Patriarch Ahren lifted his hands in a gesture of benediction and glanced around the room. “This assembly of the Thirteen has begun,” he intoned, meeting the eyes of all seven of the other representatives. “As we have a quorum, I shall begin with our pressing new business.”

  The chamber blossomed with light of every color, reflected from a spinning silver ball in the center of the ceiling. Flashes of red, green, orange, and yellow lit the robes and faces of everyone attending. Each wore the distinctive patterns of their own sect, but in the constantly shifting rainbow light, the sect colors were washed out and muted, so everyone appeared to be wearing shades of grey.

  Only skin and hair picked up the colors, reflecting them back as though to indicate that these were not mere mortals of flesh and bone, but high-ranking cultivators, whose bodies were as much lux as they were anything else. Lux concentrators buried beneath the jade floor of the chamber kept the densities here at a comfortable level, a nicety implemented millennia before, when the Thirteen had been thirteen in truth and had the power and inclination to do such things.

  They were seated at a round table. Its top was divided by lines into thirteen equal spaces, and at the apex of each of the wedges stood a throne of pure white marble, now glistening in the multicolored hue of the light, each bearing the symbol of one of the sects.

  Patriarch Ahren could feel the slashing waves of the Shadow Dancer Sect from behind him, entrusting him with the weight of his entire sect. He had risen to Patriarch by dint of his sect’s performance, his own strength, and the fact that he was now the oldest remaining of any of them.

  Most of the rest of the sect leaders in this room dated their time since the end of the last Prism War. No, he corrected himself mentally, the previous Prism War, and that brought him to the agenda at hand.

  He glanced down at the copy that his most trusted scribe had written for him, with the notes added in their sect’s own secret script. Not that he needed such memory aids. He might be eight hundred years old, but Ahren had the mind of a man centuries younger, and the body of a cultivator in his prime.

  “First off,” the Patriarch intoned, “with the reported ascension of Prism Eri, it appears that this latest incident has come to its natural end, and peace will reign across our Empire once more. Heaven’s blessings upon His Imperial Majesty for His quick and decisive actions here.”

  One of the other sect leaders, Matriarch Shu of the Climbing Vines Sect, snorted and leaned across the table.

  “Why do you keep up your toad-eating ways, Ahren?” she demanded. “You have already ascended as high as you're going to go, and currying favor with the Emperor won't take you any higher. Or do you intend to present yourself for one of the newly vacant Prism positions?”

  “Ridiculous!” the Patriarch snapped.

  He had no interest in the rank of Prism. It would do nothing for him. Less than nothing, since it would require him to perform many duties which he was not at all interested in. As a Patriarch, Ahren already had permission to crack Lumos any time he wanted, and the backing of a sect far more powerful than that which surrounded an ordinary Prism.

  “Well, someone is,” Shu said. “The Emperor is already conducting his search for his new prisms. I’m sure we’ve all heard of someone taken for interview by now?” She let her words dangle. All around the room, heads nodded. “From what I hear, he’s speaking with every single cultivator who can split Lumos, regardless of sect standing.”

  “Nonsense,” Ahren stated. “If he was truly interested in some minor sect’s pathetic offerings, would he have invoked the Rite of Ascension?”

  He waited for his words to have an impact, but there was none. By now, everyone in the room already knew about the Rite.

  “Yes, yes,” Master Rie Gian said. “Each of the charter sects will put forth one candidate for the rank of Prism, to be presented to the Emperor for his consideration.”

  Three positions to his left, one of the other Patriarchs spoke. The Grand Master of the Weathered Stone Sect was a relatively new member of this council, having succeeded his predecessor and grandmother only a decade before. “I have consulted my sect record, and the Rite of Ascension has not been invoked for several hundred years, not even after the last Prism War. Should we perhaps take any note of the fact that the Emperor has asked us to present our best candidates to him for his choice?”

  Ahren steepled his fingers as he considered the young man’s words.

  “It is the Emperor’s prerogative to choose who he will as Prism,” he said. “In the past few centuries, every time a vacancy has occurred, the Emperor has already known which candidate he planned to elevate. But in this case, Prism Eri’s rebellion had unexpected consequences.”

  All around the table, heads nodded as the other sect leaders agreed with his assessment.

  “There have not been three Prism vacancies at the same time since the last Prism War. In the last war, which lasted for over five years, the Emperor, in the end, elevated all three of his generals to fill the vacant positions, two men and a woman who had earned his respect during the fighting.

  “This little fracas with Eri I would not even dignify with the term ‘war.’ It took considerably less than a year’s time. We are as yet missing details as to how exactly she was defeated, but what the currents of Lumos do tell is that she ascended far to the west. We all know the bad blood between her and the General of the West. I would wager that the General of the West either was killed while forcing her to ascend, or perhaps chose to ascend after she did. With no war hero to elevate, the Emperor has turned to us to supply his Prisms. It is an opportunity for us.”

  The second woman in the room, Master Rim Kahala of the Purple Lotus Sect, stated, “But I fear it may also be a trap. What if our candidates fail?”

  Primate Ahren stiffened. He forced a smile to his face, not wanting to show any weakness to the others. “Do you really think that the candidates we put forth could possibly fail to meet the Emperor’s requirements?”

  “But what if he says they do?” Shu asked, putting an emphasis on the word says.

  Ahren lifted both hands in the air. “Are you telling me that you don’t think between the eight of us we can come up with three Lux Dominators capable of cracking Lumos on command? With mastery of their sect path, command of the Seven Secrets, and a handful of disciples able to pass the rudimentary trials laid out here in the Ritual?”

  He tapped the paper and shook his head. “If we could not, then we do not deserve to retain the privileges we have enjoyed for so long.” He felt on a firmer footing now, strongly believing every single word that he said.

  The woman subsided, and Ahren flipped the papers over. “If I may continue, I do not want to take up too much of your time today, and we do have several other matters to discuss. I will expect the names of the candidates you are putting forth within the fortnight so that we can properly produce our list for the Emperor’s officials before the new moon, which is the deadline he set forth.

  “Moving on, we have here the next six months’ scheduled requests for tower climbs from the sects attempting to elevate candidates from the first tier of advancement to the second.”

  The others all stirred restlessly and he surpressed a smile. They were disappointed he had not gotten to the business they were most interested in. By now they would’ve all heard reports about the foreign emissary. They would be aching for details after days of thin rumors. But work had to be done.

  The Office of Cultivation took care of the lower-level tower entry requests. too many for this council to handle, and the lower-tier bureaucrats were perfectly capable of handling the requests. Every now and then they would request aid from a handful of Lux Embodiment cultivators to come put a sect of recalcitrant Peak of Mental Refinement cultivators back in their place. But for the most part, Ahren and the council were happy to allow them to handle matters.

  Every one of the thousands of sects in the Empire wanted a slot in a tower cull. If they got even half as many as they wanted, they’d drain the lux from the Empire, leaving it starved of the resources it needed, the people left to wither and fade without the nurturing properties of lux, and there would be entirely too many mid-ranking cultivators running around scrabbling for position. For sects who were attempting to advance cultivators to the Lux Endowment or Lux Embodiment ranks, however, it was an entirely different matter. Controlling access was one of the things that gave the council its power, but they rarely discussed it in a full assembly.

  “According to my scribes, we can allow two hundred Lux Endowment, twenty Lux Embodiment, and three Lux Domination slots to the outer sects,” Primate Ahren declared. “Per our long-standing custom, we will limit ourselves to a tenth of that each, rounded up. So twenty Lux Endowment, two Lux Embodiment, and a single Lux Dominator for each of our sects.”

  The others were nodding. The Charter Sects were careful to keep each other at the same level, not allowing any one sect to consolidate power. They were all too aware of the fact that some of the empty chairs at the table had fallen thanks to the machinations of others in their number.

  “I will send my proposed schedule and alternate schedule to all of your head scribes for approval,” the Patriarch declared.

  He waited. They shifted uncomfortably. Some might want to argue or debate but none wanted to delay him from getting to the real reason for the assembly.

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  “Now,” he said, and cleared his throat. “The last matter for our agenda…”

  He paused, watching them all perk up. Even sleepy old Ha Dia, who spent most of these meetings snoring, sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  He looked around at the eager listeners but before he could speak again, a young woman entered, shaking off a pair of attendants who were trying to stop her progress.

  The woman wore sect robes, and before she crossed the threshold into the rainbow-hued room, he noted they were all of gray and white, in a pattern that teased the edge of his mind. The woman’s robes were trimmed with red, indicating she was a sect spouse of the lowest rank.

  Her hair was swept up from her face in a pair of braids that were pinned to her head, a style barely more complicated than a peasant woman would wear, giving the impression of someone who wanted to keep her hair out of her way while she worked.

  Still, she had presence to her, a keen pair of eyes that flashed around the room, and as the Patriarch, in irritation, shot his will out toward her, intent on stopping her where she stood, it met a will that withstood, at least for a moment.

  He withdrew, staring in shock.

  A sect spouse with a will strong enough to stand a brush from a Patriarch? What sect would dare send such a low-ranking woman to speak to them?

  Her head held high, the woman entered the room. She cleared her throat.

  “I am a messenger imparted with word from a Charter Sect Patriarch,” she called, and the room went absolutely still, all eyes fixed on her.

  Patriarch Ahren stared. How could she possibly have known to use that phrase? Now that she had, they would have to hear her out, even though it was absolutely ludicrous.

  “Impossible,” he spluttered to the man to his right. “All eight of us are here.”

  The woman gave a thin smile, made Ahren think of a toothy fish lurking just below the water, ready to bite. “My Grandmaster said you would say so.”

  She pulled a scroll from inside the sleeve of her robe and handed it to one of the men who had tried to prevent her from entering, then jerked her head toward Patriarch Ahren.

  “Take that to your master,” she said.

  Ahren waited as the man brought it to him. There was a seal on it in ink infused with lux, the seal marked by the design from a ring, a design that matched one also seen on one of the empty chairs.

  He turned and looked at it now. He didn’t break the seal.

  “Who is your master, girl?” he demanded.

  The woman kept her head up. She spoke clearly, no sign of intimidation in her voice, even though he had put his own will into his words.

  “I am Gao Min, Head Spouse of the Morning Mist Sect,” she said clearly.

  Every word she said was more nonsensical than the rest. A red-ranked woman in her twenties could not possibly be the Head Spouse of a charter sect.

  “Morning Mist has been dead for seven hundred years,” one of the other Patriarchs whispered.

  “Eight hundred,” Ahren said absently as he studied the seal.

  “Our Grandmaster said you might say that,” Lady Gao said with a hint of a smile. “He especially told me to tell you, Master Ahren, that he has a long memory and has been looking forward to making your acquaintance again.”

  The scroll fell from Ahren’s hands to land on the table. The others mumbled and whispered as they watched him. He was looking weak here. He forced his hands to still, picked up the paper, slid his finger under the seal, and unrolled it. His eyes flickered across the page.

  It was written in his own sect’s secret language, only a handful of lines. he read them all.

  Hello, Stinky Feet. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? You will find enclosed a copy of the Office of Cultivations and the Adjudicators’ recognition that Morning Mist, one of the Charter Sects, has indeed been reconstituted. Our abrogation has been revoked. The Emperor has recognized us and called on me to provide a candidate for his vacant Prism slots. Since as of this moment there is only one Morning Mist cultivator at the Lux Dominator level who can reliably crack Lumos, this note is to inform you that I shall be presenting myself as our sect’s candidate.

  Signed, Grandmaster Kang Dai Rel of the Morning Mist.

  P.S. I know exactly how you did it.

  He dropped the paper, feeling as though his own face was the same pale shade as the parchment on which the message had been written.

  The man next to him craned his head. “I can’t read a word of that. What does it say, Patriarch? Ahren?”

  Ahren wet his lips. He let out a croak. “The Sect of Morning Mist is indeed back,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Lady Gao said cheerfully. “I have some other papers I’m supposed to give you once you’ve read that. Here.” She produced them. “The ink on them is a little smudged. I’m sorry, my husband was in a bit of a hurry to get them done.”

  She gave them to the nearest of the Patriarchs, or rather Matriarch Shu. The woman looked down at them. “Your husband?” she asked in a clearly puzzled tone. “You are the senior spouse. Are you referring to your Grandmaster?”

  Lady Gao laughed. “Grandmaster Noren? No, of course not. I have the honor to be the wife of Cultivator Wu Chang-li, who at the moment, aside from being our second-ranked cultivator, is also the Head Scribe of the sect.”

  This was ridiculous. Preposterous. Charter sects did not come back from Imperial abrogation. Dead men didn’t return after eight hundred years to announce that they were going to present themselves for the rank of Prism, and top-ranked cultivators were not also the Head Scribe of their sect.

  Patriarch Ahren looked up, certain this was all some sort of preposterous farce being levied on him. But who could possibly know enough to pull all of this off?

  The woman bowed low. “If you don’t have any reply for me, I shall take my leave.”

  Ahren wanted her gone more than anything else, but Matriarch Shu spoke first.

  “Wait. If what you say is correct, Patriarch, and she is the envoy of one of our sister sects now returned from the dead,” she shook her head and forced a smile “then I am, of course, completely pleased to hear such news.” She turned to the young woman with a toothy smile of her own. “Since your Grandmaster did not attend this meeting, there’s important business that you should witness. Please, take a seat.”

  Lady Gao’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Ahren pointed at the empty Morning Mist seat and waited. The young woman, flustered, finally moved to take it. The delay gave Ahren a chance get himself under control.

  “Bring in the invitation,” he called.

  The Morning Mist spouse perched at the very edge of her seat as the rest of the room stirred with excitement. She looked confused and more than a little scared. Ahren focused his will on controlling his own composure. He watched everyone’s reactions as three Lux Endowment cultivators staggered into the room, each carrying a corner of an enormous fluted pyramid. It was made from bronze and flared out from the top down to the bottom like a great three-sided bell. It was covered in scripts.

  They set it down, and at a weak gesture from Ahren, began channeling lux into it according to the instructions on the scripts. The bell rose into the air. It chimed once and hung there, as the note seemed to reverberate around the room in time with the flashing lights from the silvery ball overhead.

  Then it began to sing.

  “The voice of the Phoenix is heard in the land once again! Calling, all who seek triumph, flame, life, death, honor, defeat, and eternal glory at the hands of your enemies. Come! Come and be known. Come and show us what you are made of, what your sects are, what your Empire is. We challenge you to send us your best, to test against all others who dare. The Phoenix calls!

  “Fortunes will be made, lives will be lost, the destiny of nations will rise and fall, for this is the Manifestation of Power. You have eight months from the receipt of this invitation to send your champions for the qualification events.

  “Be it known that this year the Three Destined of Heaven will be sitting as judges, and they have decreed that any nation which does not answer this summons will have their towers ripped from them and given to someone far more powerful. This shall be enforced by the Destined.”

  There was a flash of light. Then Ahren, along with everyone else in the room, were plunged into a vision.

  A trio of cultivators stood back to back: a man, a woman, and a hooded figure whose sex could not be determined. The man carried a sickle, the woman lifted a blue flaming lantern, the hooded one bore a sword.

  A moment later the scene changed again. The man with the sickle hung in air. He swept his sickle, and a flash of pure white light shot out from it and a cultivation tower toppled. Lumos spilled from it, pooling, then erupting. The explosion passed over the man without so much as ruffling his face.

  The woman stood in the center of a city, fifty feet tall, her lantern held over her head. Blue light streamed down from it, flooding the city. Everything it touched turned to madness. People fought in the streets. They strangled each other with their bare hands. They ripped furniture apart and used it to bash and stab each other. They ran each other down with carts. Children ran screaming, chased by dogs driven mad by the strange blue light. The woman stood there laughing as the city destroyed itself.

  The gray figure approached what was clearly a camp of cultivators about to attempt a tower climb. These were not Imperial sects. Ahren didn’t recognize any of the symbols, and the clothes and hairstyles were entirely foreign, but he recognized the pattern of activity and the tower rising beyond.

  The figure walked through the camp, and it was as though time had stopped. Everyone there was frozen in the act of whatever they had been doing previously. The figure draw its sword.

  Time moved again.

  A thousand gray-clad shapes appeared behind every person in the camp. A thousand swords flashed as one, rising, falling, and striking down each and every person present.

  The camp was filled with a collective scream, then thuds and silence. Ahren could smell the blood, see it pooling, running in rivers as the shadowy being became one again.

  The vision cleared. He found himself breathing hard. These were cultivators at a level he didn’t even know how to name. It was very likely that each of them was on a level with the Emperor himself.

  Ahren was absolutely certain that the Emperor could take on any one of these cultivators and win, especially if he knew they were coming. He also suspected if the council was able to work together, they might be the equal of one of the others, but three of them together, as was being threatened? That was a notable threat.

  As the vision died, Matriarch Shu shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  “They didn’t need to issue that sort of threat,” she grumbled. “The Four Continents Manifestation of Power prizes are always enough to entice competitors.”

  “Prizes! Behold!?” the bell intoned, and a moment later they were inundated with visions of treasures. It showed stacks of gold and gems, mountains of cultivating treasures, fabulous relics from other lands, weapons suited for high-ranked cultivators. “And that’s just what the competitors get. The winners will receive something even greater.”

  There was a flash in Ahren’s mind, and the knowledge of what the winners would receive settled in him. That was something indeed.

  He looked around the room, and his eyes fell on the young woman from the Morning Mist Sect. She was sagging in her chair, breathing heavily, her eyes wide.

  He smiled maliciously. “Forgive me, Lady Gao,” he said with mock sympathy. “I should have offered to let you leave the room before doing that.”

  She straightened up and met his gaze coolly.

  “I shall tell my sect this message,” she said. “But, um, I’m afraid I have never heard of this competition. I don’t know what the rules are. What competitors are we looking for?”

  Ahren waved a hand idly. “Oh, just the usual. At least two Lux Dominators, each with a full support team consisting of at least three cultivators at the Lux Endowment stage or higher, complete mastery of the Seven Ways, that sort of thing. Nothing that any proper Charter Sect shouldn’t be able to provide. In fact,“ his eyes narrowed. “According to the Charter itself, should a sect be unable to provide what it is required in a time of national emergency, its charter would be revoked. I am absolutely certain this qualifies as a national emergency. What do you think?” he asked, looking around the room at the others.

  Each of them nodded.

  “Let’s make it official,” he said. “All in favor of stating that the invitation to this century’s Four Continents Manifestation of Power is indeed an emergency, and any sect who cannot match that requirement is to forfeit their status as a Charter Sect.”

  One by one, each hand raised.

  “Excellent,” Ahren stated. “Since we have a quorum here, the motion is passed. You might take that message to your master as well,” he told the woman, smiling maliciously at her.

  But if it bothered her, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she shrugged. “Thank you for that, Patriarch.” She bowed and backed from the room. Ahren permitted himself to feel a little pleasure at that. After all, she had put him off guard earlier. It was only right to return the favor now.