Onyxport sat like a soot-stained jewel in the throat of the Silvervein River. Flags of the Southern Empire and Northern Kingdoms hung side-by-side in the harbor, snapping in the wind while sailors traded insults and gold. The air hung thick with charred octopus from street stalls, the sharp ozone of the mages' quarter, and the constant stench of coal fires powering the city’s foundries.

  For the survivors of Oakhaven, the city was a miracle. For Jian, it was a headache.

  "We can't just leave him!" Zelari hissed. Her voice was barely audible over the roar of a passing merchant’s caravan. She stood near the Western Gate, watching fellow villagers laugh and shake hands with a foreman from the masonry guild.

  "They’ve made their choice, Zelari," Li said softly, his arm still in a sling. He looked at the towering stone walls with a longing bordering on worship. "They want beds. They want walls that don't burn. Can you blame them?"

  "The Empire is coming for this place eventually, Li! And when they do, these walls will just be a bigger oven!" Zelari turned her gaze to Jian. He stood ten paces away, head tilted as he sniffed the air like a hound.

  He didn't care about their politics or the refugees. He followed a scent—a deep, resinous aroma promising a momentary distraction from the screaming hunger of his soul. Without a word, he began to walk, his long black hair cutting through the crowd like a shark’s fin.

  "Hey! Where are you going?" Zelari shouted.

  Jian didn't look back.

  Zelari bit her lip, eyes flashing with fury and desperation. "Fine! Go! Get lost in the city! I have people to find who actually give a damn about the world!"

  Jian followed the scent through a labyrinth of narrow alleys until he reached a storefront carved from a single piece of ancient dark wood. The sign above the door read The Myriad Essence. The air around it shimmered with the residual energy of a thousand herbs.

  He pushed the door open. A bell chimed a low, resonant note.

  Inside, the shop was a cathedral of glass jars and hanging bundles of dried roots. Behind the counter stood an elderly man with spectacles as thick as coins. Beside him stood a woman who looked entirely out of place in the dusty shop. She wore travelling silks of deep crimson, her hair pinned back with a silver needle. Her beauty was sharp and aristocratic, the kind that expected doors to open before she reached them.

  "I’m telling you, Master Lin, the price is irrelevant," the woman said in a cool, melodious rasp. "The Cloud-Mist Ginseng is a requirement for the..."

  She stopped as Jian walked in. He ignored the shelves and the woman, walking straight to a small velvet-lined box on the counter. Inside lay a root pulsing with faint, iridescent blue light.

  "That’s it," Jian rasped.

  "Sir! That is a reserved item!" the shopkeeper squeaked, reaching for the box.

  Jian was faster. His hand blurred. Before either could react, he snatched the root and shoved it into his mouth.

  The woman’s jaw dropped. "Do you have any idea what you just did? That is a three-hundred-year-old Heaven-Veil Root! The spiritual turbulence alone should have shattered your internal..."

  Jian chewed. His eyes closed for a brief second as the concentrated essence hit his tongue. It tasted like cold lightning. The sliver of the immortal soul in his gut leaped in response, devouring the energy of the herb in a heartbeat.

  He opened his eyes and looked at the woman. His gaze was cold, hollow, and utterly terrifying. He leaned over the counter, stopping inches from her face.

  "Your eyes," Jian whispered. "They’re too bright. Who are you playing today? The haughty noblewoman? The concerned scholar?" He grabbed her chin, fingers like iron clamps. "Where is he? Where is the Old Man hiding?"

  The woman froze. She looked into the black void of Jian’s pupils and felt a pressure against her mind like a mountain about to crumble. "I... I don't know who you're talking about," she gasped.

  Jian stared at her for a long moment, searching for the ripple in reality, the tell-tale sign of a puppet. Finally, he let her go with a grunt of dissatisfaction. "Not him. Too much genuine fear."

  He turned and walked toward the door.

  "Wait!" the shopkeeper wailed. "That herb was four thousand gold credits! You can't just eat it and walk out!"

  The woman recovered her composure, though her hand trembled as she adjusted her collar. She stepped out of the shop, catching up to Jian in the street. "You! Stop!"

  Jian kept walking.

  "I need that herb’s properties for an experiment that expires at sundown!" she shouted at his back. "You’ve just cost me months of work and potentially a life! You owe me, you lunatic!"

  Jian stopped. He turned slowly, his expression one of mild annoyance. "I have no money. But I owe you a favor. What do you want?"

  The woman blinked, taken aback by his bluntness. "I... I need a Lunar-Frost Orchid. A pure-negative Yin herb. It only grows in the Moon-Bathing Crags, and it has to be harvested during the peak of the lunar cycle, which is tonight. My guards... they wouldn't survive the goblin tribes that hold the crags."

  Jian looked up at the sky, calculating the distance to the mountains he had seen earlier. "Lunar-Frost Orchid. Got it."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "Wait, I’m Saphra, I—"

  But Jian was already gone, moving through the crowd with a speed that made him look like a flickering shadow.

  The shopkeeper caught up to her, huffing. "My Lady, you’re letting him go? He’s a madman!"

  Saphra watched the spot where Jian had vanished. She touched her chin where his fingers had left faint red marks. "He’s not a madman, Master Lin. He’s something much, much worse. I’ll pay for the root. Consider it an investment."

  While Jian sprinted toward a goblin-infested mountain range, Zelari descended into the bowels of Onyxport.

  The Shadow’s Cask was a tavern built into the foundations of an old bridge. It was damp, smelled of stagnant river water, and filled with people who didn't exist in the city’s official records.

  Zelari sat at a corner table with a cup of watered-down ale. Across from her sat a man with a scarred face and a cloak that blended into the shadows of the booth.

  "The Oakhaven girl," the man rumbled. "I heard about what happened to your village. My condolences."

  "I don't want condolences, Caelum," Zelari said, her voice hard. "I want to know what the resistance is doing about the meeting."

  The man leaned in. "The Imperial delegation is meeting with the City Council tomorrow at the Royal Pavilion. They’re calling it a 'trade summit.' We know better. The Empire is going to offer the Council a choice: vassalage or a 'tragic accident' involving a rebel attack that will justify an invasion."

  "They're going to frame us," Zelari realized.

  "Exactly. They’ve already got a 'rebel' cell ready to strike. Except the 'rebels' are Imperial infiltrators. We’re going to foil the strike before it happens, exposing the Empire’s hand. We need people who aren't known in the city. People who look like... refugees."

  Zelari gripped the edge of the table. "Tell me what to do."

  On the other side of the city, Saphra stood in a sterilized lab within the high spires of the Royal Palace. Surrounded by bubbling alembics and stacks of ancient parchment, she looked exhausted.

  She walked to a side room where a small boy lay in a bed of silk and swan-down. His skin was translucent, his veins a terrifying shade of black. The King sat by the bed, his crown discarded on a nearby table, looking like a man who had lost everything but his title.

  "Is there progress, Saphra?" the King asked, his voice hollow.

  "I’m working on a new catalyst, Your Majesty," she said, heart heavy. She didn't mention the madman who had eaten her primary ingredient. "If I can get the Lunar-Frost Orchid by morning, there is a chance. The Prince’s soul is being eaten by a Yin-corrosion. Only the purest negative essence can stabilize the reaction before the cure can be administered."

  "Do what you must," the King whispered. "The treasury is yours. Just... don't let him fade."

  The Moon-Bathing Crags were a nightmare of jagged obsidian and freezing mist. They were also currently a war zone.

  Three goblin tribes—the Blood-Toof, the Iron-Ear, and the Shadow-Stalkers—engaged in a frantic, screeching battle over a lush patch of spirit-moss.

  Jian didn't slow down as he entered the valley.

  A Blood-Toof warrior, a hulking brute with a rusted cleaver, lunged at him with a guttural roar. Jian walked through the goblin's swing. His shoulder caught the creature in the chest, liquefying its internal organs instantly.

  He moved like a ghost through the carnage. When Shadow-Stalker archers rained poisoned arrows down on him, he didn't dodge. He moved his hand in a circular motion, thickening the air itself until the arrows slowed to a crawl and fell harmlessly to the ground.

  He found the Lunar-Frost Orchid at the peak of the crag, growing in a crack that caught the direct light of the full moon. It was beautiful—a delicate, translucent flower that seemed made of frozen tears.

  As he reached for it, a small figure dropped from the shadows above.

  A female goblin dressed in tight-fitting black leathers landed with silent grace. She carried a pair of serrated daggers. Her yellow eyes fixed on Jian with a look of primal realization.

  She didn't attack. She dropped to one knee and bared her throat—the ultimate sign of submission. She had seen him move. She had felt the weight of his ten million years of hunger. She knew an apex predator when she saw one.

  Jian paused, hand inches from the flower. He looked at the ninja goblin. "You’re not going to try and kill me?"

  The goblin shook her head frantically, pointing at the flower and then at him. She made a soft, chirping sound.

  "Fine," Jian said, plucking the orchid with a gentle touch. The negative Yin energy hissed against his skin, but he ignored it. He turned to leave, but the goblin girl began to follow him, sticking to his shadow like a hound.

  "I don't need a pet," Jian rasped.

  The goblin chirped again and disappeared into the shadows, though Jian could still feel her presence ten paces behind him.

  Saphra woke to the sound of her bedroom window sliding open.

  She bolted upright, heart hammering. As the Royal Alchemist, she lived in a heavily guarded suite in the palace’s inner sanctum.

  "Who’s there?" she demanded, reaching for a vial of explosive liquid on her nightstand.

  The room was bathed in the pale light of the pre-dawn moon.

  Jian sat in a high-backed chair by her vanity. He looked exactly as he had the day before—ragged, dirty, and profoundly dangerous. In his hand, he held the Lunar-Frost Orchid. It pulsed with a brilliant, cold light, far more potent than any Saphra had ever seen.

  "You're late," Jian said.

  Saphra stared at him, breath hitching. She realized with a burning flush that she wore nothing but a thin silk shift. The cool night air raised goosebumps on her skin, but she was too shocked to move.

  "You... you’re in my bedroom," she whispered.

  "I said I owed you a favor," Jian said. He stood and tossed the orchid onto her bed. It landed on the silk sheets, frosting the fabric instantly with Yin energy. "That’s the pure form. Not the trash you find in the markets. It was guarded by three tribes. They don't have leaders anymore."

  Saphra looked at the flower, eyes widening. "This... this is a Grade-9 ingredient. This isn't just a substitute; this could save him."

  She looked back at Jian, professional curiosity overriding her modesty. "How did you get past the wards? The palace guards?"

  She stopped. In the corner of the room, standing in the shadows of the wardrobe, a small green-skinned girl in black leather waved a tiny clawed hand at Saphra.

  "What is that?" Saphra gasped.

  "A souvenir," Jian said, walking toward the window. "We're even now, Alchemist. Don't look for me."

  "Wait!" Saphra scrambled out of bed, the silk shifting dangerously low. "I don't even know your name! And the King... he will want to reward you!"

  Jian paused at the window-sill. The first light of dawn caught the black gleam in his eyes. He looked at her, and for a second, the paranoia softened into something even more terrifying: pity.

  "Names are just labels for puppets," he said. "And I’ve had enough rewards for ten million lifetimes."

  He stepped out into the air and vanished.

  Saphra stood in the center of her room with the cold orchid in her hand and a goblin girl staring from the shadows. She looked down at herself, then at the window, her mind racing.

  "Well," she whispered to the empty room. "I suppose the experiment just got a lot more interesting."