Chapter Twenty-Eight: Vigilance

The Temple of Ascendance stood resolute, its white jade walls marred with bloodstains, the steps a grim testament to the fallen—masked attackers' bodies piled in dark-robed heaps, blades scattered amid crimson pools. The academy's defenders had prevailed, their qi a blazing shield against the shadowed tide, three weeks after Roderic Vane unearthed the relic that surged his Middle Initiate qi four times stronger than peers, two weeks of that time spent meditating within these walls.

In the temple's shadowed council chamber, Grandmistress Lirien Veyra summoned the elders—Maris Veyle, Torin Kael, and Gavric Dorn and about 20 more elders, her veiled figure glowing softly, voice resonant as she spoke. "Elders, convene," she commanded, standing at the head of a long, polished table, her silver-gold robe shimmering as she gestured them to sit. Maris settled—her platinum hair tied back, emerald eyes sharp—Tobin loomed beside her, his iron-gray robe taut over his broad frame, Gavric leaned forward, emerald robe creased, bald scalp gleaming with sweat from the battle.

This was no random assault," Lirien began, voice a steel-threaded melody, hands clasped. "They hunted a shard—a fragment of the Shattered Veil, a sect lost seven centuries past in the Veil War."

A gray-robed elder leaned forward, voice gruff. "Shattered Veil? Explain."

Lirien's veil pulsed, tone sinking into a grave cadence. "A sect of heretics—cultivators who defied the heavens, crafting a core from shards fused with spirit and chaos, a lattice of power rivaling immortals. Founded by Veyris the Unbroken, they sought dominion—binding qi through rituals of flesh, dual cultivation with spirits drawn from the void. Their core surged them beyond mortal limits—Initiates to Core Formation in years, Nascent Soul in decades—razing Hearth Hollow in their conquest, villages burned to ash, skies blackened with their qi. The Five Clans—our forebears—rose in the Veil War, shattering their core after a decade of blood, scattering its fragments. This shard—one of dozens—was sealed, its qi a veiled wildfire, a taboo relic of ruin."

Maris's eyes narrowed, voice sharp. "Taboo how? What's its power?"

"It amplifies qi—raw, insatiable," Lirien replied, voice a low murmur heavy with warning. "Through dual cultivation—flesh and spirit entwined—it channels chaos into strength, surging wielders beyond reason. Veyris's lieutenants wielded it—Middle Initiates became Core Formation in a decade, their qi a blaze that devoured foes. But it's a curse—its power feeds on the wielder, a hunger that grows. Journals from the war speak of them—bodies crumbling mid-battle, qi turning inward, flesh searing to ash as chaos consumed their souls, leaving husks where men once stood. The Shattered Veil fell not just to blades, but to their own greed—hundreds perished by its hand, their might a pyre they couldn't quench."

Torin grunted, fists tightening. "If it's that dangerous, why hunt it? Who'd wield it?"

"Fools or madmen," Lirien said, eyes glinting. "Its lure is power—swift, vast—but the taboo is its end: it consumes all who dare, a death sentence masked as a gift. They seek it—risking ruin—because its echo calls to the desperate."

Gavric's voice cut in, sharp. "And it's here? Hidden—or held?"

"I sense it—a faint pulse, cloaked," Lirien answered, tone firm. "Only cultivators of my strength—or greater—can feel its whisper, but its place eludes me. It's within reach—drawing these shadows—a beacon they'll chase again."

A silver-robed elder spoke, voice steady. "You're sure it's what they want—not the temple?"

"Yes," Lirien said, veil glowing brighter. "The temple was a feint—this shard is their prize. I need your absolute loyalty—your eyes on every flicker, every whisper of power. Report any sign—odd qi, relics unearthed, surges beyond reason. This is the beginning—more will strike."

An emerald-clad elder nodded, stern. "Sworn—I'll root it out."

Another—iron-robed—grunted. "Mine too—let them come, I'll bury them."

Maris vowed, "My word—nothing escapes me."

Torin rumbled, "Pledged—I'll crush any trace."

Gavric added, "Oath—I'll slice through shadows."

Over twenty voices swore—oaths binding them—Lirien's tone final. "Be relentless—we stand or fall by this." They dispersed, qi humming as they left.

Meanwhile, the academy stirred back to life—cleaners in gray tunics swept bloodied stones, their brooms rasping against jade, piling corpses into carts that creaked under the weight, the stench of death clinging to their hands. Builders hammered—nails biting wood, mallets thudding as they patched splintered dorm walls, their sweat dripping onto fresh planks. Students resumed—novices in red robes shuffled to lessons, qi flickering faintly as they practiced, adepts in green drilled in courtyards, blades clashing with sharp rings, seniors in silver-blue sparred with focused grunts—all moving as if the blood hadn't yet dried, their voices a low murmur of resilience.

Roderic stood near his dorm—red robe torn, hands bruised from the fight—watching the bustle, his qi simmering, Middle Initiate strength pulsing from the relic he'd found three weeks ago, unaware it had drawn the shadows. A familiar voice cut through—"Roderic!"—and Tansy rushed up, chestnut curls bouncing, green eyes wide with worry, freckled face pale as she gripped his arm, smock streaked with dust from her haste.

"Tansy?" he said, grin breaking through exhaustion, hazel eyes glinting as he steadied her. "You're here—heard about the attack?"

"News flew—masked killers, blood everywhere," she said, voice trembling, hands clutching his robe. "I ran—had to see you're okay. You fought?"

"Yeah—not up front, but enough," he said, voice steady, brushing her curls back. "Held my own—still here."

She exhaled, relief softening her gaze, freckles stark against her flush. "Gods—I thought… you're safe. It's bad—how many died?"

"Too many—novices, adepts," he said, tone dropping, qi flickering faintly. "Kaelin, Torv—gone. Elders stopped it—Lirien too."

"Lirien?" Tansy's eyes widened, awe threading her voice. "The Grandmistress? She fought?"

"Didn't—showed after," he said, shrugging, unaware of her vigil. "Spoke—honored the dead, fired us up. We're rebuilding."

"Good—she's legend," Tansy said, squeezing his arm, voice firming. "You're tough—proud of you."

"Thanks," he grinned, warmth spreading, qi steady. " You should go...it's not so safe now." She nodded, bade him goodbye and left.

Roderic stood near his dorm—red novice robe torn—watching Tansy's retreating figure, her chestnut curls bouncing as she disappeared down the path, her green eyes' relief lingering in his mind. Her smock, dusted from her rush to check on him, faded into the crowd of weary students shuffling back to their routines. "Stay safe," she'd said, squeezing his arm, freckled face beaming pride before leaving—her words a warmth that steadied his qi, the endless flow pulsing in his core, a gift from the relic he carried, its power a ceaseless well keeping fatigue at bay.

Every other cultivator who survived the masked attackers' assault slumped—burnt out, their qi dim, faces pale as they recuperated, breaths shallow, hands trembling from the strain. Novices in red robes leaned against walls, eyes half-closed, qi flickering weakly as they nursed cuts and bruises. Adepts in green sat cross-legged, meditating in tight clusters, their blades sheathed, qi a faint shimmer as exhaustion dragged them down. Seniors in silver-blue moved slower—sparring paused—some lying flat, chests heaving, qi spent from shielding the weaker, the survivors' weariness hung heavy, a stark contrast to Roderic's vigor, his relic's qi surging unbroken.

He turned, boots scuffing stone, heading to Cressida's dorm—her worn look from the battle flashing in his mind, violet eyes dim, qi faltering as she'd thrown ice to shield novices, her silver-blue robe whipping in the chaos. He'd fought nearby—not at the forefront, his Middle Initiate strength not yet elder-tier—but close enough to see her strain, her breaths ragged as she held the line. At her door, he knocked—sharp raps echoing—and Lira opened it, chestnut hair loose, tan skin flushed, a faint smile curving her lips.

"Roderic—here for Cressida?" she asked, voice soft, stepping aside.

"Yeah—how's she holding up?" he said, hazel eyes glinting, leaning against the frame.

"Meditating—needs rest," Lira replied, folding her arms. "She's worn out—told me no visitors. Battle took a lot—she's been at it since."

He nodded, recalling her ice flaring, qi thinning—worn but fierce. "Glad she's okay. You?"

Her smile widened, eyes brightening. "Better—my qi surged after the fight. Felt it—stronger, steady, like a spark turned to flame."

"That's great," he grinned, warmth spreading—her surge a mystery he tied to their night, though he kept it silent. "How's it feel?"

"Like I've woken up," she said, voice lifting. "Strange—but good. You're not tired?"

"Nah—kept going," he shrugged, the relic's endless qi a secret humming in his core—no fatigue, just power. "Walk?"

She nodded—they strolled, boots scuffing stone, his voice lightening the air. "Fought this guy—dodged his blade, hit him so hard he flew into Barnaby's wind qi. Tangled up, fell like a sack—laughed mid-fight, dumbest thing."

Lira laughed—clear, bright, a sound cutting through the gloom. "You're mad—hilarious, though.

She doubled over, giggling. "Gods—meet tonight? My quarters?"

"Tonight—your place," he agreed, a spark flaring—they parted, plans set.