Jamal plummeted through the forest canopy, rocks and branches snapping as he hit the ground running. He couldn't die here—not when he was so close. Not when the Tomb of Khan was within reach.
"Just a little further. It has to be here somewhere."
At twelve years old, he was too young for this, too inexperienced to be navigating the hunting grounds of apex predators alone. Yet he'd always been different—more at ease slipping through palace shadows than clashing steel in the sparring yard. It wasn't strength that drove him here; it was a relentless curiosity.
The mountains rose ahead, their craggy peaks clawing at the sky, shadows promising both peril and safety—and the prize he'd bled for.
A bloodfang python closed in behind him, faster than he thought they could.
He vaulted over a rocky outcrop, his foot catching the edge. Gravel sprayed beneath him as he stumbled, barely dodging the snake's gaping maw.
The beast hissed, its scales flashing like polished jade under the dim light. Jamal tracked it with his qi sense , too wise to glance back.
It closed the gap. He pushed harder, legs burning. To cry for aid would chain him to the palace forever—his father's gilded cage , trapped with smug tutors and their endless lectures.
The thought alone fueled him. The forest thinned, giving way to sharp boulders and narrow ledges.
He neared the mountain, praying its maze of stone would shake the serpent. It struck, fangs grazing his thigh with a jolt of pain.
"Damned reptile!" Jamal spat through gritted teeth. "I'll make sure Father wipes out your kind for this!"
The python's hiss split the air, venom misting as it lunged anew. Ahead, he glimpsed the cave from the map—less dense qi, smoothed edges. This was it.
A chasm yawned between him and safety, the snake a breath away. A narrow ledge jutted out—he had to make it.
This was more than survival. Years spent chasing Khan's legend —creeping through palace archives, stitching together charred scrolls—had forged this path. Failure was not an option.
His breath caught, chest tight as a drum. One slip, and the abyss would claim him.
He leaped. The snake surged, its bulk arcing like a falcon's stoop. A gust of wind hit him, but he caught a jagged rock, ribs screaming as he clung on. Fangs raked his arm, venom searing his flesh.
"Not today," he snarled, clawing a talisman from his pouch. The ledge crumbled as he flung it. He dove, twisting mid-air, as the snake struck again.
He flung the talisman—his last, a fragile shard etched with qi runes he'd pilfered from the palace armory. It flared, a fireball erupting in the python's path, its scales blackening as the blast roared like a falcon's cry. Jamal crashed into the cave, heart pounding, the acrid sting of smoke in his throat. He'd wagered everything on that single spark—Khan's secrets had better be worth it.
His sword sprang free, and he rode its edge forward, eyes fixed ahead.
He sprawled on the cave's cold floor, breath ragged. The beast lay still beyond the entrance. A faint smile crept onto his lips.
"This is it," Jamal murmured, relief flooding him.
His father, the king, had sought to drown him in scrolls and lectures—war, coin, rule. But he refused, instead Jamal had sought this: the Tomb of Khan .
After years of rifling through his father's chambers and evading death's jaws, he'd arrived. His pulse thrummed—not with fear, but exhilaration . The kingdom teetered—villagers starved, granaries echoed empty, rebellion whispered in the wind. If Khan's wisdom wasn't here, all hope was ash.
It had to be. Khan had clawed an empire from nothing—a falcon rising from barren cliffs. There must be a spark to rekindle Andoria-Dahges .
The cave hid its secrets well, nestled deep within the Caydunas range, home to the continent's fiercest predators. Yet he'd only crossed one.
But why would the king's eldest, next in line to the throne and a prodigious cultivator of unparalleled talent since the founding emperor, risk being in one of the most dangerous locations on the continent?
He'd traversed swamps and predator dens to stand here—the culmination of a twelve-year-old's life's work.
The answer lies in a literal key. Jamal, a mischievous child, had slipped around unnoticed. "It appears that nobody expects twelve-year-olds to borrow keys to anything important—be it locks, repositories, vaults, or chambers shrouded behind impenetrable galdeorite, guarded by the King's Imperial Iron Brigade . It's a rather irresponsible oversight. I might have to tell Father to tighten palace security," he mused with a chuckle.
So, after sneaking into his father's chambers and "borrowing" the map, Jamal set out, braving swamps and predator haunts to reach this precipice—his life's work.
The towering doors rose before him, massive and unyielding, their black patterns tracing the silhouette of a falcon in flight.
Jamal edged closer and shoved. The doors stood firm, resolute as the king's guard.
Hours passed. His fifth-stage cultivation couldn't move them. He even tried bargaining, offering his cousin Maribel—though he'd part with her anyway.
In frustration, he slammed the wall. A jagged stone bit his hand, blood splashing the doors.
"Aaaaaaaaah," he cried, gripping his wound.
The blood vanished, swallowed by the stone. A voice boomed, deep as a war drum : "Blood of my blood, kin of my line, your entry is granted. Step forth."
The doors swung without sound. Jamal rose, cautious, and crossed the threshold.
The cave within defied nature—dark gray walls, flawlessly square, a sanctum guarding a singular treasure.
Jamal struggled to identify the material that made up the cave's interior, a surprising fact given his years within the palace and access to the Jordee continent's finest education.
Faint lights winked alive as he pressed on. A staircase led to a stone slab atop a flat pyramid, each step ringing like a knell.
There it sat—a tome, black as midnight, drinking in light, its white-gold runes spelling " Khan ."
His fingers shook as they neared it—Khan, the emperor his father revered, whose dominion once spanned the seven realms. What would he find in these pages? A strategy to save the kingdom? Or a warning that some things were beyond repair?
His trembling fingers brushed the cover, the black leather cold as midnight, its white-gold runes pulsing with a faint qi hum —like a falcon's call echoing through time. The air thrummed, heavy with ancient intent. He'd dreamed of this since his father's first tales of Khan, the falcon-lord who tamed seven realms. What if it held no answers? His breath hitched as he lifted the cover, pages rustling like wings, ink shimmering with secrets long buried.
Awakening the past.
A voice, weathered by eons, rolled forth, and Jamal felt the weight of a dynasty on his shoulders.
And then it spoke...
The voice growled from the pages, old as dust, dragging Jamal into a world long dead—Khan's world.
"This is the record of the life of Khan."
"I was no born lord—I forged my rule from need. Strength and power were taken, not given, and held tight, or there would have been no survival."* "If you hold this celestial record, my legacy endures. Learn from my victories and failures, my descendant, or repeat my mistakes."* "My words meld with an ancient will, preserving truth. Once my silent counsel, it now aids you, my kin, through kingship's trials."*
The voice spoke on...