“You had a divine vision?” said Asher, not sounding particularly surprised. His gaze flicked toward Loras.

Cyril couldn’t help but notice the obvious subject change. After breaking through to the Third Sphere of Knowledge, his perception had leapt up to a new realm. A Heart Cultivator like Uncle Asher was an open book. Serious attempts at deception would lead to subtle cracks forming within his foundations; anything more than deflecting sensitive topics would have been contrary to Asher’s very nature.

The fact he resorted to even that much spoke volumes about the situation. Only a few possibilities existed for the presence of the Titan of Fire’s qi, and all of them spelled trouble.

“I did,” Cyril admitted. “I heard that our tribe has prospered greatly over the past decade. What monsters have we produced, if the environment itself passively improves flame cultivation?”

Uncle Asher bowed, Heartrend’s blades peeking out from between his shoulders. “All in due time. No offense to our new friend, Loras, but these are sensitive matters for the family. Guess this knowledge isn’t a closely-kept secret, though. The growth rate from the aura gets slower with each Sphere. Of course, it’s still an amazing benefit for us elders and speeds up all other sorts of fire-adjacent pursuits.”

A quick glance confirmed that his Dominion of the Sun was still at 0/10000, despite him having been conscious for several minutes. When he had been on the cusp of a breakthrough, it had seemed like he was gaining around a point per minute. A shame---if he’d maintained that rate, then he would have naturally broken through to the Fourth Sphere within a couple weeks.

“That makes sense,” Cyril said. “Still, this has to completely elevate the lower tier of our forces to be on par with veteran warriors of the other tribes.”

Asher grinned wide. “Oh, yes. They aren’t very happy that our children are more advanced than their adults.” The smile dimmed a touch. “Before we continue on, we should make this clear. I don’t think it’s in our best interests to let this outsider into the tribe, but if you vouch for them, we’ll go along with it.”

Cyril frowned and glanced at Loras. The metallic cultivator had turned away, hands clasped behind its back, as if it had no particular interest in the conversation.

“What do you think?” said Cyril.

Loras bowed its head slightly. “Lord Asher is right to doubt me. I take no offense if you wish for me to pull back for the time being.”

Cyril pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I’ll vouch for Loras. I hope that all of us can work together in the future.”

“Fine with me,” said Asher. “Ah, one other thing. That whole golem impersonation of yours. Did you bond with an earth spirit, then?”

“Better to explain everything once we’ve gathered the family together.”

Asher frowned slightly, as if reconsidering how much he trusted the sudden return of his nephew. He glanced back at Loras, eyes narrowed, then shrugged. Without another word, Asher turned and started running deeper into the tribe’s territory. Cyril dismissed his World Map and followed, with Loras trailing slightly behind to watch their backs.

Uncle’s trusting, but he’s not stupid, thought Cyril. He must not be too worried, even if we have bad intentions. Just how powerful is everyone now?

He found the thought strangely comforting. After all, he had no ill will towards his family, and nothing to hide save, perhaps, the primordial Titan nestled within his very soul. Still, as he ran, he formed a bronze mask over his face, little more than a featureless metal slab with holes for his eyes and mouth. Asher glanced back at him and nodded in approval at the disguise.

As he ran, Cyril grew more accustomed to his enhanced perception from the Third Sphere of Knowledge. His spiritual senses had not only grown to encompass a fifty-foot radius; he could now sharply sense the contours of the world around him, on par with the vision from his domain. Out of curiosity, he channeled his field of Gravity for a few seconds, long enough to observe how his improved spatial awareness combined with it.

He stumbled at the sudden sensory overload. Every shifting particle of sand, every current of wind, competed for his attention. A dull ache twinged between his eyes. He dismissed his domain and found the other two staring at him with blank expressions.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

They continued on.

Soon, they reached the outskirts of the camp. Tents dotted the landscape, expanding in size and number the farther one went. The first ones they passed by had been constructed from monster hides or woven reeds. Goats and camels clopped about without a concern in the world. Mundane families huddled around campfires or tended to their areas, though here and there he spotted cultivators in orange robes standing at attention. Guard duty, most likely. They nodded at Asher and his guests as they passed.

Motes of Phoenix qi continued to manifest throughout the area, sometimes directly next to mundanes, but all of them ignored the energy as if it was as natural as the wind. Even the animals appeared completely unconcerned.

Deeper into the camp, temporary abodes of clay and enchanted fabrics formed the next stratum. Among the people here, he saw unfamiliar faces--a pale western woman meditating beneath a rainbow parasol, a black-skinned Myrcian man, even a towering figure with red skin he suspected was an Ascended. All of them wore white robes, marking them as foreign cultivators permitted within the borders of the tribe. They lived among the richer mundane families, excluded from the central facilities.

Once they entered the inner ring, Cyril’s group encountered the first person willing to halt their advance. An orange-robed man in the Late Foundation Stage bowed deeply as Asher approached.

“Pardon, my Lord,” he said, “but--”

Asher’s aura billowed outward like heatwaves.

“Carry on,” the man finished.

The inner ring of the Wandering Phoenix Tribe consisted of all manner of fabulous constructions. They passed a pavilion made of solid flame, silk tents covered in lines of runic script, a spiraling tower of rose quartz that loomed stories higher than the surrounding buildings. Most of the people walking about wore elaborate robes marking them as core members of the tribe, though a few mundanes and cultivators in white stood out amongst the crowd.

Based on the density of people in the area, his tribe had at least doubled in size from what he remembered. A few familiar faces stood out, their appearances relatively unchanged due to the increased longevity from their cultivation realm. He even passed a guard he recognized as something of a childhood friend--Reza’s son, Jeral. Cyril touched his mask and considered dismissing it, but decided against it for now. His paranoia had been an instrumental part of his survival so far. It wouldn’t hurt to be too careful for a little while longer.

As they approached the central compound, pressure built up in the back of Cyril’s mind. The flow of qi through his channels grew turbulent, and eddies formed within his core. His spiritual senses burgeoned outward, washing over the enchanted buildings, revealing every nook and cranny of the world around him. This time, his mind was more than capable of processing the rush of information.

Behemoth was beginning to stir, to pay attention. Cyril expected it to take its time mulling over the vision, but the Titan of Earth apparently found the present world more interesting. The last time he had experienced this sensation had led to wide-scale devastation across the oases. It occurring in the middle of his tribe wasn’t a good sign.

There was a morbid possibility behind the aura of Phoenix qi throughout the area: the Titan of Fire may have been captured and harnessed like a natural treasure. He wasn’t sure how his family could have managed such a feat, but the other possibilities were equally unlikely. The tranquility of the ambient qi made him doubt this was the true explanation.

As far as he could tell, Behemoth held no real enmity against Phoenix like it did with Leviathan. If the Titan of Fire was being exploited as some mystical energy source, he could only imagine the rampage Behemoth would go on to free its kin.

Don’t even think about it, Cyril warned.

Behemoth, of course, did not respond.

His group approached the family compound. It was known as the Mosaic, carved from opaque glass of the highest caliber. Each of the nine outer buildings had their own distinct hue, all of them bleeding color into the towering edifice within the epicenter, turning it into a kaleidoscope of refracted sunlight. Mundanes could barely lay eyes on it without special protective lenses. The effect was even more blinding for cultivators, but their eyes were better able to tolerate the blazing pillar of Sun qi.

Despite Behemoth’s stifling influence, the molten stone of his Magmatic Heart flared.

He was home.

Cyril’s group stopped at the gate. A pair of guards in enchanted armor stood at attention on either side of the entrance, their halberds crossed to bar entry. Even their equipment was made from the same spiritual glass as the Mosaic. Their cores were in the Peak Foundation Stage, blazing within their navels like fist-sized rubies.

“Announce yourself,” declared the guard on the left.

“Lord Galen Asher, as you well know,” the giant grumbled.

The guards uncrossed their halberds and bowed deep.

“Apologies,” said the one on the left. “The Matriarch has been expecting you.”

At the guard’s word, the glass gate swung inward, revealing a path of variegated glass that branched out throughout the compound. As Cyril entered, a tingling sensation swept through his body; the defensive wards were scanning his soul and confirming his identity, though he doubted it could properly analyze his true Destiny. After a couple seconds, a faint crack rang out, and the tingling immediately disappeared.

Cyril glanced sheepishly at his uncle. I broke the identification ward, didn’t I? That’s probably not good.

“I suppose I better warn you,” said Asher, shooting a quick glance at Loras. “There’s a new Matriarch.”

Cyril, expecting a gentle reprimand over the incident, felt a pit form in his stomach. His Magmatic Heart flared. “Mother---”

Asher waved both hands frantically. “Cerana’s fine, she’s fine. Your father, too. He’s still teaching like always. Your mom decided to step down and take on more of an advisory role.”

His uncle’s words only served to worry him more. There was a lot of meaning packed into those reassuring words.

The doors of the central tower burst outward. Out stepped a retinue of cultivators in mosaic armor, none of them below the Late Foundation Stage. His family's elite household guard, a veteran force capable of laying waste to a Great City. They surrounded an ethereal figure in a flowing dress the color of sunset, keeping a respectful distance from the new Matriarch.

Cyril recognized her, of course. His sister Elys had always been a radiant beauty, but now there was an almost angelic quality about her. Red curls had somehow managed to escape the elaborate contortions of her braided hair. She hurried forward, breathless, cheeks flushed at the sight of her younger brother. Except, it was difficult to think of himself as her junior. Elys was two years his elder, but she now looked like a refined version of herself from when she was around fifteen.

Though he couldn’t see any signs of her spirit, he immediately knew the truth.

In the back of his mind, Behemoth rumbled. PHOENIX.