It ignited.
No—this was no ordinary fire.
It was a fire that thought.
The wave of flame unleashed by the Lord of Flame Qaz did not surge forward in a straight line. Instead, it fractured midair into seven separate streams, each curling around the white threads as though searching for a gap.
Karsu's fingers moved swiftly.
Three threads rose as a shield.
Two shot forward to attack.
One remained in reserve.
But—
From behind, he heard a faint rustle.
The sand was not attacking him directly. It was filling the empty spaces. Every grain of dust slipped between the threads, crawling toward his ankles, weighing down his movement.
Above, the Blood Eagle—or what remained of it—circled strangely. Not aggressively. Observing.
Relaying images to its distant master.
They were synchronizing.
Karsu noticed it—the subtle flashes of coordination. The Lord of Flame attacked when the sand shifted into cover. The Lord of Sand moved when the Blood Eagle positioned itself at a certain angle.
They were no longer acting alone.
Bit by bit, they were learning each other's rhythm.
This was dangerous.
—
Outside the warehouse walls—
It was no longer a mere summons.
It had become a race of prestige.
The six approaching Qaz Masters were not all allies of Fashar—indeed, no one truly liked Fashar—but they were bound by something greater: the defense of the Method of Val.
The fall of a noble meant chaos.
Chaos meant investigation.
Investigation meant questions no one wished to answer.
—
Rashid was running.
But not like ordinary men.
A man in his forties, gray streaking his temples, brown cloak fluttering behind him. Each step landed with unnatural softness, as if he read the ground before touching it.
He saw what others could not.
Pillars of mist rose from the warehouses like columns of smoke invisible to normal eyes. White. Blue. Red.
Each color signified a different Qaz.
And there—
They were violently intertwining.
Rashid was not afraid for Fashar.
He feared imbalance.
If a noble such as Fashar fell, the entire city would tremble. Shops would close. Patrols would double. The innocent would pay.
He increased his speed.
—
On a rooftop stood the Lord of Steam Qaz like a statue.
He did not run.
He did not sweat.
He simply… dissolved into the steam rising from nearby sewer vents. His body half-transparent, drifting with the currents of heated air.
His silver eyes fixed upon the distant pillars of mist.
This assault… is too organized to be mere theft.
He raised his hand.
The surrounding steam formed a small face that whispered into his ear:
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
"Three Lords inside. One fighter. White threads dominate."
The Lord of Steam nodded.
A thread wielder. Rare.
He stepped forward—
And vanished into vapor.
—
Across the street, the Lady of Glass Qaz was the first to halt.
A slender woman clad in leather, beneath which hung hundreds of tiny glass shards like ornaments. Long black hair. Wide eyes, as though seeing what others could not.
She stopped because she saw something unexpected.
In her hand was a small glass shard—Fashar's crystal.
It always glowed, indicating its owner lived. The Qaz Masters of Val used it to monitor their nobles from afar.
Now—
It was dark.
Dead.
She slowly lifted her gaze toward the clashing pillars of mist.
Severed. Not dead… but drained.
Her lips moved.
"Strange. Few know of the crystal system. Is the enemy from one of the Seven Absolute Clans? Or perhaps sent by one of the Three Gray Cities?"
She paused—then her brows tightened as she remembered the blood-mark linked to that pig—Fashar.
She stopped thinking.
Then shot forward like an arrow.
—
Within the battlefield—
Karsu evaded the wave of flame with a backward leap, his body rising into the air—
But mid-leap, he sensed something strange.
The six auras approaching rapidly…
Had become five.
One had vanished.
He landed.
The Lord of Sand's grains crawled toward his ankles, forcing him to leap again—
And in the air—
He felt it.
The shadow beneath him.
Darker than it should be.
Not his body's shadow.
The shadow itself.
In a fraction of a second, Karsu saw a small fissure open beneath him.
A black slit like nothingness.
And from it—
A blade.
Emerging slowly.
Time slowed.
The knife rose from the darkness, its black edge reflecting no light, aimed at his lower torso.
Behind it—
An arm began to form.
Pale. Thin.
Shoulder. Neck.
Then a face—
Featureless.
Only two white eyes fixed upon him.
The Lord of Shadow Qaz.
He had vanished.
He had infiltrated Karsu's perimeter without detection.
Fatal danger.
The blade was centimeters away.
And in that moment—
Karsu smiled.
A strained smile.
"To use the Mother Aura against mere villagers!"
Clear annoyance laced his tone.
The Qaz Lords did not understand the words—but the tone was enough.
Something was about to happen.
Something not in their favor.
Then—
They felt it.
Each of them.
Not pressure. Not attack.
Something stranger.
As though a heavy weight pressing upon their awareness… suddenly vanished.
A release.
An inexplicable lightness.
All within a fraction of a second.
All—except one.
The Lord of Shadow beneath Karsu felt nothing.
He remained wholly focused.
The blade was centimeters away.
The prey unmoving.
Then—
Karsu avoided it.
No—this was no ordinary evasion.
It was as though he shifted.
Vanished from one place and appeared in another—without even a silhouette marking the transition.
The Shadow Lord's confidence cracked.
But he could not retreat.
He had committed.
Hesitation now meant death.
His white eyes widened, searching.
Karsu had landed three steps away.
Back turned.
He did not look at him.
His gaze rested on the Lord of Flame and the Lord of Sand, both frozen momentarily in disbelief.
The Shadow Lord seized the moment.
He surged forward again, skating across the surface of shadow, blade extended toward Karsu's neck.
Karsu did not move.
Did not see.
Did not hear.
—
The Lord of Flame saw.
"Shadow! Now!"
He unleashed a wide wave of fire—not directly at Karsu, but to encircle him, cutting off escape.
The Lord of Sand struck the ground. Dust surged upward, forming a temporary veil to blind him.
Three synchronized attacks.
Flame from both sides.
Dust before him.
Shadow from behind.
—
Karsu inhaled.
Good. They've improved.
His fingers moved—not swiftly, but smoothly.
The white threads scattered around him trembled as one.
Then—
They erupted.
Not an explosion—an expansion.
They shot outward in every direction, forming a dense forest of interwoven threads.
The dust caught upon them, turning into a white curtain.
The flames collided and scattered into sparks.
The blade—
Pierced the threads.
But struck nothing.
Karsu was no longer there.
—
The Shadow Lord withdrew his knife, spinning.
"Where—"
"Here."
The voice came from above.
He looked up.
Karsu hung in midair, suspended by a single fine thread stretching to a nearby building. His eyes were cold. His fingers still moving.
When had he ascended?
It did not matter.
The Lord of Flame hurled a fireball upward.
Threads formed a fleeting shield. Some burned—but Karsu had already slid along another thread to a different angle.
Like a spider.
The Lord of Sand realized.
He does not fight on the ground. The ground is ours. He fights within the space he creates.
"Pull him down!" he shouted.
Sand rose in waves, surging upward to tear at the threads.
The Lord of Flame adjusted—releasing continuous heat to weaken and stretch them.
The Shadow Lord submerged once more, gliding beneath the surface.
Above, the Blood Eagle still circled, relaying sight.
—
Karsu felt the danger.
Threads slackening from heat.
Sand stripping others away.
The ground concealing movement.
Three minutes.
One had passed.
He glanced toward the horizon.
Five lights approaching fast.
The sixth—
Here.
Nearly beneath his feet.
One and a half minutes.
He leapt down onto firmer ground—wooden debris from a collapsed warehouse.
The moment his feet touched, his fingers moved.
The remaining threads—only a quarter of his initial count—gathered around him like personal guards.
But the Lord of Sand was quicker.
Dust beneath the debris shifted, destabilizing it.
No time for defense.
Karsu decided.
His fingers stopped.
The Lord of Flame saw.
Smiled.
"He's spent!"
"Now!"
The three charged.
Flame.
Sand.
Shadow.
—
But Karsu's fingers had not stopped.
They had changed.
No longer weaving—
Clenching.
All scattered threads—burned, dragged, hanging—suddenly contracted toward a single point.
A single point directly above the Lord of Sand.
They descended from every direction.
Not as an attack—
As a cage.
A dense web enveloped him entirely before comprehension struck.
He raised his arms—but the threads were faster, binding limbs and torso.
He fell thrashing.
The Lords of Flame and Shadow faltered.
Karsu seized the second.
He leapt toward the Lord of Flame—not to strike, but to pass.
As he did, a thin thread slipped from his sleeve, coiling around the Flame Lord's ankle.
A violent tug.
The Flame Lord collapsed to his knees.
The Shadow Lord moved swiftly—emerging behind Karsu.
The blade aimed at his heart.
Karsu did not evade.
He turned to face it.
And when the knife sank centimeters into his chest—
He felt it.
A strange cold spread from the wound.
Poisoned.
His expression did not change.
Only his fingers moved.
The threads still coiled around the Lord of Flame's ankle surged upward, lifting him into the air—
And hurled him like a projectile into the Shadow Lord.
Bodies collided.
They rolled.
Karsu stood still, breath quickening.
The Lord of Sand bound.
Flame and Shadow entangled.
The Lord of Subjugation still on the rooftop—watching.
One minute.
He looked to the horizon.
The five lights were close.
The six incoming.
He inhaled deeply.
His fingers trembled—this time from exhaustion.
One minute to finish this.
His gaze lifted to the distant Lord of Subjugation.
Begin with him.
—
Suddenly—
A scream.
He turned.
The Lord of Flame had risen.
His face twisted in rage.
Blue fire unlike any before burned in his palms.
He would burn everything—ally, enemy, himself.
"I'll burn you!"
The Shadow Lord tried to retreat—but Flame seized his arm. Blue fire began spreading across him.
Madness.
Karsu raised his hand—
But before a thread moved—
A whistle.
The Blood Eagle.
It dove—
Not at Karsu—
At the Lord of Flame.
It crashed into him, extinguishing the blue blaze with its own burning body.
On the rooftop, the Lord of Subjugation moved his hands in wide gestures.
He sacrificed his eagle to save his ally.
Karsu understood.
They had truly become a team.
—
He looked once more to the horizon.
The five lights were moments away.
Thirty seconds.
He smiled.
A bitter smile.
It seems the Mother Aura was not enough.
He raised both hands.
The remaining threads—very few—gathered in a tight circle around him.
No longer time to attack.
Time to withdraw.
