Ashan lay down on the animal-skin mattress. The fur was coarse against his neck, smelling faintly of the creature it had been stripped from—some mountain beast, perhaps, or a forest predator that had never learned to fear the two-legged things that walked the world.
The good thing is that they don't know I have combined the serpent and rat fractions' vidyas. He stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift with the ship's gentle rocking. I have to make sure they can't see me doing sadhana.
The top members of the Order already knew he was a Siddha. That knowledge was a blade balanced on his throat—it could cut either way. The Order operated in shadows, had kidnapped orphans for generations, had killed more children than it had trained. In that calculus, a living asset was always more valuable than a dead one.
But "valuable asset" can also mean "caged bird." His jaw tightened. I need to ascertain how many Siddhas each house has. My arrival will inevitably shift the power balance, and that makes me a target as much as a treasure.
He shook his head, the motion barely visible in the darkness. Time to sleep. I will think about it later. As long as I am alive and observing, there will be chances.
The room was of medium size—generous by the standards of the cave-base, but sparse compared to what he had glimpsed of Kumar Taevor's quarters. A small table held a bowl of fruit, their skins gleaming in the moonlight that slanted through the open window. The nightly breeze carried the scent of salt and deep water, and somewhere in the darkness, waves slapped against the hull with the rhythm of a sleeping beast's breath.
The ship sailed lonely through the black water, its wake a pale scar on the sea.
Kumar Taevor savored a slice of melon in his chamber, the juice sweet on his tongue. Elder Jinish sat across from him, a cup of tea cooling in his hands.
"What do you think about him?"
Elder Jinish pondered for a moment, his weathered fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Kumar, he is still in a rough state. According to the reports, he has good leadership qualities. And with his siddhi dealing with the domain of information and divination, he will serve as a good spy."
Kumar Taevor placed down the half-bitten apple. "Spy... hmmm." He turned the word over, tasting it. "If I remember correctly, he was from the island between the Alonmari Sea and the Golden Sun Sea."
"Yes, Kumar. Ogefil Islands. Pirate-infested."
The Kumar's lips curved. "That will do it then. I have decided his first mission." He finished the half-eaten apple in two swift bites, and in the candlelight, his shadow stretched long against the wall.
After a few days of sailing, the ship stopped.
During this time, Ashan had kept to his cabin, practicing sadhana in careful, measured intervals. He never let his energy extend beyond his skin, never let his unique Vidya compression reveal itself. The crew was small—a handful of men who kept to themselves, their faces weathered, their eyes scanning the horizon with the particular vigilance of those who had learned that the sea gave and the sea took without preference.
Ashan came out of his room, blinking against the sun's glare.
"Excuse me, where are we?" He asked one of the crew members.
The man was drinking from a leather pouch, his face flushed, his eyes unfocused. "Hic... Hic... What did you say?" He took another long pull. "Fucker!"
He continued drinking, and Ashan let him.
The sun rays shone on the ocean water, turning it to hammered gold. A group of seagulls flew past the mast, their cries sharp in the salt air. In the distance, something breached—a fish, perhaps, or something larger. Ashan watched it fall back into the sea, and the water closed over it without a trace.
He saw Kumar Taevor talking with the ship captain near the bow, their voices low, their postures easy.
"Praise the Lord of Greed!" Ashan said, approaching with the ritual salute.
Kumar Taevor turned, acknowledging him with a slight nod. "Praise the Lord of Greed!"
"If I may ask, where are we currently?"
"We are in the Alonmari Sea." The Kumar's gaze shifted forward, toward the horizon. "And we are reaching our base very soon."
The ship sailed silently through the calm water. No fins broke the surface. No shadows passed beneath the keel. No attacks from sea rakshasas, Ashan observed. This must be a secured route, regularly patrolled and purged by the House. Their operational reach is impressive.
An island came into view—a dark shape on the blue water, growing larger with each passing minute. Trees rose from its spine, and where the shore met the sea, wooden platforms jutted out like fingers reaching for the ships that came to dock.
The ship came beside the shore, ropes flying, anchors dropping.
"Drop the anchor!"
"Hurry! Move your asses, you drunk fuckers!"
Kumar Taevor exited the ship first, his boots finding the wooden platform with the ease of long familiarity. Elder Jinish followed, slower, more deliberate. Ashan walked behind them, his eyes taking in everything.
The moment he stepped onto the platform, he saw them—dozens of figures in layered robes, their heads bowed, their hands raised in ritual salute. They did not kneel, but the deference in their posture was deeper than kneeling. It was the deference of those who had learned that power was not a thing to be questioned.
Not just power and status, Ashan thought, watching the way the crowd parted for Kumar Taevor, the way their eyes followed him and then slid away. But a hierarchy so rigid it's performed instinctively. I need to learn its nuances fast.
The island was developed quite beautifully. Roads paved with fitted stone led further inland, past buildings that ranged from simple wooden structures to elegant stone edifices. Everywhere he looked, he saw robes—layered, colored, draped over left shoulders or right, marking faction and rank and allegiance.
A horse cart came and stopped in front of Kumar Taevor.
"Oh, right." The Kumar turned, something glinting in his hand. "Ashan, take this badge. You are free to roam around. There are many facilities to train your skills. Explore around the base. I will inform you soon."
He tossed the badge.
Ashan caught it—a circular coin of dark metal, a golden serpent coiled on its surface. He channeled a trickle of urja into it, felt it grow warm for a second.
Two lines of words appeared briefly:
Arashen
Ashan
A small map shimmered into existence, a few points highlighted in pale light.
An identity card and a tracker. He turned it over in his palm, studying the faint lines of energy that pulsed beneath the surface. Of course. "Free to roam" likely means "we will always know where you are."
He tucked it into his robe pocket.
First, my assigned dwelling. Its location and condition will tell me more about my true standing than any badge.
He hit the road leading to his new living space.
"Look, am I telling you we should go for that mission?"
"Hey, let's team up and grab a new mission."
A small crowd had gathered around a large wooden board, their voices overlapping, their gestures animated. Ashan stopped in his tracks, his eyes scanning not just the board, but the people around it—their demeanor, their groupings, who seemed successful, who seemed desperate.
"First time seeing you." A middle-aged man came beside him and laughed lightly. "This is the mission board where Arashen-ranked members get their missions." He started explaining without being asked, his voice too friendly, his smile too wide.
Too friendly. Ashan's eyes flickered with faint grayish-white hues. In a den of serpents, a friendly face is often a venomous one. Is he assessing the new Siddha? Recruiting? Or does he have a trap mission he needs a patsy for?
"There are a lot of Arashen-ranked members," Ashan said neutrally, giving nothing away.
"Of course, it is." The man's voice took on a grumbling edge. "Do you know how hard it is to reach from the Bodnir rank to the Arohan rank?" He shook his head, sighing. "Now the houses have an alliance, there are tons of missions to take, but we have to remain hidden from the Rajyams' forces." He gestured toward the board. "You should also take a mission or two."
He walked toward the mission board without waiting for a response.
Hmm. Just trying to pitch me on a mission, huh.
Ashan didn't follow. Instead, he committed a few mission titles and reward tiers to memory—Hunting Vypers, Supply Transport, Intelligence Gathering—and let the man's words settle into the background noise.
Intel first. He turned and walked toward his dwelling space. I need to understand the economy of risk and reward here before I commit to anything.
After walking for quite some time, he reached his hut.
It stood apart from the others, isolated at the edge of the settlement. The walls were warped, the thatch roof sagging in the middle. A single window stared out at the sea like the empty eye socket of a skull.
"So this is it," he murmured.
Isolated. Dilapidated. He studied the structure, the way the wood had greyed with age, the way the path leading to it was overgrown. This is a message. Either I am being tested for humility, or this is a deliberate show of contempt from someone who opposes my presence. Either way, it confirms I have enemies.
He carefully opened the door—it groaned on rusted hinges—and stepped inside.
A rusty, damp smell assaulted his nostrils. The floor was packed earth, the walls lined with dark wood that seemed to drink the light. A small animal skin mattress lay on the ground, thin and worn. In one corner, a clay pitcher sat beside a bucket of water.
Ashan went to the table. A small pouch sat upon it, leather drawstring, unremarkable.
He weighed it in his hand.
Heavier than expected.
He opened it. Coins gleamed in the dim light—bronze, newly minted, stacked in neat piles.
"Time to audit my starting capital," he thought wryly.
He counted them twice to be sure. Thirty bronze coins.
Thirty bronze. He let the number settle, turned it over in his mind. A meaningless number without context. My first order of business tomorrow is to find the mess hall or a tavern and learn the true value of a single coin. Survival depends on knowing what this pittance can actually buy.
The sun was setting. Through the window, he could see the sky turning orange, then red, then the deep purple of approaching night. Somewhere in the settlement, a bell rang—once, twice, three times—calling the faithful to prayer.
Ashan sat on the mattress, felt the worn fur give beneath his weight.
The Kumar said he'd inform me soon. My first mission is coming. I need to be ready.
He closed his eyes—not just to enter Sadhana, but to mentally review the map on the badge, planning his route for the morrow, calculating the fastest way to the mess hall, the training grounds, the library.
Gathering the most crucial intelligence of all: the cost of a meal, the price of survival, the weight of a single bronze coin in a world that measured everything in debt.