Morning came slowly to Kaelthorn.
Mist clung to the valley floor as the first light of dawn crept across the fortress walls. The rain from the night before had stopped, leaving the earth dark and heavy beneath the soldiers' boots.
Arden stood atop the northern tower and watched the road.
Four patrols dead.
The thought returned again and again no matter how he tried to focus on other matters. The mountains beyond the ridge remained quiet, their forests unmoving beneath the pale morning sky.
Too quiet.
If something truly had awakened in the Silent Valley, the sects arriving today might not be a coincidence.
Movement on the road caught his attention.
A column of riders appeared through the lingering fog, their silhouettes cutting slowly through the mist. Even from this distance Arden could tell they were not ordinary travelers.
Their banners gave it away.
The first flag that emerged carried the image of a silver tree with long twisting roots. The banner moved gently in the morning wind as the riders approached the fortress gate.
Silverroot Sect.
Arden watched them quietly.
Nearly twenty figures rode together in disciplined formation. Their robes were deep green trimmed with silver thread, and the wooden cases strapped to their saddles were unmistakable.
Herb cases.
Alchemy sect.
Arden leaned slightly against the stone railing. Silverroot disciples rarely traveled without purpose.
Which meant they believed something valuable existed in this region.
Below him the fortress gates opened.
The Silverroot delegation entered Kaelthorn with little ceremony. Their leader, a calm middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his hair, barely glanced at the surrounding walls.
Arden noticed that.
Experienced cultivators often looked around when entering a new territory. This one didn't bother.
Which meant he had likely visited Kaelthorn before.
Or he considered it too insignificant to matter.
Hoofbeats echoed through the courtyard below as the sect members dismounted. Several of them immediately began speaking with the fortress attendants.
Arden turned his attention back toward the road.
The second group appeared soon after.
They did not arrive quietly.
Dust rose behind them as a much larger group approached the fortress. Even from a distance their presence felt heavier than the Silverroot delegation.
Iron Fang Sect.
The banner they carried showed the open jaws of a steel wolf. Nearly thirty riders followed behind it, their armor dark and worn from frequent combat.
Unlike the alchemists, these cultivators looked like soldiers.
Arden could hear their laughter even before they reached the gate.
"Frontier fortress," one of them said loudly as they approached. "Looks smaller than I expected."
Another rider snorted. "That's because it is."
Several of the Kaelthorn soldiers stiffened at the comment, though none of them spoke.
Iron Fang cultivators valued strength above courtesy.
Arden watched as the group rode inside the fortress without waiting for formal greeting. Their leader, a tall man with thick arms and a scar across his jaw, looked around the courtyard with open interest.
He was evaluating defenses.
Arden recognized the habit immediately.
Body cultivation sects often trained for battlefield combat. Their leaders thought like generals rather than scholars.
Which made them dangerous allies.
And dangerous enemies.
A third group appeared near midday.
They arrived with far fewer riders than the others.
Only twelve.
But the moment their banner emerged from the fog the atmosphere along the walls changed.
Azure Cloud Pavilion.
Their flag carried a pale blue sword drawn across a drifting cloud. Even from this distance the cultivators riding beneath it carried themselves differently.
Their movements were controlled.
Precise.
Each rider wore long robes of light blue silk that moved like water in the wind. Swords rested at their waists, their scabbards polished until they reflected the morning sun.
Sword cultivators.
Arden felt several of the fortress soldiers straighten unconsciously as the Azure Cloud disciples approached.
Sword sects held a certain prestige throughout the kingdom.
They were known for two things.
Speed.
And lethality.
The leader of the group rode slightly ahead of the others, a young woman with sharp eyes and a calm expression. Her gaze moved across the fortress walls as she entered the gate.
Unlike the Silverroot elder, she examined everything.
Arden could practically see the calculations happening behind her eyes.
Distance.
Angles.
Escape routes.
She noticed Arden standing on the tower.
For a brief moment their eyes met across the courtyard.
Then she looked away as if nothing had happened.
Interesting.
Most sect disciples ignored frontier nobles entirely.
The final group arrived near evening.
They did not carry a large banner.
Instead, a single black lantern hung from the staff held by the rider at the front of the column. The lantern's glass panels were etched with faint glowing patterns that shimmered even in daylight.
Black Lantern Hall.
Arden watched them with greater interest than the others.
There were only eight of them.
Too few for a normal recruitment delegation.
But their arrival felt… deliberate.
Unlike the other sects, these cultivators spoke little as they entered the fortress. Their robes were dark and simple, marked only by thin lines of silver thread forming geometric patterns across the sleeves.
Formation runes.
Arden had seen similar markings once before in a traveling scholar's book.
Rune sects rarely traveled openly unless they were investigating something.
And they certainly didn't send delegations this small unless secrecy mattered.
The leader of the group dismounted slowly in the courtyard.
An older woman with pale hair tied behind her head.
Her eyes moved across the fortress walls once before settling briefly on the northern horizon.
The direction of the Silent Valley.
Arden noticed the movement instantly.
So did she.
Their gazes met for only a moment before she turned away.
But the message was clear.
She knew something.
Arden remained standing on the tower long after the sect delegations disappeared inside the fortress keep.
Four sects.
Too many for a forgotten frontier barony.
Silverroot wanted herbs.
Iron Fang wanted fighters.
Azure Cloud wanted talent.
But Black Lantern Hall…
Arden stared toward the distant mountains again.
They were here for something else.
Something buried beneath the Silent Valley.
And whatever it was—
The patrols had died protecting it.