The heavy oak door to the meditation chamber remained firmly shut, its surface scarred from Baron Rath's earlier outburst. The baron stood just outside, his hulking frame seeming smaller than usual as he paced the corridor, his face still flushed from rage but now tinged with confusion.
What had happened in there?
He replayed the scene over and over in his mind—his daughter's fiery eyes, the strange heat that had suffused the air, the unshakable authority in her voice when she had commanded him to leave. He had been ready to strip her of her titles, to marry her off to some obscure commoner, but at that moment, his fury had faltered.
What stopped me?
Rath wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his gaze darting toward the chamber door. As a mundane soul, he couldn't sense the supernatural currents that had awakened within Maya, but the primal part of his mind recognized the shift. For the first time in years, he had felt something close to fear—not of his daughter, but of something beyond comprehension.
"Baron," came a soft, measured voice from behind him.
Rayna.
The baron turned to see his wife standing demurely at the edge of the corridor, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her expression was one of sympathy, but her cold eyes glinted with calculation.
"She was insolent," Rath muttered, more to himself than to her. "And yet… perhaps I was too harsh."
Rayna stepped closer, her tone honeyed yet firm. "My lord, it is only natural for a father to love his child. You have every right to doubt your actions. But…" She lowered her gaze slightly, adopting an air of subservience. "You are not just her father. You are the baron."
Rath frowned, his broad shoulders tensing. "What are you getting at, woman?"
Rayna's voice grew softer, almost conspiratorial. "A baron's voice is law, my lord. If you hesitate now and show leniency to your own blood, what will the people think? What will the court think? They will whisper that Baron Rath cannot even control his daughter, that he is weak."
Rath's jaw tightened, his pride stinging at her words.
"I understand your heart, my lord," Rayna continued, her tone soothing. "But you must think of the barony's future. If your authority wavers, who will respect your commands? Who will respect the Rath name?"
The gears turned in Rath's mind, his brow furrowing as he considered her words. Slowly, his expression hardened, resolve settling over his features like a mask.
"You're right," he said gruffly. "She must learn her place. If she does not fulfill her duties by the day's end, she will face the consequences."
Rayna inclined her head, hiding the satisfied smirk that threatened to curl her lips. "Of course, my lord. Your wisdom is unparalleled."
With a sharp nod, Rath turned and strode down the corridor toward his study, leaving Rayna alone. As the sound of his footsteps faded, her composed expression cracked, and a gleam of triumph lit her eyes.
Inside the meditation chamber, Maya sat cross-legged on the cushion, her earlier fury replaced by a buoyant sense of accomplishment. She flexed her fingers, feeling a faint warmth lingering in her palms.
"I did it!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with excitement. "Ancestor, did you see? I unlocked a pair of wings!"
The voice in her mind chuckled, a sound like dry parchment rustling. "You are eager, child, but mistaken."
Maya blinked, her jubilation faltering. "What do you mean? That… that wasn't a pair of wings?"
"No," the ancestor said, his tone patient. "What you have unlocked are the foundational feathers. A necessary beginning, yes, but far from the full power of a wing."
Maya tilted her head, puzzled. "Foundational feathers? What's the difference?"
"Ah," the voice said, settling into a more instructive tone. "Just as there are divisions within each tier of soul cultivation, so too are there divisions within the wings of power. To wield a pair of wings is to have surpassed all its minor tiers leading up to the first tier, achieving mastery over its foundational elements. What you possess now are the first glimpses of that potential—a foundation upon which to build."
Maya frowned. "So… what are the minor tiers?"
"They differ for every wing," the ancestor explained. "Some wings of power have only two minor tiers, while others have three or more. It is this complexity that gave rise to the factions, each dedicated to studying and classifying the wings within their purview."
"Like the Seer Faction?" Maya asked.
"Indeed," the ancestor replied, a note of pride creeping into his voice. "The Seer Faction specialized in the wings of foresight and fate, but we were not alone. The Elemental Faction mastered the primal forces of fire, water, earth, and air. The Light Faction wielded the wings of healing and sanctuary. And the Dark Faction…" His voice grew heavy. "They were the keepers of shadow, masters of assassination, poison, and treachery."
Maya shivered at his tone but pressed on. "And you? Did you study the other wings?"
The ancestor hesitated before answering. "After the collapse of the factions, I spent years laboriously collecting manuscripts and tomes from all corners of the world. Though my own expertise lay in foresight, I sought to preserve what I could of the other factions' knowledge. In my current state, I can identify most of the known Tier 1 wings."
Maya's curiosity deepened. "Then… what about my foundational feathers? What do they mean?"
The voice began to reply but abruptly faltered. A sharp gasp echoed through Maya's mind, followed by a deafening silence.
"Ancestor?" she called out, her excitement giving way to panic. "Ancestor, what's wrong?"
The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity, and fear coiled tightly around her chest.
Finally, the voice returned, fainter than before, as if it had aged in those few moments. When it spoke, its words sent a chill down her spine.
"There is another," the ancestor whispered.