The pulse of the realm had changed.
Even without spiritual perception, anyone within Ashveil could feel it. A heavy weight pressing down on the air. The kind that made lesser cultivators instinctively bow their heads and ordinary soldiers stumble without knowing why.
It was the First Echo.
A ritual older than the families themselves, triggered only when a potential heir awakened the ancestral core. A call from the cultivation realm to the material one, marking the next trial.
Jareth stood in the war hall, cloak cast aside, the runes from the Sovereign Core still faintly visible on his skin. They pulsed with slow, deliberate energy, like breathing scars.
Sera read aloud from the Black Codex. "The First Echo manifests a trial. Not physical… but political. It forces all surrounding powers both ally and rival to respond to the awakening. Inaction is considered weakness. Counteraction is invitation to conflict. Support is declaration of allegiance."
Ayaka leaned against the wall, arms folded. "They're going to test you through your enemies."
"They already are," Jareth replied.
He gestured to the translucent display hovering above the war table. Three sigils glowed red.
"Who?" Sera asked.
"The Onyx Syndicate. The Celestial Grain Consortium. And…" He paused, eyes narrowing. "The Bayo family."
Sera stiffened. "They're allied with the Solari."
"Exactly. And now they've rerouted their trade convoys around Ashveil. Starving our border provinces of medical qi and steelwood. It's not an attack but it's meant to be a message."
Ayaka's voice was colder than usual. "Starve the outer ring, weaken your cultivation pipeline. Delay your momentum. Classic continental chokehold."
"They think they have time," Jareth said. "They don't."
---
Three nights later, in a gathering hall deep beneath Ashveil's embassy, representatives from the three factions sat behind veils and illusion spells. None would show their face, not here, not where the Black crest loomed on every wall.
Jareth entered alone.
He wore no armor. No cloak. Only black robes with silver-threaded lining, a subtle declaration of authority and precision.
A projection orb hovered above the center of the room, showing maps of redirected supply lines, recalibrated tariffs, and economic blockades.
"House Black," one veiled figure began, "has grown too quickly. Stability requires time. Your sudden ascension… is premature."
Another voice followed. "Had you consulted the trade council"
"I didn't," Jareth cut in.
The voices paused. Just long enough.
"You built your strength during our silence. Cultivated in the shadows. Expanded your tech-armory while pretending neutrality. And now that I've surfaced, you seek to leash me through policy."
He stepped forward, and for a moment, the air vibrated. The sphere above pulsed, displaying new data classified intelligence gathered over the past forty-eight hours.
Ashveil had intercepted encrypted communications from the Celestial Consortium to the Solari's east wing. A shipment of ghostfire cannons had passed into Solari territory. Their destination? A neutral zone only hours from Ashveil.
"This is not economic pressure," Jareth said. "This is preparation."
No one spoke.
Then Jareth dropped a crystal onto the table. It pulsed with internal light, then displayed a captured message:
"If the Black heir steps beyond the Basin again, execute Phase Two."
There was silence.
"You think I don't understand how this game works," Jareth continued. "But while you sent traders and smugglers, I sent shadows. While you whispered to the Solari, I built weapons the ancestors themselves can't trace."
He leaned in slightly. "Continue this course, and I won't respond with tariffs. I'll respond with devastation."
The veiled voices flickered. Their illusions trembled. One of them, the representative of the Bayo family vanished entirely, retreating through soul-light projection.
Coward.
Jareth turned and left.
He had sent the first signal. And it had been heard.
---
Back at the fortress, Ayaka and Sera watched as new shipments were logged into Ashveil's internal network. The trade lines were reopening. Quietly. Reluctantly. But they were moving.
"You broke the blockade without firing a shot," Sera said.
"No," Jareth replied. "I fired a different kind of weapon. One they can't block."
He turned to Ayaka. "Send word to the Shadow Wardens. I want surveillance drones in the Ruined Fissure by dawn."
"That's Solari territory."
"I know. I want to see how far they're willing to go."
Ayaka hesitated. "You're pushing close to open war."
"No," Jareth said. "I'm pushing until they blink."
---
Far away, in the Solari high halls, a council of robed elders reviewed the surveillance feed of the southern sky specifically, the moment Jareth Black connected with the Sovereign Core.
One of the elders spoke.
"He bears the signature of the Night Path. The Black Throne stirs."
Another replied, "We should have ended him before the transmigration."
The eldest among them said, "It's too late for regrets. The heir has emerged."
And with slow certainty, he added, "Prepare the candidate. Initiate the Twin Trial."
---
As Jareth stood at his war table, another message arrived.
This one bore no family crest.
Only a single line etched in bone-scribe:
"I know your secret, Jareth. You are not the only heir."
He read it once.
Then, without a word, burned it.
But his eyes did not leave the flames.
Because he knew exactly who had sent it.
And she was supposed to be dead.