Shining Shadow

The Ironfang Tavern was a roaring beast, its Firebloom ale and clashing auras—Fire, Sky, Magnetism, Earth—igniting the air. N'Nazmuz's arrival was days away, his curse a 30-kilogram weight dragging my bones, sapping stamina but fueling my enhanced strength. My gray-dyed hair and plain cloak kept me Zeno, half-elf from Solaria, not Killyaen, the Qi-Less Demon. Horan's bounty—100 Level 5 Spirit Stones—lingered like a bad smell, but his hunt had faded to whispers. My Luck-infused belt, traded for a fortune in Starveil Market, hummed faintly, a gamble for Zortag's ruins. My journal, tucked in my spatial ring, burned for secrets, but tonight, the tavern's chaos was my crucible.

Morning had me prowling Starveil Market, my scavenging greed a restless itch. Zenoite tiles pulsed underfoot, stalls blazing with Firebloom petals, Geodrite chunks, and Star Qi vials. Fire Scholars barked prices, Sky Experts glided, Magnetism rogues whispered deals. I hit an alchemist's stall, its owner a limping Earth cultivator with a grin sharper than my Icethorn dagger. "Nightshade, Emberroot, Star Qi essence," I said, scanning his wares. He slid over 1 kg of Nightshade (15 Level 4 Spirit Stones), 500 g of Emberroot (10 Level 4s), and a vial of Star Qi essence (20 Level 5s). My Cryonsteel cauldron would churn tonight, blending these with Crystal Dust for a Rare-grade speed salve. I haggled for 1 kg of Moonglow Vines (12 Level 4s) and 500 g of Frostpetal (8 Level 4s), their chill promising potent brews.

Another stall, its Starforged sign glowing, drew me in. A Water cultivator, her aura a rippling tide, offered tools. I snagged a Starlight Pipette (10 Level 5s), perfect for precise alchemy. My spatial ring—Goran's old gift—swallowed it all: mortar, pestle, cauldron, herbs. A weapons stall tempted me with a Mythical-grade Starveil Dagger (500 Level 6s) and a Celestial-grade Firebloom Whip (1,000 Level 5s), both mocking my 300 Level 6s and 365 Level 5s. My greed growled, but I moved on, grabbing 500 g of Bloodthorn Powder (15 Level 4s) and a vial of Crystal Essence (10 Level 5s) from a Fire cultivator's stall. My ring grew heavier, my journal noting prices and rumors: a Zortag smuggler's cache, Magnetism wards guarding it.

Yellowoak Forest was my next stop, its golden leaves a balm against Forgehold's clamor. I released my beasts, their presence my anchor. Varkoth, my Middle Master Darkness Basilisk Emperor, slithered out, his five-meter coils weaving shadows. Stinky, my Emerald Beetle, now a Beginner Expert Earth cultivator, was Gromble-sized, his Geodrite carapace gleaming like jade. Bertil, my Peak Novice Crystal Silver Queen Mantis, darted between trees, her blades chiming. "Big day, Stinky," I teased, tossing him grains. He chittered, burrowing a trench. Varkoth hissed, "Father mocks my might?" I flipped my Magnetism-infused dagger. "Earn it, snake."

Training was relentless. Varkoth's Dread Glare froze a Glowmouse mid-scurry, its eyes wide. Stinky's charge shattered a boulder, earth spraying. Bertil's crystal strikes sparked off my Magmabronze spikes, their heat searing. I practiced Vortex Strike, the Luminite wire humming, its blades slicing branches clean. The Magmabronze spikes, scattered as traps, glowed red-hot. "Zortag's tunnels twist," I said, wiping sweat. "Star Qi warps, barriers burn. Ready?" Varkoth's eyes glinted. "We feast on shadows, Father." Stinky rumbled, Bertil clicked—my crew was primed. My journal logged their growth: Stinky's bulk, Bertil's speed, Varkoth's stealth. Zortag demanded perfection.

Back at the Ironfang, the night shift was a maelstrom. Fire cultivators roared, Sky rogues darted, ale spilled. My agility boots hummed, my Sky Qi amulet buzzing as I balanced trays, the curse dragging but stamina potions easing it. Then, chaos struck. My hip grazed a guest's shoulder, a mug wobbling. "Sorry," I muttered, turning. Her eyes met mine—Bera, her fiery curls unmistakable. Across the table, Lila, her earthy braid tight, sipped ale. My heart slammed, N'Nazmuz's curse an anvil.

I ducked my head, voice flat. "Clumsy me. Drink's on the house." Their gazes lingered, sharp, then flicked away, their conversation resuming. My Luck-infused belt felt like a jest. I slipped to the bar's shadows, pulse racing, close enough to eavesdrop but hidden. Bera's voice cut through, warm but edged. "Two months since Killy ditched us in the Verdant Abyss. After that battle with the Ironclaws, poof—gone. Spies watch this tavern, but nothing."

Lila sighed, twirling her braid. "He's here, Bera. Tira swears she felt his amulet in the market, but she won't chase. Says he'll come when he's ready. Typical Tira—playing queen." Bera snorted, her mug clinking. "Queen? She's just scared we'll snag him first. Gods, I miss that pervert's grin. Imagine his face when he hears we're Beginner Grand Masters now, and Tira's hit Beginner Legend. He'll choke on his ale."

Lila laughed, earthy and warm. "He'll probably say he trained us by running. But… I miss him too. So much I'm wearing those stupid undergarments he gave us—you know, the ones with 'Supreme Elf Was Here' stitched on them." Bera cackled, leaning in. "You too? I put mine on yesterday. Never wear 'em otherwise—goddess, I hate undergarments. Too restrictive." Lila's voice dropped, urgent. "Hush, Bera! Someone'll hear and get weird ideas. Not everyone needs to know you skip them entirely, for gods' sake."

I nearly choked, biting my tongue to stifle a laugh. Supreme Elf undergarments—my finest prank. I wanted to shout, "Still supreme, ladies!" but swallowed it, my chest shaking. They hadn't clocked me—gray hair, plain cloak, Zeno's mask held. They were safe, searching, but clueless. I'd left them after the Ironclaw battle, their fury at my pranks boiling over. They'd followed anyway, their choice, not mine. I didn't regret it. Tira, Bera, Lila—the fiery triangle was a storm I'd outrun, and I was glad. My path was Zortag, N'Nazmuz, the ruins. But their voices, their longing, stirred something I buried deep.

I weaved through the crowd, avoiding their table. Bera's voice drifted again. "Tira's too proud to hunt him, but she knows he's here. Probably sensed his chaos from a mile away." Lila nodded, her aura spiking. "She's got her own plans, always has. But us? We'll find Killy. He can't hide forever. Bet he's in some ruin, chasing ghosts, or… ugh, flirting with a barmaid." Bera's laugh was sharp. "If he's with a barmaid, I'll burn those 'Supreme Elf' gauds myself. Deal?" Lila grinned. "I'll bury him first. Deal." Their mugs clinked, a pact sealed.

I ducked deeper into the shadows, their words a weight. Tira knew I was here—her Beginner Legend Fire Qi was too sharp—but her silence was a gift. She'd chosen her path, and I'd chosen mine. No regrets. Their breakthroughs—Bera and Lila to Beginner Grand Master, Tira to Beginner Legend—made me grin. They'd grown stronger, and I was proud, even if I'd never say it. They'd followed me, not my doing. I pocketed two Level 2 Spirit Stones from a drunk, my stash at 419 Level 2s, and kept working, trays flying.

I brewed late, the cauldron steaming with Nightshade, Emberroot, and Star Qi essence. The Rare-grade speed salve glowed, a triumph. I tested a drop—my pulse raced, my agility boots humming. My journal captured it all: Bera and Lila's hunt, Tira's distance, Zortag's smuggler cache. My beasts slept in the ring—Varkoth's coils, Stinky's bulk, Bertil's blades—ready for Zortag. N'Nazmuz was close, his curse a chain I'd break or wield. The ruins called, and I'd answer, alone.