Embers of Dominion
The vault beneath the watchpost felt less like a refuge and more like the ribcage of some sleeping god.
Jin moved through its cold silence, every footstep echoing off walls carved in a language no living scholar could fully translate.
Daigo trailed him, arms full of scavenged supplies. The boy had not asked again about the Eclipsed Moon token. Nor had Jin volunteered an answer.
He paused before a relief that stretched across one long wall—a mural etched in graceful lines, showing figures in flowing robes raising a sphere of lightning between their outstretched palms.
Sovereigns.
Their eyes were empty hollows, yet he felt them watching him as if they knew he would stand here one day.
Integration: 62%.
He laid a hand against the cold stone. For a moment, the Circuit's currents surged, and the relief seemed to shiver under his palm.
Daigo shifted uneasily behind him.
"It feels like the walls are…listening," the boy whispered.
"They are."
He turned away before he could say more.
They reached a chamber set apart from the main vault—its entrance marked by an arch of black jade. Inside, stone plinths stood in a semicircle, each supporting a single object: a scroll, a blade of dull iron, a lacquered mask.
Jin's gaze lingered on the mask. Its surface was smooth and dark as a pool of oil, reflecting nothing.
Daigo's voice was hushed. "What is this place?"
"A reliquary," Jin murmured. "Or a tomb."
He stepped closer. The scroll unrolled itself at his approach, unfurling a tapestry of characters that shifted and writhed as if alive.
The Circuit reached eagerly for the glyphs—deciphering their meaning faster than he could think.
Technique Archive—Sovereign Codex, Fragment One.
Dominion of the Inner Meridian.
Lines of instruction carved themselves into his mind: how to direct lightning through the meridian gates, how to flood one's blood with conductive qi without burning the vessels to ash.
Integration: 63%.
He closed his eyes and let the knowledge settle. Each heartbeat felt brighter, heavier.
When he opened them again, Daigo was watching him as if he expected lightning to erupt without warning.
"What did it show you?" the boy asked.
"Power," Jin said simply.
He turned from the scroll. The blade next—its hilt wrapped in leather so old it flaked under his fingers. When he lifted it, the iron felt far heavier than its size should allow.
Arashi-Bane.
The name formed unbidden in his thoughts. A relic forged to kill his ancestors.
Daigo drew a sharp breath. "That sword—"
"Leave it," Jin interrupted. He replaced the weapon on its plinth. "It is not time."
The mask was last. He studied its blank surface, feeling the Circuit stir as if tasting an old adversary.
He did not touch it.
Instead, he stepped back.
"Help me prepare this chamber," he ordered. "We will train here."
Daigo nodded, swallowing hard.
They worked in silence for hours—clearing debris, dragging ancient tables into a semblance of order. By nightfall, they had transformed the reliquary into something like a war room.
Maps unrolled across the largest table—some old enough to crumble at a breath. Yet under the Circuit's analysis, every faded line became clear.
He traced the roads and borders with one finger, feeling the truth of the hidden network that underpinned every dynasty.
"Look," he murmured.
Daigo stepped closer.
"These old ley lines," Jin continued. "See how they converge here? Not by chance."
Daigo's eyes widened. "A confluence."
"Yes."
In that moment, he understood why the watchpost had been built over the vault. Why the throne above had been shattered but never removed.
It was not a mere ruin. It was an anchor—one that could tie the Circuit's power to the land itself.
Integration: 64%.
Thunder rumbled distantly, though the sky above the ridge was clear.
He lifted his gaze to the shadowed vault roof.
"This is where it begins," he said softly.
Daigo looked uneasy. "Begins?"
"My dominion."
The boy swallowed. "And if no one accepts it?"
"They will," Jin said. "Or they will be broken."
He turned away before the conversation could sour further.
---
Later, as the vault fell silent save for Daigo's slow breathing, Jin sat alone on the dais. Lightning coiled across his palms in slow arcs.
Every surge felt less like borrowed power and more like the beat of a second heart.
Integration: 65%.
He thought of Renji—of the clan that had tried to use him as a pawn.
He thought of the woman from the Eclipsed Moon—her silver mask glinting in the dark.
And he thought of the mask on the plinth, waiting for someone bold—or mad—enough to claim it.
---
Before dawn, a sound reached him: the rasp of iron striking stone.
He rose in silence, one hand lifting. Lightning spilled down his arm in a bright sheath.
The vault's main passage yawned dark. A shadow moved within it—a tall figure clad in a weathered cloak.
He stepped forward to meet it, each footfall steady.
"Who comes?" he called.
The figure paused just beyond the reach of the lamplight.
Then a woman's voice answered—low and roughened by travel:
"One who heard the storm's cry."
She stepped into view. Her cloak fell open to reveal a battered cuirass etched with swirling sigils. A spear rested across her shoulders.
Daigo stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes.
"Another one?" he mumbled.
Jin ignored him.
The woman lifted her chin. Her gaze, when it met his, held no fear—only a fierce, assessing curiosity.
"They say you are the last Sovereign," she said. "I have come to see if the tale was true."
Lightning flickered across his knuckles.
"And if it is?"
She smiled.
"Then I will follow."
Integration: 66%.
---
By sunrise, her name was known to them both: Kasane, once a captain of the Jade Banner, a mercenary legion shattered in the Eastern Wars.
She bore the scars of twenty battles—and the haunted calm of one who had nothing left to lose.
As the three of them stood around the ancient maps, Jin felt the shape of something beginning.
A nucleus.
An army in its infancy.
He looked at Kasane, at Daigo, and at the dark vault beyond.
"Others will come," he said softly.
Daigo swallowed. "Enemies?"
"Allies."
Lightning glimmered across the maps, outlining the borders he meant to erase.
"And when they do," he continued, "we will be ready."
---
The day passed in quiet preparation.
Kasane proved tireless—training in the old courtyard, her spear whistling through the air with practiced brutality. When she returned to the vault, sweat steaming from her skin, she regarded Jin without pretense.
"You've claimed the Circuit," she said. "You intend to claim more."
"Yes."
"And the Eclipsed Moon?"
"I will not be ruled by hidden cabals."
A small smile curved her scarred mouth. "Good."
That night, as storm clouds gathered beyond the ridge, Daigo lit a dozen lamps around the dais.
In their flickering glow, Jin closed his eyes.
Integration: 67%.
The Circuit whispered to him—not in words, but in currents of possibility.
He saw a thousand futures branching before him.
In all of them, only one truth remained constant.
He would never kneel again.