The shattered blade trembled in Nine's grip, the jagged shards hovering midair, drawn together by the pulse of his qi. The fractures sealed, steel reforging as if time itself had reversed. The weapon hummed softly in his palm, reborn without resistance.
Effortless.
Nine tested the weight, shifting his grip. The blade moved as if it had always belonged to him—fluid and obedient, responding to the subtlest of his intentions. With a flick of his wrist, it cut through the air, perfect in form, seamless in movement.
But—
Crack!
He let go.
The sword shattered, collapsing into a cascade of shards. Metal clattered against the floor, scattering like fallen leaves.
Nine stared down at the remnants, his expression unreadable. It has improved but,
It couldn't withstand the essence after all.
No weapon could.
Behind him, quiet footsteps approached.
"My lord," Shin greeted, bowing in customary reverence.
Nine turned, slipping on his outer robe. "What method do you use to identify the Lords?"
Shin didn't hesitate. From within his sleeve, he produced a small, unassuming stone, its surface etched with a timeworn insignia.
"The symbol glows when directed at a Lord," Shin explained. Without another word, he lifted it toward Nine.
The reaction was instant.
A slow, eerie glow pulsed from the stone's core, illuminating the carved sigil with an unmistakable radiance.
Nine extended his hand. "Let me see it."
Shin hesitated—not from defiance, never that—but curiosity flickered in his sharp eyes. Still, he knew better than to ask. With silent obedience, he placed the stone into Nine's palm.
Nine tossed it once, catching it effortlessly.
"What? I'll return it," he said lightly.
Shin remained where he stood, watchful.
Nine's tone cooled. "Go back to your duties."
Shin bowed. "Of course."
He turned away, his movements practiced and smooth, but Nine caught the glance he cast over his shoulder before disappearing down the corridor.
Nine exhaled softly, shifting the stone between his fingers.
Beyond the chamber, soft, steady breaths filled the quiet space.
Seven was asleep. Again.
"That's good," Nine murmured, lips curving faintly. A child needed plenty of sleep.
His footsteps were soundless as he moved through the halls, entered his chambers, and passed three more rooms before reaching his bed.
Inside, the air was thick with the lingering scent of medicinal herbs.
The bed was neatly arranged, silken sheets carefully draped over the frail figure resting atop them.
Aya lay motionless, her breathing even but shallow.
Two days had passed since their union, yet her strength had yet to return.
He had been the one bathing her. Dressing her.
At her chest, cradled in her arms, was Seven—small, warm, and safe within her grasp.
Nine halted at the edge of the bed.
"He cried for me," Aya murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with exhaustion.
Nine's gaze softened briefly. "Ah."
He raised the stone.
Slowly, he directed it toward Aya.
Nothing.
Nine frowned.
Tilting his head, he reached out, pressing his fingers lightly against her abdomen.
The essence was there. He could feel it, coiled deep within her core, interwoven with her very being. Yet the stone remained still.
"Is it broken?" Nine murmured, narrowing his eyes at the stone.
Aya stirred. "What is it this time?" she mumbled, annoyed.
Without opening her eyes, she blindly swatted at his hand before turning away, curling around Seven protectively.
Nine straightened. He lifted the stone again—toward himself.
The glow flared instantly.
He redirected it to Aya.
The glow disappeared.
His brows furrowed.
A sharp click of his tongue broke the silence. He turned sharply, calling for Colla.
Within moments, she entered, moving with her usual precision. She knelt without hesitation, awaiting his command.
"Feel Aya's qi," Nine ordered. "Do you notice anything unusual?"
Colla turned to Aya, extending her senses. Energy stretched between them, invisible yet tangible, brushing against Aya's presence like a tide receding over sand.
A long pause.
"...No, my lord," Colla said at last, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.
Nine's irritation flared.
Colla flinched slightly before bowing lower. "I may be lacking, my lord. I failed to detect—"
"Leave."
Colla bowed, retreating swiftly.
Nine remained standing, deep in thought.
Aya shifted behind him. "Nine," she warned, glaring at him.
He raised his hands in surrender and stepped out of the room, his mind already elsewhere.
Could it be that he alone could sense the essence in her?
But why?
Why had the essence split between them? Why did it circulate within Aya like an extension of her core, yet in him, it permeated his very being—spiritually, physically?
Nine halted. He stared blankly down the hallway just outside his chambers.
It was like a source and a current.
Aya was the source.
Nine was the current.
The power he wielded—his strength—it fed from Aya's essence.
Lust.
A force not merely between them, but of them. A magnetic pull, an insatiable need to connect, to consume.
"Control and conquer. Be one with the essence, and you shall fulfill."
The monks' words echoed through his mind.
Aya and Nine weren't merely bound.
They were one.
She was the wellspring.
He was the wielder.
That was why the stone reacted only to him.
But then… why had it chosen her?
And more importantly—how could he extract it?
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"My lord."
Nine turned sharply, eyes flashing.
A servant bowed low at the threshold. "You have a visitor."
Nine pocketed the stone. "Who?"
"The Lord of Sloth."
Nine frowned.
Of all the Lords, he was the last one Nine expected to move first.
"I will meet him at the Emerald Pavilion."
The pavilion was quiet when Nine arrived.
Slumped over a marble table, a man lay sprawled, absurdly long hair spilling over the edges, strands draped carelessly across his face. His arms dangled over the sides, his entire posture exuding a profound lack of effort.
Nine took a seat across from him. Neither spoke.
Nine poured himself a drink.
Honu muttered something incoherent into the tabletop.
Nine arched a brow. "I can't hear a damn thing you're saying."
A long pause.
With exaggerated effort, Honu lifted his head.
Heavy-lidded eyes drifted toward Nine. Outside the pavilion, Honu's attendants let out a collective sigh, as if accustomed to this display.
"I am Honu," he said, voice slow, as if every word was a burden. "I came to deliver an invitation." A pause. "For the Seven Lords Ceremony." Another pause. "In two months." A breath. "We will gather in the Central Plains."
Then, as if those words had exhausted his very soul, Honu's head slammed back onto the table.
Nine lifted his cup slightly to avoid the spill just in time.
"Carry your useless lord back," he ordered.
Honu's attendants scrambled to lift him. A palanquin awaited.
One remained.
Nine's gaze flickered toward him.
The servant bowed, presenting a scroll. "Apologies for my lord's behavior," he said carefully. "The Lords convened in your absence. This ceremony will solidify our dominion. Lord Honu was closest to your palace, so he was given the task of delivering your invitation."
Nine barely acknowledged him.
His mind was elsewhere.
The essence. Aya.
And what he would do next.