The ferry continued its steady arc across the vast blue-green runic skies, passing above the great Starbridge Market, a marvel suspended in midair by networks of sigil chains and flowing gravity veins. Nocth watched as the place thrived with motion—hovering vendor orbs danced like jellyfish as traders shouted out deals on spiritual-grade thread, sky-forged hilts, and blood-tempered alloys. Many exchanged glowing yellowish crystals, the most common and weakest form of currency, flickering like low-burning embers in their hands.
Despite the market's bustle, Nocth's veins pulsed again—and another one bloomed open.
148.
He inhaled sharply, not from pain, but from the intimate clarity of perception that bloomed with it. It was as though his surroundings had changed hue. The ferry's surface under his feet shimmered like water. The floating towers in the distance, once hazy, now stood vivid and stark in his inner vision. With 148 veins active, his spiritual sensitivity had breached a threshold. Nocth could now sense even the tiniest pulse of runic energy from towers across city boundaries.
Old Jhin had stopped chuckling by now. He didn't speak, but his eyes glinted—strange, sharp, and distant.
"Dull eyes, my dusty gourd," Old Jhin muttered, his tone quieter now. "You're not just growing. You're… remembering."
Nocth turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"
But Old Jhin didn't answer. Instead, he stared out ahead as the Mhaerun District loomed closer. Steel-hued mountains framed its back, with spiral roads and low-roofed stone buildings nestled into ridges. Sky runes flashed gently over each rooftop—a layered defense array, dim to ordinary sight, but blinding in Nocth's expanded perception.
A glint caught his eye as they descended—a line of elite vein guards, stationed at checkpoints, clad in Grade 5 armor. Each one held a posture that didn't bend to the wind. Their veins? Pulsating with over 200 channels, glowing in earth-hued resonance. These weren't ceremonial protectors. These were active-level 2 initiates, and they guarded something important.
The ferry's belly flared with spiritual light as they glided downward into the arrival station, a beautifully symmetrical platform carved from twilight-grey mineral, its surface traced with flowing silver veins that pulsed in rhythmic harmony.
Just before landing, Old Jhin tilted his gourd, pretending to drink only to find it empty. He froze.
"Hah?! Someone's been sipping from my wine again!" He glared around, turning to the closest passenger. "You! Did you do it?"
The elder woman shook her head furiously.
"You! Child with the sleepy eyes!"
Nocth blinked.
"I'll know the taste of my gourd anywhere," Old Jhin muttered, shaking the empty vessel. "Some thief's been at it. Probably a porcelain prince or a rolling cloud again… hmph."
Nocth found himself smiling slightly—until Jhin suddenly stopped muttering and gazed at him long.
Then, he spoke, but only to himself, as though remembering something old.
"No wonder the ancient fossils in the Houses are either desperate to bind the boy… or erase him quietly."
"That old fool… the adoptive father of Imius… he told me to come see this one's true nature. 'Judge for yourself,' he said… Hah! Last time I judged wrong, he became a monster in a throne of flames…"
Nocth tilted his head. "What are you talking about?"
Old Jhin waved him off.
"Hush. Come."
He moved like a sudden gust, grabbing the hem of Nocth's robe with one hand—and leapt off the ferry.
They didn't fall.
They glided in an arc, cutting through wind, bypassing guards before they could even register the movement. Within seconds, they landed in a side-alley paved in ancient runestones, the entrance to an older part of the Mhaerun District.
Nocth steadied himself. "Where are we?"
Old Jhin cracked his knuckles, tossing the gourd aside carelessly as it vanished into light.
"I want you to find something for me. A shop. A vendor who sells stone-carved fragments and old dusted relics. Look for a stone-faced man. You'll know him. Because beside him, there's a little girl with eyes brighter than the sky."
"And if I find them?"
"Then you've passed my first test," Old Jhin said, turning. "And maybe… maybe I'll consider taking you in."
He paused and muttered to himself, a rare somberness in his voice:
"The last disciple I took… he painted the skies of Mhaerun in blood. That damn traitor from the Mhaerun House… that Enma…"
And with that, Old Jhin vanished in a flicker of twisting air.
Nocth stood alone now. The sunlight filtered softly between the towering rune structures, casting long shadows over a district older than the city itself.
The memory froze here—like a fragment.