eastshire. If some failed to return, or returned witless, that is merely misfortune, or proof their talent was lacking.”
Luna let a ragged laugh slip from the corner of mouth. The sound out across the vast reception hall like the scrape of steel on slate.
“Lord Eastshire,” said, voice suddenly sharp, “You can still pretend all you want. The so-called public lectures held by the Sixth Hall are nothing but soul-harvesting rituals in disguise!”
“The cultivators whose souls you siphon are left witless, frozen in their own shells, their progress forever stalled. You have stood side by side with that hall, staining your hands with something no heaven could pardon, yet you dare speak of innocence?!”
A flicker of panic crossed Marcus’ eyes, there and gone as fast as candlelight in a draft. He drew a steadying breath, smoothed his silken sleeve, and answered with practiced calm.
“I have no idea what fables you have swallowed, child. Someone has filled your head with venomous lies.”
“Venomous…” Luna began, but Jared lifted one hand. The simple gesture was quiet, decisive, and it sealed the rest of words behind teeth.
Jared spoke then, every syllable flat and cold as snowmelt. “Lord Eastshire, we did not come to trade barbs. We want one thing. Tell us where the Sixth Hall keeps itself hidden. Comply, and you walk away untouched. Refuse, and…”
He left the threat hanging, yet the weight of it pressed on every wall.
Color drained from Marcus’ face. He shot to his feet so fast the chair legs shrieked across marble. One rigid finger leveled at Jared. “Who do you think you are, storming into my residence with such slander?! Guards, seize them!”
At his cry, armored men poured in from every corridor until the three intruders stood on an island of tile amid a sea of drawn blades. Muscled shoulders bristled beneath chain vests, and hard eyes glittered with the promise of violence.
Flaxseed’s laugh boomed like a drum.
“These pups? You expect them to shackle us?” He produced a fistful of charms from his robe, crackling gold script already waking on the paper.
Jared lifted two fingers, and Flaxseed tucked the charms back with a reluctant shrug and stepped aside.
Jared’s gaze swept the circle of soldiers, icy and unhurried. “Lord Eastshire, steel cannot cage us. Spare yourself needless suffering, reveal the Sixth Hall’s location.”
A brittle laugh escaped Marcus. “You? A reckless nobody? Enough! Whoever subdues them will be richly rewarded, go!”
The guards howled their answer and surged forward, blades catching torchlight in murderous flashes. Jared exhaled. Power erupted from like a silent quake.
The oncoming soldiers slammed to a halt, chests heaving against an invisible avalanche. Air itself felt heavy, as though the hall had sunk beneath deep water.
