Shining Shadow

The storm's been raging for hours, a relentless bastard hammering the cave entrance with sheets of rain and cracks of thunder that rattle my bones. Inside, it's damp and smoky, the fire we've got going spitting embers onto the uneven stone floor. Shadows flicker across the walls, making the place feel alive, like it's watching us. I'm sprawled out on a flat rock, my Starforged Tunic keeping N'Nazmuz's curse from dragging me down too much—thirty kilos of invisible weight ain't a joke, but I've got stamina to burn and strength to spare. Bera's poking at the fire, her corset straining against her curves like it's fighting a losing battle. Tira's leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her phoenix tattoo peeking out from her tunic sleeve. Lila's sitting cross-legged, rune-etched skirt clinging to her thighs, scribbling something in that notebook of hers. Varkoth's coiled up near the back, his five-meter basilisk bulk shimmering with Darkness Qi, while Stinky—my emerald-shelled beetle, Peak Knight Earth now—scuttles around him. And Bertil, my new Silver Queen Mantis, Middle Novice Crystal, is perched on my shoulder, her tiny crystalline claws digging in like she owns me. She's been glaring at the girls all day, and I swear she's jealous. It's hilarious.

We've been stuck here too long, and I'm bored out of my skull. No Qi to cultivate, no bandits to prank—just the same damn storm noise and the girls' occasional bickering. So, I decide to shake things up. I dig into my spatial ring, pulling out the haul we've collected since Tradewind, minus my Pyroclast Dual Swords and Mithril Swords—those beauties aren't going anywhere. The pile clatters onto the rock: Wind-infused dagger, Magnetism-infused dagger, Fire-infused spear, Sky-infused bow, Water Qi whip, Sky Qi amulet, Razorvine Wire, and a few odds and ends like Bloodthorn roots and beast cores. The girls look over, curious despite themselves.

"Alright, ladies," I say, flashing my best troublemaker grin, "time to play 'keep or sell.' We've got an auction coming up in Forgehold, and I'm not lugging junk. Let's test this stuff—see what's worth keeping."

Tira raises an eyebrow, but she steps closer. "You're just looking for an excuse to swing something sharp."

"Maybe," I admit, winking. "But I bet you'd look hot with that spear."

She snorts, but there's a spark in her eyes. Bera and Lila wander over too, though Bera mutters something about "perverted elves" under her breath. Varkoth hisses softly, nudging Stinky with his snout. "Father seeks to arm his brood," he says, voice smooth as silk.

"Damn right," I reply, picking up the Wind-infused dagger. It's light, the blade humming faintly when I slice the air. "Speedy little thing. Good for quick stabs—or flicking at someone's ass."

Lila smirks despite herself. "Try it, and I'll bury you in a rockslide."

"Promises, promises." I toss it to her. She catches it, testing the balance with her earth-steady hands. "Could pin a bastard to a wall," she says, then hands it back. "Not my style."

Next up's the Magnetism-infused dagger. Heavier, with a weird pull that tugs at my Cryonsteel-lined trousers. "This one's got tricks," I say, sticking it to a nearby metal shard. "Disarming, maybe—or pinning someone for fun."

Bera grabs it, her Fire Qi flaring as she swings it. "Cute, but I'd rather burn them."

"Fair," I say, moving to the Fire-infused spear. The shaft glows like embers, the tip radiating heat. "Now this is sexy. Who wants it?"

Tira steps forward, her Middle Grand Master Fire Qi resonating with it. She grips it, swings it, and the air sizzles. "Oh, I like this," she says, a rare grin breaking through. "Hot and deadly. Mine."

"Fits you," I tease. "Hotter than your temper."

She rolls her eyes but keeps it. Bera and Lila pass on the rest—Bera's got her fireballs and that new Inferno's Wrath book, Lila's happy with her earth tricks. I pick up the Sky Qi amulet, its carvings shimmering faintly. "Agility and perception boost," I mutter, slipping it around my neck. "Beats that damn Split-Leaf Amulet. Thing's been pulsing like a nagging wife."

Bertil clicks her mandibles, shifting on my shoulder. I stroke her head. "Don't worry, girl, you're still my favorite accessory."

"Jealous little bug," Bera says, smirking. "She's worse than you, Killy."

"Impossible," Tira shoots back, and we all laugh, even Lila.

With the sorting done, we settle in. Tira, Bera, and Lila start cultivating, their Qi swirling in the smoky air—fire for the first two, earth for Lila. Varkoth meditates, his Darkness Qi deepening; he hit Middle Master Darkness last night, and I can feel the shift in him. Stinky's gnawing on some special feed, his shell gleaming, while Bertil dozes, her tiny snores oddly cute. Me? I crack open Basics of Alchemy. No Qi means no cultivation, but I'll be damned if I don't learn something useful. Potions could level the playing field.

Hours drag by—half a day, maybe. The storm finally quiets, rain softening to a drizzle, thunder fading. We pack up, eager to move, but when we reach the cave mouth, it's a mess. Rocks and debris, piled high from a landslide, block the way out. "Shit," Tira mutters, hands on hips.

Lila steps up, cracking her knuckles. "I've been working on something. Might clear this."

We back off as her Peak Master Earth Qi flares. She stomps, sending a tremor through the ground. The rocks shudder, cracks spiderwebbing across them. Another stomp, and they shift, splitting apart. "Earth Shattering," she says, panting slightly. "Still rough, but it works"

The passage is tight, but we squeeze through, Zoraths in tow. Outside, the drizzle soaks us instantly. The girls' tunics and corsets cling to their skin, outlining every curve. Tira's red hair sticks to her neck, Bera's corset looks painted on, and Lila's skirt hugs her hips like a lover. I can't help myself. "Well, damn, ladies, you're a walking wet dream."

Tira glares, but her cheeks flush. "Eyes on the path, pervert."

Bera adjusts her corset, making it worse—or better, depending on your view. "One day, Killy, you're dead."

I lean toward her, grinning. "No panties again, huh? Gotta keep that pussy warm, or it'll catch a chill."

She sputters, red-faced. "You—!"

Varkoth tilts his head, scales glinting. "Father speaks of a cat? I see no beast."

I laugh so hard I nearly fall off my Zorath. "Oh, Vark, it's not a real cat. It's—uh—down there." I nod at Bera's skirt.

He blinks. "In her skirt? How does it fit?"

Tira and Lila crack up, and even Bera smirks, shaking her head. "You're hopeless, snake."

We trudge on through the narrow pass, rain a constant drip. After a few hours, the terrain opens up, and we hit the edge of the Verdant Abyss—a massive valley stretching out below, lush and wild, split by the roaring Silvershade River. It's the border between Adena's eastern and western regions, a natural divide. But what stops us dead isn't the view—it's the chaos.

Down in the valley, cultivators are tearing each other apart. Banners snap in the wind, factions clashing with everything they've got. Fireballs light up the sky, earth rumbles, wind howls—elements crashing together like the world's ending. Some high-level bastards float above it all, watching like gods. Grand Masters, maybe Scholars, their Qi so thick I can feel it even without sensing it.

We rein in the Zoraths, staring. Tira's pale, her lips moving. "Horan," she whispers, then shakes her head quick, like she didn't mean it.

"Who's Horan?" I ask, but she waves it off, eyes locked on the fight.

Bera frowns. "We should steer clear. This isn't our war."

Lila nods. "Our cultivation's not enough for that mess."

I'm barely listening, eyes on the battlefield. Dead cultivators mean loot—spatial rings, weapons, artifacts just lying there. My scavenging greed's screaming, and hell, it'd be good training too. "Could be worth it," I muse.

Varkoth hisses, sharp and rare. "Father, this is unwise. Our strength pales here."

That snaps me out of it. He's right—Middle Masters and a qi-blind elf don't wade into an apocalypse. Tira's still quiet, staring at the chaos. "Vark," I say, "can you cloak us? Sneak around this shit?"

He nods, scales shimmering as his stealth skill kicks in. A shadow veil wraps us, dulling our presence. "Stay close," he says, slithering ahead.

We skirt the valley, diving into a dense forest, then a swamp. The ground squelches underfoot, air thick with rot and glowing plants. Trouble finds us fast—Swamp Lotuses, Master-level, lash out with razor-sharp tendrils. Tira's Blaze Tempest scorches one, Bera's fireballs char another, Lila's earth spikes impale a third. I hack through with my Pyroclast Swords, grinning as sap splatters. Quick and dirty, we're done.

Next, a school of Expert-level fish—horned, toothy bastards—leap from the muck, snapping at our Zoraths. Stinky charges in, his shell deflecting their bites like steel. He crushes them underfoot, mandibles snapping. "Good boy!" I shout, watching him clear the pack. Perfect training.

We're near the swamp's edge when I spot it—a tree, willow-like but with blood-red leaves and thin, whippy branches. It's alone in a clearing, eerie as hell. "Check this out," I say, stepping closer.

Big mistake. Vines erupt from the ground, snaring us—me, the girls, the Zoraths—all but Varkoth. They hoist us up, tight and unyielding. "What the fuck?!" I yell, thrashing.

The tree speaks, voice deep and ancient. "Greetings, travelers. It's been ages since I've had guests."

Varkoth lunges, fangs bared, but a branch swats him back. "Easy, young Emperor Basilisk," it says. "You're too young to die."

I freeze. Emperor Basilisk? How does this thing know? "What the hell are you?" I demand.

The Bloodsucking Willow—for that's what it must be—chuckles, leaves rustling. "I am ancient, qi-blind one. Far older than your pet."

Varkoth hisses, furious. "Release them, or taste my wrath!"

A branch cracks him again. "Such spirit, but you cannot command me, child. My cultivation dwarfs yours."

It turns to us, vines tightening. "I'll take no Qi from you, cursed one—there's none to take. But your companions… lie to me, and I'll drain them."

A thorny wall rises, circular and sharp, and it lowers us inside—all but Varkoth, who paces outside, glaring. "Calm yourselves," the Willow says. "We'll talk now."

I'm still reeling. "You see my curse? My lack of Qi? How?"

"I've lived millennia," it replies. "I sense much. A group like yours—strong, yet led by one without Qi—fascinates me. It's been centuries since I've spoken with the living. Travelers avoid this swamp because of me."

"What do you want?" Tira asks, voice steady despite the vines.

"Stories," it says. "Truths. Tell me of your journeys, and answer my questions. Lie, and I'll take a sub-level of your cultivation."

We've got no choice. We start talking—Ice Dungeon, bandits, coliseum, auction—all of it. The Willow listens, branches swaying. Then it questions.

"Bera, Lila," it says, "why did you leave Opeka? For yourselves, or another?"

They hesitate. Bera speaks first. "To advance our cultivation. To see the world."

Lila nods. "Same."

The Willow laughs. "Lies!" Two tendrils stab their chests. They scream—Bera loud and teary, Lila silent, tears streaming—as their Qi drains. Middle Master again, down from Peak.

Tira's next, pale as death. "Do you tie to Adena's rulers?"

Silence stretches. We stare. "Yes," she whispers finally.

The Willow moves on, satisfied. I'm mid-story when it interrupts. "Bera, Lila—do you feel for Killyaen?"

They blush, squirming. "Yes," they say together.

I act shocked, but I've known. The thorny wall retracts. We're free, shaken. The Willow thanks us for the tales and Qi, then fixes on me. "You wonder of High Elves, yes?"

I nod, tense. "What do you know?"

"It's forbidden to speak of them," it says. "But you'll awaken your Qi, boy. Stay your path to Forgehold. Answers wait—truths you won't like, truths that'll shift your fate and others'."

We mount up, silent, and leave the swamp for a forest. As we camp, the fire crackling, I can't shake the Willow's words. Forgehold's close, and whatever's coming, it's big.