Author's Note: It seems I am unable to finish book 2 yet, but I have a few more chapters nearly done, and am working on more. This chapter is about the size of two regular chapters anyway, and marks the trues start of the next arc of the story. From here on out there will be occasional third-person glimpses into the world at large, representing the MC's expanded role in the world and the fact that, as the reader, our view of events is also moving into a much greater scale.

For the next while I will be trying to release a few chapters a week, but there is no set schedule.

A wild frozen wind blew down from the mountains, passing over countless frozen peaks that gradually gave way to broken rocky hills, before finally reaching an enormous cleft in the mountains comprised of a vast lightly forested plain. The wind carried on southwards, passing over North Stone Village, a small grey streak on the vast tract of earth below, swarming with beasts vainly attempting to tear down the Fortress; the wind cared not, carrying on to flow over an empty plain broken occasionally by farms surrounding smaller communities, each centered around their own tiny stone fortification, before finally breaking against a massive stone wall that endlessly stretched out to the east and to the west.

Cold mountain air breezed up and over the wall, beyond which lay dense clumps of finely manicured land (interspersed with the occasional well maintained farm), that finally gave way to great stone structures, bustling with the activity of tens of thousands of men, women, and children of every description imaginable – the citizens, and nobility, of House Flameward.

The breeze lost most of its chill passing over sun-warmed plazas, magnificent statues, and busy markets before finally leaving the colors of House Flameward behind. Past the gigantic square of neutral territory between the Great Houses, and over the raging river across which began the land claimed by House Spiritwind, the breeze lost the last of its chill – the once mighty frozen wind was nothing more than a gentle puff when it finally crossed the vast territory of House Spiritwind and reached the grand estates near the southern wall.

Wolfram grimaced against the warm northern air as he wiped the sweat from his brow, eyeing his sword instructor… or, more accurately, eyeing her taut behind as she walked back to her quarters. She was a Guard who was known as the finest hand with a broadsword in The City. Warriors had to spend the majority of their time on their Cultivation Techniques, making it fairly common for regular Guards – who were not allowed to cultivate – to surpass them in the more mundane combat skills, purely because they had more time to practice.

His father had made good on the promise he had made when Wolfram survived his Trial of Wind several years ago, and Wolfram now had access to any and all trainers he could think of, as well as many who his father brought in for him. Cultivating still took up the majority of his time, but Wolfram was worried that his friend Heller would leave him too far behind in the physical department if he didn’t try to keep up with his fighting skills. So Wolfram traded quantity for quality, working with only the absolute best instructors that their civilization had to offer.

But on this day he had another task in mind: He wanted to surprise his friend when the Black Tournament started. And to that end he had made arrangements with one of the nobles, named Lord Ailmar, who represented House Spiritwind on the committee in charge of setting up the month-long event. And today was finally the time of the meeting, so Wolfram pushed aside his lingering worries about Heller’s safety – and his sense of helplessness from his inability to aid Heller, who was currently stuck in an underground bunker – and carried on with his plan

Hours later Wolfram stepped out of the Sedan Chair that had carried him all the way to the Grand Plaza, the absolutely massive square tract of land set in the middle of the territory occupied by the four Great Houses. The tournament setup was nearly complete, with only a few last minute details being taken care of, and Wolfram sent his guards to fetch Lord Ailmar for him.

Once they had finally met Wolfram could see that the man stood with a straight back, and moved with a military precision that was rare among the nobility of The City, and as they spoke about the details involved in the tournament Wolfram found that he liked the man’s bearing. So when Ailmar suddenly froze in mid-sentence and abruptly whispered, “My Lord Third Heir, you are in grave danger! Please stay here!”, Wolfram’s snap decision was to heed his advice.

Lord Ailmar put on a generous smile and spread his arms wide, brushing past Wolfram as if he was a commoner instead of the Third Heir of House Spiritwind. “Ah, My Lady First Heir, what an honor to have you join us!”

Wolfram’s eyes went wide as he cautiously turned to follow Ailmar’s path as the man swiftly walked towards an austere looking woman who was striding towards them. He wasn’t alone in letting out a shocked gasp when a spear of ice suddenly manifested in her hand without any warning, the point nearly digging into Ailmar’s throat as he came to an abrupt halt.

“Who is it that dares address me with such familiarity.” The woman asked calmly, her gaze still combing the assembled group of people within the Grand Plaza. Wolfram had a sense that, should Ailmar answer incorrectly, she would thrust her ice spear straight through his neck.

The noble was clearly fighting to keep his voice steady as he replied, “Humble Ailmar, of house Spiritwind, at your service, Honored First Heir. I am overseeing preparations for the…”

The spear abruptly lifted several inches, causing Ailmar to raise up on his toes as he strained to keep his neck from becoming impaled, having no choice but to snap his mouth firmly shut. The woman held the spear in place as her eyes slowly traveled over to meet his gaze. “Good. I am interested in a boy from the territory of House Flameward, and I want to guarantee that he accepts my patronage. You will help make this happen.”

The spear vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Ailmar was forced to follow after her as she turned on her heel and marched quickly away.

“Who was that?” Wolfram quietly asked one of his bodyguards.

“Your elder sister, my Lord Third Heir. Lady First Heir Jesvae Spiritwind.”

Shivering, Wolfram’s mind immediately went back to what his father had said to him years ago… about how he would, eventually, have to fight his own siblings in a deadly contest for the right to be the true heir of House Spiritwind.

So Wolfram’s older sister, a powerful Cultivator who almost certainly wanted to kill him, was interested in someone from House Flameward’s territory… the very same territory from which his best friend, Heller, was set to arrive in less than a tenday…

Oh shit…

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I sent to Wolfram after he told me the bad news. We had been stuck in this bunker for days, and the spirits only knew when the Merrik would finally arrive.

He sent along with a host of conflicting emotions. Wolfram let the transmission trail off.

I sent, starting to get a bit more concerned.

Well… that certainly didn’t sound good.

I sent back after taking a moment to compose myself.

And then the visions began, hyper realistic representations that Wolfram must have put together solely for my benefit.

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==== Wolfram, Age: 3 years 2 months old====

Wolfram was wandering through the halls of his wing of the castle, populated entire with his own personal support staff. He had a full squad eight bodyguards, who worked in shifts of four, a full time Tutor (who followed the Path of Water, and was thus able to teach reading and writing to young nobles), and dozens of maids who would see to his every need. But despite all that… he was left almost unbearably alone. His ‘mother’, had seen him all of three times since his birth, and his supposed father visited his apartments maybe four or five times a year at most… Wolfram had never seen anybody resembling another family member…

… except in Spirit-Form. From a storeroom on the far side of his wing of the castle, Wolfram was just barely able to reach the edge of another occupied wing, but not the primary living quarters. The resident, who had guards and staff comparable to his own, was a boy who looked around ten years old.

==== Wolfram, Age: 5 years 4 months old====

Wolfram was on one of his typical spying trips when he saw the other boy, who was now around twelve, in an empty room practicing a Cultivation Technique, which Wolfram recognized as being identical to his own; and from this he made the conclusion that this boy was likely his older brother!

The revelation had been shocking, but although the boy was nearly twice his age, Wolfram could tell that his brother’s form was wrong; his pronunciation was incomplete; and he lacked proper rhythm while going through the complicated steps required to cultivate.

Wolfram had no way to communicate with him, nor could he risk sending a message and having his father find out. Wolfram started spending a lot more time spying on his newfound brother, and he quickly learned that the boy had a kind heart and was well loved by all his staff… but he was not very clever. He might have been about average for his age, but it was hard for Wolfram to judge.

==== Wolfram, Age: 5 years 10 months old====

Wolfram’s brother had made progress with his cultivation… but barely a tenth of what Wolfram had achieved himself. Having little else that he could do to keep himself entertained, Wolfram had made a habit of check up on his brother at least once a week (often much more), and it was on one of these typical visits that Wolfram overheard that his brother was going to undergo something called the Trial of Wind at the end of the next tenday!

All the Tutor was able to tell the boy was that it was a test of his Cultivation, and that the results would decide his fate within House Spiritwind. Wolfram didn't have any idea what that might mean, nor had he any way to find out. So Wolfram simply waited, checking in on the situation as often as he was able.

Finally, a tenday later, a rare spectacle occurred: Warriors of House Spiritwind, fully trained cultivators and not simple Guards, arrived to escort the young man out of his wing! Wolfram was incredibly excited and jealous, never having been allowed out himself, and he waited eagerly to see what might be different about his brother once he returned.

But… he never did. And shortly afterwards his entire wing was emptied, all furniture removed, and Wolfram never saw the boy or any of his staff again.

==== Wolfram, Age: 6 years 3 months old====

Wolfram was in one of his practice rooms training with his family Cultivation Technique, small flakes of snow appearing around him as he manipulated the wind to swirl around his body in intricate patterns. This was about the limit of what he could achieve, even after all of his hard work.

With his Celestial Technique, on the other hand, he had created spells with which he could vaporize stone or transform his body into a living elemental of flame, with dozens of other equally amazing effects only an incantation away.

==== Wolfram, Age: 6 years 7 months old====

Wolfram stood staring at the letter in his hands, stunned by the content. He looked up at his Tutor, who had just delivered the letter to him, “Do you know anything about this Trial of Wind?”

His Tutor gave a respectful salute, “Young Master, I do not know anything about a trial, and I am not allowed to know the contents of that letter.” The man had a steady smile, as he often did when dealing with Wolfram.

It made no sense! Wolfram was at least five or six years younger than his older brother had been… why now? Wolfram considered asking all of his Guards – even his serving staff – but then realized that was exactly what his missing sibling had done. There would be no information forthcoming.

After discussing it with Heller, Wolfram had decided that it must be a Cultivation test of some kind, and spent his remaining ten days focusing entirely on the Cultivation Technique of House Spiritwind. Heller had even asked Master Jaduk on Wolfram’s behalf, but to no avail – it must be a secret known only to the main branch of his family.

Then, exactly one tenday later, four Warriors of House Spiritwind arrived… but the scene was different than what he had seen before… this time, his father was also present. The Grand High Lord of House Spiritwind wore an expression that was just as cold and distant as ever, his short dark orange fur trimmed into intricate patterns. His eyes moved dispassionately around the room, not stopping even for a moment to acknowledge Wolfram.

Wolfram couldn’t understand why his father had come for this Trial, or why there were twice the number of Warriors this time... his older brother’s entourage only consisted of two.

One of the Warriors spoke. “Please come with us, young master.”

The four Warriors surrounded Wolfram, urging him down the hallway after his father, who had already turned and began walking away.

Wolfram’s heart was beating rapidly, accompanied by a slight ringing in his ears; he was finally going to leave his wing of the castle! The workmanship in the rest of the castle matched that in his apartments: Stark and utilitarian, with little decoration or artistry to be seen. However, there wasn’t any staff in sight – only the six of them, marching through the empty hallways, down eight great stairways that were each four times the height of a grown man, before finally entering a wide stone courtyard.

There were at least a dozen more Warriors here, as well as a strange pile of long bricks next to the doorway. Upon entering the courtyard, Wolfram noticed a wooden stage constructed along the far wall of the castle, with a figure bound to a post set in the center… no… he recognized those twitching antenna… the figure was his mother!

Wolfram nearly stumbled as the Warriors behind him pushed him forward, not allowing him to stop and make sense of the scene before him. They were leading him towards the center of the courtyard… where there was another pole set into the ground, but this one of blackened metal…

What the beast was going on here! Wolfram almost decided to try blasting his way free, but he was surrounded… and he doubted they were just going to kill him. That could have been done at any time in the past six years.

There were heavy chains lying on the ground, also scorched black with what must be fire damage, which were used to bind Wolfram securely to the metal pole. He brought his escape spell to mind, one which would allow him to turn into a Fire Elemental… but it’s major weakness was exactly what his Father, and likely all the Warriors present, specialized in: Ice.

Trapped, with no escape, Wolfram fought to control his breathing… and then one of the Warriors walked forwards, bringing one of the bricks, and placed it near Wolfram. The Warrior then said something too quiet for Wolfram to make out, but it sounded something like ‘fate of the winds’.

The Warrior reached into a pouch at his side and spread a line of powder on the brick, which slowly began to turn into a line of fire! Soon afterwards another Warrior came forward, adding his own brick and repeating the process… and then came the next after that. This continued until Wolfram was completely surrounded by a low circle of burning bricks on the ground around him, and then the Warriors started stacking the bricks vertically.

They were going to burn him to death! Wolfram’s mind raced… the rest of the warriors stood in a circle around him with their backs turned, taking turns counter-clockwise to come and lay another brick in a crisscross pattern that left plenty of room for air to feed the fire.

By the time the blocks were stacked three high Wolfram could feel a steady heat, and he knew that he couldn’t let this continue. He began using the Cultivation Technique of his family, fighting to manipulate the wind to blow the powder off of the newly laid bricks before they could ignite, and trying to create frost along the ones that were already burning.

Nobody reacted, simply continuing as they had. The only one in the circle who never turned to face Wolfram was his father, but the soldiers continued to lay new bricks for what felt like hours, not stopping until the final row was laid well above his head. Wolfram realized he would probably be long dead if he hadn’t been able to blow the powder off of nearly all the bricks. He could feel some heat from behind him, telling him that he had missed a few, but it wasn’t enough to cause him any lasting harm.

After the final brick was laid all of the soldiers (and his father) remained motionless in the circle around him, their backs still turned. Wolfram worked on fighting the fires on the lower level, the ones he had left alone back before he had figured out what he was supposed to do. His feet were quite warm, but he was able to keep a steady wind blowing that took the heat away from him. In fact, all in all, he was quite comfortable… aside from the thick chains binding him to the beasting pole!

The sun had nearly gone down by the time the last fire had burned itself out, with Wolfram having been able to build up enough frost on the unlit bricks that they were thoroughly soaked, when all of a sudden Wolfram heard a commanding roar echoing around the courtyard.

“Get those chains off of my son!”

The Warriors spun at once, dashing towards the crosshatched wall of bricks surrounding Wolfram. They began to break the wall, careful that nothing fell inwards, tossing the debris hastily towards the sides of the courtyard. One of them quickly unchained Wolfram as all the Warriors fell to their knees, their heads bowed. Only the Great High Lord of House Spiritwind still stood, looking straight at Wolfram and raising a hand to beckon him closer.

Wolfram, dazed, stumbled from the pole, his whole body aching from the weight of the chains and his mind numb from the fatigue of spending nearly half a day fighting for his life. Upon reaching his father he just stood there dumbly, no idea what to expect. There was a look on his father’s face that he had never seen there before… not a smile, but… a certain softening around the eyes, perhaps.

“I, Raolin Spiritwind, declare that my son, Wolfram Spiritwind, is now the Third Heir of House Spiritwind.” Raolin reached out to lay a hand on Wolfram’s shoulder, his grip strong and firm. “Wolfram, from this day forward you may call upon me whenever you wish, and I will teach you all that you wish to know. One day, my son, the fate of all House Spiritwind may lay in your hands.”

Then the Warriors all spoke in unison, their voices seeming to shake the very ground itself. “Hail The Lord Third Heir, Wolfram Spiritwind, Blessed by Wind and Frost!”

Wolfram’s father continued, “Only the strong can truly rule, my son. Always remember that. At the time of my retirement, or death, there will be a contest between my children, one which shall decide the true Heir of House Spiritwind… and those who fail, should they survive, will then have to choose between execution or permanent exile to the Shieldwall, stripped of all rank and privilege. Gain the strength to survive, Wolfram, as I have done, as my mother did before me, and her father did before her.”

His eyes wide, not quite able to believe what was happening, Wolfram turned around to survey the scene just in time to see his mother being untied from her own stake. The woman sagged into the arms of the servants who helped to lead her away, but Wolfram could just barely make out a relieved smile on her face.

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I was dazed for a long time after the visions finally stopped, glad that Wolfram had asked permission before sending them. The whole thing was pretty intense, the experience reminiscent to (but far more jarring than) waking up from a particularly realistic dream.

I finally sent.