Patriarch Ormond Vey did not ask whether his son had suffered.
He asked how he had lost.
The answer took longer than it should have.
That irritated him.
The Vey family residence occupied a respectable courtyard in Blue Port’s Noble District.
Not large enough to impress the City’s great families.
Large enough that ordinary merchants lowered their voices when passing its gates.
Ormond sat at the head of the reception room.
Qi Condensation.
Eighth Layer.
Gray beginning at his temples.
Broad hands resting against dark wood.
Garran’s body had already been prepared for burial.
There would be incense.
Guests.
Appropriate words.
Ormond was more interested in the report.
“Again.” The Green Trail member standing before him swallowed.
“Garran encountered Elena Ward during the Green Feather Pigeon commission.” “I know that.” “She states that he demanded the five spirit stones she received at the Yearly Gathering.” “Her statement.” “Yes, Patriarch.” “And?” “He threatened her.” “And?” The man hesitated.
“He offered to take her as a concubine if she behaved.” Ormond stared at him.
“That sounds like Garran.” The man wisely said nothing.
“Then they fought.” “Yes.” “My son was Third Layer.” “Yes, Patriarch.” “Ward is Second.” “Yes.” Ormond’s fingers tapped once against the table.
“How did she kill him?” “She first struck him with a bound artifact arrow.” Ormond’s expression changed slightly.
“There.” That at least made sense.
“A Grade One artifact?” “Yes.” “Poisoned?” “Blackmarsh Needle Viper fang, according to Green Trail.” “Then the arrow killed him.” “No, Patriarch.” Silence.
Ormond’s fingers stopped.
“No?” “The venom had begun affecting him, and the arrow injured his thigh.” “But?” “He continued fighting.” Ormond slowly leaned back.
“Then what killed him?” The messenger looked increasingly interested in being somewhere else.
“A dagger wound beneath the ribs.” Silence.
Ormond looked at him.
“A dagger.” “Yes, Patriarch.” “Ward is an archer.” “Yes.” “Does she practice sword arts?” “Not that anyone knows.” “Saber?” “No.” “Spear?” “No.” “A dagger inheritance?” The man hesitated.
“No formal one that Green Trail knows of.” Ormond stood.
The chair struck the floor behind him.
“Third Layer!” His palm slammed onto the table.
CRACK.
A fracture ran through the wood.
“Pills!” Another strike.
CRACK.
“Tutors!” The messenger took one step backward.
“Weapons!” Ormond’s face twisted.
“I spent twenty years telling people that fool would reach high-stage before thirty!” The table split beneath his hand.
“All those resources on him—for nothing!” Nobody spoke.
Ormond breathed heavily.
Then slowly looked toward the covered body visible through the adjoining room.
“Second Layer.” His voice became quieter.
“Wounded by an arrow.” “Finished with a dagger.” His lip curled.
“Useless.” The messenger lowered his head.
That was when another Vey family member entered.
He bowed.
“Patriarch.” “What?” “There is another matter.” Ormond did not like that sentence.
“Speak.” “People are talking.” Of course they were.
“What are they saying?” The younger man hesitated.
Ormond’s gaze hardened.
“Speak.” “Someone at the eastern market asked whether the Vey family still intends to announce when Garran reaches high-stage.” The room became very still.
The younger man continued reluctantly.
“Another said perhaps we should boast more quietly next time.” Ormond closed his eyes.
There it was.
Not the corpse.
Not the three lost spirit stones.
Not the sword Green Trail had allowed Elena to claim.
Those were nothing.
This was the wound.
For years, Ormond had presented Garran as proof that the younger Vey generation was rising.
Talent.
Resources.
A promising future.
A son who would reach high-stage before thirty.
Now the story circulating through Blue Port was simpler.
Garran Vey.
Third Layer.
Killed by Elena Ward.
Second Layer.
An archer.
With a dagger.
Ormond opened his eyes.
“Where does the girl live?” “She works closely with Voss Appraisals.” “Family?” “Ward family.” Ormond frowned.
“Which Ward family?” The answer came quietly.
“The one whose patriarch is Foundation Establishment.” Ormond’s anger stopped.
Not vanished.
Stopped.
That was different.
“Certain?” “Yes.” Someone farther down the room muttered: “Then Garran truly chose well.” Ormond looked toward him.
The speaker immediately found the floor fascinating.
Another relative asked: “Patriarch…
if Green Trail will not punish her, perhaps we should.” Ormond stared at him.
“Do you wish to explain to a Foundation Establishment cultivator why his junior died by Vey hands?” The man stiffened.
“Would the Ward patriarch truly begin a feud over one girl?” Ormond’s expression became contemptuous.
“Would you like to wager our family on the answer?” “No, Patriarch.” “Good.” He sat again.
The broken table leaned beneath his hands.
“Green Trail’s ruling?” “Self-defense during an attempted robbery.” “And Cole?” “Senior Cole’s people are distancing themselves from Garran.” That earned a bitter laugh.
“Naturally.” No Ninth Layer cultivator attempting to win Green Trail wanted people saying his faction sent men to rob profitable junior members.
Garran had made himself politically inconvenient even in death.
Ormond looked toward the covered body again.
One mistake after another.
One humiliation after another.
Finally he said: “Bring me everything we know about Elena Ward.” The younger man bowed.
“Patriarch?” “Her missions.” “Her companions.” “Where she cultivates.” “Where she eats.” “How often she leaves Blue Port.” Understanding slowly appeared.
The man lowered his voice.
“But the Ward family—” Ormond looked at him.
“Nobody can avenge you if nobody ever learns who killed you.” No one spoke after that.
At Voss Appraisals, Ciel was trying to convince a pigeon claw to become useful.
The claw was resisting.
She held it between two metal clamps.
A thin strip of spirit bamboo lay beside it.
Three green feathers occupied the rest of the worktable.
Mara watched from a safe distance.
“You attached it backward.” Ciel frowned.
“I did not.” “The point is facing your hand.” Ciel looked.
The point was facing her hand.
“…I was testing.” “Your ability to bleed?” Ciel reversed the claw.
Across the room, Elena sat with her injured shoulder wrapped beneath loose clothing.
Her new Earthhorn Bow rested beside her.
She had spent the morning discovering an unexpected disadvantage of finally owning a proper cultivator weapon.
Her shoulder hurt too much to draw it properly.
This offended her deeply.
Ciel looked over.
“Stop touching the bandage.” “I’m not.” “You are.” “I was checking it.” “With your finger.” “That’s generally how checking works.” Mara ignored them both.
Ciel returned to the worktable.
The idea had looked simpler in her head.
That had become a recurring problem.
A folding fan was not complicated.
Mortals made them.
Spirit materials were also not inherently complicated.
The problem appeared when one attempted to combine: a mortal mechanism, Green Feather Pigeon feathers, claws capable of scratching iron, Qi-conductive ribs, and an array that needed to release power in the direction of the fan’s movement— without causing the artifact to disassemble itself.
Her first attempt had lasted four breaths.
Then one claw cut through two feathers.
The second refused to open.
The third opened extremely well.
It did not close.
Mara had called that progress.
Ciel suspected sarcasm.
Now she was constructing the fourth.
“Why claws?” Elena asked.
Ciel did not look up.
“Because you had a dagger.” “I still have a dagger.” “Yes.” “So?” “If somebody gets close enough that the wind doesn’t help…” Ciel tapped the claw.
“…this should.” Elena considered.
The structure contained eleven ribs.
Every few ribs, one Green Feather Pigeon claw had been fixed along the outer edge.
When opened, the claws were separated.
When closed— they came together near the tip.
Not perfectly.
Not elegantly.
But enough to turn the closed fan into something between a short baton and a cluster of hooked blades.
Elena picked up an unused claw.
Pressed it carefully against a scrap of iron.
It scratched.
“That will hurt.” “That’s the idea.” Ciel paused.
Then added: “Preferably not enough to kill someone.” Mara looked over.
“That depends strongly on where you put it.” Ciel frowned.
“I know.” She knew more about that now than she wanted to.
Her eyes drifted toward Elena’s shoulder.
Garran Vey was dead.
Elena was alive.
Ciel was grateful.
She was also disturbed by how narrow the difference had been.
If Garran had been one layer stronger.
If Elena’s arrow had missed.
If her dagger had slipped.
If Kell had taken longer.
If.
If.
If.
Ciel hated that word.
The fan was something she could do about one of them.
Not win the fight.
Not defeat someone stronger.
Just create distance.
Sometimes distance was enough.
Ciel engraved the final line beneath the pivot.
Mara leaned closer.
“Too deep.” Ciel stopped.
“It needs to carry Qi.” “It also needs to remain a fan after the first activation.” Ciel looked at the groove.
Then at the thin bamboo.
She sighed.
“Too deep.” “Yes.” Ciel filled part of the inscription with resin and started again.
Elena watched.
“You know, Myriad Scales probably has apprentices who can do this in one attempt.” Ciel glanced toward her.
“Would you like to buy one from them?” “How much?” “I don’t know.” “Then continue.” Mara smiled.
“Friendship.” The finished prototype was not beautiful.
Not yet.
The outer ribs were slightly uneven.
The claws did not match perfectly.
The feathers came from different birds and varied in shade.
One was dark jade.
Another nearly yellow-green.
The bindings were thicker than Ciel wanted.
But it opened.
It closed.
And nothing fell off.
That constituted success.
Ciel carried it into the small rear courtyard.
Mara followed.
Elena followed more slowly.
Nora stood in the doorway.
“Should I move anything breakable?” Ciel looked around.
“No.” Mara said: “Yes.” Nora moved two ceramic pots.
Ciel frowned.
“I haven’t even tested it.” “Experience.” Ciel opened the fan.
The green feathers spread in a broad arc.
Small claws curved between several sections.
Closed, they had looked aggressive.
Open, they almost disappeared into the design.
Almost.
Ciel liked that.
Something elegant.
Something dangerous only when necessary.
She placed her thumb against the activation point.
Threaded Qi into it.
Her Qi had no elemental nature.
That was normally a disadvantage.
Or, at best, nothing.
Here— the Green Feather material accepted it.
Not perfectly.
The feathers trembled.
A faint green shimmer appeared along their shafts.
Air began moving around Ciel’s wrist.
“How much?” Mara asked.
“Very little.” “More.” Ciel increased the flow.
The fan vibrated.
She swung.
FWOOM.
Air struck the practice dummy.
It rocked.
Dust rushed across the courtyard.
Nora’s skirt snapped around her ankles.
Three loose papers escaped through the doorway.
Mara’s head turned slowly.
Ciel froze.
“Those weren’t important.” Mara stared.
“They were invoices.” “…Recoverable invoices.” Nora was already chasing them.
Elena laughed hard enough to hurt her shoulder.
Then stopped laughing.
“Ow.” Ciel lowered the fan.
“But it worked.” Mara ignored the disappearing paperwork.
“Again.” They tested it properly.
Not against people.
Mara insisted on that.
Mostly.
A weighted wooden dummy stood on a rough track.
Ciel activated the fan with the same measured amount of Qi each time.
Swing.
Movement.
Reset.
Again.
After several tests, Mara crossed her arms.
“The material isn’t accepting everything.” “Because I’m neutral?” “Likely.” “How much am I losing?” Mara considered the distances.
“Roughly a fifth.” Ciel looked at the fan.
“So about eighty percent.” “Approximately.” That was acceptable.
More than acceptable.
The artifact was made from Wind/Wood-attributed spirit materials.
Ciel had no matching affinity at all.
Yet the physical artifact structure still allowed her to use most of its intended effect.
Elena held out her hand.
“My turn.” Ciel hesitated.
“Your shoulder.” “My other arm works.” “That’s not how fans—” “My turn.” Ciel handed it over.
Elena opened the fan.
It looked better in her hand.
Ciel found that irritating.
Elena injected the same amount of Qi.
The feathers trembled.
Barely.
She swung.
fwff.
The dummy did not move.
A few grains of dust did.
Elena stared.
“It’s broken.” Ciel took offense.
“It worked.” “For you.” Mara held out one hand.
“Again.” Elena fed in more Earth Qi.
Swing.
A weak gust.
More.
Swing.
Stronger.
More.
By the time the dummy moved approximately as far as Ciel’s had, Elena was visibly annoyed.
Mara nodded.
“About twice her consumption.” Elena slowly looked at Ciel.
“You made me an artifact that hates me.” “It doesn’t hate you.” “Your fan just charged me double.” “Wood controls Earth.” “That’s worse.” Ciel took the fan back.
“The point isn’t efficiency.” “Convenient argument.” “The point is that if someone gets close—” “You want me to spend twice as much Qi.” “Once.” Ciel held up one finger.
“One strong burst.” “Then run.” Elena frowned.
Ciel continued.
“You don’t have to beat them.” “You don’t have to stand there.” “You don’t have to be stronger.” “Just make enough space.” Elena’s expression softened slightly.
Not much.
“How far?” “Against a cultivator?” Mara answered.
“Depends on realm, stance, body refinement, preparation and whether they are already moving.” Elena sighed.
“Of course.” “Against a comparable low-stage cultivator caught unprepared?” Mara considered.
“Several paces.” “Possibly more.” “Enough to break contact.” Elena looked at the fan again.
“Against a mortal?” Mara looked toward the weighted dummy.
“Do not test that.” Ciel swallowed.
The same burst that merely staggered a cultivator could throw a mortal violently.
Onto stone.
Into a wall.
Off a ledge.
Defensive did not mean harmless.
Nothing involving cultivators seemed to remain harmless for long.
Elena closed the fan.
The feathers disappeared between the ribs.
The claws converged near the end.
She tested the weight.
Then made a short stabbing motion toward the dummy.
One claw caught the wood.
Scrrk.
It left a deep mark.
Elena raised an eyebrow.
“That’s better.” “It’s not supposed to replace your dagger.” “No.” She turned it.
“But someone who thinks this is decoration might regret getting close.” That was exactly what Ciel wanted.
Mara approached.
“Poor balance.” Ciel’s satisfaction collapsed.
“What?” “The claw distribution pulls outward when closed.” Mara took the fan.
Tested it.
“Usable.” “Not good.” Ciel sighed.
“I know.” Mara handed it back.
“You are not Myriad Scales.” “I know.” “Good.” Ciel looked at the prototype.
Crude.
Uneven.
Imperfect.
Still— it worked.
That mattered.
Their first unexpected customer arrived that afternoon.
She was carrying a medicine case.
That was the first thing Ciel noticed.
The second was the smell.
Herbs.
Smoke.
Something bitter.
Something sweet.
The young woman looked perhaps nineteen.
Dark red-brown hair tied loosely behind her head.
A small burn scar marked one wrist.
Three condensed layers of Qi surrounded her.
Fire.
Ciel could not see the element directly.
Mara seemed to recognize it immediately from the girl’s aura and the faint heat that followed her movements.
The young woman placed a wrapped ceramic bottle on the counter.
“Master sent me for the appraisal.” Mara looked at it.
“Which master?” “Alchemist Rowan Pell.” Mara nodded.
That meant something to her.
“Leave it.” “He said not to leave it.” Mara looked at the girl.
The girl looked back.
“Then stand there.” “I was planning to.” Ciel liked her immediately.
Mara unwrapped the bottle.
While she worked, the apprentice’s attention wandered.
To Elena’s Earthhorn Bow.
To Ciel.
Then— to the fan.
“What is that?” Ciel looked down.
“A prototype.” “For what?” “Defense.” The girl tilted her head.
“It has Green Feather Pigeon feathers.” “Yes.” “And claws.” “Yes.” She stepped closer.
“Does it move air?” Ciel smiled slightly.
“Quite a lot.” “How much?” “Why?” The girl looked genuinely confused by the question.
“For a furnace.” Ciel blinked.
“What?” “Alchemy furnace.” She pointed at the fan.
“Does it move air consistently?” Elena began smiling.
Ciel ignored her.
“It can produce a short burst.” “That’s useful.” “It was designed to push attackers away.” The apprentice stared.
“Why would I waste it on attackers?” Elena covered her mouth.
Ciel looked offended.
The girl continued.
“Do you know how annoying it is to keep a charcoal furnace evenly fed for three hours?” “No.” “Very.” Apparently.
She held out her hand.
“Can I try it?” Mara answered without looking up.
“No.” Ciel said: “Yes.” Both looked at each other.
Mara’s expression won.
Ciel amended: “Carefully.” Mara closed her eyes.
They moved to the courtyard.
Again.
Nora silently removed the remaining papers first.
No one commented.
The apprentice took the fan.
“My name is Talia Renn.” “Ciel.” “I know.” Ciel paused.
“You do?” Talia opened the fan.
“You’re Senior Voss’s new disciple.” That made more sense.
Elena raised one hand.
“Elena.” “I know you too.” Elena touched the earring.
“This?” Talia nodded.
“Mostly.” “Wonderful.” Talia examined the fan.
“Where’s the activation?” Ciel showed her.
“Use very little Qi.” Talia looked mildly offended.
“I’m an alchemist.” Elena muttered: “Famous last words.” Talia injected Qi.
The reaction was immediate.
The green feather shafts illuminated.
But not green.
Red appeared at their bases.
Ciel frowned.
“That’s different.” Mara’s head snapped up.
“Stop.” Talia swung.
WHOOOM.
Fire crossed the courtyard.
Not a fireball.
Not a narrow technique.
A broad, violent sheet of flame followed the arc of the fan.
The practice dummy disappeared inside orange-red fire.
Heat slammed against Ciel’s face.
Elena threw herself backward.
Nora shouted from inside: “NOT AGAIN!” Ciel stared.
The dummy burned.
Talia stared.
Mara stared.
Elena looked at the fan.
Then at Talia.
Then at Ciel.
“Mine makes bad wind.” Ciel continued staring at the flames.
“Apparently.” “At twice the price.” “Yes.” “Hers sets people on fire.” “…Yes.” Elena folded her arms.
“I dislike your artifact.” Talia looked delighted.
“I want one.” Mara immediately recovered.
“This is an unfinished prototype.” “How much?” “It is not for sale.” Talia looked at Ciel.
Ciel looked at Mara.
Mara continued: “Yet.” There she was.
Ciel sighed.
Talia examined the fan.
The outer bindings had darkened.
Two feathers showed blackening near their bases.
One resin line had softened from heat.
Mara took it away.
“Fire stress.” Ciel looked closely.
“It wasn’t designed for that.” “No.” Talia leaned over them.
“Can you make one that is?” Ciel looked at the burned dummy.
Potentially.
The logic was obvious once she saw it.
Green Feather Pigeons were Wind beasts, but their spiritual nature leaned toward Wood.
Wood fed Fire.
Ciel’s neutral Qi entered imperfectly and let the feathers express Wind.
Elena’s Earth Qi fought against the structure.
Talia’s Fire Qi did something else entirely.
The artifact’s Wood nature did not resist it.
It fed it.
Mara looked at the distance the flames had traveled.
“How much Qi did you use?” Talia told her.
Mara looked back at the fan.
“More output than Ciel.” “How much?” “Perhaps twenty percent beyond full Wood resonance, if the pattern holds.” Ciel understood.
Roughly one hundred twenty percent.
Not as Wind.
As Fire.
Talia’s eyes brightened.
“So this is better for me than for her?” She pointed at Ciel.
“Yes.” Then Elena.
“Much better than for her?” Elena answered: “Don’t.” The danger became obvious a moment later.
A section of the practice dummy collapsed.
Burning.
Ciel imagined a person standing that close.
A mortal.
Clothes.
Hair.
Skin.
One swing.
Her stomach tightened.
“This isn’t a defensive artifact anymore.” Talia looked surprised.
“It can still defend you.” “By setting someone on fire.” “Very effective defense.” Mara nodded thoughtfully.
Ciel stared at both of them.
“No.” Mara looked at her.
“No?” “Not like this.” Talia frowned.
“Why?” Ciel gestured toward the fire.
“Because someone could die.” Elena, still bandaged, looked at her.
“They could die with the claws too.” “That’s different.” “How?” Ciel opened her mouth.
Closed it.
It was different.
But explaining why was harder.
The fan had begun as: make them farther away.
Now, with Fire Qi, it could become: make everything in front of you burn.
Mara seemed to understand.
“The artifact does not choose the user.” “No.” “Nor the user’s intention.” “No.” “Then design the safest version you reasonably can.” Ciel looked at the fan.
“And if someone uses it to kill?” Mara shrugged.
“Someone can use a kitchen knife to kill.” Elena added: “Someone can use a bow.” Talia looked toward the burning dummy.
“Someone can use an alchemy furnace.” Everyone turned toward her.
“What?” Apparently alchemy education involved experiences Ciel did not want explained.
They extinguished the dummy.
Mostly.
Talia remained fascinated.
“This would be excellent for furnace control.” Ciel stared at the blackened target.
“For a furnace.” “Yes.” “That?” “I would use less Qi.” “Good.” “Probably.” “Less comforting.” Talia smiled for the first time.
It transformed her face.
“I really want one.” Mara folded the prototype closed.
“Then return when we have something that survives Fire Qi.” “I don’t have many spirit stones.” Mara’s interest decreased visibly.
Talia noticed.
“But I have medicine.” Mara’s interest returned.
Immediately.
“What medicine?” Talia opened the case at her side.
Not the bottle she had brought for appraisal.
Another compartment.
She removed a small jade vial.
Mara stopped moving.
Ciel noticed.
Elena noticed.
Talia smiled.
“Deep Reservoir Qi Pills.” Mara’s eyes narrowed.
“Grade One.” “High-quality Grade One.” “For late Qi Condensation.” “Yes.” Ciel looked between them.
“Better than the Clear Current Pills?” Mara answered without taking her eyes from the vial.
“Much.” Ciel leaned away slightly.
The Clear Current Pill had felt violent when she was First Layer.
Apparently these were something she should not even look at too enthusiastically.
Talia shook the bottle.
“My master supervised the batch.” “You refined these?” “Most of the process.” “How many?” “Three.” Mara finally looked at her.
“What do you want?” Talia pointed toward the fan.
“One that doesn’t burn itself.” Then she considered.
“Two.” “Why two?” “My furnace assistant will steal mine.” Mara’s smile appeared slowly.
“Now we can discuss business.” That evening, after Talia left, Ciel sat at the worktable.
The prototype lay open before her.
One singed feather.
Darkened bindings.
Green claws.
A simple object that had already become more complicated than intended.
Elena sat opposite her.
“Still hate it?” Ciel asked.
“No.” “Really?” “I hate that Talia uses it better than me.” “That’s different.” “Very.” Ciel smiled.
Then glanced at Elena’s shoulder.
“Would it have helped?” Elena knew what she meant.
Against Garran.
She considered seriously.
“If I had opened it before he reached me?” “Maybe.” “If he didn’t expect it?” “Probably.” “Would you have run?” Elena looked toward her new Earthhorn Bow.
“Yes.” Ciel was surprised.
Elena saw it.
“I’m not stupid.” “You fought him.” “Because I didn’t have somewhere useful to run.” That stayed with Ciel.
The fan did not need to win.
It only needed to create another option.
Ciel touched one of the claws.
Closed it.
Opened it.
A weapon when closed.
Distance when open.
Wind for her.
Expensive Wind for Elena.
Fire for Talia.
And perhaps other things they had not discovered.
Mara came down from the observatory carrying the vial Talia had left as a sample for appraisal.
She set it beside the fan.
Her gaze stayed on the medicine for a moment longer than necessary.
Ciel noticed.
“Master.” “No.” “You don’t know what I was going to ask.” “You were going to ask whether those pills could help me reach Seventh Layer.” Ciel smiled.
“Could they?” Mara was silent.
That was answer enough.
Across Blue Port, Patriarch Ormond Vey received another report.
Elena Ward had purchased a proper cultivator bow.
Voss Appraisals had begun experimenting with Green Feather Pigeon materials.
The girl still worked regularly with Green Trail.
She still traveled outside the walls.
And, most annoyingly— she possessed an artifact capable of speaking to Voss Appraisals over great distances.
Ormond tapped one finger against the new table replacing the one he had broken.
“That earring.” “What about it, Patriarch?” “If she disappears while wearing it, people may know when communication stops.” “Yes.” “Senior Voss may ask questions.” “Yes.” “Green Trail may reconstruct her route.” “Possibly.” Ormond looked toward the dark window.
A public killing invited retaliation.
A known enemy invited investigation.
A body with Vey wounds invited war.
That would not do.
“Do nothing yet.” The family member bowed.
“Yes, Patriarch.” Then hesitated.
“And later?” Ormond’s eyes remained on the darkness.
“Later, we make sure there is no one left to explain what happened.” At Voss Appraisals, Ciel turned a singed green feather between her fingers.
At the Vey residence, a father planned how to erase a humiliation.
Neither girl knew that the most important thing Elena carried was no longer her bow.
It was the fact that, when danger came— someone might hear her call.