On the distant floating stone, surrounded by crackling lightning and churning clouds that formed the Beast’s Mantle others had mistaken for a passing Primal Beast, the Saint of Stone sat upon her white throne with her eyes flickering with rivers of Mana.
Those stellar blue pupils that burned like captured stars were searching for something, scanning across distances that mortal eyes couldn’t fathom, perceiving the flow of conflict and violence that pulsed through the Lands of Stone like blood through veins.
Then she found it.
She nodded seriously and said, "Alright, I’ve found the nearest and biggest conflict."
As she spoke, she turned her head toward a certain direction, her gaze fixed on something that existed beyond the horizon, beyond the clouds, beyond anything that normal sight could reach.
Her cultivation, enhanced by decades of communion with the First Stone itself, allowed her to perceive Mana flows across vast territories, to read the signatures of violence and intent like others might read words upon treated hide.
A moment later, she raised her hand and pointed to the white stone that lay between her throne and where the Holy Daughter of Stone knelt.
The surface of the stone shimmered.
Mana pooled across it like water filling a basin, but this water was luminescent and alive, swirling with colors that shifted from pale blue to deep violet. The surface became smooth as still water, reflective as polished obsidian, and upon that surface an image began to form.
Like a bird’s eye view from impossible heights, they saw the scene playing out far below.
Dozens of Warriors hid behind rising slopes of jagged stone and tall trees that glowed faintly with absorbed Mana. They were positioned with the careful spacing of those who had done this many times before, spread out enough that a single attack couldn’t claim multiple targets, close enough that they could support one another when the violence began.
One Warrior in particular had climbed an Ancestor Pillar, her body pressed against the bark of that impossibly tall tree, her position high enough to see over the terrain that concealed her companions. Her eyes shone with a serpentine light, green pulses that flickered across her pupils like the scales of a snake catching sunlight, and she was looking out toward a tribe a few miles away with a focus that seemed far too intense for such a distance.
And yet it was clear that she could shockingly observe everything there, her Land and Sky Physique granting her perception that transcended normal limitations.
The tribe she watched was nestled near a mountain that dominated the horizon, its slopes covered with trees and stones that held a distinctive purple hue, veins of crystal running through the rock that glowed faintly even in daylight!
The Saint looked at this scene with the calm detachment of someone who had witnessed countless conflicts across her long existence, and she asked simply, "What do you see?"
The Holy Daughter leaned forward slightly, her dark hair falling across her shoulders as her wing-shaped pupils studied the scene playing out in the reflecting pool of Mana. She took her time, letting her gaze move across every detail, cataloging positions and equipment and the subtle signs that revealed intent.
"A small force of Warriors from an Unbound Tribe are surveilling the tribe surrounded by purple stones," she said, her voice measured and analytical. "They’re all armed and positioned for assault, spreading out in patterns that maximize coverage while minimizing exposure, and the tension in their bodies shows they’re preparing for a battle that could begin at any moment."
As she said these words, the Saint shook her head slowly.
"Look again and tell me what you really see."
Her stellar eyes held no disappointment, only the patient expectation of a teacher who knew her student could do better.
"You’re missing a critical detail."
The Holy Daughter’s wing-shaped pupils flickered, and she returned her attention to the reflected image with renewed focus. This time she looked deeper, past the obvious positioning and the visible weapons, searching for the details that existed beneath the surface.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"The clothing and armor worn by some of the Warriors is of much higher quality than what Unbound Tribes could produce," she said, her voice growing more confident as the pieces began to fit together.
"The weave of the cloth is tighter and more uniform, the hide has been treated with techniques that require resources the Dross wouldn’t have access to, and some of them wear bone reinforcement that’s been carved with precision that speaks of specialized craftsmen rather than desperate survival."
She paused, studying the figure atop the Ancestor Pillar more closely.
"The strongest among them, that Bone Tempering Warrior with the serpentine eyes, radiates an aura that pulses with the signature of a Land and Sky Physique. Such awakenings aren’t impossible among the Dross, but they’re exceptionally rare, and the way she holds herself shows formal training rather than natural instinct."
Her analytical mind continued to process, connecting threads that others might have left dangling.
"This force isn’t what it appears to be. The bulk of them may be from Unbound Tribes, recruited or coerced into service, but the core leadership and the best-equipped among them are actually Warriors from a Vassal Tribe. Sworn, playing at being Dross, hiding their true nature to move through these territories without drawing attention."
...!
The Saint finally smiled, a genuine expression of approval that softened her ancient features, and she nodded with satisfaction.
"Good. In everything, details matter."
She gestured toward the reflected image.
"So why would Warriors of a Vassal Tribe be in the outskirts of a place like this, far from any territory that matters to the great powers? And why would they have within their ranks Warriors from Unbound Tribes who look like they’re about to attack their own neighbors?"
The Holy Daughter didn’t even waste a moment before she replied, her mind already racing ahead to conclusions that felt increasingly solid.
"The easy answer would be that the Dross Warriors were won over by resources or riches, promised rewards that their meager existence could never otherwise provide."
She shook her head slightly.
"But their gazes don’t show any guilt or hint of the conflicted emotions that accompany betrayal for profit. They look... empty. Compliant. As if their will isn’t entirely their own."
...!