Asher let the tea linger on his tongue, the warmth sinking into him like fire, though his gaze never left Elder Ben’s face. The old man’s words stirred something inside him—a memory of thrones, galaxies bending to his will, the weight of power earned through blood and force. Here, however, power seemed less about what one held and more about what one stood against.
"The Stray Night," Asher murmured, his voice low, almost amused. "Heretics, then. And yet you sound almost fond of them."
Ben chuckled, setting his cup down with a faint clink. "Fond, aye, but not blind. They’re dangerous too. Not every creed of freedom leads to justice—sometimes it leads to madness. But at least their chains are of one’s own choosing." His eyes hardened, the weariness in them flashing with steel. "Better a dangerous freedom than a gilded leash."
Asher’s lips curled faintly, not quite a smile but something close. "And what of the other factions? You said ten. The Light and the Night—what of the rest?"
The elder tapped the table with his cane, as though counting in his mind. "Ah... patient, aren’t you? Good. You’ll need that. Listen well, boy. Lavis Star is a crucible, and the factions are the fires within it."
He lifted his hand, fingers slowly unfurling as he began to name them one by one:
"The Order of Luminous—light, law, purity, control. You’ve seen them. They shine the brightest, but they blind just as much."
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"The Stray Night Sect—shadow, chaos, freedom, heresy. The mirror that opposes the light."
"The Stormbound Pavilion—masters of lightning and tempest. They thrive on upheaval, always moving, always hungry for conquest."
"The Verdant Crown—those tied to nature’s deepest roots, life and decay both. They command forests that stretch between stars, vines that can strangle worlds."
"The Crimson Veil—a bloody faction, worshippers of slaughter and sacrifice. They deal in blood-laws, flesh-forging, and primal carnage. Few can stand their presence without trembling."
"The Iron Dominion—forgers of steel and stone, their bodies like fortresses, their armies endless. Where they march, entire sectors bend or break."
"The Serene Tide—water, silence, eternity. They hide more than they reveal, and their whispers can drown whole minds."
"The Abyssal Script—keepers of forbidden knowledge. They are scholars, yes, but their lore comes at prices most would never pay."
"The Celestial Fang—beast clans, united under one banner. Scales, fangs, wings—they bow to no throne but their own savage hierarchy."
"And lastly... The Silent Concord. They are strange, secretive, existing between all others. Some call them mediators. Others call them manipulators. Whatever their creed, they appear where balance teeters."
The elder’s voice grew heavier as he leaned back. "These ten—together, they form the wheel of Lavis Star. But the wheel is always turning, grinding down the weak, lifting up the bold. You’ll have to decide where you stand—or whether you’ll stand apart."
Asher’s crimson eyes glinted faintly as he absorbed the list. Ten names. Ten paths. None of them called to him, and yet all of them tugged faintly at the edges of his mind, as if destiny itself wanted to steer him.
"I see," he said quietly. "A wheel of factions... and predators in every spoke."
Ben smirked. "Now you’re starting to understand. You’ve ascended, boy. You’ve stepped into a realm where survival isn’t gifted—it’s taken."
Before Asher could reply, the café’s door chimed. A breeze swept in, cool yet laced with something heavier—like ink poured into water. Every light in the café dimmed, and the few patrons went silent.
Two figures entered, cloaked in shadows that clung to them unnaturally. Their presence was quiet, almost gentle, yet it pressed on the soul like an endless night sky.
Ben froze, his hand tightening on his cane. He whispered low, only for Asher to hear.
The two shadow-cloaked figures from Stray Night did not linger. They only gave a glance toward Asher—sharp, probing, as though measuring something deep within him—before drifting past without a word. The atmosphere of the café lightened the moment they were gone, though their presence still hung in the air like smoke.
Elder Ben exhaled slowly, setting his cup down. "Tch... trouble follows wherever they step. Don’t take their silence for disinterest, boy. If they looked at you, it means they saw you."
Asher swirled the last of his tea, crimson eyes steady. "They left without a word. Hn. Curious." He let the thought hang for a moment before turning his gaze back to the old man. "Tell me, Elder... what about you? You’ve spoken of factions, their creeds, their ambitions. But which one holds your banner?"
Ben’s lips twitched into something between a smile and a grimace. He leaned back, tapping his cane lightly on the floor, the sound hollow but deliberate. "Ah, sharp one, aren’t you? Few ask that so soon." His expression softened into something wistful, though his eyes kept their guarded edge. "I belong to Mother’s Rest."
Asher tilted his head faintly. "That name... doesn’t sit among the ten you spoke of."
"Aye," Ben said with a low chuckle. "That’s because it isn’t one of the ten. You see, lad, those ten great factions only care for the highest rungs—the top cultivators, the paragons, the ones whose names shake realms. But where do the rest go? The countless ascended who never reach such heights? The middling, the weary, the ones who slip through the cracks?" He tapped his chest gently. "They go to places like ours."
His tone grew quieter, almost reverent. "Mother’s Rest is a branch under the Serene Tide. Not their core halls, mind you—no, no, just one of their many shelters. It is a haven built for strays, for those who carry burdens but not ambition enough to claw for the top. We provide sanctuary, quiet... a place to exist without being consumed by the wheel."
Asher studied him carefully, crimson gaze never wavering. "A refuge, then. A sanctuary beneath the tide."
Ben gave a slow nod, his weathered smile faint. "Yes. Some call us cowards, others call us wise. I call it... survival." His eyes flicked up, locking with Asher’s. "But don’t mistake it, lad. Even refuges have their battles. The great factions use us, ignore us, or try to snuff us out depending on the season. And under the Serene Tide’s shadow, we’re tolerated—but never truly free."
The corner of Asher’s mouth curled slightly. "So you live beneath another’s wing."
"Better a wing than a blade through the heart," Ben said evenly, though his grip on the cane betrayed a flicker of bitterness.
For a long moment, the two sat in silence. The lantern-light flickered in the café, the murmurs of other patrons slowly resuming as though nothing had happened. Yet Asher could feel the weight of the old man’s words, and deeper still—the faint pulse of the world outside, factions and powers circling like beasts around Lavis Star.