The Black family didn't believe in courtesy. When they sent a message, it was either carved into flesh or dropped from orbit.
Jareth was in the estate's cultivation chamber when the first alert came. The floor trembled. The walls pulsed faintly with defensive protocols, and Ayaka's voice cut through the silence.
"Incoming vessel. No identification ping. No standard descent pattern. Estimated impact radius within the estate grounds."
Jareth opened his eyes.
"Evacuate the lower halls. Lock down all secondary cores."
Ayaka didn't ask questions. She disappeared in a blur of motion.
Outside, the clouds split open like rotten fruit. A black meteor, jagged and unnatural, tore through the sky and slammed into the estate's outer court. Stone shattered. Fire bloomed. The ground shook with a rumble that sent cracks racing through the plaza tiles.
Jareth stepped into the smoke moments later. Guards scrambled to form a perimeter, their weapons drawn. The crater hissed and steamed, and from it rose a sphere of smooth obsidian.
It unraveled with a hiss.
Inside stood a boy no older than eighteen, with silver eyes and white hair tied in a braid. He wore the formal coat of the Black family's High Lineage, embroidered with crimson thread. On his shoulder gleamed the sigil of First Blade Heir.
The boy smiled like a viper.
"Cousin," he said. "I come bearing congratulations."
Jareth didn't smile. "You brought that in a meteor."
"A bit dramatic, perhaps. But you've stirred up quite the conversation back home."
Jareth crossed his arms. "So they sent you to rattle my gates."
"Not quite. They sent me to observe. And, if needed, intervene." He stepped forward, inspecting the scorched courtyard like he was shopping for rugs. "Ashveil is failing. The council expected you to keep your head down, clean the dust, and beg for resources. But instead, you light up the family mind-core, seize local data streams, and recruit war criminals."
"Sera Wynne isn't a war criminal," Jareth said. "She's a survivor."
The boy's grin widened. "Even worse."
Ayaka landed behind Jareth without a sound, her blade drawn halfway.
The boy waved lazily. "Peace. I'm not here for blood."
"Then what are you here for?" Jareth asked.
"To remind you of something." His eyes sharpened. "This throne you seek—it doesn't just take power. It takes proof. Legacy. Recognition. And the last time a branch heir tried to claim a continent without family approval… well, the crater still glows."
Jareth took a step forward. "You're here to threaten me."
"I'm here to challenge you," the boy said, removing a small crystal shard from his pocket. "This is an observer core. It will monitor all your movements, your cultivation progress, your battles, your politics. It reports directly to the elders."
"You think I care?"
"No. But they do. You win too fast, they get scared. You move too slowly, they send another heir. Maybe even a First Son. Maybe even me." His silver eyes gleamed. "So walk carefully, cousin. The Black Throne rewards cunning… and devours haste."
He turned back toward the crater and stepped onto a reactivation pad. Within seconds, he was gone, launched upward in a silent blur.
Ayaka didn't speak for a while.
Jareth finally turned. "Did you trace the shard's signal?"
"Yes. And he wasn't lying. It's reporting to Elder Zeyon."
Zeyon. The kingmaker. The same elder who once tried to marry off Jareth's mother to a foreign bloodline before the war. A man with hands in every shadowed corner of the family's politics.
"Then we move faster," Jareth said. "Before Zeyon can arrange his pieces."
Ayaka looked unconvinced. "Faster will draw more attention."
"Good. Let them look. I'll give them something worth watching."
---
Three days later, Ashveil was no longer dying.
The city's central energy node, once dead, now glowed with pale blue fire. Qi rivers flowed again through the major arteries. The western district market had reopened under strict protection, and caravans bearing minor goods were arriving through reclaimed airlanes.
But Jareth's real play wasn't on the surface.
Beneath the estate, in a chamber long abandoned by previous lords, Sera Wynne worked beside three engineers, threading crimson threadsteel into the matrix core of a hidden device a resonance cannon fueled by wild qi bursts. It wasn't legal under Black family law. And it wasn't meant for defense.
It was meant to pierce realm gates.
Sera wiped sweat from her brow. "Once it's active, it'll send a spike signal deep enough to be seen from the nearest cultivation realm. Loud and illegal."
"Good," Jareth said. "I want the ancestors to know I'm listening."
Sera paused. "You're not afraid they'll send someone?"
"They will. But they'll expect desperation. I'll give them direction instead."
She exhaled slowly. "You're crazy."
He smiled faintly. "That's why I'm still alive."
---
That night, the resonance cannon hummed to life. The core chamber flooded with heat and energy. Jareth stood at the helm, his core flaring in sync with the machine. Ayaka watched from the side, blade drawn. Sera adjusted the final dial.
"Three seconds," she said.
"Do it," Jareth replied.
The cannon fired.
A lance of pure energy erupted skyward, invisible to the untrained eye, but felt by every cultivator within a thousand miles. It pierced the sky, split the veil, and rang through the firmament like a battle cry.
Somewhere beyond Earth Star, in the Black family's cultivation realm, a giant eye opened in the dark.
And began to watch.