Manco and Shelia moved through Thornridge’s dimly lit streets, their footsteps muffled against the damp cobblestones. The city’s life had retreated with the sun, leaving only scattered lanterns casting their meager glow on the alleys. The scent of wet stone mingled with wood smoke, and somewhere distant, a dog barked—a lone, hollow sound swallowed by the dark.
Shelia pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her sharp eyes flickering toward every shadow. “Feels like the city’s holding its breath,” she murmured.
Manco nodded, keeping his voice low. “It always does when the serpents start to slither.”
They moved carefully, sticking to the edges of buildings where the light failed to reach. Thornridge had changed in the months since the Crimson Serpent Sect had seized control. Gone were the nights of calm taverns and lantern-lit markets. Now, only silence reigned—the kind that bred whispers of rebellion and the weight of conquest.
“Do you think she’s still in there?” Shelia asked, her tone hushed but heavy.
“She has to be,” Manco replied. “If they were going to parade her, they’d have done it already.”
Before Shelia could respond, a sharp surge of mana rippled through the air. The force was unmistakable—powerful and uncontrolled, like a whip lashing at the night. Manco froze mid-step, his gaze snapping toward the northern quarter where the Crimson Serpent Sect’s pagoda loomed.
Another surge followed, then another.
Shelia sucked in a breath, her fingers twitching toward the dagger at her belt. “What in the Void is that?”
“Fighting,” Manco muttered, his jaw tightening. “And not just any fighting.”
They crept toward the nearest street corner, pressing themselves into the shadows as they peered out. What they saw confirmed Manco’s suspicions.
Flares of mana lit the rooftops, streaks of crimson and violet energy carving through the night like falling stars. Figures dashed along the stone terraces, silhouettes weaving and colliding in bursts of light. The faint echoes of shouting and clashing steel carried through the darkness, but from this distance, the words were lost.
“It’s the Crimson Serpent Elders,” Shelia said in a near-whisper, her face pale under the lantern glow. “They’re moving.”
Manco’s gaze sharpened, following the faint shapes moving through the air. The elders of the Crimson Serpent Sect—those cruel, powerful figures—were in motion, chasing someone or something through the city. He could feel their oppressive mana like a pressure against his ribs, even from here.
“Who are they after?” Shelia asked. “A rival sect? Someone important?”
Manco didn’t answer right away, his mind already spinning. Whoever the elders were chasing, they were drawing every eye and ear in Thornridge, pulling the sect’s strength outward. It was a rare opportunity and one they couldn’t waste.
“This is our chance,” he said, his voice steady but urgent. “The sect will be thinner inside. We can slip in, find her, and get out before anyone notices.”
Shelia turned to him sharply. “Are you insane? If they catch us, we’ll be dead before we see the gates again.”
“They won’t catch us,” Manco said, more to convince himself than her. “They’re too busy with—whatever this is. It’s the only opening we’re going to get.”
Shelia swore under her breath but nodded. “Fine. But we move carefully. I’m not dying tonight.”
“Neither is she,” Manco replied.
Your next chapter is on empire
They picked up their pace, slipping through alleys and narrow side streets as they made their way toward the Crimson Serpent Sect’s pagoda.
‘What is this?’
Manco and Shelia slipped through the crumbling outer wall of the Crimson Serpent Sect’s grounds, emerging into a courtyard bathed in eerie stillness. The oppressive weight of mana lingered in the air, thicker now, clinging to their skin like a second layer of grime. But something else struck Manco first—a sharp, metallic tang that filled his nostrils and turned his stomach.
The smell of iron.
Shelia froze beside him, her face twisting. “Do you smell that?”
Manco’s throat tightened. “Blood.”
The realization struck just as they rounded the corner of a training hall. The courtyard sprawled before them, drenched in the soft, silvery light of a half-moon. And scattered across the stone like discarded dolls were bodies—dozens of them.
The disciples of the Crimson Serpent Sect.
Shelia staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth. Her wide eyes darted across the scene, landing on the lifeless forms crumpled on the ground. Crimson robes darkened with slick patches of blood. Some bodies were slumped against walls, others sprawled awkwardly where they had fallen, their weapons lying useless at their sides.
Manco’s heart pounded against his ribs as he scanned the faces. He recognized them. Of course he did.
“There… there’s Jorath,” Shelia choked out, pointing with a trembling hand. “And Vynn. That bastard laughed when they burned our banners.”
Manco’s eyes fell on Jorath, the once-arrogant disciple who had stood at the front when their sect was conquered. Now he lay motionless, his glassy stare fixed on nothing, blood pooling beneath his broken form.
“Burghk—!”
Shelia doubled over, retching violently. The sound echoed unnaturally in the quiet courtyard. Manco stood frozen, unable to tear his gaze away. He had dreamed of vengeance, of seeing the Crimson Serpent Sect suffer, but this… this was something else entirely.
“How… how did this happen?” Shelia gasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. “Who could do this? The elders—where are the elders?”
Before Manco could answer, another sound reached them. A distant clash of steel, sharper and fiercer than before. The unmistakable hum of mana rippling through the air followed—a pressure so intense that the cobblestones beneath their feet seemed to hum in response.
The sound came from deeper within the sect.
“There’s still fighting,” Manco muttered, his voice hoarse. He could feel it, the energy rippling outward like shockwaves through the air, vibrating through his very bones.
But then, as abruptly as it began, the ripples stopped. Silence fell over the sect, thick and suffocating.
And then they heard it.
A voice. Smooth, calm, yet cutting through the stillness like a knife through silk.
“Come here.”
The voice—smooth and commanding—lingered in the air, as if carried on the weight of the mana that still buzzed faintly around them. Manco exchanged a glance with Shelia, both of them hesitating for only a moment.
“We have no choice,” Manco said quietly. “If that voice belongs to whoever did this…” He gestured faintly at the lifeless bodies around them. “Then they would’ve already killed us if they wanted to.”
Shelia swallowed hard, her knuckles white as they gripped the hilt of her dagger. “Fine,” she said, her voice tight. “Let’s get this over with.”
Together, they moved forward, their footsteps slow and deliberate, the silence of the courtyard swallowing every sound. Each step felt like walking into the maw of a predator, but there was no turning back now. The pull of the voice—the owner of that terrifying, casual power—was too strong to ignore.
They reached an opening between two pagoda buildings, the passage yawning into a larger courtyard beyond. There, under the pale light of the half-moon, they saw him.
A young man stood at the center of the blood-streaked courtyard, his back straight and posture calm, as if the carnage around him was no more troubling than a summer breeze. His clothes were unremarkable—dark, travel-worn garments with a long cloak that billowed faintly in the breeze. But it was his eyes that struck Manco like a fist to the chest: dark as the void, unyielding and fathomless, reflecting no light and revealing nothing.
And beside him…
Shelia froze mid-step. Her wide eyes locked onto the figure seated elegantly on a broken pillar just beside the young man—a cat. A silver-furred cat with delicate features, her tail curling lazily as she watched them approach with unnerving intelligence.
“Ah…” The sound came from Shelia’s throat, a mix of disbelief and awe. “Ah… Lady… Lady Vitaliara…”
Manco blinked sharply, his mind struggling to comprehend the sight. It was her. There was no mistaking it. Lady Vitaliara, the silver cat that had once protected their sect—a being of ancient mana, revered and mysterious. The very same creature that had shielded them in their time of need.
The cat blinked slowly, her sharp golden eyes fixing on Shelia with an expression that could almost be called amused.
“…Hmph.”
The young man’s lips curled into a faint smirk, a sharp contrast to the stillness in his dark gaze. His voice was casual when he finally spoke, yet each word carried a weight that hung in the air.
“It appears you two are quite brave.” He gestured to the lifeless courtyard around them. “Walking into this… in the hopes of saving your young lady, even though she’s locked here, in such a dangerous place.”
The words struck Manco like a slap, his heart pounding faster. Whoever this young man was, his presence alone was enough to still the air, as though the very mana of the sect bent to his will.
“Who are you?” Manco demanded, forcing his voice steady despite the dryness in his throat. “Do we know you?”
The young man chuckled softly, though the sound was more unsettling than comforting. He turned slightly, pointing a finger toward the cat perched beside him.
“Who am I? Let’s say I’m her confidant,” he said with a faint shrug, as if the explanation required no further clarification. “Her voice, her hands—depending on the day.”
Manco swallowed hard, his gaze shifting back to Lady Vitaliara, who regarded them with a quiet, feline patience. Shelia’s mouth worked silently, as though trying to find words that wouldn’t come.
The young man tilted his head slightly, studying them with those dark, piercing eyes. “Anyway…” he said suddenly, breaking the stillness. “You’re here to save your young lady, aren’t you? Then let’s get moving. Time is short.”
“What?” Shelia blinked, stunned. “You… you’re going to help us?”
The young man smirked again, though the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you think I called you here for idle conversation?” He turned, his cloak swirling around him like the edge of a shadow. “Come on. Let’s go take your fellow disciples out, shall we?”
Manco and Shelia exchanged one more look—half disbelief, half fear—before nodding in unison.
Whatever this young man was, whatever power he held, one thing was clear: he was their best chance at saving her.
And right now, that was all that mattered.