Where the dark crept, so did he. A phantom skipped around corners, walls, and inconvenient barriers; to an eye he would be like a floater, a shadow bending. The Upper District’s guard patrolled frequently, but they had as much passion for their task as a child does for their vegetables. Disrespect unintended, their station combined with the strength to obtain it could make it unimaginable for someone trying to attack the clan—and the Upper District, of all places. This circumstance, and with some inference, implied to Grisla that even they wouldn’t be too alert, or in expectance, for someone daring to infiltrate.

He was a member of this clan. And, at one point had all the privilege to go wherever he liked and could access whatever on a whim. That in mind, whisking his way over to the Fang compound, northwest and directly opposite of the Rei’s didn’t take long. Below the shade of a young Whiteleaf, rustling on the night’s breeze, his silhouette stood. When a young couple on a pond’s bridge came into view, the return glance caught nothing to note; how could it, when the boy nearly merged himself behind the tree and into its bark.

I’ve been meaning to ask, Seri had told Grisla. Haven’t you considered using that temporal skill you have on your core? It wasn’t that long ago, before his departure from the Well of Wonders, and he replied: That was the first thing that came to mind, but I disregarded it just as soon. To start—I don’t have the proper control or knowledge about what is mother’s power firstly. To pull that risk would mean tampering with something I wouldn’t even know how to fix, if at any point a mistake occurred. It’d be beyond stupid.

Would that risk really differ from the one he’s doing now?

At least with the former, he wouldn’t have an agonizing end. If—may the heavens bless him—he should get caught, death will be lighter than a feather. Could say that he forfeited his right to death upon deciding this path, and, he’ll not regret it. He cannot.

At the bridge it was, clear to him, where the balance was in that relationship. The boy’s simpering smile and overwrought poetry made even Grisla’s ears shrivel, and with the woman’s back to him he couldn’t tell what angles did her lips hang in displeasure, or was she more modest? Where the moon created a path, the shadow assistants illuminating his way, Grisla wouldn’t flounder whisking by.

“Rei Han, you do me too much flattery!” The girl coquettishly said.

His mouth snapped close, for he was about to blow his cover in that instant. Rei Han?! That mess of a verse was his doing? Wait—I remember. Rei Han is the replacement slot in the Chosen’s ranks. How could he forget? And this girl! She couldn’t really be falling for this, right…?

Chosen Seven of the Rei family beamed, “I would never put so much as a single word that’s untrue or exaggerative on your person! I am honest, upright, and steadfast in my feelings!” He moved close. “You are the beacon of my life, the only one that keeps my heart beating,” and then, when Grisla was beginning to lose all hope, Rei added: “You… complete me.”

Could he really get his cover blown this easily?

The girl’s clothing marked her as a member of a decent family in the Upper District, not of one of the greats, however from the perspective for any outside their walls they already could describe them as such. Grisla couldn’t shrink any more deeply into himself when he saw, contrary to all he might think a woman would feel by common sense, thrust herself into Rei Han’s embrace like the end of a story’s chapter.

I haven’t spoken to Rangwha’s brother in a time, and I left without a goodbye, too. It matters little, not like we were friends anyhow, Grisla thought. But the situation complicated his exit, for Rei Han—curse him, the fool—and his lady both weren’t far from the exit; a gate past the Fang’s gross display of wealth and excitable guards at their front yard lay ahead of it. Much to his dismay, he can’t see through walls. Jumping over the rest from here on out will have to be done sparingly. He sighed; improvisation waits for no man.

A pebble shattering on a wall took them away from the moment.

“Huh?” Rei Han’s irritation was felt, even giving the inanimate distraction to feel his incensed look.

A distraction to him, an opportunity for Grisla. He offered a silent apology and farewell as he darted out of sight.

Muffled steps on stone, an approaching man with a mission. Grisla stopped, and looked around an absent courtyard, a gap in security to which he exploited and fed on if no one else will do so. Here, the young master’s stable blocked his figure. And, coincidentally was the same place to where he can gaze at the rising house, stories reaching up to heaven if not close. Perhaps getting on the roof meant, at the highest peak the door to that domain would take but a hop inside. But he couldn’t give them too much praise; the Patriarch’s, or rather the clan’s tower stood above all, as it always shall be.

To get inside proved a challenge—or would, if the intruder was anyone other than himself. Leimuth, like many other settlements inhabited and presided over by cultivators, are defended with sets of formations to ward against outsiders, and specifically their enemies. No man of significant Juva went unnoticed. Homeless, wandering cultivators lacking a voucher are always turned away, and even with one, said cultivator is never lacking an eye stalking their direction, guessing for a motive. Paranoia ruled their world, but the foolish would name it as such. The Upper District—from what he remembers and paid attention to—is host to an innumerable number of talismans and divided because of differing purposes. For great families like the Fang, that paranoia is doubled.

Grisla’s feline-like form leaped to an open window, fingers catching and feet dangling, praying that no soul in a ten li radius of their residence would be bothered, have a feeling, perform an arbitrary glance above the height of any normal man and look at the house “Just because.” And see him make an idiot of himself just before the oil bubbles! His panicked, yet acrobatic flip inside bought a soft thump to the wood. A darkness without the light’s moon to save, except for the attempt at one crawling through behind him. Thankfully, his keen senses by virtue of both his breeding and training, granted an ability to adjust to this lack.

It was a closet, or… a rather forgotten one. He raised an eyebrow, That qilin cup could go for a price on the market, and instead, its resting place is desecrated with cobwebs and dust. Closed crates and the absolute, godawful serious irritation coming at his nose made him consider that, whatever else is in here, it’s been for decades and will be going forward. Grisla’s lungs had misplaced his breath, however; touching the door’s knob would be, the next gamble. To dive into an enemy’s stronghold and no map as his guide was, as Seri advised, obviously silly. But what choice did he have?

Like now, like everything forward, choice is but an illusion. He opened the door slowly; eyes glued to the widening crack dedicated to miss no detail. Suddenly, he pulled it back closed. Ears nearly installing itself as an addition to the door.

Sound… of something. Vague, but coming his way. No alien sound or hint will be passed, he hadn’t the privilege of doing so, if he cares about keeping four limbs. The hallway’s disturbance was more distinct. Footsteps and talking.

“…man who deserves nothing of our approval; for he has spat upon us, a greater disrespect than one he could ever bother for the lowest filth that wanders in his destitute shop!” A feminine voice that demanded obedience, in all forms. He had no choice but to hear hers first, for it was a type that dominated whatever environment it was placed like a great beast.

It was a woman he knew. And, Grisla’s heart wanted to take the time to constrict itself before the woman did it for him. The window wasn’t going anywhere.

“I see as you do but…” This voice was of course, masculine, if a bit high, “The simple fact is, short of lambasting the old tree there’s nothing the Patriarch can do. He has been occupied with these guests, as you know, and—”

A pause without preamble. The woman, none other than Fang Lingbei; second most powerful individual in the clan (with the exclusion of the almighty and seemingly immortal Ancestor), in both bureaucratic and real power, she has it all; the Matriarch, the only. Her companion it took a breath to remember and pronounce it correctly in his head, but that man could be Fang Gongro, her husband. Fang Lai’s parents.

It didn’t help the current situation! Why did they pause, and, why was there nothing said in the span of, possibly, the longest minute he’s ever experienced? The window was still there; and they were too. Certainly, in that hallway would be a powerhouse who could make Lower and Upper District reforms without warning. As a matter of fact, the very woman who stood in the hallway just outside a barrier of wood was responsible for the awful education set for him after his falling.

With that, the hate for her and the hate for the Grittus were separate. And, he was already trying to fulfill one delusional vendetta.

He could hear them. Their breath, the small shifts of their robes as any human couldn’t be a statue standing idle. But not a word, or a whisper came. Glancing over his shoulder once more, he thought, This is suicide! Seri and Olimuth were right! I–I must leave. There’s no way to proceed. Who does a sudden stop like that, just as I sit listening? They know. They must. This is the problem with my short journey upon the Path; compared to them, I know thing! I could’ve activated ten formations and woke a bull while ignorant to my folly!

Regardless, he was trapped. Move or twitch, and he will die. But—stay and he will die too! Perhaps, if he booked it to the window and flung himself as hard as his legs could push, he’ll leave nothing but the closet’s dust to claim. No. Ridiculous. I must assume they’re just as fast, if not greater than my own! A great outstripping that’d be laughable to try.

Leave or stay. But being incognizant, he’d made his decision to do nothing. So, the scythe was on its way.

Then footsteps. Hurried, too. Grisla wondered if a man could live, subtracted of his skin. A single newcomer came, but these footsteps bled and, as he could tell, fell into humbleness; the kind you wouldn’t miss, and, could instantaneously infer as to their status in a household by it. The kind that served.

“What?” the Matriarch said, irritated.

Grisla assumed that shuffling of cloth was the servant’s bow.

This servant said, “the young master is sleeping now.” And got the Matriarch’s snort in reply.

“My son won’t be dreaming. Even while at rest he’ll be tortured again surely; such a shame will follow into his world of dreams,” she said, and with a sudden snarl, the venom so tangible it probably shined her teeth, “Orlith. Orlith. Orlith. It’s always one! Meng should’ve exterminated their number ages ago! It’s heaven’s luck their people slowly faded away through time’s touch. But with two, there’s this much trouble! How could they be tolerated in Meng’s grandfather’s time, where they had as many numbers as any of the great families. I’ve ruined my son—ruined it all because I left the Orlith’s to their fate and saw fit to let their sin strangle them, I always said Meng was much too obsessive about them, and look what it’s delivered! He was right! Always!”

…A mountain descended upon his shoulders. The incalculable mass had its presence on his shoulders and heart—a hand he could only think of as hers held it firm. It had no equal to Fang Lai, Olimuth Banrei, Xinrei Grittus or even the signs he felt from Jadestone—the comparison warranted death in offense. Her aura… is boundless.

In the talks that came in the morning, the first topic to nobility and cultivator, was as to what could ever make a woman so furious as to blanket the entire village with the absolute feeling of insignificance. Weaker souls were lost that day. In decades, there’s never been a situation that demanded the demure woman at the Patriarch’s side to prick those that grabbed her stem. The foolish concluded that the Matriarch hadn’t accomplished much on the Path at all. They were some of the first to be drowned in this unknown presence.

But someone sighed. The world resting on Grisla vanished to nothingness, as though it were a figment of his imagining, so real he would need to speak to someone. It did not change much, for he was a naked man in the artic.

“I am but a speck on the river of fate. So be it. However, our revenge—Lai’s—will be known to all. For just this once, I will allow our family to reveal an arm from the shadow,” Matriarch Lingbei said.

That terrified him as much as the informing of her capability.

“Lingbei,” her husband said, the half-second gap made Grisla imagine that the man must’ve hesitated, “do you mean—”

“Yes. Call them.”

The Guild, possibly? Grisla wasn’t sure of their position in this tangle. He could be fighting endlessly, if he extended his own rage to include associates and chickens that fed them. He had to prioritize. Such fancies are only granted to women such as this.

“Gihren may’ve vanished to save his own life, but the Shadow Company laughs at the vainness. Give them my order: Alive and in agony, as if he’s already been delivered to me. Keep it that way while they drag him back.”

“Yes, of course,” her husband said submissively. Makes a man wonder as to who proposed their marriage in the first place—and who was the one to initiate the consummation?

That was likely gossip he’d just discovered and now ages past. There was a moment of pause, so after he could imagine that they remembered the servant girl was still present.

“As for you,” Matriarch Lingbei said, exhaustion coloring her voice, “Go. If he has anything to say, no matter how trivial I want it brought to me.”

Shuffling of cloth again—a final bow of respect before dismissal. The servant’s footsteps slowly died at the edge of his hearing. But the ice in his joints hadn’t left in the slightest.

“We’ll keep him here. Isolated. If he doesn’t calm down the whole of the clan will hear of my little Lai’s mistake—a disgrace they’ll call it. Any who speak of it as so in my presence dies.” It didn’t sound toothless.

“Mine as well.”

“Shall we, too, head for bed, husband?”

“I am feeling it. Let’s depart.”

Onward, their steps to a direction they’ve already been traveling. Even after the hints of their presence vanished beyond him, he waited a time almost long enough to watch paint go stale. Fear and caution. Fear and caution. And, feeling like it’s the most courageous thing he’s done, he also released a breath, but his knees let him scrape to the floor. Facing the window—his escape, his eyes hastily broke away to focus on the dark untouched.

Two hands cradled his medallion to heart.

That pause. It wasn’t coincidence. No, although I couldn’t see their body language to glean a smidge of possible intent, they had reason. They always do. But why? If it were sudden, they didn’t acknowledge it as mentionable. Not at all, it was like routine, he blinked, Unless…?

The servant. They knew she was coming. Grisla’s eyes found the exit again.

They heard her.

Even while in the throes of her wrath, the old woman’s hearing could be more than double my own! And that’s just her! I didn’t hear her until she was exactly in the hallway, but how far she could’ve been, where did she come from? If I had done so much as a sniffle…

He shivered.

Were they waiting all that time just for a servant girl not to hear so much as a letter of their words?That’s a family of espionage and secretive administrators for you. He’d laugh, but the thought hurt.

Remembering, Grisla touched the doorknob and swung the door wide open. He heard three breaths, no more. Both ends of the royally lit, lavishly decorated corridor with enough berth to space five men were devoid of a sentry. Maybe, he did luck out—it should happen that possibly the floor of this closet is part of a restricted area, private for members of the household. He sneered. That arrogance of them again.

They figure that, should anyone make it this far it won’t be them at risk—the clan might as well be in flames and occupied if an outsider, a wanted one at that, made it here. Counting on the enemy’s stupidity will trip him, surely, it’s just a question of when. Before that, he needs to make it to him.

Grisla Orlith stepped out; and he needn’t worry, as he gazed at a particular and soulless end of the hallway.

He already had a guide of sorts.